Page 112 of Due Diligence

“Oh, this is easy,” she said. “I would treat accounts receivable as a proxy for total number of users. So, if you pulled up your MAU data, my guess is you would see an increase that also correlates with those transaction amounts.”

She saw me hesitate as I struggled to keep up with her line of thinking. Patiently, she turned to face me.

“Think of it like this,” she explained as she took a seat. “If you’re making more money on accounts receivable, it’s because you’re getting more customers. So, your MAU data—your monthly active user data—is higher. Those two things: users and accounts receivable, are going to move together. If the number of users goes up, so will accounts receivable. Likewise, if the number of users goes down, so will accounts receivable.”

“I follow.”

“So, that mystery transaction—that’s what I assume you’re talking about, right? That mystery transaction probably represents a payment to you as you increase your MAUs.”

“Someone is paying us on a per-user basis,” I concluded, working through the logic of her reasoning aloud.

Cass nodded simply, totally oblivious to the fact that she just took a mere three minutes to solve a problem I had agonized over for an hour. “Listen, I have to go, but do you want to keep talking about this?”

I shook my head as a lump started to form in my throat. Quickly, I forced myself to steel my expression. I couldn’t let her see I was about to descend into a panic.

Six-second reset.

“No, I’m all set. Thanks, Cass,” I managed to say.

“No problem.” Cass stood and smiled, looking so pretty I didn’t know if I could handle her leaving me right now. “Are we hanging out tonight?”

“Oh, I have to…” My mind was racing and I couldn’t come up with anything. “Can I call you later? I just have to…”

She paused by the door to the fishbowl, noting my expression once again.Fuck. She could see right through me. “Marcus, what happened?”

“Nothing.” It was an obvious lie. “Nothing happened. I just have to go.”

Luckily, up until a couple of weeks ago, Cass had been the queen of caginess. That used to frustrate me, but now it was a goddamn relief. She was willing to give me the space to leave it at that—even though there was clearly something on my mind. She didn’t ask questions and she didn’t object when I hastily gathered up my belongings and exited the fishbowl at the same time she did.

I emerged from the office to a bright Friday morning, and paused in a half panic attack with my phone clutched in my hand. I could have called a car, but for some reason it made more sense to go on foot—to let the fresh air envelop me as the tightness in my throat grew.

My heart was beating faster and I could feel my hands beginning to shake. And fifteen minutes later, when I pounded on the door to Alex’s apartment, I realized I was hyperventilating.

“What the actual fuck?” Alex said when he yanked open the door.

He was standing there in workout clothes like he was on his way to the gym (even though it was a Friday morning and he should have been at work). His blue eyes scanned me up and down, taking in my wild expression and my heaving chest.

“Are you okay?”

“I am obviouslynotokay,” I snapped as I shoved past him into his apartment.

His unit was too big and too polished to make any sense. It had two more bedrooms than he would ever need and I was willing to bet he hadn’t used most of the appliances in his kitchen. It was one of those scenarios where he offered a blank check to an interior designer and let her run with it. She ran an extra zero for no reason, in my opinion.

I made a beeline for his kitchen, where I dropped my backpack onto one of the counter stools and began to unzip it with shaky hands.

Alex strolled over, frowning, as he watched me. “What the hell is happening?”

“Look at me,” I snapped, working so hard to keep my voice from breaking. I managed to open my laptop. “Look at me and tell me the truth: Did you know anything about those mystery transactions on our ledgers?”

“This again?” he asked, almost laughing. “Marcus fucking Fitz, you’ve hit a new level of paranoia, buddy. I really think you need to—”

“Alex!” I finally shouted, eyes wide.

Startled, he furrowed his brow as he looked at me. “Did you just scream at me?”

I never shouted. Ever. In fact, it was probably one of the first times—if not thefirsttime—that Alex had ever heard me raise my voice.

Without another word, I slammed my laptop on his counter—much harder than I would normally ever throw anything, let alone my professional lifeline. “What the fuck is this?”

---