Chapter 11
“I didn’t know!” Madison cried. “He told me it was the company’s! He told me to calculate the miles!”
Then, in her panic, she made the fatal mistake.
She pointed directly at Nate.
“He needed the money. He said if we didn’t get cash by the end of the month, we couldn’t make payroll!”
A collective gasp swept through the office outside the boardroom.
The open secret of the company’s financial decay had just been shouted into the air by the intern who thought she was about to become a vice president.
Arthur Sterling stood slowly.
He buttoned his tweed jacket with measured calm.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked disgusted.
“Arthur, please,” Nate said, turning toward him. “This is a misunderstanding. A clerical error. If you sign the letter of intent, I can clear all this up.”
“Sign the letter of intent?” Sterling repeated, his voice low and razor-thin. “You invited me here to impress me with a car you stole from your own executive. You lied about your firm’s financial health. You attempted to extort one of your own people for cash.”
He stepped closer to the table.
“You are a fraud, Nathaniel. And worse, you are remarkably stupid.”
Then he turned to me.
“Ms. Mercer, I apologize for taking up your morning. You clearly have a first-rate operational mind. If you ever find yourself at a firm that actually owns its assets, give my office a call.”
“I will, Mr. Sterling. Thank you.”
He walked out through the parted crowd of employees without another glance back.
With him went fifty million dollars and the last real chance Cross Logistics had of surviving the quarter.
The lead officer stepped toward Nate and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“Nathaniel Cross, turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
Nate didn’t fight.
He just stared at me with hollow eyes as the cuffs clicked shut.
The second officer moved toward Madison.
“Madison Hayes, you need to come with us as well.”
“No!” she shrieked, stumbling backward. “I’m just an intern. I’ve only been here three months. You can’t arrest me. I was following orders.”
Then she turned to me in a final burst of delusion.
“Diana, tell them. Tell them I was just doing my job.”
I looked at her.
Her smug smile was gone. In its place was the wild panic of someone who had finally discovered that actions have consequences.
“Your job,” I said quietly, stepping close enough that only she could hear me, “was to learn the business. Instead, you tried to climb over my back.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I told you the rungs of your ladder were made of glass.”