Page 25 of Billionaire Corruption

A couple of days later, I arrived home after work and started on dinner. Nothing fancy, a basic chili. Toby came to sit at the table, told me about school, about a teacher giving him a hard time, how glad he’ll be to be finishing high school.

I listened to him without saying much.

“Where’s Nan?” I asked.

“Downstairs, with Mrs. Koscielny,” he said. The old lady has lived in her apartment under ours for almost as long as my grandmother has lived here. They have been friends and neighbors for decades.

Toby got up, looked over my shoulder at the pot I was stirring.

“Make it spicy,” he instructed. “You’ve been going too mild lately,” he grinned at me, and I shook my head.

“Nan doesn’t like it that hot!” I called after him.

“It’s you that’s the pussy!” he grinned and said he was going out for a bit, would be back for dinner.

I shook my head but added extra spices.

The apartment was uncharacteristically quiet with both him and my grandmother out. I poured myself a glass of wine from an open bottle in the fridge and stood at our living room window, staring down at the street.

I had been thinking a lot about the conversation I’d had with Paul at dinner. The things he’d said but more importantly, the things he didn’t say. I had the distinct impression that he knew there had been irregularities and that in his mind, they were entirely justifiable. I had the impression his idea of right and wrong was quite different to mine.

While I was willing to accept that he might have been faced with extraordinary challenges that would have stretched him, and that he might have buckled under pressures I could not even begin to imagine, I did not think that I would have behaved dishonorably no matter what the circumstances were.

The problem was, I didn’t know whether he had been dishonorable.

I was beginning to accept the possibility that he was not entirely squeaky clean and found, rather surprisingly, that I could deal with that. What I could not handle, under any circumstances, is if he had been dishonorable or acted disgracefully in any way.

It was a morally ambiguous area and I had trouble understanding what it meant for myself as well. I needed more information, that much was clear, and I couldn’t ask Paul. I also didn’t want to talk to any of my colleagues.

This was personal, not professional.

I needed to know more about Paul, the man, not the CEO.

I knew I couldn’t explain the difference to anyone, so I didn’t tell anyone about it, but I started coming in earlier, looking at some of the acquisitions and sales of the past year. I looked at the expenses, at some of the consultants the company used, and one particular firm caught my eye.

It was an interior design company that had been used by the company last year. It was called Red Monkey. I suddenly remembered walking into that friend of Paul’s after dinner earlier in the week.

Gill Sanders.

He was younger in his photographs online. Trimmer and healthier, but still smiling. His blonde hair had receded a bit and he’d put on weight around the middle, but he seemed outgoing and friendly. Clearly, he liked the party scene. With his model-type girlfriend, Irina, they were snapped at several high-profile events. I typed her name into the search engine and found loads of pictures of Irina Stepanova. A little cyber sleuthing followed, and it wasn’t long before I noticed her posing at several events of a particular flavored water product. She was a brand ambassador for the company. I called the wellness brand, fibbed a bit about why I needed to get hold of her and managed to get her phone number.

It was so easy.

I’d never done anything like this before and a part of me was thrilled by the idea of going undercover, doing some detective work. I knew it was dangerous though. If my supervisor found out what I was doing, I would probably be kicked off the team, maybe even be brought in front of a disciplinary hearing. There were very strict rules about financial investigations, everything had to be entirely above board and was governed by oversight on all levels.

I told myself what I was doing had nothing to do with work, that this was for me. I don’t know why I thought Irina could help me. Maybe it was the way they had greeted Paul, with genuine pleasure. They knew each other well, I was sure of it.

I sent her a text, reminding her of our meeting a few nights ago and asking her for a few minutes of her time for some advice about Paul.

She agreed to a quick lunch at her favorite sushi place.

The next day, I left work early to be in time for our lunch.

I spotted Irina right away.

She was even taller than she had appeared on the pictures. She was gorgeous, with long, brown hair and beautiful green eyes.

“Irina? I’m Grace.”

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