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Prying Eyes

ℝ𝕖𝕓𝕖𝕜𝕒𝕙 & ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕣𝕒𝕕


Rebekah is an overachiever; she hands her assignments in on time if not before. She’s never been sick on a weekday always making a miraculous recovery over the weekend, and if you ever want to get on her good side hand her a cup of coffee and she’s yours until it runs out.

As she signs off her last refundable credit sheet, her computer beeps, refusing to look at it before she double-checks her work. Rebekah finally places the paper on a large stack of documents before acknowledging her screen.

It is an email from Bank of America. She clicks on it as she reads through the extensive email, her eyes widens, and a smile grows on her face.

Rebekah isn’t an erratic person. Still, this email has Rebekah charging down the hallway laptop in hand as she weaves past her colleagues who stare dumbfounded at this reaction and eagerness from Rebekah.

She slows down as she reaches the transparent door to her manager’s office. Without waiting to be let in, Rebekah opens the door, closing it behind her and places her laptop in front of her boss.

“Look what Bank of America just sent me,” Rebekah huffs sitting down in the brown leather chair as she catches her breath, waiting for Michael to hang up the phone and pay attention.

Michael, still shocked by Rebekah of all people, rushing into his office and placing her computer down on his desk, causes him to be mute momentarily. He clears his throat, angling his body away as he ends the phone call.

The second the phone is on the hook Rebekah is up rounding his small desk to show him what she found.

“Look at this, Michael.” She points at the screen her finger smushes against the LED display.

“Alright, Rebekah calm down, sit... please, you’re making me nervous.” Michael sneezes causing Rebekah to jump back a reaction he has when he becomes nervous and unsettled.

Rebekah sits back in the chair. Her hands are drumming nervously on her knees. She wanted Michael to catch up, to be on the same exciting page as she is. But Michael is painstakingly slow in nearly all his actions that don’t involve leaving the office. The only time the man is chipper.

Michael eyes Rebekah, causing her to stop drumming. He pulls down the bifocals that are placed on top of his head and fixes them on his nose.

“Right what do we have here...”

Rebekah watches edging onto her seat as Michael’s lips move reading the email out to himself quietly, her grin returns as Michael looks at her, astonishment evident on his face.

“Right, right,” Rebekah says as she stands to her feet, moving to stand beside Michael as they both read the email together, experiencing the moment simultaneously.

Michael removes his glasses leaning back into his chair as he rubs his eyes tiredly, he hands Rebekah her laptop, ushering her to sit back down. Again.

For a few minutes, Michael is silent, changing from rubbing his eyes to stroking the bridge of his nose as he thinks. The creases of his red skin contorting and relaxing. He clears his throat, coming out of his mind library and places the glasses back on.

“Forward that email to me,” Michael says. Rebekah forwards the email to Michael. There was a ding, and he glances at his computer, expecting it to be from anyone but her.

“Have you told anyone about this?” He asks, his hand was back on the phone lifting the receiver off the hook he dials some numbers.

“No, I came straight to you.”

“Right, good, good. That’s good. Right.” He sighs. Having to string a sentence is not Michael’s favourite task. “I need to call a few people. This goes beyond us.”

“Bullshit.” Rebekah holds her mouth, shocked at the words that left her lips. “I mean who else could this possibly go to if not us, we are the IRS Michael we deal with these sorts of things.”

“Yes, I understand Rebekah however the parties involved hold interests to other agencies,” he counters.

“Like...”

“Well the FBI for one, they’d want to know.”

Rebekah slams her laptop shut.

“Come on Michael give it to them they’ll do a half-ass job and send us all the paperwork. You know how they are in the Seattle branch. If it doesn’t involve gangs and guns, they don’t want to know.”

Michael thinks for a moment, and Rebekah takes that chance to cater to his sentimental side.

“I’ve been working for you what... six...coming up to seven years? And have I ever had a sick day,” Rebekah speaks.

“No,” Michael replies.

“Have I ever been late with assignments or to work?”

“No.”

“And aren’t I the last person to leave the office?”

“Where are you taking this Calamba?” Michael says, tired.

“I deser- need this big break, Michael, as my manager to oversee it all imagine what that would do for both our careers.” Rebekah raises her brows at Michael. She knows he wants to move to another branch but is always overlooked, with this breakthrough he can move on, and she can take his spot.

“Fine, you can lend a helping hand, but the FBI has to be involved. Got it,” Michael orders.

Rebekah stands up giddier than ever.

“Yeah, got it.”

“And they take lead Calamba. I don’t want your strong-arming the investigation.” He points the phone at her threateningly.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rebekah replies, waving her hand.

“Right, now get out of my office. You just dumped a whole load of shit on my lap.” Rebekah smiles, taking her leave. “And don’t come storming in here again.”

She closes the door, her smile never leaving her face.

***

Conrad sits arms folded before he runs his hand through his hair. He pushes back onto the chair, lifting the front legs a few centimetres off the floor.

“Investigations are becoming stagnant Conrad,” Naomi announced.

He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, covering his face briefly. Lifting his gaze to Naomi, who was stood watching him, her arms folded over her buttoned white shirt.

“I know, but just because investigations are stagnant doesn’t mean I’m not right,” he counters.

Naomi sighs, rubbing her face. She turns to look out of the window the sun reflecting off of her brown skin.

“At this point, right or wrong, we need evidence. Right now all you’ve got to show for this is a waste of resources and taxpayer’s money.” Naomi turns to face him. “Right now, people are expecting results we can’t go against Aldrek. Otherwise, they’ll drown us in lawsuits,” Naomi explains.

Hearing that name causes Conrad to stand from his chair. He strides over to the evidence board, littered with notes and pictures. He stares down the centre picture his fist clenches as the silver eyes staring back at him mockingly.

“They’ve got a hand in every sector, Naomi.” Conrad slams his hand against the board. “Nightlife, travel, medicine, property. They are this close to having the whole of Seattle in their hands.”

“And the state loves them for it,” Naomi adds. “Aldrek have funded many schools and business, raised the employment rate exponentially. They even sponsored this year’s mayor of state and let’s be honest, Francis is the closest thing to Jesus making Dominic Aldrek God.”

Naomi is right and Conrad hates himself because of it. Those silver eyes plague him at work, on the internet the only thing that doesn’t make him keel over was that he can get away from it all if he needs to. He drops his hands in defeat.

The pair turn as the glass door opens, a small, timid woman walk in no doubt several floors above her pay grade.

“Um... Mister Grier sir there’s a call from the IRS,” she speaks quietly.

Conrad narrows his eyes. The last thing he needs is the toddlers down in IRS calling about a missing tax report and expecting them to send all guns blazing into a middle-aged woman’s house.

“What is it? What could be so important you trekked floors to relay to me?” Conrad responds angrily.

“He says that a transfer of over eight hundred thousand was transferred into a Bank of America account,” she replies her voice getting several decimals quieter.

“So...” Conrad stares at the woman waiting for a suitable response.

“The receipt was from Aldrek pharmaceuticals to a Mae Geoffries,” she answers. Her hands grip the glass door waiting anxiously.

At that moment, Conrad has never smiled so much in his life.

“Are you sure?” Naomi asks.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. He’s on the line if you wish to speak to him.”

“Transfer the call to conference room three,” Naomi orders.

Conrad slams his hand on the table, making everyone in the room jump.

“Fuck! Yes,” he screams and went to the wall scribbling down the name ‘Mae Geoffries’ next to the picture of Dominic.

He eyes the picture-- a distance photo of Dominic entering one of his many owned building, a phone to his ear.

“I fucking got you now,” Conrad whispers through a lopsided grin.

A.N. I’ve been looking forward to introducing you guys to Rebekah and Conrad since I began writing. What do you think? And most importantly thanks for reading.

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