It'd been only a little over a week since both he and Mysterion had paid a visit to 'Helping Mothers', and Kyle couldn't seem to wrap his brain around such a fact. It felt like it'd been so much longer than that, so many things had happened in the last week that everything was starting to blend, turning into a surreal mess smeared out before him in the form of disarranged numbers and panicked voices racing through his head. A cynical part of him was the slightest bit satisfied with the notion of all his focus facing one particular problem as opposed to the nonstop plethora he was usually dealing with in his work. But more than enough of that had taken a backseat, this Monday morning walking into the office and opening his email to see a slue of good news in his inbox from employees. He had found varying messages telling him to take his time, to only send essential documents, or to even send them the brunt of the data so they could compile their own worksheets.
It was something Kyle could never have dreamed up on his own, not believing his own eyes until Butters came in with a confirming question as to whether or not the emails were serious. He'd been more than blown away by the offers, for the first time in nearly a year he could feel the tension slipping from his back and aching shoulders. These problems could be pushed aside; they could be deserted to make room for the issues that truly mattered in this time of crisis.
He'd set up Butters with a base list of information to send various departments and $400 of petty cash for him to order the entire crew a catered lunch. Butters had nearly panicked, asking what to do if Cartman asked why he was spending so much money. Kyle had told him to inform the glutton that it was simple enough; If his bonus money wasn't going towards what it was promised to, he'd damn well spend it however he pleased.
With his assistant kept busy and his employees thoroughly satisfied that he was taking care of them, Kyle had been filled with a renewed confidence, calling the women's charity and snagging himself another impromptu meeting. "For some double checking," he'd told the owner with the piercing hazel eyes. Her name was Meredith Ashton, or so her papers said, but with the way things were running with this entire scheme, Kyle was certain that that most likely wasn't the true case.
His fingers tightened around his steering wheel as he took a sharp turn down towards Fairbank Road. He had enough damn pseudonyms to deal with. This morning had been his weekly call with Anna, or Mercedes. Or whatever the fuck her true name was. It'd taken every bone in Kyle's body to keep himself from snapping completely, from screaming her down and phoning Stan to break into the bank and arrest her lying ass. But, surprising even to him, he'd managed to keep it cool and collected, speaking only business pleasantries while glaring darkly at the speaker. Kyle could only figure that she'd only been charged for soliciting or conspiracy when Mysterion had brought her in, because there was no way in hell she would've gotten out so quickly otherwise, bail put up or not. He huffed. Now he knew that she'd called Cartman from jail. Because she knew he would get her out. He needed someone in the bank to take care of his funneled profits.
The Camry rolled onto Fairbank, Kyle keeping his eyes peeled as he made way down the stretch, tapping his finger and gnawing on his tongue. He had to figure out just what else he could figure out on his own by doing this. Mysterion's hooded figure passed through his mind, able to perfectly conjure up his lecturing tone for Kyle doing this on the fly without consulting him the night before. But the night before had been a little too full of them not talking for him to have brought it up even if he had considered it.
He couldn't help but smirk to himself, wondering if every night that they didn't uncover more information would be full of nothing but curious lips and tongues before Mysterion slipped back off into the night and left Kyle to his own devices. The redhead couldn't exactly complain if that was the road that they were heading down.
Sharp eyes spotted the butterfly sign on the right, flicking his turn signal and pulling into the lot, parking near the back and glancing at the other cars surrounding him. He hummed, noting some very nice cars that were spread throughout the spaces as he climbed out with his workbag. Kyle bit his lip. How many destitute single mothers had the money for a goddamn Charger? He couldn't help but wonder if they'd been there the last time and he just hadn't taken notice, too full with panic over the impending numbers situation. But now that he knew that something was going on here, they stood out like sore thumbs next to his own rust bucket.
The accountant sneered, making way to the front doors and pressing a red intercom button, shifting in his place and glancing around. "Yes?" a voice rang.
He pressed it again. "Hi, this is Kyle Broflovski. I have a meeting with Mrs. Ashton?"
"Come on in, Mr. Broflovski," the tone responded, Kyle hearing the door clicking open and sighing. He pushed his way into the building, greeted with the sound of kids all at once and glancing over to a group of them sitting around on a couch talking and playing cards. One of the older boys, one with copper hair glanced up, cocking his head at the passing man and squinting lightly. Kyle returned the expression, knowing he'd seen him somewhere before… but shook himself out of it. He had a mission. He quirked his brow at a foreign sound, diverting his attention to the other side of the room, seeing a huddle of women pausing their conversations to look at him and laugh before turning back to one another. He rolled his eyes. Girls laughing at him. Not like he wasn't used to that one. It was no wonder he fell for a guy in a damn mask. Given Mysterion laughed at him plenty, too…
He pouted. That settled that, he was just a masochist through and through.
Making way towards the back of the building to a frosted glass door, he raised his hand, knocking on it with the back of his knuckles. "Come in!" He pushed his way into the room, seeing Meredith swing around in her chair and brush brown hair out of her eyes, shooting him a smile that seemed false behind those penetrating eyes. "Mr. Broflovski," she cooed. "What can I do for you?"
'You can maybe not stab my boyfriend… lover… guy I kiss? Fuck it. My boyfriend. Don't fucking stab him,' he thought bitterly before plastering his sweet smile over his face. "I overlooked a few numbers unfortunately," he laughed quietly. "It just gets so crazy you sometimes skim," he emphasized. "I'm sure you understand."
"Oh absolutely," she waved off the notion. "What is it you need?"
"Uh, just need the reports from the last quarter," he informed her casually. "If that's not too much trouble of course."
"Not at all," she promised, turning in her chair and slipping open a filing cabinet. Kyle bit his lip, taking the seat in front of her desk and tapping his finger against his knee. He knew better, the information he needed was in the basement. But how the hell was he supposed to get there? He let his eyes flicker around the room to the ceiling and the corners of the walls. There didn't seem to be cameras, and he knew there wasn't a security office in this building. But that didn't mean the basement wasn't filmed and available on her computer.
He frowned. It didn't matter. He'd have to risk it.
Kyle straightened back up into nonchalance as she turned with a folder and passed it off to him, watching him open the data and flip through the reports. He listlessly scanned over the numbers, nodding to himself at the profits they'd brought in over the last three months. In all truth, the numbers were fairly mediocre compared to some of the other charities that they sponsored. But they were receiving every penny, so they would look damn well off to the untrained eye glancing over figures. But Kyle knew from not only insider information, but just the knowledge of his small little town. This area was mostly Catholic, and unwed mothers were going to be the last on their list to donate to if they had anything to say about it.
He narrowed his eyes. He should've figured that this charity would be the one that Cartman let thrive, thinking to the brunette's own unwed mother. "Tell me, Mrs. Ashton-"
"Meredith," she corrected.
He put on a flattering smile, "Meredith. How many mothers are you aiding? What are you doing for them and for their kids?"
She raised her brow, "I already went over this in my interview with Mr. Cartman."
"Yes well… I'm not Mr. Cartman, am I?" he countered, closing the folder and placing it on his lap as he crossed his legs and leaned back a bit. "I'm the one handling the finances, I want to be up-to-date on all our charities and their contributions."
Meredith cleared her throat, shrugging and folding her fingers atop her desk. "Well, we have about fifteen mothers as of now. We help with job placement-"
"With what staffing agency?" he interjected.
Hazel eyes narrowed in the slightest, "Sunstaffing."
"Ah," he nodded. "Good company. Hired a lot of people through there. You and the placement agent Roger get along all right?"
"We do," she answered coolly. Kyle smirked to himself, very highly doubting that Angela the main agent wouldn't appreciate being lied about.
He grinned, "Anything else you do?"
She shrugged again, "Tutoring programs. Clothing drives-"
"When do you do clothing drives?" he pried. "Because you're not showing any from this quarter's profits."
"They're not profit," she raised her brow.
He clicked his tongue sheepishly, "Well technically they are. Anything you bring into this company is an asset, and one that needs recorded less you end up with an audit and get into some serious problems with the IRS. Besides, I highly doubt you keep all the clothes you gather, that'd be wasteful if you didn't take the excess and sell it for a monetary profit," he quirked his brow.
She narrowed her eyes, "Profit isn't everything to these women, Mr. Broflovski."
"No, but it should be for this building," he drawled, opening the folder again and humming. "Where's the fee for the agency?"
"I'm… I'm sorry?" she blinked.
"Sunstaffing requires a fee for job placement when working with companies," he informed her. "Why is that not being taken from your capital?"
"T-they don't charge nonprofits," she stammered. Kyle flickered his eyes to her, keeping his smug grin under control. She hadn't been prepped nearly well enough to lie her way through this. Seems Cartman didn't quite train her for handling his level of business catechisms.
He shrugged dismissively, "That makes sense. And uh, what happens to the kids if it's not the school year and you snag a job for the mother?"
"They stay here," she answered carefully.
He quirked his brow, "Some of those kids are toddlers. Do you have trained staff to handle their level of caretaking?"
"Mr. Broflovski, I don't question how you run your business, don't question mine," she finally snapped.
Green eyes gleamed over a bit and he smirked. That was plenty enough to know he was dealing with a full-fledged liar. He had to reel it back before he got himself escorted out. "Except it's my job to know," he drawled. "Don't want to think the money of our company is invested in some bad markets. Meredith, these are all questions that I ask all our nonprofits. It's nothing personal," he promised. "I just like to be on the same level with everyone, not let anyone think that I hold my own job as more important than theirs," he said innocently.
"You're acting like you're in charge of my building," she said lowly.
He held up his hands defensively, "I promise, it was just some innocent queries. I'm only here to help. We're a team, Meredith, and I like to be on my teammate's game plan."
She stared at him for a few moments before sighing and nodding, "You're right. I'm sorry."
"No, no. I'm the one who's sorry," he said pathetically, getting to his feet and placing his fingers on her desk, letting them drum nervously. "I pried a little too much for my own good. Just in my nature," he winced. "You're doing a fantastic job," he complemented.
The woman smiled a little at him, "Well thank you, Mr-"
"Kyle," he stopped her.
"Kyle," she corrected. "Is there anything else you need to see from me?"
He waved her off, "No no. This was all I needed. Thank you." She started to get up and he let out a soft, "Ahp. Please, I can find my own way out. Thank you so much for your time and patience," he said softly, laying on that wonderful little trick he'd learned in his youth of buttering up his mother for extra allowance. "I know it can be rough when some jackass comes in pretending they know how hard you work," he pouted.
"No, no, no," she insisted, eyes finally softening to a point. "You were fine. I'm just… jumpy. Please if you need anything else, just call or come in."
He smiled warmly, shaking her hand and squeezing it lightly in his palm. "Thank you so much," he repeated earnestly, handing her back her folder and shooting her a soft wink. "I'll talk to you soon I'm sure."
She nodded, waving at him and smiling as he made his way out the door, stepping out of view of the frosted glass and taking a deep breath. He straightened his bag on his shoulder, glancing around the facility, eyes landing on an unmarked door on the far side of the room. He bit his lip. He knew well enough it wasn't the bathroom and it wasn't their supply closet. It had to be the basement, and he needed to get down there.
A soft whistle caught his attention, heart pounding erratically before the copper-headed teen made his way towards him with his eyebrow cocked. "Ain't you the number guy?" he drawled.
Kyle blinked, "Well. I'm an accountant, yes. I'm sorry have we met?" he tilted his head.
The teen smirked, "Yeah. I'm one of Ken's kids."
Green eyes brightened, "Ohh you were the one with him outside last week."
He nodded, holding out his hand. "Name's Bryce. You're… Carl?"
"Kyle," he snorted, shaking his hand before pausing. "Wait… is… is your mom here, too?"
Bryce shook his head, taking his hand back and shoving it into his pocket. "Nah, my mom is at the grocery store workin' customer service."
He narrowed his eyes, "Aren't you kind of old to be here? Shouldn't you be out looking for a job of your own?"
He gestured around, "This is my job."
Kyle froze, "What? How? Are you one of the caretakers?"
Bryce shook his head, "Nah. They just pay me n' the others to sit around and look all preoccupied. Boring as fuck," he rolled his eyes. "But hey, it's easy money. Ain't gonna whine 'bout that."
The redhead glanced around, chest twisting uncomfortably. "Are the other kids some of Ken's, too?"
Bryce nodded, "Yeah. All of us. We were out playin' around the homeless shelter and they came up offerin' us a job."
"And you didn't find that suspicious?"
He smirked, "Well, I didn't say that. But when ya got a family t' feed… ya don't think too much," he winced.
Kyle bit his lip, "What about the women? Are they moms or not?"
"Not to us at least," he shrugged. "I dunno, Man. All I know is that they pay me ten bucks an hour. I ain't gonna complain." Kyle narrowed his eyes. Well. Now he knew why the profits were kept steady here.
The man gulped, "Bryce… can you help me with something?" he asked lowly, eyes flickering to women once again looking at him in interest.
"Depends on whatcha need," he said plainly.
He took a deep breath, "I need to get into the basement. Can you distract the women so I can get down there?"
The teen glanced at the basement door and back at him, crossing his arms. "Why?"
"Just trust me," he pleaded, keeping his tone hushed. "I'll make it worth your while. Next time I see you at the shelter, you got $300 with your name on it if you can keep them out of my hair long enough for me to get down there and back up without raising suspicion."
He smirked lightly, "I don't think Ken would like ya bribing me."
"Kenny wouldn't mind me paying you for doing a legal job," he countered. "Are you in or not?"
Bryce nodded slowly, glancing at the women for a moment. "I can probably getcha 'bout five minutes. That enough?"
"If that's all you can manage, then it'll have to be," he shrugged. "Keep their focus off of me, and make sure the kids don't say anything either."
"Right," he nodded affirmatively. "Gimme a second, look busy," he waved him off, heading towards the couch with the other kids. Kyle took a deep breath, snagging his phone from his pocket and opening his Facebook, listlessly scrolling through it but keeping his eyes flickering to Bryce as he leaned over the furniture, getting the other kids' attention and talking lowly to them. Kyle gulped, seeing the kids getting to their feet and shooting him a strange glance before they turned towards the women's side and Bryce spoke up. "Hey, Ladies! Who wants to hear a dumb story the kids came up with?" The women glanced at each other from their seats and shrugged, watching as the kids circled to the far-side wall, taking all of their gazes with them. Bryce shot Kyle a nod before turning to the women and grinning in a cheeky manner that Kyle could swear he had to have learned from Kenny.
He didn't listen as the kids started to act out a story as Bryce narrated, looking over the women to see any wandering eyes. Catching none, he slammed his phone back in his pocket and pivoted on his heel, quickly and silently heading for the basement door. He twisted the knob, breathing in relief as it opened without hesitation. A locked door would've fuckin' been a real kick in the goddamn teeth. Silently, he slipped through the crack and shut the barrier behind him, hand blindly fumbling along the wall until hitting a switch and flicking it on. He blinked, glancing down a set of stairs towards a small room and gulping. He didn't have much time here, he had to move.
Quickly, he made his way down the steps, eyes peeled for anything out of place and humming at the bareness of the room aside from a table and a couple discarded cigarettes on the floor. Lips twisting, he looked towards another door across from him as he hit the landing. He glanced up towards a high, small window to his left. 'Mysterion must've been there,' he concluded. Kyle grunted, forcing himself to move forward and shove the other door open, finding himself in a small room with one filing cabinet resting against the wall. He quirked his brow as he switched on the light, heading to the files and ripping open the top drawer, sharp eyes scanning.
He squinted in confusion, finding nothing but numbered folders, labeled one through forty. He snagged out the first, opening the file and finding a picture staring back at him, some man that he didn't recognize. Another glance showed a list of addresses, and a name beneath the picture: Sparrow. "What the fuck," he whispered, reaching back and snagging the last folder to open, eyes widening at a picture of Burke staring back at him, labeled Taipan. "Holy shit," he breathed, gulping heavily and opening his workbag. He looked up in thought. Was this risking way too much?
…Probably. But fuck it. He had to get this to someone, whether it be Mysterion or Stan, he didn't care. But someone had to see it. He snagged the papers out of all forty folders, being sure to keep them in numerical order and shoving them into his bag, closing the drawer again. He tore open the second file, flipping through a plethora of empty folders until one lone sheet of paper caught his eye, tearing it out and staring at a simple address typed neatly in twelve-point font. "Where the fuck is Custer Road?" he muttered before shaking his head and reopening his phone, taking a picture of the address and placing the paper back into place.
A long breath seeped through his nose as he shut the drawer and knelt down onto the floor to tear open the third and final one. He probably didn't have much time until Bryce ran out of material. He ripped it open, jaw dropping at an influx of cash resting comfortably in organized stacks. "Holy shit," he breathed, grabbing a stack of bills and flipping through it, a clean stack of twenties bundled into one thousand dollars' worth in bank sleeves. And the drawer was chockful of 'em. He placed the money back down, forcing his hands to stop trembling as he snapped another picture of the evidence, shutting the drawer and taking a shaking breath. So funding was definitely coming out of here. But why?
Kyle grit his teeth, getting back to his feet and glancing around, seeing nothing else but a box of unsealed envelopes atop the cabinet and gulping. He turned on his heel, flipping off the light and closing the door, taking a final look around the main room. Once again he was finding himself with more pieces of the puzzle and not the slightest clue as to what his final picture was going to be. For someone who enjoyed the occasional mental challenge, this was one that he was definitely not taking a liking to. Just far too much on the line and far too much potential to go in either direction.
He swiftly bounded back up the stairs, switching off the light and turning on his camera once again. Cracking open the door just enough, he slid the device through, watching the screen come to life and show him the outside, seeing all the group's attention still focused as the kids danced around goofily. He breathed in relief. He could always count on Ken's kids to make good on a promise. Silently he slipped back out into the main room, shoving his phone into his pocket and closing his workbag, nonchalantly heading towards the front door. He and Bryce caught stares, Kyle shooting him a grateful smile and the teen giving him a subtle thumbs-up. The redheads looked away from each other as Kyle stepped into the outside, the coast clear and his bag brimming with evidence. The accountant took a deep breath, walking towards his car with his head held high, more than ready for whatever next step he and Mysterion would have to take.