Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern Pt 17 (Patreon)

Curiosity, Meet Cat

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Sunday Morning, October 3, 2010

Taylor

Lying on the sofa with a book in my hand, I shifted position so as to take pressure off one of the bruises on my butt. This only served to locate another one. "Ow."

Dad, sitting in the armchair with a large notepad and a pen, glanced over with an amused look on his face. "How are we going there?"

"I'm okay," I grumped. "But Greg was right on the money about getting our homework done early. There's no way I could concentrate on algebraic expressions if I'm having to find a feather cushion three feet thick just to sit down at the table."

"Ahh, but was it worth it?" He raised his eyebrows. "I seem to remember you waxing lyrical about the training when you got home yesterday."

I nodded without hesitating. "Oh, totally. I'll probably never need it, but it's nice to know I can be not entirely useless in a fight if it comes to that."

"Good. I'm glad." He smiled. "I have to say, your time at Medhall has definitely improved your self-confidence, and that's not even touching on how they've helped you personally." The phone rang, and he raised his head. "Damn it, just when I was comfortable, too."

Climbing to his feet, he went to where the phone hung on the wall and took up the receiver. "Hebert household, Danny speaking."

I waited to see if it was Greg calling, but he didn't immediately say so. Deciding that it was probably one of his friends or associates from the Dockworkers, I went back to my book. Part of my Maggie Holt collection, it was one I'd read before, but I still enjoyed it.

"Taylor?"

I looked up at Dad; he was off the phone now, with a grin on his face a mile wide. "Yeah, Dad?"

"That was the school. They've okayed your transfer to Arcadia, effective Wednesday afternoon."

"Oh. Wow." It occurred to me that Winslow must really have wanted me out of their hair if they were still working at this on a Sunday. That was fine; I didn't want any part of them, either. "So … I head off to work on Wednesday after school, and show up to Arcadia Thursday morning?"

"That's what I was given to understand, yes." He held out his fist and I bumped it. "Congratulations. You beat the bastards."

I snorted in self-deprecation. "Not really. They supplied all the ammunition. It was Mr Grayson who really set things in motion. Him and Bradley." I could still recall with gratifying clarity the way Bradley had smacked Sophia in the mouth and sat her down on her ass. It would be one of my most treasured memories for some time to come.

The fact that Sophia had turned out to be a cape and a Ward of all things had gone a long way toward explaining how and why the school administration had bent over backward for her so hard they would've had permanent kinks in their spines. Still, it wasn't a reason, just an excuse. Also, I would never forgive her for murdering Justin like she had. Even though Tracey was back at work now, she was still mourning him, and I didn't blame her. Incorrigible coffee thief he may have been, but he was still a good guy. There were far too few people like that in the world.

Rolling off the sofa on to my feet, I stretched. "But you're right. This calls for a celebration. I'm gonna see if Greg wants to come down to the Boardwalk so we can have soda and snacks, and maybe catch a movie."

Dad nodded. "That's fine. Say hi to him for me, and enjoy yourself. Try to be home before dark."

I gave him a smile on the way past. "Thanks. I will."

<><>​

The Boardwalk, Later

Greg

"So, you're finally getting into Arcadia." Greg squeezed Taylor's hand supportively. "Good. I'm glad. At least one of us is getting out of that pit of despair."

"I still feel bad about leaving you behind." She leaned on the rail, her expression pensive. "Peter Ferguson and his asshole friends might decide to keep screwing with you, when I'm not there to watch your back."

"With the lawsuit pending, Blackwell's going to be doing her best to make it look like she actually cares about doing her damn job, so I think I'll be safe at least for a while." He tried to sound more confident than he felt, so as to make Taylor worry less. "And I'm thinking Mr Anders will be leaning on Mr Ferguson and telling him loud and clear to keep that Empire shit well away from Medhall, which means well away from us."

Taylor stood up straight and snapped her fingers. "I bet that's what was going on, yesterday. Mr Anders made Mr Ferguson come into his office and ordered him to tell the Empire to back the fuck off, and Mr Ferguson got all pissy because he had to do it. I mean, when was the last time the Empire hit Medhall or one of its subsidiaries?"

"I've never heard of it happening," Greg allowed. "But this is the Empire Eighty-Eight we're talking about. They're pretty damn hot shit, just saying."

"No, they like making it look like they're hot shit." Taylor shook her head. "They hate Asians. Lung's tough but he's not totally unbeatable. Have they beaten him, like, ever? No. They haven't. Do you honestly think Hookwolf would leave him alive if they got him down? And remember when we went to Bradley about Peter? Did he look scared of the Empire Eighty-Eight, the whole time we were talking to him?"

Greg had to shake his head. "He just looked like he wanted to kick someone's head in. Peter's, for preference. And if anyone knows who to steer clear of and who to not worry about, it would be Bradley."

"Exactly." Taylor grinned. "So I think you'll be fine."

"Yeah." Greg felt a little bit of tension leave his body. "Yeah, that's true. Though I'll tell you what; from how pissed off Mr Ferguson was when you saw him, I'm kinda surprised Mr Anders didn't have Bradley or one of the other security guys escorting him out of the building."

"Hmm." Taylor looked thoughtful. "Maybe Mr Anders expected him to be all adult and reasonable about it. You don't expect grown adults to do something stupid, especially when it's in their best interests not to."

"Until they do." Greg didn't have any personal experiences like that, but his mom had told him a couple of stories about her great-uncle Zeke. "But I'd've thought someone as smart as Mr Anders would be on top of something like that."

Taylor shook her head. "Everyone has their blind spots. I'm thinking Mr Anders knows Mr Ferguson from way back, and still sees him as the person he used to be. But Mr Ferguson already did something stupid—I mean, he joined the Empire, right? What's to say he's not about to do something else even more stupid? I mean, when I saw him, he was mad. Maybe mad enough not to care."

Greg knew that tone of voice. Taylor had ideas. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I originally thought he might be a mole, but then I thought there was no way Mr Anders would have him in any positions of responsibility. Now, I'm not so sure, so I'm going to sniff around a little. See what pops up. If Mr Ferguson doesn't have any connections inside Medhall, we should be in the clear. But if he does …"

"Take it to Mr Anders?"

Taylor nodded. "Take it to Mr Anders."

"Oh, good." Greg heaved a mock sigh of relief. "I am so glad we're not going to try pulling off the plot of a Maggie Holt novel." He didn't subscribe to the idea that a bunch of plucky teens could do better than responsible adults in a situation like this, the entire young-adult novel genre to the contrary.

"Hey!" Taylor's grin showed that she was only kidding as she jabbed him with her elbow. "I happen to like those books, buster!"

"I like 'em too," Greg said defensively. He knew it wasn't as much as she did, but that didn't matter. "Well, now we've established that nobody's going to be doing anything silly, what do you think we should do? Hit the Market, or catch a movie?"

"Market." Taylor let Greg's hand go, but only so she could link her arm through his. "I want to see if the second-hand bookshops have anything new in."

"I'm down with that." Arm in arm, they headed off toward the bus stop.

<><>​

Anders Family Home

Kaiser

Max Anders leaned back in his ergonomic chair and gazed out his study window. The view wasn't as impressive as that from his office window in the Medhall building, but he had to share it with far fewer people. And to be honest, he preferred this one; it made him feel closer to his roots.

The week had been an interesting one, not to mention somewhat satisfying. Young Hebert had not disappointed him in the ad hoc training session he'd arranged with Bradley and Melody, and the new hire had assisted them competently. Bradley had reported that Taylor was coming along well; she'd apparently cleaned Tammi's clock, despite the teenage villain egregiously cheating during the training bout.

(Max would never admit out loud that he was highly amused by this outcome, but that was what being able to shut his office door was for.)

Veder had also shown up well. He'd thoroughly dominated Theo in their bout, but Max was of the opinion that a moderately determined housecat could probably achieve the same end. More tellingly, he'd approached the training with the same interest and focus that Max had come to expect from Taylor. She'd also taken him down when they were matched against each other (despite Veder having a few more training hours under his belt) but that match had reportedly been a lot closer.

All in all, Max was finding himself far more invested in the internship program than he'd ever thought he would be, when the accounting department had suggested it as a way to garner some tax breaks. Interns, in his experience, were gawky teens who had to be shown everything three times and watched like a hawk to ensure they didn't irretrievably jam the copy machine. (To be fair, that had essentially been Veder until he'd undergone a competence upgrade with Hebert's coaching.)

Now, Max found himself rather more in favour of it. Young Hebert had, in her time with Medhall, saved the company from potential losses of millions of dollars, not to mention averting the huge security risk of having Coil's moles on staff. She was smart, focused and impressively tenacious when it came to tracking down problems. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was any chance of diverting her interest toward Theo; with her at his son's side, Medhall would be unbeatable when Theo (eventually) inherited the company.

But no. Theo knew far too much about the Empire Eighty-Eight and its links with Medhall, and Taylor had too low an opinion of the Empire to be comfortable with knowing about that. If they ever ended up in a relationship, she would inevitably learn what Theo knew; Max had little faith in Theo's ability to keep a secret about something like that.

Better to maintain her in her current position: a rising star within the ranks of Medhall. And of course, to make use of her talents by ensuring no other moles crept into the ranks of the company. From everything he could see, her loyalty to the company had to be ironclad by now. As such, he had no qualms in issuing her the clearances she was going to need for the task ahead of her.

At the same time, he would insert a subtle test into the initial group of people she was to examine. Among the employee files he would have her audit would be one whose ties to the Empire could be located if one dug deeply enough. If she found it and reported it, that would tell him one thing; if she didn't report it, that would mean she'd failed to find it or didn't consider it worth reporting, either of which would tell him something else altogether.

Current indications were that if anyone could ensure that Medhall as a whole was working for Max Anders and only Max Anders, it was Taylor Hebert. But he still wanted to make sure for himself.

<><>​

Medhall Building, Monday Afternoon

Taylor

"Hi, Tracey." I put her coffee on her desk, then carried on to mine. "How's the arm?"

"Slowly mending." She took up the cup and sipped at it appreciatively. "I can't wait to get the cast off. It sucks, having to take the bus every day. I just don't feel confident enough to drive with it on."

"It'll happen soon enough." Pulling out my chair, I sat down then sipped at my own coffee. "So, what's happening today?"

"Today is something different." She tapped a thick Manila folder that was lying on her desk, which had a flash drive on top of it. "Mr Anders has apparently decided that it's time for you to actually earn your salary, instead of sitting around drinking coffee with me all day." The grin lurking on her lips would've told me that she was joking, even if the tone of her voice hadn't tipped me off.

"Okay, I'm listening." I got up from my desk and strolled over to examine the folder and the drive without touching them yet. "What is all this, and what do I need to do with it?"

"Employee files." Her tone had swung all the way over to 'serious' now. "It's a selection of people who are employed by Medhall. This is all the information we're legally allowed to hold on them. Mr Anders wants you to go through them with a fine-tooth comb and see if you can shake loose any improprieties at all."

I blinked, taken somewhat aback at the implications of what she'd just told me. "Wait … why me? And why am I looking at these people in particular? And am I even allowed to look at these files?"

Tracey sat forward in her chair. "Good questions. I asked much the same ones. You've been chosen for this because you've shown a superior talent for data analysis and pattern recognition. These people are in departments which have shown irregularities, and we want to find out if they're personally behind those irregularities. And the first page in the stack will be a document explaining all this which you need to sign, to verify that you're aware of the limits of your new clearances, before you can look at the actual files."

"Oh." I moved the drive aside and opened the folder, to reveal the document she'd mentioned. Reading it through went into a little more detail, but didn't reveal anything new, like what the people were suspected of doing. I supposed it wasn't part of my job to know that bit, just to find out what their electronic footprints revealed.

However, when I looked over the terms of my clearance for examining the activities of the employees, I found something interesting: I wasn't limited to looking at just the people in the folder. This, I suspected, was intended to allow me to follow up on potential conspiracies within Medhall, or maybe they were going to get me to audit more groups, and they didn't want to have to keep re-issuing specific clearances.

Either way, this opened a loophole for me and made my self-appointed task—checking on Ed Ferguson—much, much easier than I'd dared hope it would be. Of course, I still had all the other checks to make so I couldn't dive straight into that. I'd get to him when I could, though. Patience was a virtue and all that.

Trying not to let any of this show on my face, I nodded. "Okay, it all seems pretty straightforward."

"Excellent." Tracey smiled and offered me her pen. "Just sign on the dotted, and I'll witness it. Then you can make a start at untangling whatever these guys have done to cover their tracks. Have fun."

"Gee, thanks." I mock-rolled my eyes as I pretended to grumble. Inwardly, I was elated that Medhall—which meant Mr Anders—was showing me so much trust. I fully intended to prove that it was all warranted, by unearthing any problems Mr Ferguson was causing within the company and exposing them to the light of day.

Scribbling my signature, I handed the pen and document over to Tracey so she could do the same. Then I took up the folder and the drive, and headed back to my desk.

It was time to justify Medhall's faith in me.

<><>​

Tracey

It was lucky, Tracey reflected (not for the first time) that she'd broken her left arm and not her right. Re-learning how to use a mouse would've been time-consuming and irritating; it was bad enough having to type one-handed. Fortunately, Taylor had taken up the heavy lifting until Tracey was able to get her fingers freed from the cast and could type again. Not with as much grace and speed, and with a few more typos than before, but still a vast improvement over having just one hand to do it with.

The thought of her arm naturally led on to how she'd broken it, and tears filled her eyes as she remembered the last moments with Justin; his easy grin as he took the car up the road to the Captain's Hill lookout, and the warm feeling in her chest every time she looked at him. She'd gone from being on top of the world to hanging upside-down in terror and pain in what seemed to be a heartbeat. For more than twelve hours she'd been trapped, occasionally passing out from the pain and the awkward position, calling for help until her throat was raw and she couldn't do anything but cry.

Toward the end, she'd been ready to give up. All she had to do was reach her seat-belt clip and let gravity do its worst. But even in this she was foiled; her left arm was broken, and she couldn't reach the clip with her right hand. That had been when she saw the lights and heard the voices calling out, and known help was on the way. But only once Taylor had slithered into the confined space with her did she actually think she had a chance of survival.

They'd both lived through that ordeal by the skin of their collective teeth, but now she had to keep on living while Justin was gone.

Taking a tissue from her desk drawer, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then tried to focus on her work again. Ms Harcourt was probably making allowances for her trauma and current disability, but that wouldn't last forever. She had to get back on track and prove that she was still strong enough to make a difference in her position at Medhall.

"Okay, wow. Holy shit." Taylor's quiet exclamation drew her attention, and not just because of the swearing (though that had something to do with it). "Tracey, could you look at this, please? Tell me I'm not just seeing something that's not there?"

It was thoroughly unlike Taylor to ask for help needlessly, or to sound so uncertain. Grateful for the distraction, Tracey pushed her chair back and stood up. She was halfway over to Taylor's desk before she began to wonder if she was cleared to see what Taylor was talking about, but she dismissed that idea. She was Taylor's supervisor; it was literally her job to check on what Taylor was doing.

"Have you found something?" Rounding Taylor's desk, she leaned down to see what was on the screen.

"Yeah." Taylor sounded a little breathless, as though she'd been taken aback. "Most of the guys on the list came up clean on the first sweep, but I was going to go back over them in more detail. Then I hit this one, Kenny diAngelo. He's been arrested a few times for hate crimes … and his son's definitely a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"His son?" Tracey's eyebrows rose. "It doesn't say anything about that there, just gives a name: Bronson."

Taylor turned to look at her, a serious expression on her face. "Yeah, but I go to school with Bronson diAngelo. He runs with Peter Ferguson, who literally tried to recruit me and Greg. Straight-up said that the Empire needs people like us, after Greg took down Shadow Stalker."

"Oh." She couldn't fault that logic. "Is that all you've found out?"

"Nope." Taylor clicked to another tab. "I used the connection to Peter Ferguson to open a query on his father Ed. Did you know Ed Ferguson is Mr Anders' brother-in-law? And that he works for another company which is still doing business with Medhall, even after I told Bradley about Peter being in the Empire?" She paused, looking like she wanted to eat her own words. "Uh … maybe I should ask you to forget that bit? Bradley told me and Greg that if the Empire found out people were talking about who was in the gang, it could get dangerous."

"No, no, it's good," Tracey hastened to assure her. "I'm not about to go running around telling everybody. So, what else have you found?" Inwardly, she was more than a little shocked at the revelations Taylor was piling on her plate, but for the most part she was proud that her protégé was doing so well. This was exactly what Mr Anders had needed her to do.

"Well, I decided to dig more into Mr Ferguson." Taylor's expression wasn't quite shifty, but Tracey got the impression that she'd made the decision before she found out about dAngelo, and this was just a useful excuse. "Mainly because I saw him in the Medhall building on Saturday, throwing an absolute tantrum in the men's room, and I couldn't figure out why."

"Why he was there, or why he was throwing a tantrum?" Tracey was learning new things all the time.

"Both, really." Taylor took a deep breath. "I mean, zero disrespect to Mr Anders, he's a fantastic businessman and an amazing boss, but he has trouble making judgements when it comes to his family, you know? Like, he has trouble understanding that Theo doesn't want any part of Medhall. That's not even a bad thing, really. It just means he's human like the rest of us, not Jesus in a three-piece suit. But what if Mr Ferguson has him convinced that this Empire thing is just Peter and not him, and he's got his hooks into Medhall, and he's trying to plant Empire people inside it? Kenny diAngelo's just the first one I found, and I haven't really gone in-depth with the others yet."

By now, Tracey's head was spinning. Taylor's analysis of Mr Anders' lack of judgement regarding family had come out of left field, but it all fitted together. Especially since his wife had left him not so long ago. "And what did you find out about Mr Ferguson?"

Taylor's expression was troubled. "I've found where chunks of money have been going missing, funnelled between Medhall and its subsidiaries. Starting with the company Mr Ferguson works for, I tried to follow them around, but I can't quite track where they've gotten to." She pointed to a spreadsheet on the screen. The figure her fingernail tapped on was substantial, enough to pay Tracey's salary for several years. "What if some or all of these subsidiaries have been taken over by the Empire, and they're using their contacts inside Medhall to launder money for them?"

"That's … um, that's kind of scary." Tracey felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand up as she considered the enormity of what Taylor was suggesting. "I really think at this point you should step back and hand it over to people who can do something about it."

"But I can keep digging. There's more to be found, I'm sure—"

"No." More sure of herself now, Tracey shook her head. "It's almost three, anyway. Time for you to pack up and head home. I'll keep looking at what you've got here, and see if you've got enough data to bother the higher-ups with."

"Oh." Taylor hesitated before getting up. "I mean, I don't mind staying another few minutes—"

Once more, Tracey cut her off. "No. Volunteering for unpaid overtime sets a bad precedent. Shoo, shoo. I'll let you know how it all comes out on Wednesday."

"Okay." Taylor stood up and stretched; Tracey heard her vertebrae popping back into place. "Have a good afternoon. See you then."

"See you then." Sliding into Taylor's now-empty chair, she waved as the teen scooped up the backpack and headed out into the corridor. "Now, let's see what we've got here …"

Within moments, she was deep in the rabbit-hole, following the tracks Taylor had already laid down.

<><>​

Winslow, Tuesday Morning

Taylor

The moment I got off the bus, I saw Greg. He was leaning against the side of the steps, arms folded, with a too-cool-for-school attitude that he could never have pulled off just a few months ago. The funny thing was, I didn't even think he was going for that look. It was just the impression he gave off. I figured that between dating me and getting those self-defence lessons, he'd gotten a huge confidence boost, and it showed.

He saw me and straightened up as I came over to him. "Hey, Taylor."

"Hey yourself, Greg." I kissed him on the cheek and took his hand. "What's new with you?"

"Nothing much, except that I got a weird text message from a strange number sometime last night, and I only found it this morning." He pulled his phone out and woke it up. I had just enough time to notice that the home screen was now a photo of me instead of Alexandria in a bikini before he brought up the message.

I leaned in close to read the single word: Mice.

"Okay, yeah, that's weird," I agreed. "Did you reply?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I've heard all sorts of crap about people spamming random cell-phone numbers and if you reply they start bombarding you with Nigerian prince emails and Viagra ads."

I took a second look at the text message; or rather, the number. It looked familiar. Very familiar, in fact. "Wait, that's Tracey's phone number. She made me memorise it after Emma pretended she was me that one time."

"And how did she get my number?" Greg raised his eyebrows. "This is gonna be a good one, I can tell."

"I don't own a phone, you know that." I turned my hands palm-upward. "I gave her your number for if she needs to contact me during school hours."

He nodded judiciously. "Okay, that's fair. Once you're at Arcadia, that's gonna have to change, of course."

"Thanks for the reminder." We started up the stairs. "But that still doesn't explain why she sent that to you. I mean, even if it's meant for me, I don't know what it means."

"So, it's not some little in-joke between you? You know, cats, mice, dogs, whatever?"

"No." I rubbed my chin, thinking hard. "Unless …"

"Unless …?" he prompted, clearly interested.

"That thing I told you about on the bus, and said not to talk to anyone else about, at all, ever? Remember that?" With pre-Medhall Greg, I would never have even considered sharing a confidence like that. The interval between promising to tell nobody and then blabbing it out as stream of consciousness would've been less than five minutes. But with post-clue-Greg, that just wouldn't happen.

He nodded once, briefly. "That thing, yes. I remember. What about it?"

I didn't like where my imagination was taking me. "You know what mice do? They tunnel. They undermine. They weaken. They infest."

From the way his eyes widened, he got the message loud and clear. "So, you think she's saying Mr … uh, the talking horse, has a lot of influence that he shouldn't have with his, uh, echoey friends, in the place we work?"

Greg and I were very much on the same wavelength these days, so it wasn't hard to decipher what he was saying. Ed Ferguson and the Empire Eighty-Eight have infiltrated Medhall more deeply than I thought. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking."

He glanced down at his phone, which was still in his hand. "Should … should we do something? Tell someone? Or reply?"

I'd been thinking about that myself, and I shook my head. "No. Yesterday afternoon, she told me she was going to send it up the line once she'd figured out how deep the rot went. I figure this is her way of letting me know I was right, and that she's doing something about it. No doubt I'll get the full story on Wednesday about how they cleaned it out."

Greg grinned. "And then Mr Anders will steal your coffee again."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Not funny." Though to be honest, it actually kind of was.

"Great." He heaved a sigh. "So now I'm going to have to pretend to be surprised when they make a fuss over you on Wednesday. You movie star, you."

I elbowed him, but gently. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Suuure you didn't."

"I didn't!"

"Uh huh."

"You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Mayyybe."

<><>​

Cafeteria, Midday

Greg

They'd gotten lunchtime down to a fine art. Each day they took turns getting in line and acquiring lunch for both, while the other person snagged a table and waited. Today was Greg's turn to meander his way through the line, and he made sure to grab things he knew Taylor liked.

"Hey," she greeted him when he got back to the table. "Ooh, thanks. Just what I wanted."

"You're welcome." He sat down next to her and nudged the tray in her direction. "So, is it just me or is World Affairs actually becoming more tolerable?"

Taylor peeled her banana while she thought about that. "Well, it's less of a popularity contest than it used to be, with Madison and Julia keeping their heads down since Gladly laid down the law. And I haven't had anything nasty on my seat in forever."

"What I was thinking." Greg shook up his chocolate milk and popped a straw in through the side. "I still can't believe how much I tried to hang off those … those … argh." He shook his head, unable to think of a word for Madison and her friends that was bad enough but still wouldn't offend Taylor.

"Hey." She put her hand on his. "We all make mistakes. And talking about mistakes … have you seen Peter?" She hooked her head sideways.

"Uh, no?" Greg had been carefully not looking in the direction of the table where Peter and his hangers-on usually sat. "Is he back at school already? I thought he'd been given more suspension time or something when he didn't show up on Monday."

"Not suspended, no. Check it out."

Intrigued by Taylor's tone, Greg glanced in that direction as casually as he could manage. One glance was enough; not only was everyone at that table carefully not looking toward his and Taylor's table, but Peter … was a mess. His hair was neatly combed and his clothing as stylish as ever, but his face showed distinct signs of having been beaten to a pulp. Someone who knew what they were doing had worked him over like a piñata.

"Jeez," Greg murmured, turning his attention back to his meal. "I did not do that to him. Wish I had, though," he added on further reflection.

"Yeah, I know." Taylor took a bite of her banana. Once she'd swallowed it, she kept talking. "That happened after the meeting with Blackwell. Maybe he poked his nose where it didn't belong over the weekend, and some minority or other handed him his ass on a silver platter?"

That made sense. "Yeah, probably." Greg took a drink of his chocolate milk. "All I can say is, couldn't have happened to a nicer asshole." He kind of wished he'd been there, to award points for style, and maybe catch it on camera.

Taylor grinned at him as she picked up her pita wrap. "There's no way I'm going to argue with that."

<><>​

End of Math Class

Taylor

I left the classroom with my homework done, which was something I was finding easier and easier to achieve these days. Emma's absence was a major factor in this; since Mr Barnes had pulled her from the school, she couldn't get in my ear and distract me. And without her or Sophia around, and Madison and Julia profoundly unwilling to stir the pot, nobody else cared enough to bother me.

Greg was coming from Computer Studies, so we met outside the library as usual. The plan was to wander out of the school and talk for a while before we took our different buses home. No big hurry.

As soon as I saw him, I knew something was wrong. He looked about two shades paler, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "Greg," I said, going over and grabbing his hand. "What's up? Has something happened?"

"Yeah." He squeezed my hand like he never wanted to let go. "Come on, there's something I've got to tell you, and we need to be in private."

"What? Why?" A nameless dread began to creep over me. "Greg, tell me what's going on."

He stopped to look me full in the eye, and what I saw in his expression stilled my questions. "I'll tell you once we're away from everyone. Come on."

Wordlessly, I followed him away from the general crowd, around the corner of the school to a quiet spot. The last time I'd seen him look so grim and purposeful had been … when he was fighting Peter's friends. This did not bode well for whatever he wanted to tell me.

"Okay," I said once we stopped. "We're away from everyone. Now spill."

He took a deep breath. "I saw it on the news just as I was coming out of class." Tapping his phone to wake up the screen, he handed it over to me.

Numbly, I took it. It showed a news article about a single-car accident the previous evening, where the car had crashed and burned. The lone occupant had died at the site, in the fire. She had been identified as one Tracey Grimshaw, employed by the Medhall corporation.

Tracey …

I swayed on my feet as my head went light. My feet felt a thousand miles away, disconnected from me. Greg caught me before I fell, and steadied me. "No," I whispered, or maybe screamed. I couldn't tell. "No. It's not true. It can't be."

Tracey …

Tracey had taken me under her wing from my first day at Medhall. She'd been the first to see me as more than just another cog in the machine, and she'd listened to my problems without judgement. When Emma and her friends did their level best to sabotage my job prospects, she'd had enough faith to listen to my side of things, and she'd even taken my case to Ms Harcourt and gotten the clothing replaced.

Tracey …

Tracey had been a good person. She hadn't deserved to die like that. She hadn't deserved to die at all. Working at Medhall had been interesting, but she'd made it fun.

Why the hell does shit like this have to keep happening to me?

I gradually became aware that I was sitting down on the patchy grass with Greg kneeling awkwardly beside me. While I wasn't bawling my eyes out, I was sobbing quietly, with tears streaming down my face. He offered me a handkerchief and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, but the tears just kept coming. Taking me into his arms, he held me close while I cried on his shoulder.

Life just wasn't fair. Between my job and my boyfriend, I'd forgotten that for a while, but if there was one thing I could count on the universe for, it was to remind me where I stood in relation to karma.

<><>​

The Office of Max Anders

Medhall Building

"And you're sure the Hebert girl doesn't know anything about this?" Max leaned forward in his chair. He wanted a positive response, Victor knew he wanted a positive response, but his subordinate also knew he wanted honesty above all else.

"Totally." Even wheelchair-bound, Victor emanated an air of confidence. "I've watched the security footage of her leaving. Taylor's the sort of girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, especially since she started dating the Veder kid. If she'd had the slightest idea who we really were, there's no way she would've danced out of here like that. Every single one of her tells says she had not a care in the world."

"Good." Max relaxed into the chair again. "So Grimshaw was telling the truth about that, at least. What else did you get out of her?"

"That she was following up on the investigation Taylor started. Taylor went from Kenny diAngelo to his son Bronson to Peter Ferguson to Ed Ferguson, picked out that you're his brother-in-law, then noted that Ferguson's firm still does business with us. That's as far as she got before she went home." Victor raised his eyebrows, communicating quite effectively that Max's ploy of inserting an obvious member of the Empire Eighty-Eight into the audit folder had been what had almost screwed the pooch for them this time. "While she did find the under-the-table cash flow, she thought it was totally Ferguson's doing, infiltrating the subsidiaries and using Medhall to launder Empire cash."

"Well, she's a damn bright kid, you have to admit that." Max raised his glass in a mock toast. "All she was missing was that one last bit of information." The information that Tracey Grimshaw had found and taken to Ms Harcourt. "Fortunately, we've managed to instil enough loyalty in her that she didn't even consider the other explanation." Max felt quite proud of himself for that. Who would've thought that helping out a teenage intern—even one who'd managed to impress Ms Harcourt—would have such far-reaching implications? Damn, I'm good.

Victor nodded to concede the point. "Talking about loyalty, were you even aware Harcourt was one of us?"

"Well, she isn't, as far as I can tell." Max took a sip from his glass. "She's just … dedicated to Medhall. The impression I got was that she's known who we really are for years but she doesn't care." It had come as a shock to him, too. "Her loyalty is to the company, and if we go down, it does too."

"I can see that, I suppose. Lucky break twice over, then." Victor essayed a grin. "We live a charmed life, it seems. Two bullets dodged in the same day. Of course, you do know whose fault it is that we were even in this situation, don't you?"

Max frowned. "Don't even start. What's the point in having a resource like her mind on staff without using it to its full potential?"

"Oh, no. Not you." Victor waved his hand in denial. "Young Ferguson. If he hadn't harassed Hebert and Veder, she wouldn't have followed the lead through to his father. And we wouldn't have had to disappear Grimshaw."

"That all worked out okay, at least?" Max was reasonably sure of this, but he wanted to make certain.

"Like clockwork." Victor nodded to emphasise his point. "The boys grabbed a streetwalker of around the right age and body type and brought her into the clinic. Diane did a couple of quick X-rays for dental records and swapped them out for Grimshaw's, then they snapped her arm, put her in Grimshaw's car and lit her up. With the bits of Grimshaw's cast in the car as well, the autopsy will just be a matter of ticking the boxes, especially if the coroner gets a little financial incentive to ignore anything out of the ordinary."

"Good, good." Max drew a deep breath; it was time to confront the elephant in the room. "And you don't know who she contacted before Harcourt got the phone away from her?" It was the only reason Tracey Grimshaw wasn't dead for real.

"No." Victor's jaw muscles bunched as he grimaced. "Harcourt says Grimshaw only got off a word or two before she noticed, and then they were struggling for the phone. Grimshaw managed to push her away just long enough to brick it, and I still haven't been able to recover the body of the text or who it was for."

"Well, we know it wasn't to Taylor, which is one good thing." Max was fully aware that the girl didn't own a cell-phone, which was an odd quirk for a teenager, but entirely welcome in this situation. "If nobody comes sniffing around asking odd questions in the next week or so, make Grimshaw vanish altogether."

"Copy that." Victor turned the chair and started for the door. "Well, you still have your girl wonder on staff, and that's what really matters."

"Very true." Max finished the bourbon as the door closed behind Victor. The Tracey Grimshaw hiccup aside, things were looking up for Medhall.

<><>​

On the Bus

Taylor

"No." I shook my head again. "I refuse to believe it. It can't be true." My eyes were still swollen, but I'd stopped crying and my head was clear again.

Greg shrugged helplessly. It wasn't his normal bus home, but he'd said he would see me to my door, and there wasn't much I could do to stop him. Not that I really wanted to. "Taylor, they said they identified her. It was her car. She was driving. It wasn't reported as stolen. That's as open-and-shut as things get. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, that's the trouble." I jabbed at his phone screen where it mentioned her car. "Tracey said just yesterday that she was taking the bus until her arm healed, because she didn't feel confident about driving with her cast. Do you honestly think she would've gotten in her car on the same day she said that to me?"

He blinked. "… oh."

"Yeah, oh." I drew a deep breath. "That wasn't an accident. Tracey was murdered. And I think I know who did it."

"Who?" Greg was staring at me like he'd never seen me before.

It was plainly obvious to me. "Ed fucking Ferguson. He found out we were looking into him, and somehow got to her." I clenched my fists. "Well, he might think he's some big shot in the Empire and that he's untouchable as Mr Anders' brother-in-law, but he's not getting away with it. Not this time."

Greg blinked. "So … what are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet. But I'll think of something."

Part 18