Chapter 4 - The State's Ledger
Three men in dark grey suits stepped into the private room. They weren't wearing the service uniforms of the restaurant, and they didn't carry the silver crumber the waiters used between courses. The man in the lead was short, fortyish, with a thin mustache and an identification badge pinned to the pocket of his wool jacket.
"Daniel Caldwell?" the man asked. His voice had the flat, unhurried delivery of a civil servant who spent his life reading titles aloud in small rooms.
Daniel froze, his hand dropping off my wrist as if the skin had suddenly gone electric. "Who the hell are you? This is a private dinner. We’ve rented the space until ten."
"I'm Agent Miller, State Financial Crimes Division," the man said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a blue cardboard folder bound with a thick rubber band. "I have a warrant signed by Judge Henderson for the immediate seizure of all electronic records, ledger accounts, and storage assets registered to Meridian Medical Technology and the Vivian Vance Cultural Foundation."
Vivian stood up then, her gold bangles clinking against each other like a handful of small coins. "This is absurd! My family has lived in this county for four generations! We know the governor! We know the district attorney!"
"The district attorney signed the secondary disclosure order at five o'clock this afternoon, ma'am," Agent Miller said, not looking at her face. He turned to the two men behind him. "Secure the tablet on the table. And the lady’s purse."
One of the junior agents walked around the table, his boots making a regular, dull sound against the marble. He reached down and picked up Daniel’s silver iPad, sliding it into an anti-static bag before Daniel could even move his hands from his pockets.
Mr. Vance stood up slowly, his face completely devoid of expression as he smoothed the front of his suit jacket. "Daniel," he said, his voice very low, very distinct. "The pension board will be suspending the compliance review effective immediately. I’ll expect the formal rescission documents from your counsel by nine tomorrow morning."
"Vance, wait," Daniel stammered, his hands coming out in that quick, defensive gesture he used when the line managers complained about the safety regulations. "It’s a misunderstanding. It’s an old dispute with my wife’s estate. We’ve got the documentation cleared—"
"The documentation is in the folder, Daniel," I said, standing up from my chair and picking up my black leather purse from the floor. "The real documentation. The one with the dead notary’s name and the transfer receipts from the Wilmington branch."
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I looked at Vivian, whose cream silk trousers were now marked by a small, dark spot where her champagne glass had tipped over during the confusion.
"You should've chosen a cheaper restaurant, Vivian," I said. "The private room at Le Petit Chateaux has excellent acoustics. The state team didn't even need the directional microphones to get the confirmation on the third-quarter transfer."
