Petulantly, he snapped, “Till tomorrow,then.”
Apart from a grade A extra-large egg on her head, she had nothing to show for her attempts to guess Harrison’s password. There’d been nothing under the desktop but a couple of rocklike lumps of ancient chewinggum.
Hopelessly, she punched in every flavor and brand of chewing gum she could think of and got the same response to each.InvalidPassword.
If she were a woman of violence, she’d throw the computer out the window. The wordsInvalid Passwordseemed to have burned into her retina. She had a feeling she’d see them for the rest of her life, every time she closed hereyes.
Time was running out. She knew she could outsmart Harrison, if she could justthink!
The answer was probably sitting right in front of her nose, and she couldn’t see the forest for thetrees.
She gazed ahead, a vague imprint ofInvalid Passwordstamped across her vision like a neon aura. She blinked a few times, focusing on the Daytona 500 poster on the wall in front of her. Funny, of all the things people had mentioned about her predecessor, nobody had commented on his passion for racing. If she were staying here she’d replace the framed poster with something more to hertaste.
She stared at it for a moment. Had Harrison attended the Daytona 500 in 2015? If he wanted the souvenir, why didn’t he take it with him when he left? Her eyes widened and she gasped. Large letters, small letters, numbers. It was so obvious, it couldn’tbe.
Couldit?
Had the code been literally staring her in the face all theseweeks?
Taking a shaky breath, she typed in “Daytona5002015.”
InvalidPassword.
“2015Daytona500.”
InvalidPassword.
As a last resort, she typed the whole thingbackward:
“5102005anotyaD” and hitEnter.
Like a key turning in a well-oiled lock, the password opened Harrison’s secretfile.
Her cry of delight could have been heard at the German deli two blocks away. She wanted to jump up and down and shout her success to anyone who’d listen. Then she clamped her lips shut, remembering this was top-secret stuff. Quickly, she opened one of her month-end statements on screen, covering over the telltale file. After five minutes, when her scream had drawn no curious visitors, she dared to take a peek at Harrison’s secretfile.
Her stomach had tied itself into knots of excitement and her fingers trembled slightly on the keyboard as she studied the columns of numbers on her screen. It was a set of books, all right, but she knew immediately they weren’t for Harrison’s home accounts. They were for thecompany.
It didn’t take her five minutes to realize that this was Aladdin’s cave, the treasure trove of secret evidence she’d been looking for. These books contained categories not listed in the “cover books” she’d been workingon.
Harrison had been clever, she had to give him that. Her accountant’s mind appreciated the subtleties that had allowed him to create a set of phony books that probably would have passed muster during an IRSaudit.
She lost herself in the document, the way a mystery fan gets lost in a thriller. Grabbing her notebook, she made notes as she went. When she reached the bottom of the document, her eyes bugged out. She couldn’t believeit!
A list of names and addresses in the U.S. And inColombia.
“Good night, Cynthia. Don’t work too late,” Agnes said, popping her head in the open office door, the Chintzware pot of roses in herhand.
“Hmm?” Cynthia glanced up, stunned. It couldn’t be the end of the day—could it? “Oh, good night,Agnes.”
“I’d stay late to help you with the month end, but I’ve got a date tonight,” the older woman said with shypride.
Cyn grinned at her. “Month end? Oh, don’t worry about it. Have a greattime.”
Once Agnes left, Cynthia’s face sobered suddenly. There was a good chance that George’s stepson was up to his bland eyeballs incrime.
Doug Ormond and Lester Dart were clearly part ofit.
Harrison had used an abbreviated code, kind of a personal shorthand, but D.O. and L.D. seemed clearenough.
