“Oh, I’m not with Northwestern. Not anymore.”

Alison lets out a nervous laugh. “That explains the call then. Where do you work?”

“At an online-only outlet. Here, let me show you.” I use my tablet to show her the homepage.

“And how come you’re interested in this story?”

“If the Vanderbilts are committing tax fraud the public has… a right to know.”

Alison gives me a long, piercing stare. “Care to share the real reason now?”

If I want her to trust me, I should return the courtesy.

I sigh. “Rebecca and Aurora Vanderbilt cost me my job.”

“How?”

“I was in a race for a promotion with Aurora and her mother thwarted me with money. It got Aurora promoted, and yours truly fired.”

Alison nods and leans back in her chair. “That makes two of us.”

“You were fired?”

She nods.

“So what was your relationship with Maison Vanderbilt?”

“I used to work there as an accountant.”

“Can we cite our source as a former company accountant?”

“Yes.” Oh, finally a welcome surprise. “Just don’t specify male or female and how much time I worked there.”

“Just for my personal record, how long was that?”

“Nine years.”

“Then what happened?”

“I asked the wrong question and three months later I got the ax.”

“And you’re sure the two are related.”

“Positive.”

“Were you the only employee let go?”

“Oh, no. They’re not that stupid. HR called it a functional restructuring and fired eight other people alongside me, all accountants. Perfect cover up, really. That way I couldn’t sue them for wrongful termination.”

“Which is also why you’re allowing us to disclose that you were an accountant there. With nine people fired at the same time, they can’t point the finger at anyone in particular.”

“Exactly. I’m using their smarts against them.”

“Great, so tell me what happened. Start at the beginning and don’t leave out anything, however small the detail may seem to you.”

“It all started when I noticed repeated monthly payments going to an off-shore company that didn’t seem to provide Maison Vanderbilt with any real service…”

I lean back in my chair and listen to Alison’s tale.

Fifteen

Never Dwell on the Past

“So you’ve no actual proof,” Richard says, after listening to my account of the chat with Alison—whose name and gender I’ve kept private.

For the past half hour, I’ve been watching his frown get deeper. We’re facing each other on opposite sides of his desk, and the outright enthusiasm I felt this morning is bleeding out, stabbed in the chest by every new crease that appears on Richard’s forehead.

“Define actual proof,” I say. “I have an ex-accountant on record—”

“You have an anonymous source.”

“So what? We can say they were an accountant at Maison Vanderbilt and they’re sure the company had a false billing scheme in place.”

Richard rolls up his sleeves. “Had or has?”

Oh, no. I won’t be distracted by his forearms today. Eye on the prize, Blair. “My source can only testify to what was going on while under… their employment.” This conversation is draining. How long until I accidentally slip and mention Alison’s gender?