Page 13 of Unlocked

"Will do."

Archer stepped back and took in all the screens at once. He found this the most effective way to spot something wrong. Usually, it would simply present itself, his unconscious mind registering the problem before his conscious mind caught up.

There. In the corner. Someone standing slightly separated from the crowd, pulled back from it rather than part of it.

He focused on the screen and zoomed in.

Tatum Wellington.

A small pulse of something moved across his skin. He wasn't surprised she was there. Her family's law firm was one of the best boutique firms in New York, and it would be strange if she weren’t at an event like this. But faint alarm bells rang in his stream of consciousness, and he couldn't quite place it yet.

She looked stunning. Her long blond hair was up in a chignon, and she wore a long, deep-green ball gown that hugged her figure. He knew without needing to zoom in that it would bring out the green in her hazel eyes.

He watched her for another minute, trying to put his finger on what was bothering him. Then he moved to the keyboard and typed in commands until the screens filled with footage of Tatum from throughout the evening. He was halfway through when it came to him.

He leaned in and studied two clips more closely, then brought up the current feed. She was standing with a group of people, champagne glass in hand, but she wasn't engaged with any of them. She was scanning the room. Which, he now realized, was what she'd been doing all night.

He had assumed at first that she was simply bored. Now he understood her state of mind. She kept looking over her shoulder as if she expected someone to appear behind her. She'd jumped visibly when a waiter had dropped the tray. She looked frightened.

He zoomed in as she made her way across the floor. She was worn out. He was willing to bet that beneath the makeup, there were dark circles under her eyes. He watched her glance back once more and then slip through a staff door toward the kitchens.

That was unexpected.

Archer went back to the full bank of screens, but his mind wouldn't release the image of Tatum Wellington looking over her shoulder in a crowded room full of people she'd known her whole life.

What was she afraid of?

He frowned. It was time to do a deep dive on Tatum Wellington. She was a board member, and he couldn't have anything blow back on the Society. But beyond that, something told him that whatever she'd gotten herself into, she was in over her head.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tatum approached the small bar she had set up in the corner of her apartment and poured herself a tumbler of Glenmorangie. She took a couple of aspirin with a swallow of the single malt scotch, and closed her eyes. She'd left the gala via the kitchen because she was sure someone was following her. Not that they couldn't figure out she'd gone home. Still, it had made her feel slightly better to sneak out. Maybe whoever was following hadn't noticed. If there was someone at all.

She rubbed her temples. The headache was raging at this point, but she needed to focus. Grabbing her drink, she headed into her walk-in closet. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she sighed. Her makeup didn’t quite cover the dark circles under her eyes, and a brittle look around her mouth that told the whole story.

Japan hadn't helped. If anything, the trip had made things worse. Ten days of chasing paper trails through three different law firms in Tokyo, surviving on bad hotel coffee and four hours of sleep a night, if she was lucky, and she had come home with exactly nothing. Another dead end. Another layer of shell companies that dissolved into nothing the moment she got close enough to see through them.

Bunny would have something to say about the circles under her eyes. She always did.

She opened the closet door, dropped the wrap on a shelf, and kicked off her shoes. Then she pulled the pins from her chignon and let her hair fall, massaging her scalp in hopes of helping the headache.

Of the many things Tatum had insisted on doing on her own, this apartment was one of the most important. Her parents had offered to buy her an apartment befitting the family name when she'd been in law school. She'd flatly refused. It had led to many arguments with Bunny, but her father had taken her side, which made Bunny back down. It hadn't stopped her from digging at Tatum every chance she got after that, but it had settled the matter.

Tatum had lived in a fifth-floor walk-up in Alphabet City for years. She worked around the clock and saved every penny until she finally had enough for a down payment on a penthouse apartment in a doorman building in midtown.

Her father had been proud of her. Bunny had grudgingly admitted that Tatum had made a sound choice and then gone on to tell her how to redecorate it.

Tatum sipped her drink as she walked to the back of her closet and pressed the hidden panel.

She'd let Bunny take over hiring the designer and directing the makeover for the most part, but then Tatum had hired someone else and had a secret room created at the back of her closet. A room that wasn't on any plan anywhere. A room where she could be herself and do what she needed to do without prying eyes.

Tatum stepped inside and closed the door behind her. No need for the world to find out about her secret, not that she expected anyone to show up uninvited. A couple of friends had keys to her place in case she ever locked herself out. Her parents did as well. It wouldn't do to have any of them stumble in here. It would require an explanation she wasn't prepared to give.

She sat down in the comfy leather chair, put her drink on the side table, and stared at the wall opposite.

Her research covered it entirely.

Vince Kelly, Timothy Lebowitz, and Richard North. The men behind the Granite Industries Ponzi scheme. They had collectively stolen close to three hundred million dollars from not only the wealthy but from retirees and ordinary people who couldn't afford to lose a cent.