A/N: So, I've had this story arc planned for months but had the hardest time actually get TO the story arc. Well, I got to the arc...and I think you're all going to really enjoy it!
Chapter Twelve
Felicity and Oliver moved lazily around her townhome, getting ready for the workday. As she applied some blush to her cheeks she glanced at him in the mirror and said, "So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to this film festival with me this weekend. I do have to warn you the films are all in German – but, I'm a firm believer that overacting and hilariously produced scores are both a universal language."
He laughed. "I'd love to but I'm actually travelling this weekend."
"Is it a work thing?" she asked. He hadn't mentioned anything before, but she knew sometimes things popped up last minute.
"No, I always get out of town this time of year." She was about to push for more information when he said, "Saturday is the anniversary of my father's death. I find it difficult to be here, so I started going to our lake house a few hours from here. It's quiet there. It just gives me space to-"
"Grieve," she finished, feeling like the worst girlfriend in existence for not remembering the anniversary of his father's death. That's something she should have remembered – or at least reminded herself to remember somehow. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I should have known."
"It's okay," he said. "Life moves on, right?"
She thought of how that was one thing you shouldn't have to walk away from at Oliver's age.
"Anyway, I'll only be gone from Friday until late Sunday. I won't really be taking calls, but if you need me – "
"Don't worry about me," she interrupted, walking over and slipping her arms around his waist. "I can go three days without you."
He smiled and dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose. "But can I go three days without you?"
She smirked, tilting her head to the side. "I guess we're about to find out."
They didn't mention his weekend trip again, and she paid it little thought after she kissed him good bye and sent him and his Ferrari on their way. Her supervisor had given her a hefty assignment on Friday, and it consumed her thoughts as she camped out at her desk for much of Saturday, poring over code and figures until her eyes glazed over. She hadn't thought of Oliver – or Robert – Queen until her phone pinged with a new email. She checked it casually, interest piquing when she read the email's subject line.
ROBERT QUEEN
Now, logically she knew there were many explanations for that title. Maybe it was an in memorium piece someone had forwarded, or some enterprising journalist had learned of her and Oliver's involvement and was hoping to get an exclusive on Oliver's life without the Queen patriarch all these years after the shipwreck. But, logic could not quell the nagging feeling that opening that email was tantamount to opening a can of worms.
She did it anyway.
The email had no greeting and no identifying information for whoever had sent it. All it contained was what looked like a company name – Blackbriar Enterprises – and a string of letters and numerals that looked like some sort of account number.
She immediately searched for the company online, finding nothing but a minor name-drop in an article from a few years back. A deeper search unearthed its incorporation papers. She quickly read through the shareholders listed in the document, not recognizing any. After a few more failed searches she sat back in her chair, wondering what just dropped into her lap, and what exactly she was supposed to do about it.
"Yeah, that's definitely a bank account number," Roger said, looking at the mystery email. "Or, you know, a really complicated phone number."
Felicity had called Roger the minute she got home, wanting someone to talk through the email with. He came immediately, armed with a six pack of pop and bag of chips.
"Why would someone send this to me?" she asked, biting crunchily into a Dorito.
Roger shrugged. "Did you track down the guy's IP address?"
Felicity nodded. "It's a dead end."
Whoever she was dealing with knew how to cover his tracks. Her search gave her no identifying information, looping back to the same generic Chinese takeout website that she was moderately sure was a red herring. She'd used every trick she knew, and couldn't glean any useful information besides the price for orange chicken.
Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, stomach dropping when she saw an untitled message from the same sender.
"What is it?" Roger asked, noticing how her shoulders had tensed. He had been midsip and put down his Dr. Pepper as he watched her open the email and quickly scan the message. It was brief, only consisting of three lines.
Starling City Rec Center
Locker # 47
4536
"This is exactly like a scene out of James Bond," Roger noted, shaking his head as he read the message, neck craned to avoid the screen glare.
She stood up suddenly, looking around for her purse. She spotted it over by the kitchen table and strode over, stuffing her phone into the outside pocket.
"You're not actually going, are you?" Roger said, outrage tinting his voice.
"Of course I am."
"You have some possible lunatic sending you cryptic emails. This is practically the beginning of an SVU episode."
"I'll be fine."
"If you end up dead, Oliver is going to blame me. And, we both know he can take me in a fight."
She snorted. "Roger, I am not going to end up dead. I am going to a public place, remember? I'll just go and get whatever is in the locker and come back."
"This seems like a bad idea. I think you should just let it be," Roger pressed.
"Look, there's a reason I'm being sent these. I have to see it through – at least find out what's in the locker."
"You're insane," he said.
She waved her hand in the air dismissively and said, "It'll take me twenty minutes tops to get there and back. I'll be safely locked in my apartment before you can say 'crazy murdered', okay?"
"Okay," Roger relented, standing up. "But, if you think you're going alone, you're even more insane than I already know you to be. I'm coming with."
Felicity shrugged, although a telling grin pulled at her mouth. She'd hoped he would come with her from the start.
"That's fine. Just don't change the radio so much in the car. It's annoying."
As they walked out of the townhouse he returned, "It's not my fault you listen to country."
The row of lockers were deserted when Roger and Felicity cautiously approached. Roger edged closer to Felicity and said, "Yeah, nice public place, huh?"
"It is public," she shot back. "It's just not very…populated."
Roger glanced around and asked, "Do you think someone is watching? You know, to see if we complete the dead-drop?"
Felicity rolled her eyes. "This is not a dead-drop."
"This is the definition of a dead-drop."
Felicity scanned the locker numbers, searching for 47. She found the 40s and then easily located her locker. She glanced at Roger anxiously and he nodded encouragingly and said, "What's the worse that can happen?"
"You're right," she echoed. "What's the worst that can happen. There's a body part inside. Or a bomb."
"You've been hanging around me too much," Roger told her. "Just open the locker so we can go home."
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath before she reached forward and worked the combination into the lock. The locker opened with a click.
"I can't believe that worked," Felicity murmured.
"Come on, let's see what's inside."
Felicity opened the locker and pulled out a thick envelope. She opened the top lip and slid out the stack of papers, leafing through them and eyes widening as her eyes roved over pages of confidential bank statements. The account number on the documents matched the one in her original mystery email.
"We should get out of here," Roger said, gaze lingering on the documents.
"Yeah," Felicity agreed, slipping the papers back in the envelope. She clutched it to her chest. "Let's go."
Felicity and Roger sat in front of her coffee table, papers spread out on its scratched surface. The documents detailed dozens of transactions with Blackbriar Enterprises, the majority of them comprising of hundreds of thousands of dollars being wired directly to an office in Guadalajara. The only problem was that there was no record of Blackbriar Enterprises having any presence in Mexico, nor did Queen Enterprises.
"Okay, so I get that this is some shady financial stuff," Felicity said. "But what does it have to do with Robert Queen?"
"I don't know. Maybe he was the one doing it? You know, siphoning money from the company under the guise of business?"
She shook her head. 'These transactions happened after he died. He couldn't have been involved."
Roger leaned back against the couch, folding his hands behind her head.
"Well, then you've got me. I have no idea."
They were both quiet for a moment before Roger said, "Maybe it's a whistleblower."
"You mean, like they're ratting on someone else?"
Roger nodded, sitting forward. "Yeah, you know, they found out some higher up or something was taking money and…"
"They come to me, the almighty tech girl?"
She wasn't convinced, but Roger was undeterred.
"You don't know, maybe they were fired for what they know, or they were afraid of retaliation."
"So they resort to me?" she pressed, still finding the entire proposition highly unlikely. "What am I supposed to do with this information? Go march to Moira Queen's office and say, 'Hey, I picked up these documents sent to me by a complete stranger, and they say someone's diverting boatloads of your company's money! Ball's in your court now!' I'll sound insane."
Roger seemed to be in deep thought for a moment and then his eyes widened. "That's it!"
"What? What's it?"
"You have a relationship with Moira Queen."
"No, I don't," Felicity argued. "I'm dating her son. That's about it."
"That's exactly it," Roger pressed. "You're dating her son. She trusts you. You're probably just about the only person in the building who could go straight to her office and get a meeting like that!"
He snapped his fingers at the end for emphasis and she frowned, not liking where he was going with this.
"Okay…"
"This guy couldn't report, but you can."
"We don't even know if these documents are accurate," she said, shaking her head. "They could be fake."
"Why send you on this wild goose chase if they're fake?"
"I don't know," she admitted, biting the inside of her cheek. There really would be no reason for sending her the false documents, unless this person truly was a complete raging lunatic, but still that seemed far fetched. "Do you really think this person – whoever they are – wanted me to go to Moira?"
"I mean, it makes sense," he offered.
"But, then why the Robert Queen stuff?" she asked. That was the one piece that still didn't make sense, and Felicity had the nagging feeling that it was an important missing piece.
Roger thought about it for a moment and then said, "It was probably an attention ploy. A way to make sure you opened the email."
Felicity had to admit that made sense. Robert Queen's name had certainly caught her attention.
"So, what are you going to do?" he asked.
Felicity stared at the mess of papers, headache pounding behind her eyes.
"I have no idea. I mean, how would I explain where I got the information from?"
"You're tech-y. I'm sure you could figure something out."
She gave him a look. "Tech-y won't help me. IT doesn't have access to financial documents like this."
"Well, you could just tell the truth."
"Seriously?"
"I think she'd believe you," he said with a shrug. "It's not like you'd have a reason to lie."
Felicity considered that – going in Moira's office and telling her exactly what happened. It was incomprehensible. But the thought of making up some grand story to go out on a limb with seemed even more unlikely – not to mention unruly. If she was going to do this, she had to do it the right way.
But, she still hadn't decided she was going to do anything.
"Do you think I should do it?" she asked him. "I mean, you were pretty opposed to me even going to the locker before."
"Yeah, well, it was just some rando sending you emails before. This is different. There's a pretty clear reason why they reached out to you, Felicity."
"What if we're over extrapolating? I mean, this all could just be some coincident. There could be no rhyme or reason for why I got those emails."
"Do you really believe that?"
No, she didn't. She believed that she was meant to get those emails, and that she was meant to do something, but she was afraid of what would come next. What if it had been Moira herself who silenced whoever was sending those emails? Or, what if Moira had nothing to do with what happened but didn't believe her? Moira could talk to Oliver next, telling him that she'd somehow gotten mixed up with the company's books and who knows what would happen next?
"I think you should at least consider it," Roger said. "I think you'll regret it otherwise."
Ultimately, Felicity decided to tell Moira. She spent nearly half the night tanging uncomfortably with her sheets, imagining what would happen if she said something and then what would happen if she didn't. She came up with pretty grave worse case scenarios for both, but ultimately her conscious won out. She'd couldn't just sit on this information. She'd tell Moira Queen and then let her decide if she believed her.
She changed her mind at least three times before she took the elevator up to the top floor. She'd never gone to the executive suite before, and she was surprised by how different it looked from the other floors. The elevator opened into a grand lobby with a cozy set-up in the center with plush leather sofas and a coffee table with assorted novelty books spread haphazardly on the surface. At the back of the lobby was the receptionist's desk, a striking woman with red hair wound into a tight bun at the top of her head fielding calls on her headset. Moira's office door sat behind the desk.
"One moment, please," the receptionist told Felicity when she approached, attention snapping back to the phone call. After a few seconds she gave Felicity a bright smile and asked, "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mrs. Queen."
The receptionist nodded crisply, typing something into the computer. "Mhm, and what time is your appointment?"
"Oh, I don't have one. I was hoping-"
"Mrs. Queen is fully booked today," the woman interrupted pleasantly. "Would you like to schedule a meeting now? She's available beginning…" she typed something else into the keyboard, "…next Tuesday."
"Can you tell her it's Felicity Smoak? And it's important? Very important."
The woman hesitated for just a moment before nodding and telling Felicity, "I'll see if she has a moment."
Felicity waited anxiously out in the lobby, feverishly hoping she wouldn't have to put this off until Tuesday. The woman returned and said, "You can go in."
Felicity nodded, relief flooding her chest, and stepped past the desk and into Moira's office. Moira Queen sat in front of her chic glass desk, hands folded placidly on top of the desk. She was in one of her usual shift dresses, a delicate strand of pearls around her neck.
"Felicity, dear, how are you?"
"Good, thanks," Felicity said, nodding a bit spastically.
"I don't see you in here often. Is everything alright?"
Felicity didn't know how to smoothly transition into what she'd learned, so instead of trying she just blurted it all out. She was surprised to hear just how much "it" was. She told Moira the basic facts and then threw in her and Roger's theories. When she'd finished she felt like she needed water and a cool washcloth.
"While I appreciate your concern, I can assure you that no one is taking money from Queen Consolidated," Moira told her gently.
"Well, then, what is Blackbriar Enterprises?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," she returned. "These documents you speak of are surely fabricated."
"They look authentic," Felicity said, pulling the envelope from her bag. She showed Moira one of the statements. "I checked out the signatories and everything. They check out."
"Hackers are an incredibly clever bunch, Felicity. You, of all people, should know that."
Felicity flushed. "Right. Okay. Well, I'm sorry for bringing this to you. I just thought-"
"No, I appreciate you coming here," Moira said, rising from her seat. "You care about this company. I like to see that in employees."
Felicity nodded, moving to put the envelope back in her bag.
"Why don't I keep that," Moira said, holding out her hand. "I'll take them to the shredder."
Felicity hesitated for a moment before handing them over. Moira carefully laid them on the desk and said, "And, Felicity, if you could not repeat what you told me with anyone else, I would greatly appreciate it. You know how rumors begin."
"Sure. My, uh, lips are sealed."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Felicity left, wondering why Moira's steadfast dismissal of what she'd brought made her feel more unsettled than relieved.
The next night Oliver came home, looking tired but content. He settled on the couch with her, pulling her legs up on his lap. As he absentmindedly ran his hand up and down her leg he asked, "How was your weekend? Do anything exciting"
She thought of everything that had happened and murmured, "Nope. Just...you know...the usual."
A/N: There is a lot more to this storyline. Like, a lot. Feedback makes me write faster...hint, hint.
