Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,95

I instructed Sara to hang around Aaden at headquarters, feeding him cup after cup of steaming black coffee until she found out his password. (It was “strike1.” Seriously. Not even an odd capital letter. And millennials are supposed to be taking over the virtual world?) I sent the email to Magers Construction from his email account and his computer terminal, in case anyone ever checked the IP address, while the entire office was being treated to a catered lunch. Fielding the confirmation request from Logan’s inbox was as easy as logging into her tablet, replying, and going through the same purge. It was the following days that were hardest. Waiting. Not doing anything. I logged into Logan’s tablet whenever I had the opportunity, to ensure no further replies came through from Magers Construction. After a full week had passed, I broke down and called their payables department, right at lunchtime, and posed as a clerk to confirm the refunds. While the woman chewed and the keyboard clacked in the background, she looked up the account and confirmed yes—there were three large refunds in queue for approval and did I need to speak to her supervisor? I said no, thanked her for her time, and continued to wait.

Then the money started to flow.

The deposits accumulated, invisible, while I waited for Darryl to eventually notice what was going on. To be honest, I thought even he would have caught on quicker. This wasn’t a few dollars here and there from a petty cash box. These were massive quantities of capital. I drove up all other spending, flooring the gas as we sped toward the brick wall. Strike Down got the best venue and vendors, prime advertising through premium channels. We poured money into vStrike, hiring cutting-edge virtual reality programmers. Everyone got bonuses. And I waited, counting down the days to the inevitable explosion, when Darryl or someone—anyone—else in the company, figured out what was going on.

I just never expected it to be Aaden Warsame.

* * *

“Aaden, I want you to put down the gun.”

He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “You have so much already. Strike. Logan.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re pointing a gun at me.” The unlatching of the safety had made only a whisper of noise, but it was echoing like an actual gunshot in my head. Sweat broke out under my arms.

“What did you want from me?” he asked. “What could you have wanted so much that you had to give me nineteen thousand dollars to get it?”

“Just set it down. Please, let’s sit down and talk.” I gestured to the benches and to my infinite surprise he shrugged, walked over, and sat.

I stood frozen at the sink until he laid the gun down on the bench and raised an eyebrow at me, a dare. Blisteringly aware I was walking into a trap but with no other alternatives, I moved across the room and sat next to him, well within his reach. The gun lay between us, its barrel facing the lockers.

“The last deposit was two days ago.” His voice was low, measured. “My friend and I had met at a coffee shop across the street from my bank. He was studying business. I was studying fighters. And he said, look, white people even go to the bank different. I looked out the window and do you know who I saw?”

He turned fully toward me, rising up as high as his spine would stretch.

“I saw you, Gregg Abbott, telling an Uber driver to double park. I was so surprised to see you in my neighborhood. In any neighborhood. I’ve never seen you outside this building. It seemed wrong that you could exist anywhere but here. I didn’t say anything to my friend. I didn’t want to lose face and admit I knew you.

“Then I logged into my account and found this money. Your secretary, Sara—who doesn’t bring me coffee anymore—she said you were out of town when this happened.”

“The Madison club. Final inspection.” And a confirmation with the project manager that $900K of the retainer was coming back.

“Yet I saw you in Minneapolis with my own eyes.”

I exhaled, one long final breath. “Can I show you something? In my wallet?”

Aaden’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but his confidence overrode any internal warnings. He knew we were unevenly matched. He nodded.

Taking care to move as slowly as I had across the room, I unzipped my coat to pull the wallet out of my vest pocket and handed him a