"Ah, morning, Roxy. Come here. I've got someone I want you to meet."
Roxy Jones stepped into the large, lavishly furnished office of her boss, Lloyd Brown. He motioned for her to take the only free seat, but Roxy ignored it, instead focusing her attention on the other two chairs in front of Lloyd's mahogany desk.
The man farthest from her was in his late thirties, maybe early forties with a round face and a gut to match. His small, beady eyes were laced with creases at the outer corners, but other than that, his face showed no signs of age. His hair, with its salt-and-pepper coloring, was parted on the left and he looked like a serious businessman. Judging by the sleek, three-piece Armani suit, he was loaded.
"I didn't know you hired adolescents," the other man said. Roxy snapped her gaze to him and immediately disliked him. He was in his mid-twenties with dark brown hair slicked back with too much gel. He had an easy-on-the-eyes face, a square jaw and perfectly straight pearly whites. He too wore a suit, and a Rolex watch glinted from his wrist. Judging by his pompous attitude and stature, it was obvious who was in charge.
"I'm twenty-three," Roxy replied, testily. A perfect black eyebrow raised, delicately. Roxy really couldn't blame him, but she did. With short, light brown hair and freckles across her nose, she looked sixteen at the oldest. Her stature of five foot four didn't help her cause. With a mother at four eleven, a father at five nine, and the rest of the family somewhere in between, she was lucky to be as tall as she was. Sensing the tension charging between the two, Lloyd stepped in.
"Roxy, this is Mark Barrett and Paul Klein. They're the corporate owners of Barrett & Klein in Richmond. They've got a job for you.
Roxy sat on the corner of Lloyd's desk and nodded, indicating that she was listening. Mark, the younger of the two, took his cue to explain.
"We're looking for a seventeen-year-old boy named Jason Klein." Roxy raised an eyebrow at the name.
"He's my nephew," Paul answered in a gravelly voice. Roxy nodded and turned her gaze to Mark, who was pulling a photograph out of a leather briefcase. Mark slid it across the desk, and Roxy picked it up and examined the picture.
The boy had a lean, porcelain face. He was good-looking, with blue eyes and beach-blonde hair. Half-moon glasses perched on his nose completed the angel-face with a hint of intellect.
"He ran away from home six months ago," Paul narrated.
"And where is home?" Roxy asked.
"A little town in Holland," he replied, matter-of-factly. Roxy looked up, sharply and fixed her gaze on him.
"Holland?" she exclaimed, her professional air dropping in surprise. Paul nodded. "Why are you coming to me?"
"Jason hopped a ship. His parents are wealthy, and they gave him a very large weekly allowance. He saved up and bought a one-way ticket," Paul said with a hint of disapproval. "He was a very spoiled boy."
"Any idea where he is?" Roxy asked, regaining her composure. Mark took over, obviously annoyed at not being the center of attention. Roxy's dislike was getting closer to loathing every second.
"Yes. Jason's father was Canadian, hence the name. He kept a bank account open with Scotiabank. Scotia has an affiliation with Maduro and Curiel's Bank N.V., which is in the Netherlands. Jason kept an account with them as well, depositing his life savings. His parents gave him a credit card to the account, which he used on his trip." He smirked, sardonically, obviously amused at the boy's naivety when it comes to running away. "He left a paper trail a mile long. He landed in a bay in Quebec, Ungava Bay. He maxed out his card traveling down Quebec. We lost him around Montréal, where he withdrew three hundred dollars and disappeared."
Roxy pondered this for a moment, glancing at the huge map on the wall and tracing Jason's path.
"No sign of him after Montréal?" she said finally, her gaze trailing toward the border between Canada and the United States.
"Not a trace. Kid finally wizened up though, because he hasn't left so much as a footprint for us to track without sending someone into the field. That's where you come in," Mark finished. Roxy crossed her legs and examined her not-quite-manicured nails.
"Where's he most likely to have gone?" she asked, addressing her gaze to Paul. Paul smirked.
"Where every immigrant goes: America." Roxy suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She knew he would go to America. The question was where?
"I was actually looking for specifics. Any chance he'd come to you?" Roxy asked, trying not to sound sarcastic. Paul shook his head.
"Nah. He and I hate each other. I think he's too spoiled. He wouldn't come to me. He'd go somewhere to make it big. I think it's pretty obvious: New York." Roxy nodded. It was the obvious choice. She would have thought of it if she hadn't been thinking from Virginia's perspective. New York was right beneath Quebec. It would probably only be about seven or eight hours if he took a train. Two days if he walked quickly.
"New York, huh?" Roxy thought about it. Though she was interested, there was one thing bothering her. She couldn't understand Mark's involvement. It seemed odd that he was trying to find Jason as well. This ought to have been strictly between her and the family.
She refrained from voicing her inquiries; she had a feeling that she wouldn't get a straight answer, and she'd only get into trouble. She would question Lloyd later.
"All right. I'm interested," she said. Paul looked relieved. Mark looked arrogant. Roxy fought not to sneer at him.
"How much will it cost?" Paul asked. Depends on whose paycheck it's coming out of, she thought to herself. What she said was, "Fifty dollars an hour, plus you'll have to cover expenses on getting to and staying in New York." Paul nodded, and the two stood up, shaking her and Lloyd's hand.
"Done. I'll get your hotel and tickets arranged, and we'll send a check tomorrow," Mark said with a toothy grin. Roxy nodded disdainfully. Mark gave her one last "winning" grin and the two men left. The instant the door was shut, Roxy turned to Lloyd.
"All right. Give me the details."