“Can I help you?” The secretary says. Her name is Janet, judging by nametag she’s wearing. And, based on the look she gives me, she hates my guts.
I don’t blame her for questioning my presence; I look like a lunatic — ragged clothes, my hair is a mess, I’m shaking with excitement, and I’m clutching my dad’s laptop like it’s a newborn. All I need is a tinfoil hat to complete my outfit.
“I’m here to see the mayor,” I say.
“I’ll bet you are. But he’s busy at the moment,” she says, her tone walking the fine line between respect and derision.
“I’m not crazy. This is important. I have information here showing a financial conspiracy involving banks and the local tax assessor’s office. This is criminal collusion between local businesses and city government,” I say, still clutching the laptop tight to my chest.
When I say it out loud, I realize I sound crazy. But I keep that feeling off my face.
“Oh, I’ll bet you have,” she says. “And I’ll bet you put a lot of work into it, too. But, lady, the mayor doesn’t just take appointments from any crazy who walks in off the street. Please leave.”
“He’s in there right now, isn’t he?” I say, looking over her shoulder towards the closed office door.
When she shifts in her chair, I feel a stir of hope.
“That’s none of your concern. Again, please leave before I have to call security.”
I stand. I have no intention of leaving. Drawing inspiration from my hardheaded man, I charge past Janet and throw open the door to the mayor’s office.
Just as I suspected, he’s sitting behind his desk, reclining in his chair with his phone to his ear.
Mayor Pete Trainor’s eyes get wide the second he sees me. Behind me, I hear his secretary calling for security.
I have a minute at most to make this count.
With determination, I charge forward to the Mayor’s desk and, as he watches in disbelief, slam my hand down on his phone, ending the call.
“Who the hell are you?” He says.
“Mayor Trainor, years ago you appointed my father, Lorenzo Santos, as the Tax Assessor for Torreon. For months, he’s been using the powers of his office to facilitate fraud and countless other financial crimes. I have proof — documentation I’ve compiled from his personal files — and I am here to offer you a choice and a chance to get ahead of this scandal. Unless you’d prefer me to send this information to the FBI and the press first.”
His expression changes. Fear at my threats and, beneath that, there’s cold consideration. He’s a politician foremost, and he’d have to be an utter moron not to realize the implications a scandal like this could have for his career. And his freedom.
I have to hope that Mayor Trainor does the political math correctly.
There’s the sound of the door opening behind us — Janet — and, with just a wave of his hand, the mayor sends her away.
“What are you getting at?” He says.
“The police and, possibly even the FBI’s White-Collar Crimes division, will investigate these crimes I’ve documented. It’ll end with my father in jail. And you will have a job opening. Do you understand what I’m suggesting?”
He arches a disbelieving eyebrow. “You want me to appoint you — the daughter of the man who is involved in this supposed criminal scheme — to the job? How the hell do you think that will fly?”
This is my chance. I have to hit him with everything I have.
“You think people will question the qualifications of a Stanford-educated woman who cared so much about the law and the ethics of the job that she turned her own father in to the police? Please. I thought you were smart, Mayor Trainor.”
For once, the politician is silent. And, sensing my cue, I stand and put one of the flash drives containing my report on his desk. Then I grab a pen and a sheet of paper from his desk and write my cell number on it.
“That’s my number. Call me when you’re ready for me to start my new job.”
Chapter Thirty
Blaze
The pain of a million hangovers greets me when I open my eyes. There’s an agony that emanates from deep in my bones and I feel impossibly weak. But even so, I smile.
Because, when I look to my right, I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s got eyes that shine brighter than the sun, and an ass and a pair of legs that make me weak in the knees.
Tiffany.
And she’s wearing an expression on her face like I’ve never seen before: pride. Not some forced superiority meant to cover up her issues with her past and her present, but actual pride.
I almost can’t believe it.
“How are you?” I say.
She laughs. It’s music to my ears. “How am I? You’re the one who just had some of his organs removed and you’re asking me how I am?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m good, Blaze. I’m very, very good.”
I lean a little closer — it hurts like hell, but it’s worth it to get a little closer to the light of her smile.
“What’s that grin all about?”
“I have a new job,” she says. Her smile fades a little. “I found some things out about my dad. He was involved in all this stuff that Anna was doing. He falsified records and
