Callie nervously adjusted her pencil skirt as she got off the elevator. She made a mental note to buy additional professional outfits as she had only packed a couple. Callie held her key card up to the reader and walked into the legal department when the door unlocked. It was a typical professional office: gray carpet, gray cubicles, and gray furniture. Various potted plants added a splash of color, but no one was going to mistake it for the site of a rave anytime soon.
Callie located the cubicle with her name placard on it and sat down at her desk located just outside of Mills's office. As she familiarized herself with her workspace, she heard Mills's voice approaching. "I'll get to it as soon as I can. It's a priority."
Callie stood up to see over the cubicle wall. Mills was walking with a tall middle-aged man. His temples were streaked with gray, and he carried a fancy European leather briefcase. "Thanks for all your help on this, it's much appreciated," the man replied. "I'll catch you later." He walked off in the direction in the elevator as Mills continued toward his office.
"Hey," Mills greeted Callie when he caught sight of her. "Come on in."
Callie followed Mills into his office, shutting the door behind her and sealing out the noise from the rest of the office, although it was already fairly quiet. She looked around to see his office was spartan with no decorations of any kind.
"It's like working in a fishbowl," Mills complained, indicating the glass front wall of his office. "At least no one can hear us. What do you need from me?"
"Who was that?" Callie asked as she flipped through her notes.
Mills leaned back in his office chair. "That's Brian. He works for an aircraft manufacturer. Last week, the FTC approved a merger between Ducroy and a regional airline that's going to massively increase our footprint. Brian's trying to get Ducroy to bite on some new fuel-efficient design. I do contract review, so I have to approve all our purchase orders."
"Ducroy has to buy at least one more new plane now," Callie said, writing Brian's name on her notebook.
Mills gave Callie a side-eye glance. "Are you implying he blew up the flight to sell more planes?"
Callie shrugged.
Mills laughed. "I don't think Dragon Aeronautics has to resort to industrial terrorism to turn a profit. They're backed by some huge conglomerate. Don't let yourself get distracted by the attack."
"You don't think the insider trading is related to the bombing? Maybe an attempt to draw attention from the leaks?"
Mills scoffed. "Not unless the bomber is an idiot. We don't hire people with any real criminal record. With no priors, insider trading gets you two or three years in Club Fed. Blow up a plane and you're instantly doing life without parole in a supermax. And that's if you're lucky. More likely, you'll be getting your fingernails pulled out in some CIA black-site."
Callie winced at the mental image. "My understanding is that leaks came from different departments-"
Mills raised a finger. "The alleged leaks."
"Right, the alleged leaks. The only people who would have had access to all three pieces of information are the executives. Can you tell me about them?"
Mills handed her a printout with names and faces on it. "These are the executives, for now."
Callie looked up from the piece of paper. "For now?"
"Phil is retiring at the end of the month." Mills pointed to a picture that looked like it was taken in the 90s of a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a Magnum PI mustache. Underneath the picture it read, "Phillip Taylor – Chief Financial Officer."
"Do you think the timing of his retirement is suspicious?" Callie asked.
Mills shook his head. "They've been on him to retire for a while."
"But when did he finally decide to do it?"
Mills looked thoughtful. "I guess just last month. But it couldn't be Phil; he's been here forever. If he was going to start allegedly giving out insider info, he would have started before now."
Callie circled his photo. Regardless of what Mills said, she was going to dig into Phil's background.
Callie's phone vibrated and she glanced at it to see a text from Joe. "Just heard some people talking about an employee spending lots of new cash. His name is Mark and he works in cybersecurity. See what you can find out. Also get his address."
"What people in the IT department would have had access to the information?" Callie asked. "Could the leak, sorry, the alleged leak, have come from there."
"You're catching on. Maybe you should go to law school." Mills said. He had smiled when Callie had corrected herself. Callie blushed. "I really don't know anything about our IT systems, but it sounds like a possible explanation. I think Fenton was looking into that."
Callie supposed she should investigate Joe's theory. "What about janitors? Could they see papers if someone forgot to shred them?"
"Look around," Mills said. "Do you see any papers? We're a paper-free office. Apparently its better for the environment to strip mine rare-earth minerals and build computers that run off coal-powered electricity than to use paper made from a renewable resource like trees. Good thing there's no local industry that could suffer if we all stop using paper."
When Mills's sarcastic rant was over, Callie went back to her desk and looked up Mark in the online company directory. There was only one Mark who worked in the entire IT department, Mark Kozicek. "He should be easy enough to track down with that name," she thought.
Joe sprinted toward the elevator as he watched the numbers tick down. When they hit one, Joe turned and ran for the stairs. He took them four at a time and burst through the ground floor door. The Gray Man was nowhere to be seen. Joe ran outside to see a completely average gray Toyota Camry pulling out of the parking lot. Joe fumbled in his pockets and swore when he realized he had left his keys in his locker when he changed into his work uniform.
"Nice office," Callie said, munching on a BLT sandwich. "It's … cozy."
The two were eating lunch in a janitor's closet so they could catch up on each other's discoveries in private.
"I was going to say intimate," Joe replied, taking a bite out of an enormous hoagie. A large glop of mayo fell and smeared across Joe's chest.
"Gross. Anyway, he's probably investigating the bombing," Callie said. "I doubt the Gray Man cares about insider trading."
"The two cases are linked; I know it," Joe insisted. "I don't care what Mills said."
"I know you don't like him," Callie responded, "but he made good points. It's quite an escalation to go from insider trading to international terrorism. Do you want to look into Phil or Mark?"
"You ask around about Phil, and I'll take Mark."
They finished eating lunch and stood to leave.
"Joe, you are such a slob," Callie scolded. "You have mayo and mustard all over your face."
Joe rubbed his hand over the wrong side of his face off. Callie rolled her eyes.
"Just hold still." She wiped off his face with a napkin. A memory resurfaced of her doing the same thing to Frank during a date. Callie was suddenly flooded with emotion. Her eyes began to water, and she leaned against Joe's chest. He wrapped his arms around her. Although Joe wasn't saying anything, Callie felt moisture trickle down through her hair and onto her face, and she knew he was crying.
At 4:30, Joe went to the parking lot to wait for Mark to leave, but the red Tesla was already gone. Joe resolved to leave earlier next time. Apparently, Mark wasn't the type to work all the way to 5. He met Callie at the car.
"Keys," she demanded.
Joe held them up as high as he could reach so Callie would have to jump. She punched him in the stomach and grabbed them when he bent over. She marched to the driver's side door, a look of triumph on her face.
"Find out anything about Phil?" Joe asked after relaying his failure at contacting Mark.
"Not yet."
"That's okay, sometimes detective work takes time," Joe said. "Geeze, slow down Callie."
The car was accelerating rapidly as they left the office park.
"I'm trying but the car's not responding!" Callie shouted. She stomped the brakes and turned the wheel, but it had no effect.
They were quickly approaching a stop sign where the only options were to turn right or left. Straight ahead was a concrete wall. The vehicle continued to pick up speed, racing faster and faster. Joe looked at the speedometer. They were about to hit the wall going 90 miles an hour!