Chapter 16
The first thing she saw was exactly what she had expected: Seymour Birkhoff hunched over his laptop. His lack of response at her entrance indicated that he had not finished his research. Nikita saluted him while hanging her coat at the entrance.
''Hello B.''
''Mmmm. You're early ''
Knowing he wasn't looking Nikita rolled her eyes. His flat welcome was quite dismissive, but she had to admire his dedication. If she happened to spontaneous combust, he wouldn't notice unless one of her embers threatened his precious laptop.
''Found anything?''
"Plenty, there's quite a lot of dirt on Miss Parker, and I'm not nearly finished.''
A slight scowl appeared between his brows, contradicted by his narrowing gaze and by the pleased crease of his mouth. She was definitely looking forward to finding out what had him so focused, but for now it was better to leave him alone as he obviously desired.
''Fine, I will be with Michael for a while, assuming he's here too.'' Her assumption wasn't confirmed or denied and, although it could mean that Birkhoff had lost himself and the meaning of her last line in his little world, she chose to interpret his unresponsiveness as confirmation and left the room to knock at the next door. After receiving the invitation to cross the threshold, she found Michael sitting at his desk, his diary in his hands and a pile of photocopied documents before him.
''Hey" she greeted, closing the door behind her with deliberate slowness. She neared him but didn't take her a seat on the chair in front of him, preferring to sit on the corner of his desk knowing he had no particular fondness for this habit but that he wouldn't ever tell her.
''Hi, did you resolve your problem?''
She could feel and hear his concern for her. It soothed the tension she had been experiencing when she was with him lately.
''It's fixed. What have you got there?'' She motioned with her head hinting at the papers he had been reading. Michael selected a few photocopies from the pile and handed them to her.
''Mrs. Markali sent them by fax. They are certifications of consistent withdrawals of money from their accounts that her husband initiated during the last two years without her knowledge.''
''A resourceful lady, contrary to her looks.''
Corinne Markali had not made a good impression on Nikita, although she generally tried not to dwell on her personal opinions of their clients, however unpleasant they might be. She had come to the conclusion from the manner in which she had been looked up and down and from the way the older woman had responded directly to Michael, that dear Corinne considered her little more than another pretty face. It was probably juvenile to get upset by this, but it had been some time since a client had misjudged her like that.
"She comes from money. Her family was among the richest and oldest in the Balkans. Without her legacy, it's unlikely Mr. Markali would have gotten so far in his political career, however brief it has been.''
Michael said this with a distinct edge of distaste in his tone. Families such as this, whose members were so used to handling money that they were only at ease with their 'own kind', reminded him too much of the world where he was born and raised. Nikita nodded, totally surprised at the way the minds of these people worked. They could be idiots and incapable in the easiest of situations, but knew all they were supposed to about protecting their interests. For them it *was* all about money.
''Well, these are consistent." She wasn't sure if she had ever seen so many zeroes at one time. If they were gifts to a lover, it was a situation definitely more complex than they had originally hypothesized.
''Regular too'' Michael said, as he looked at her face while she analyzed the print-outs and turned the pages, watching her as she absorbed the information and jumping to the same conclusions. The withdrawals were initially far apart but then increased in consistency and frequency.
''Do you think somebody is blackmailing him?'' She asked, her eyes glittering with the promise of a challenge. It fit with all the inconsistencies of Nikolai Markali: his abrupt disappearances from work, his recent nervousness when the telephone at his home trilled and his need for cash.
Michael clasped his hands in his lap and sank back in his black leather armchair, giving her a satisfied look, "considering his shadowy past, it's a concrete possibility ''
Finally they were getting somewhere!
The first thing she saw was exactly what she had expected: Seymour Birkhoff hunched over his laptop. His lack of response at her entrance indicated that he had not finished his research. Nikita saluted him while hanging her coat at the entrance.
''Hello B.''
''Mmmm. You're early ''
Knowing he wasn't looking Nikita rolled her eyes. His flat welcome was quite dismissive, but she had to admire his dedication. If she happened to spontaneous combust, he wouldn't notice unless one of her embers threatened his precious laptop.
''Found anything?''
"Plenty, there's quite a lot of dirt on Miss Parker, and I'm not nearly finished.''
A slight scowl appeared between his brows, contradicted by his narrowing gaze and by the pleased crease of his mouth. She was definitely looking forward to finding out what had him so focused, but for now it was better to leave him alone as he obviously desired.
''Fine, I will be with Michael for a while, assuming he's here too.'' Her assumption wasn't confirmed or denied and, although it could mean that Birkhoff had lost himself and the meaning of her last line in his little world, she chose to interpret his unresponsiveness as confirmation and left the room to knock at the next door. After receiving the invitation to cross the threshold, she found Michael sitting at his desk, his diary in his hands and a pile of photocopied documents before him.
''Hey" she greeted, closing the door behind her with deliberate slowness. She neared him but didn't take her a seat on the chair in front of him, preferring to sit on the corner of his desk knowing he had no particular fondness for this habit but that he wouldn't ever tell her.
''Hi, did you resolve your problem?''
She could feel and hear his concern for her. It soothed the tension she had been experiencing when she was with him lately.
''It's fixed. What have you got there?'' She motioned with her head hinting at the papers he had been reading. Michael selected a few photocopies from the pile and handed them to her.
''Mrs. Markali sent them by fax. They are certifications of consistent withdrawals of money from their accounts that her husband initiated during the last two years without her knowledge.''
''A resourceful lady, contrary to her looks.''
Corinne Markali had not made a good impression on Nikita, although she generally tried not to dwell on her personal opinions of their clients, however unpleasant they might be. She had come to the conclusion from the manner in which she had been looked up and down and from the way the older woman had responded directly to Michael, that dear Corinne considered her little more than another pretty face. It was probably juvenile to get upset by this, but it had been some time since a client had misjudged her like that.
"She comes from money. Her family was among the richest and oldest in the Balkans. Without her legacy, it's unlikely Mr. Markali would have gotten so far in his political career, however brief it has been.''
Michael said this with a distinct edge of distaste in his tone. Families such as this, whose members were so used to handling money that they were only at ease with their 'own kind', reminded him too much of the world where he was born and raised. Nikita nodded, totally surprised at the way the minds of these people worked. They could be idiots and incapable in the easiest of situations, but knew all they were supposed to about protecting their interests. For them it *was* all about money.
''Well, these are consistent." She wasn't sure if she had ever seen so many zeroes at one time. If they were gifts to a lover, it was a situation definitely more complex than they had originally hypothesized.
''Regular too'' Michael said, as he looked at her face while she analyzed the print-outs and turned the pages, watching her as she absorbed the information and jumping to the same conclusions. The withdrawals were initially far apart but then increased in consistency and frequency.
''Do you think somebody is blackmailing him?'' She asked, her eyes glittering with the promise of a challenge. It fit with all the inconsistencies of Nikolai Markali: his abrupt disappearances from work, his recent nervousness when the telephone at his home trilled and his need for cash.
Michael clasped his hands in his lap and sank back in his black leather armchair, giving her a satisfied look, "considering his shadowy past, it's a concrete possibility ''
Finally they were getting somewhere!