Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration Read online

  Still, even though there were not a lot of details, everything cross-checked perfectly and totaled to the penny. Everything was lined up just right: bank statements, taxes, P&L, expense reports, income. Still, it was just so….

  “General,” she mumbled.

  The sound seemed to disrupt Johnny’s work trance. His body shifted, his shoulders moved slightly under the dark grey cotton. His head came up a little, his gaze stayed on the screen.

  “General?” he murmured.

  She flung herself back in her chair. “I’m a detail girl, Johnny.”

  “I’ll let everyone know.”

  “And everything’s here—payments, the property manager’s reports for the past four years—”

  “Excellent.”

  “No, Johnny, not excellent,” she said sharply. “Adequate. Not excellent.”

  He lifted his head.

  “There are no detailed reports,” she said. “Of course, everything adds up,” she hastened to add, lest Johnny think she thought his client a criminal, which she did. “There weren’t any holes that I saw. Taxes, invoices, bank statements, it’s consistent across the board.”

  He sat back. “Okay. And the problem is…?”

  “Everything is just so…general.”

  “But no holes?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head, defeated in her chimeraic pursuit of a gut feeling. “No,” she admitted. “No holes.”

  He put his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers below his chin and watched her silently. Waiting.

  Their eyes met. He waited some more.

  Juliette wasn’t used to being waited on. The experience became vaguely trance-like. She kept looking at Johnny but stopped seeing him. Her mind turned. She moved her gaze to the left and stared blankly over his shoulder, while mentally skimming her memories of the financial documents she’d just reviewed. And eventually, something tripped her up.

  Her gaze snapped down. One of Johnny’s dark eyebrows lifted. She started scrabbling through the papers.

  “Okay, look at this.” She extracted a few and thrust them at him. “Now, stay calm, this isn’t a hole per sé, but….”

  “So I should stay calm?”

  She ignored his humor and gave the papers a little shake. He reached out and took them.

  “There are two properties held in the LLC, right?” she asked.

  “Right.”

  “Tell me, did you assume both properties brought in rent?”

  He looked down at the documents. “I assume nothing. Why?”

  “Because all the rental income appears to flow from only one of the properties. Not the other.”

  He said slowly, “Okay. Maybe they keep that one for themselves. Family visits, loaners to friends.”

  “So all this income came from a single property?” she said, slightly incredulous. “It averages to almost a million a year, Johnny. Doesn’t that seem high?”

  He shrugged. “It’s waterfront, there’s a dock attached. That matters to boat-y types.”

  “And you’d know all about boat-y types,” she muttered, thrusting out her hand to take the papers back.

  But he didn’t give them back. He set them down on the table and began flipping through them. After a moment, he reached out and grabbed the table lamp from the table beside them and flipped it on too, then leaned down for a closer read.

  The light cast his face in bright light and shadow. His jaw and cheeks now had more of a seven o’clock shadow. His eyes moved back and forth as he worked, and he slid a thick index finger slowly down the page as he went. For some reason, this made her face flush. She looked away and saw his lips were moving slightly, silently. He was reading the words and numbers aloud to himself. A faint fullness stretched out her chest, right over her heart.

  Probably relief at being taken seriously.

  Juliette didn’t have a lot of experience with being taken seriously, but she had a whole lot of experience with relief, pursuant to enough near-misses and almost-disasters to last a lifetime. Juliette and relief were old friends.

  It usually came as a cold-blooded thing, miniature icicles melting through her veins, followed by a general deflation from the inside out, as if she’d been punctured, filled with air then released, leaving behind a flattened, two-dimensional being like in some old sci-fi movie.

  She wasn’t familiar with a fullness-around-her-heart feeling.

  “When are these leases up?” he asked, still looking at the papers.

  She swung out her hand in a vaguely triumphant gesture. “That’s another thing.”

  “What’s another thing?”

  “I have no idea when the leases are up, because there are no lease agreements.”

  He looked up. “Mrs. B didn’t give them to you?”

  She shook her head. “As far as she knows, there are none. They’re recorded as pre-paids, but Mrs. B doesn’t recall ever seeing any actual, signed lease agreements. If there were any, she said the judge would have them. Or Dan.”

  He went still.

  The room had darkened considerably since they started working. The little runner lights made tiny amber dots through the darkness of the hall, a miniature golden runway. Through the windows, electric white light spilled in from the slopes. On the mountains beyond, the bank of clouds had moved over the resort, and fat snowflakes were drifting lazily down.

  More silence, floating down like the snowflakes. For a moment, all Juliette could hear was a low white noise of some heater or fan in a distant room, and the occasional shout or squeal from people on the ski slopes outside. Inside, there was nothing but the sound of her breathing and Johnny thinking.

  “No lease agreements,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. They looked at each other.

  “And I noticed something else,” she said, a bit tentatively.

  “Of course you did,” he murmured.

  She couldn’t tell if it was an insult or a compliment and she didn’t care. She smelled something fishy and started reeling it in.

  “If these are pre-paid leases, why do the payments come in such a funny way? Such a bumpy schedule. A bit here, some more there. If it’s a pre-paid, then pre-pay it. If it’s not, then pay when you reserve it or take possession. But why pay six hundred thousand dollars for pre-paid, then pay another hundred thousand a month later, then another couple hundred thousand six months later, then another…. I don’t know, it’s just odd. Don’t you think it’s odd?”

  He didn’t share his thoughts on this. He stayed quiet, waiting.

  “And that initial payment, Johnny?” she went on slowly. “It came in when the place was just a shell, four years ago.”

  “Okay.”

  “Who pays a hundred thousand dollars for a condo without furnishings? Or running water?”

  His gaze was fixed on her, unwavering and unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was thinking about what she’d said, or deciding which window to throw her out.

  Then he shoved his chair back and unraveled to his feet in a single fluid motion, slid his phone off the table and walked off without a word.

  He crossed the empty room and stopped in front of the huge bay windows. The front of him glowed in the lights from the lifts. It highlighted him in stark light and deep shadow, like he was on stage. He put a hand to his ear and turned sharply away.

  She heard a faint masculine rumble as he began talking. She couldn’t make out the words.

  She turned away too and decided that, while Johnny called whomever he was calling to loom them into submission, she was going to give Mrs. Billings a call.

  Chapter Six

  MRS. B seemed happy to hear from her, and waved off Juliette’s apology for calling so late in the day.

  “Not at all, my dear, I’m just sorry we’ve caused you all this additional work,” she assured Juliette in her dreamy voice.

  Mrs. Billings reminded her of an oil painting come to life, or an old jewelry box, something almost ephemeral
, barely in this world. She loved old things, things from another world, and had even recently opened her own antique shop, where Mrs. B seemed more comfortable than the modern world she seemed to barely inhabit. She was kind and accommodating and not the sort to question a powerful husband when he suggested, “Let’s get you a rental property.”

  But why would he suggest that?

  Because it brought in over three million dollars in the past four years. Which was okay. It was just a lot of money. And Juliette wanted to know why.

  Even though, as Johnny had pointed out, it wasn’t her job.

  “Did Johnny bring you the papers I brought in, dear?” Mrs. Billings asked.

  Juliette began pacing. “He did. In fact, I’m with him now, and—”

  “Oh good.” Mrs. B’s voice brightened, sounded more present. “He spoke quite highly of you.”

  Juliette stopped short. “He did what?”

  “Spoke highly of you. He was reassured when I told him we were using you.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes, he was. You were on a very short list of his.”

  “A list?” Juliette said suspiciously, sliding her hand along the edge of the bar as she resumed pacing. In her experience, lists were unpredictable beasts.

  “The list he gave us of possible referrals, dear. You are aware that Farrah is not a divorce lawyer by trade—she is a friend, an art lawyer—and when Johnny suggested we get a second opinion on Dan’s valuation, he felt it might be helpful to also make a few recommendations, which I thought very kind,” she went on in her perfumed voice.

  “So, Johnny recommended the second opinion?” Juliette said, slowing to a stop. She faced the bar, put her elbows on it.

  “He did, and then provided us with referrals. There are so many charlatans out there, and then, when you find a good one, they are often so busy. Our case is a small one, you know, although large enough to us, and a referral can help so much. Imagine my surprise when you were on Johnny’s list. I told him ‘what a coincidence.’ And it was. ‘What a coincidence,’ I said.”

  “Is that what you said?” Juliette echoed, and bent down, let her elbows slide out and stared down the length of the dark bar. “How many people were on that list, Mrs. B?”

  “Two, dear, just two. I admit, Farrah was leery of accepting any recommendations from Donald’s people of course, but the judge trusts Dan, and I trust Johnny, and he recommended you, which was most reassuring. I have found that when you find someone you trust, you stick with them.”

  That seemed like a terrible operating principle to Juliette.

  She pushed off the counter. “Well, Mrs. B, that’s sort of what I’m calling about. I was wondering, do you have copies of any other documentation from the LLC or the rentals? Anything at all?”

  “I don’t think so, dear. I brought you everything I had.”

  “Yes, I know, thank-you. I just…I wondered if maybe there was something the judge might have had, rather than you.”

  Silence.

  “If maybe there was some place he stored things, say, in his office or something. Somewhere…private?” she finished lamely. She was asking Mrs. Billings to consider the places her husband might have hid things from her. Hurtful at best, insulting at worst. Even in the midst of a divorce.

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. B said without hesitation. “In his study. Behind that awful painting. There’s a safe.”

  Juliette started getting excited, until Mrs. B got to ‘safe.’ “Oh,” she said, deflating. “Oh well, okay then.”

  “What did you want me to look for?”

  “Well, ma’am, the safe is going to be locked, so—”

  “I cracked the combination years ago, dear. What was it you wanted, particularly?”

  Juliette stared at the phone. “Rent rolls or lease agreements, ideally. But I’ll take anything related to the property.”

  “Will do. Shall I scan them over to you?”

  Juliette took the phone away from her ear and stared at it. “Do, do you know how to scan, ma’am?”

  A beat of silence. “Who does not?”

  She smiled. “Scanning would be perfect. And thank-you. We’re working as fast as we can.”

  “Just do the best you can, my dear. That’s all we any of us can do.”

  They hung up. Juliette stared down at her feet for a second, then looked up to find Johnny’s gaze on her. He was pacing the wall of windows like a tiger, his body flashing between light and dark shadow. Her belly gave a hot, swoopy sensation.

  Ridiculous. What was her belly doing that for? Johnny would finish his call, come back over and say, “Got it,” or “Get over it,” either of which would be followed by, “I’m leaving now.”

  Which was right and wise and smart and about time. Couldn’t wait. In fact, she would suggest it herself.

  Then she’d make the long drive home, alone, through darkness, having not skied, having not got a life, having not done anything different from what she’d been doing for years and years.

  It was like she was an arrow, aiming for regret.

  JOHNNY STOOD in front of the bank of windows overlooking the slopes, phone to his ear, staring at Juliette Jauntie’s ass.

  Actually, the top edge of her underwear, which was peeking out as she leaned—or sprawled—forward across the darkened bar. It was red. Bright, fire engine red. Delicate. Lacey.

  He dragged his gaze away and stared out the window at the brightly-lit winter night, listening to Dan relay his opinion of Juliette and the problems she’d caused, which were unsurprisingly similar to the judge’s opinions.

  “I wouldn’t describe things as a problem,” Johnny said. Yet.

  “So, what the hell is going on up there?” Dan demanded.

  “We just have some questions.”

  Silence. “‘We’?”

  Against his better judgment, Johnny looked at her ass again. It was a very good ass. Round and lush, like her lips, which were red and full compared to the pale, sharply-defined beauty of the rest of her face.

  He turned back to the window. “There were no lease agreements or detailed rent receipts.”

  “Receipts?” snapped Dan. “Receipts? What the fuck are receipts?”

  “Things you give people when they pay you money.”

  “From three years ago? Why the hell would they keep rental receipts from three years ago? Please.”

  “Your valuation was dependent on rental income, Dan. She’s trying to trace it.”

  “Fuck what she’s trying to do. That needs to be signed off by week’s end. Now she wants rent receipts and leases and a goddamned appraisal? And you call me now to ask about it? What a pain in the ass.”

  “Right. So, I need detailed accounts receivables from the LLC and original lease agreements. Mrs. B thinks you might have them. Yes? No? If no, then where?”

  “Johnny, I have no fucking idea where they are. I’m not a bookkeeper. I’m a valuations expert, the judge’s friend, and the idiot who agreed to do their taxes. As a favor to the judge, I handled his wife’s LLC. I took the information he gave me, did their taxes, and made recommendations.”

  “Yeah? One of them should have been to hold onto their receipts.”

  “I’ll remember that next time,” Dan said coldly. “Is there anything else?”

  Johnny looked across the room. Juliette was on the phone, pacing, her restless energy keeping her on the move. How it all fit inside that tight, sculpted body, he had no idea. Adding caffeine and sugar to the mix was probably a bad idea. It made her electric.

  And whenever Johnny was near her, his body hummed.

  “The receipts is what else, Dan,” he said slowly, turning to the window. “If you don’t have them, I can ask the judge.”

  Silence met this.

  “Johnny,” Dan said slowly, “we’re in the middle of three buy-out investigations for multi-million dollar corporations. I’m on the Sandler-Ross account right now, negotiating one of them. Seven of our corporate clients have a fiscal
year-end starting Friday. Tax season is about to begin. And you’re dicking around on this small time case, on what is obviously a delaying tactic by some kiss-ass art lawyer who’s way out of her league. I’ll bet she asked this Jauntie character to ask every question she could to slow things down, trying to wring more money out of Don.” He paused, then said, “Look, they don’t like the valuation, fine, we’ll change it.”

  Johnny’s eyebrows lifted a centimeter.

  “Just get the hell out of there. Don’t waste any more time on this. If it goes to court, we’ve got it. I’ve had twenty years of experience. Everyone knows my name. They can’t even spell hers. Go home, okay? We have real work to do. Know what I mean?”

  Johnny looked across the room again. Juliette was pacing. Her ponytail hung in a sleek black waterfall down her back, swaying as she paced. She was a pixie, maybe five and a half feet tall, but her legs seemed to go on forever, her hair did go on forever, long, thick, wrenched into a pony tail and pulled back hard, revealing all the chiseled lines of her face: cheekbone, chin, brows. She had an intricate face.

  And she had questions. A lot of fucking questions.

  The thing was, Johnny was a fan of questions. If they were good ones, they led to answers, which is why most people didn’t like them.

  This wasn’t Sunday School. They worked in financial services with wealthy people who had things to hide. But the judge wasn’t particularly wealthy. In fact, this whole case was nothing but a favor to an old friend. Like Dan said, it wasn’t top priority and it wasn’t a big deal. It was a small favor turning into a big hassle.

  “Yeah,” Johnny said quietly. “I know what you mean.”

  “Excellent,” said Dan, warmth flooding back into his voice, so it became the confident, easy-going voice that everyone knew and either loved (clients) or feared (not clients). People said that simply hearing his voice coming down the hall was enough to make them either grin or clench their ass, depending on which side of the conference table they were sitting on.

  “I don’t know why you even went up there in the first place,” Dan said, then paused. “Is she hot?”

  “Goodbye, Dan.”