Transparency by Charles Royce (children's books read aloud txt) 📕

her hand from her face and helps Josh up from the bed. She almost touches his black eye. “You okay? The limo driver messed you up pretty bad.”

“I think the limo driver is the hooded man who followed me to the building last night. He had a key, came down the stairs. He busted into a storage closet I was hiding in. I didn’t get a look at him before he knocked me out.”

“Geez, I’m so sorry we put you through this.”

“I found some information in that storage closet.” He picks up a crumpled jacket from the floor, puts it on. “It was jam-packed full of files. West hired a third-party company for the gas lines, doctored the contracts, the inspections. I got a few photos of the paperwork on the FBI phone, over there on the counter.” Josh walks to the valet, throws Pillsbury the iPhone, grabs the two flash drives. “I heard West on the phone asking Pamela to make sure someone was still in the building. I’m not sure, but I think they may be targeting the vice president.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of.”

“We have to hurry. West is about to follow through with something called Project Fallback.”

“Fallback?” Agent Pillsbury asks.

“Yes. I found a note Kimbo left me in one of the secret rooms. Kimbo says the details of West’s Fallback plan are hidden in an overlay on the ArchEngine file. Some sort of emergency plan involving the gas lines. My guess is he’s going to blow the building. The plan for tonight is all here on one of these drives.” Josh holds up the one with a red sticker. “We gotta access the ArchEngine file, figure out exactly what he’s up to.”

Josh grabs the FBI phone and tosses it to Pillsbury. He shoves all of the flash drives in his pocket, walks into the living room.

Agent Pillsbury follows. “Hold up, young man. We’ll handle it. Hand me the drives.”

“No. There’s no time. He may have taken the SSD, but I’ve got the ArchEngine file, I know the passwords, how to access it all. If West is on his way, we may be too late.”

Josh walks out the front door.

“You.” Agent Pillsbury points to one of the men. “Stay here. Find the limo driver. Check all the spaces, the nooks and crannies, the locked door in the kitchen. You two, come with me.”

As she’s closing the door, a light from outside the patio doors catches her eye. Élan’s new headquarters is fully lit against the darkened sky, spotlights running up and down the façade, the logo shining brightly.

C h a p t e r   5 7

WEST PARKS HIS car in a handicapped spot off of 12th Avenue, on the edge of the Hudson River. He takes the SSD drive out of his pocket, throws it in the river. As he runs up the three tiers of concrete steps leading up to his masterpiece, he gawks at the TriCity Towers, shining brilliantly in the spotlights against the Manhattan cityscape. Strong winds are blowing off the Hudson, cooling the sweat on his brow.

Wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, he spots Tracy. She’s in the courtyard with a guest, a tall skinny man swimming in an oversized suit, probably a basketball player. She’s pointing to the Brutalist statue in the center of the fountain.

“Tracy! Walk with me.” He doesn’t slow down.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Spitz,” she says to her VIP guest. “That’s our CEO. I’ll be right back.”

She runs to meet up with West.

“Where’s the vice president?” West walks up the final flight of stairs.

Tracy follows. “With Pamela. Probably up on the roof, he really wanted to see the view. Why?”

“Is there security by the elevators?”

“Yessir, you’ll need a badge. They’ve been instructed not to let anyone through who hasn’t been cleared.”

“Thanks, Tracy, that’ll be all.”

Tracy stops, turns, walks back to her guest.

“Mr. West!” An older lady with a cane walks up to him. “The silent auction is going splendidly. We’ve already raised an additional thirty million dollars and we’re not even—”

“That’s wonderful, Harriet.” West walks to the security checkpoint at the atrium entrance. He steps to the front of the line.

“Mr. West, sir, good to see you tonight.” Jamal gets a headset ready. “Packed crowd.”

“Just the badge.” West holds out his hand.

“Yessir.” He hands him a VIP badge. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes, don’t let anyone else through without my authorization.” West’s voice becomes stronger. “I mean it. The FBI was all over my ass this afternoon.”

“The FBI, sir?”

“Nobody gets through, understand?” He secures the badge to his lapel. “Don’t forget what we have on you.”

West walks toward the elevator. Holding his badge to the security guard, West sees an elevator door open. He runs inside just before it closes. The other people make room for him.

West looks at the panel of buttons, floor twelve is lit up. “You’re going up?”

“Yes, Mr. West,” says a voice from the back. “Chris Dixon, North American Talent. We’re going to the sky bridge level that links this building to the other two.”

“Fuck!” West grabs his mouth, looks around the elevator.

A beautiful woman cups her hands around a child’s ears.

“Sorry,” West says.

The elevator begins to ascend, the magnificent views of the Hudson River flooding through the glass.

“Oh, look, honey, turn around.” The woman pivots her daughter.

“Wow!” the little girl says.

“Sandra, this is our CEO, James West,” Chris says. “He’s responsible for this beautiful building. Mr. West, I’d like you to meet Sandra Billings, one of our biggest donors.” Chris clears his throat. “And her eight-year-old daughter, Grace.”

“Nice to meet you.” West shakes Sandra’s hand.

“You too.”

West looks down at the little girl. “Cursing is bad.”

“I know,” she says, never taking her eyes off the view outside. “I said butt yesterday.”

“Grace.” Sandra smiles, pats her daughter on the head.

West smiles. “I have a little girl about your age. She’s nine.”

Ding.

“We’re here,” Chris says.

“You guys have a good night.” West smiles as the others exit.

Grace turns around to West. “Thanks for