Playing With Fire

Playing with Fire

Cristina Grenier

Want to receive a FREE copy of this

full length BWWM Romance by bestselling author Cristina Grenier?

Click the cover below.

Chapter 1: When Trouble Comes Calling

Rain thundered down, lashing the windows outside Mikhail Chaykovsky’s office window. From the tenth floor, he could see clear across the park on a clear day. Today, as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he could barely see out the window. The water streaming down its clear surface was running fast. He wished he had chosen to work from home today, because now he’d either have to stay the night in the penthouse apartment, or he’d be battling the elements to get back to the secluded mansion he’d bought out on the peninsula, an hour from the city. His tall, lithe, whipcord-strong body was silhouetted against the stormy sky, and the crash of thunder, punctuated by a jagged slash of lightning that almost blinded him, deafened him so he didn’t hear the knock on his office door.

Excuse me, boss, but you have a meeting in a few minutes in the boardroom.

He turned to look at the young woman who had been his secretary for the last almost ten years and smiled. Jenny was as short as he was tall, as blond as he was dark-haired, as dusky-skinned as he was fair-skinned. Her round face was cherubic and her smile never failed to tease one from his lips as well. She looked fifteen years younger than her thirty-five years, but no one coming in contact with her would ever think she was anything less than an accomplished adult. Her professional demeanor and attire also added to that air of competence, and he remained more than grateful to have her as his right-hand woman.

Thank you, Jenny, he said. You should probably head out now. The weather’s not getting any better, and I’d rather close the office early than keep you here later.

That’s sweet of you, boss, but Ray’s coming to get me in an hour. We’re staying in the city this weekend to take in the show.

Ray was Jenny’s husband of two years. He was in law enforcement and had recently been injured in the line of duty. Jenny had been happy to have him home every day, and Mikhail had been happy to see her happy, especially after she had gotten word of his injury. He had given her time off to be with her husband, and she had only just returned a week ago. Ray was scheduled to return to duty after the weekend, so he assumed this was their last hurrah before things went back to normal. He didn’t know what show she was talking about, though, so he asked,

Show?

She rolled her eyes at him before replying. You live on another planet, don’t you, boss? she teased, or at least in another state of mind. Celine Dion will be in town this weekend and we’ve got tickets.

Mikhail shook his head. I didn’t know. While you’ve been away, I’ve been dealing with the temp from hell right when I’m negotiating terms for some new imports. I didn’t really have time to see what was going down on the entertainment front.

He didn’t tell her he was concerned about something that his Chief Financial Officer had brought to his attention that they were still trying to sort out. Money had gone missing for a weekend, but they couldn’t seem to trace the source from which it was moved, or the place to which it had gone. It was troubling because even though the books appeared to have been returned to normal, that this could happen meant someone could steal from the company and he wouldn’t know about it if he wasn’t paying attention. Or at least if his money manager wasn’t paying attention. Thank God he was, or who knows what else might have happened. Still, now they had to concern themselves with the possibility that they had a thief in their organization.

You need a life outside of these walls, Mik. Jenny’s voice, as she called him by his nickname, had gone soft, her tone personal. I wish you could come with us tomorrow night. It would be a lot of fun, and you would get out of your head a little. You could even get to know Ray better.

That last idea made Mikhail uncomfortable, especially knowing how hard he had hit on Jenny when she had first come to work for him. She had proved supremely resistant to his seductions, which he had discovered was actually a good thing for both of them. But he got the feeling, from their first meeting, that Ray would not be pleased if he knew. He had no way of knowing whether or not Jenny had told him anything, but he had still been glad that Ray’s job meant they had only met three or four times in the last three years, which included the year they met, fell in love, and got married.

It’s quite alright, thanks, he said. Let the others know I’ll be there in a minute, please.

Will do. She smiled again and closed the door quietly behind him.

This meeting had been called this late on a Friday afternoon by his CFO, who had persuaded Mikhail to let the firm’s lawyer in on the problem. Maybe the three of them could figure out exactly what was going on, and if there was anything adverse happening, they could nip it in the bud. Assuming that it hadn’t been going on for a while under their very noses. Straightening his tie, he smoothed a hand over his dark brown hair, trying to tame the mess he’d made of it earlier when he had combed his fingers through it in frustration as he had worked. The gray at his temples and the streaks on his head gave him a distinguished look of which he was completely unaware.

Taking a few calming breaths, he left his office for the board room next door. Knowing Jenny, she had already provided refreshments, though he felt like he could use a stiff drink more than the black Russian coffee he preferred. Closing the door behind him, he found himself facing three men, not two as he had expected. He frowned slightly, but smoothed it away almost at once. The third man was as tall as he was, but broader in the shoulder, well-dressed, and quite ruggedly good looking. He carried himself like a soldier. Whoever he was, Mikhail wasn’t going to allow him to see anything but a cool, professional front. He advanced with his hand outstretched, not allowing either of his colleagues to speak.

Good afternoon. I’m Mikhail Chaykovsky. And you are?

The stranger took his hand in a firm grip, shaking it briefly before releasing him. Afternoon, Mr. Chaykovsky. I’m Special Agent Dan Burdock, FBI. It’s nice to finally meet you.

Mikhail raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond in any other way. He turned instead to the other two men in the room. Jeff Chandler, a short, stocky man, was his CFO, and Tom Willis, a little taller but almost painfully thin, was his firm’s lawyer. He pinned them both with hard stares, before addressing them.

Good afternoon, Jeff, Tom. Gentlemen, please help yourselves to the refreshments.

He pointed to the trays on the table bearing a carafe of coffee, cream and sugar, four mugs, an assortment of pastries and plates to put them on. Taking the lead, he poured himself some of the coffee and took a heartening sip. Then he watched as the other three men helped themselves, adding fixings to their mugs, and loading up on the pastries. He noted that the FBI agent only had coffee as well, though he added cream to his. He gave them five minutes, then went to sit at the head of the table and began to speak.

Okay. Let’s begin, please. Jeff, I wasn’t aware that we needed to have the FBI involved in this meeting, nor that we had invited them. Care to explain?

Jeff sat down and pulled the tablet he had brought with him toward himself. I apologize for the lack of notice, Mikhail. Agent Burdock arrived just as we were heading up with news that I thought it best you heard from him here, as it pertains to the reason for our meeting.

That was not what Mikhail was expecting to hear. If the FBI knew something about what was going on in his company, then it meant things were worse than even he had imagined. And something told him it was not likely to be good news for the company, or for him personally, either. Still without showing anything more than mild interest — or at least he hoped that’s what his expression said — Mikhail turned to the agent.

Agent Burdock, has Jeff explained the reason for this meeting?

The FBI man stared back at him assessingly, as though he were trying to read Mikhail’s expression. Only that it concerns the disappearance and reappearance of monies in your accounts. Perhaps you’d like to give me all the details?

Mikhail began without preamble. A week ago, during an audit, Jeff noticed a discrepancy that we have spent the last four days trying to figure out. Money disappeared from a major foreign purchasing account on that Friday evening after office hours, and reappeared the following Sunday night, just before midnight. We’ve traced everything to the account we specifically use for making foreign purchases of imports, but cannot find where it went or how it was conveyed either in or out.

The agent sat forward, setting down his mug and steepling his fingers on the table in front of him. Who has access to your purchasing accounts? Aside from you and Mr. Chandler, of course?

Mikhail frowned as he realized the answer to that question was very incriminating. No one. he kept his reply short.

And how are those funds normally disbursed?

Tom reviews the terms of the contracts we signed, makes sure we have all the correct information regarding country of origin, banks, etc., and that all the legalities have been met. Then Jeff approves it if Tom passes it on. Then I approve it.

So even though Mr. Willis has no direct access to the funds, he knows how they are disbursed?

Yes.

The agent turned to Tom. Does anyone other than yourself handle the contracts? Read them, proofread them, or help with the language in them?

I have a paralegal secretary, and an intern. Both work with me on parts of the document, but the intern mostly does research and filing and my secretary does editing and proofing of the documents. He manages all the company’s files, sends out correspondence related to the contracts we accept, and brings every financial or other legal document for my review and approval.

The agent turned back to Mikhail. I assume you have an executive assistant, Mr. Chaykovsky? When Mikhail nodded, he turned to Jeff. And you, sir?

Mikhail’s secretary runs the administrative side of things, except for the legal stuff that Tom’s secretary does.

He looked at Mikhail again. Does your secretary have any access to these financial transactions?

Yes. Jenny keeps duplicate copies of all the legal documents, and she handles all the correspondence between our firm and our clients. She sets up meetings, liaises with clients regarding purchases, drop off points, shipping, and so on.

Agent Burdock, who had been taking notes on a little pad, looked up after a few more seconds and said, So, let me see if I have this straight. You two, he pointed to Jeff and Mikhail with his pen, are the only ones with direct access to funds, and the only ones with the ability to sign off on their disbursement. Your lawyer and his staff, as well as your secretary, have eyes-only access to transactions. Is that correct?

Mikhail was getting impatient. What did any of this have to do with the FBI? Even if something criminal was going on in his company, wouldn’t it just be a local matter, requiring that they call the city’s police department? He had waited through the questions, but now he wanted to get down to figuring out what they were going to do, and this man was holding things up with these irrelevant questions.

Look, Agent Burdock, I don’t mean to be rude, but we do have business to discuss. So if you could just cut to the chase, and let us know what interest the FBI can possibly have in this matter, I’d be grateful. Frankly, I’m at a loss to figure out why your agency would be interested in what’s happening in my company, especially since we are not breaking any import or export laws of international trade.

He tried to keep his voice low and impersonal, but by the end, he was struggling to stop himself from raising it in irritation. The agent must have sensed his impatience. He flipped backwards through his notebook until he came to what he was looking for and then he looked Mikhail directly in the eye.

Last weekend, just after six o’clock in the evening, a shipment of arms was received and paid for by a person or persons unknown. We suspect that it is the same domestic terrorist who has been stockpiling weapons for a broad-scale attack on US soil. I’m not at liberty to share any further information with you on that subject. The only reason I’ve told you this much is that your firm has been implicated in the sale and distribution of those arms.

Mikhail froze, his blood seeming to cool to a sluggish rhythm in his veins, chilling him from the inside out.

"What? Are you accusing me of smuggling weapons into this country? Of aiding and abetting terrorists?"

This time, he didn’t keep his voice down. He couldn’t. Not only was he deeply worried by this unexpected wrinkle, but he was furious that anyone would think he would stoop to doing what his family had done for so long in the old country, selling arms to dissidents everywhere in exchange for fat profits that had stuffed their coffers and made them filthy rich but thoroughly despised. That was why he had left, when he was eighteen years old, choosing to emigrate to the States to go to university, and distancing himself from his own family.

That was why he had started his own import-export business, and why he specifically specialized in what many in the industry called ‘exotics’…items of particular value only to the wealthiest clients on the planet. Of course, he had expanded it to encompass a small shipping department, so he could sell his services for transporting precious objects such as paintings and so on for museums, art galleries, and the like. He had been in business now for almost fifteen years, and had kept his firm legitimate, avoiding all contact with anything remotely suspicious. Finally, in the last two years, his clientele had expanded and his business had taken off.

The money trail leads to your back door, Mr. Chaykovsky, the agent said, unperturbed by Mikhail’s outburst. And it did not just start last weekend. At Mikhail’s obvious consternation, the agent added, Did it occur to either of you to check back before last weekend, to see if the activity had occurred before? To see if there was a pattern?

Mikhail looked at Jeff, swallowed, and shook his head. Why would that even have occurred to us to do? We’ve been in business for a long time, and this has never happened before.

The agent’s brows lifted in disbelief. Do you have an IT person, Mr. Chaykovsky?

Mikhail could hear the disbelief in the man’s voice and it pissed him off. No one impugned his good name, no matter who the hell he was. He clenched his jaws to stop himself from yelling and said,

Yes, we do. He installs the latest software and hardware, troubleshoots the system when it goes down, and fixes whatever needs fixing.