The Exception Pt. 01

Connor rolled his chair around to face the desk and adjusted his embarrassment. Ahead of him, Luka was seen venturing from one cupboard to the next.

A few taps on the keyboard ensured his work was saved and his computer sent off to sleep. The silver dog tags were yanked off the table and thrown around his neck.

He gave his heart a moment to slow down then followed the tease back to the kitchen. There he found her sitting on a revolving stool, now engaging a glass full of milk. Way to make herself at home.

"So what happened last night?" he queried pulling out a glass of his own. No point in avoiding the elephant in the room. Well, that and a change of focus couldn't hurt.

Her hand wiped milk off her top lip as she lowered her glass. "I can't recall."

"Luka..."

She paused, half-heartedly making an effort to remember. "A few friends and I decided to have a night away."

"Yeah? And what did that consist of?"

"Shots, selfies, and a lot of creepy guys."

His eyebrows shot up. "Shots, at your age? What kind of respectable establishment is this?"

A subtle smile found its way onto her lips as she playfully whirled her glass around. "There are ways."

He chose not to be a prude about it. "Sounds like a success. You got hit on, you got wasted, then you got arrested."

"You're making fun of me," she stated.

"I am." he concurred. "At least you're taking his advice," he guested towards her milk, "albeit a few hours too late."

She finally looked up and regarded him coldly. "I'm not a child Connor."

"Then you should have seen yourself a few dreams ago." He pulled a carton of apricot juice from the metallic refrigerator and poured it out. "You could have died you know."

"Spare me. I already had this conversation with the feds that picked me up. It didn't end on a positive note."

"Does the truth ever?" he joked lifting the glass to his mouth. "Fine. At least tell me if this is a common occurrence. You seemed to be on familiar terms with..."

"Connor," he heard her cut in. His eyes trailed upwards to regard icy blue ones. "Mind your own business."

His features hardened a little at that. "I'd like to think it's my business if I'm the one stuck running clean-up at dawn."

"And I'd like to think you're paid enough to cover the trouble," she countered. "You say it like it's charity work."

He was taken aback briefly. The girl had no diplomacy whatsoever. "Are you always going to pull that card every time our views differ?"

She coolly challenged his glare. "Maybe I wouldn't need to if you remembered your place."

Which brought them back to the undefined section of their arrangement. What was his place exactly? Was he not hired to be her 'friend' rather than her slave?

And even then, how does one measure the financial value of friendship in a scenario such as this?

The more he questioned it, the less sense it made. Maybe... maybe it would be best if he got some answers from those that employed him.

He broke the gaze first. He always did.

With a sigh, he made his way over to the other side of the counter, taking the beverage with him. Blue eyes followed his every action the whole time, softening with each step he took.

"You'll find everything you need for breakfast in there," he stated pointing at the double doored fridge.

"You already discovered where the mugs and cups are. Plates are in the adjacent shelf and the pans are in the cupboard below you."

He rattled the cutlery from the silver stand they hung on as he went past. "Bon appetite Luka-Chan."

"Wait, what about you?" she asked jumping to her feet and into his way. "Aren't you gonna have breakfast before you go?"

"I work in a restaurant so I'm pretty much covered." He stepped around her and continued on to the passageway that divided the rooms. "You can just put everything in the sink when you're done. I'll clean up when I get back."

There was an audible pause before Luka spoke again. "And what if I don't want you to go?"

Connor could have sworn out loud. "Then that would make it my third written warning," he answered slowing to a crawl. "And with my first and second having been on Saturday and Sunday for similar reasons, I'll be out of a job by the weekend at this rate."

But the child wouldn't relent. If anything was clear, she was far too used to getting her way. "You already have a job."

"Wrong," came the objection, a little more forceful than intended. "This isn't a job. You don't even know the half of it."

Three sudden knocks startled her before she could voice a response. They were, loud, sharp and came in rapid succession. Right on cue too.

"Those mark the start of my day," he mentioned turning around briefly. They sounded again from the next door down the hall before he continued, "I need to go out and earn my living. But I'm sure even you can respect that."

The expression she gave him in that moment was one to remember. It looked like a combination of frustration and worry. Like she wanted to tell him something but lacked the vocabulary.

But that wasn't his concern right now. For a change, he just wanted to get to work.

Or was that just a convenient excuse to be away from her?

Regardless, that's what he did. He went off and closed himself in the bathroom.

His landlords only heated the greasers only so much to save on electricity bills so his shower was barely anything more than lukewarm at best.

After that, an awful uniform waited for him in the wardrobe. It wasn't anything special if you left out the glaring maroon waistcoat.

It's not the colour that bothered him though. It was its application.

The first time he saw the top, he could have sworn it was a tool used to help cover up a vicious murder.

With the bed made, used clothes in the laundry basket, his trusty backpack slung over his shoulder and his cap pulled on, he made for the exit.

She was still by the kitchen when he left. An empty glass with traces of milk sat before her standing form. If he had to guess, he'd say she was sulking. Yeah well, he always wanted real estate on Mars but that didn't happen either.

No words or even eye contact were exchanged. Just Porsche car keys and a beige purse which were placed beside the glass.

Surely she could find a way to entertain herself until he knocked off. And even then, she could still kill time with whoever her friends were. His presence was no necessity. This was just a little girl being upset she never got her way.

**********

09 55 am

Her office was themed white, and it had only one floor-to-ceiling window which showed off the cityscape.

On the grey desk sat a desktop computer, a notebook lying open, and a stack of papers sitting under a glass chess piece.

The air conditioner, bowing at medium, was the reason for the otherwise unnecessary measure.

"Emelia? Holland's calling for you."

The auditor in question looked up past the two empty swivel chairs populating the other side of the desk.

Her latest intern peered back from around the glass door. Strange. Why didn't he just call her secretary if he thought she was busy?

She smiled at her before looking down to her screen populated with spreadsheets. "Thanks Jena. I'll be right with him." Her brain quickly ran through the tasks he assigned her without a checked checkbox.

She found none. This worried her. Nine times out of ten, Emma was able to discern what her boss needed.

Ah well. No time like the present. She shut the flat file and got up from her workstation. Whatever it was, it had better not take too long. There was still Stanford Athletic's proposal to write up and email, all before lunch.

That, and get hold of her brother. She'd be damned if she had to endure another dinner with the crazy lot she called her family alone.

Emma walked out of her office, dropping the file by her secretary along the way. "That's meant to go in the overnight package too," she told her. "Apparently there are still people who prefer regular mail over email attachments."

Miss Evans was another timer, just past her retirement age. Not too good at her job either.

In fact Emma could bet she'd need to remind her of this instruction on her way back. So why was she still here? Well the answer to that was easy. Emma was a softie.

Stocking clad legs took her down the polished white hallway of the fortieth floor, heels clicking as they went.

Transparent glass walls reflected her trimmed figure. Glass walls also showed employees and clients alike, busy at work in their offices, in the board room, in the kitchen, in filing rooms.

It made it very difficult to fool around. What was the point of even having walls if everyone could see through them? Her boss really did take his 'transparency' slogan a bit too far sometimes.

It was classy nonetheless. Walking through here with a visitor never got old. Their shock at the sight of it all always made her feel more important than she really was.

She approached the CEO's door at the approval of his secretary, but never walked through.

He was still on the phone, pacing up and down in his 5,000 dollar suit and designer shoes. At thirty-three, he'd done pretty well for himself. Quite the overachiever, he was.

The moment he saw her, he cut the call short and motioned for her to enter. She obeyed, albeit a little nervously. "You called?"

"Almost an hour ago," he replied. The director leaned back on his table and crossed his arms. "You know a secretary's best asset has to be her memory. Everything else is negotiable."

She cringed internally. At times Evans made herself extremely difficult to defend. "I'll reprimand her."

"What you need is a new one."

"I'll consider it."

His eyes narrowed visibly. Who likes having their authority challenged? However, nothing else was said on the topic.

His hand gestured to the fake leather guest chair. "Take a seat."

Okay. She would have much preferred to stand but that was no question.

She cautiously tread across white linoleum, closely watching him as she went. She could swear he counted every step. The manner in which hazel eyes bore through her made her feel naked sometimes.

Emma obediently lowered herself onto the seat. After that she looked up at him as if to say 'now what?'

But he didn't speak. Not immediately anyway. For a short while he simply stared at her.

Initially you'd think the man was judging her attire, perhaps even in a perverse way.

She knew well enough by now that this was his analytical face. Something of substance was troubling him.

"Just over an hour ago, I received a call from Mr. Okajima," he finally started. "Ring any bells?"

She nodded. "He's head of the loan operations division at ALG. I trust this about their upcoming audit then?"

Holland pursed his lips to the side. "Yes. And no. More than anything else, this is really about you."

Her brows shot up in enquiry.

Holland continued. "He made it very clear, in no shy terms that they want you off our first team."

No way. So then this was really about what happened last week? Her eyes widened at the revelation as her heart beat faster.

This was going all wrong. She needed to be there. She just had to be. How else was she to find out what really transpired?

"Emma?"

The sound of her name brought her back. Her blush must have already sold her out before they even began. She hated how pathetic she could be at keeping her own secrets.

"I get the nagging feeling there's a large portion to this story that I don't know," he pushed on. "Why would he single you out?" A look of concern was hidden in his eyes.

She looked down anxiously and played with her hands. They sure didn't waste any time did they?

She had to give it to Sined. As below the belt this was, he had a lot of foresight. "I'm sure if he went that far, then the call wouldn't have ended without him telling you his reasons."

"Well obviously." Holland stood up straight and walked around the back of her chair. She heard him make his way over to the next one and turn it to face her. "But it's not his version I'm interested in," he said sitting down on the edge.

With hands locked together, he regarded her with a very serious look. The kind a principal gives a child when they've misbehaved. "Now Emma, I need the absolute truth. What did you do to piss these people off?"

She pondered on whether telling him was smart. In this mode he was strictly business minded and whatever decision he made was for the best of the firm.

But if he sensed dishonesty on her end then that would affect their trust relationship. Down the line it would also affect which jobs she got, significantly downscaling her average cut.

It was a coin toss either way. So she decided a leap of faith was in order.

"I may... or may not have paid him a visit." Holland shut his eyes in a regrettable manner. "I didn't use the company's name, I promise," she quickly added. "It was an entirely personal issue."

He looked back at her incredulously. "You think it matters? I received the call on my work line regardless." No sir, he was not amused.

She recoiled back into her chair but still tried to keep her sober front. "I'm sorry. But if he called you over a private matter between himself and I, then that was unprofessional of him."

Holland mimicked her by leaning back. He went an extra step by raising a leg over the other. The tension in him seemed a little lighter too. He clasped his hands in front of his mouth thoughtfully.

"I told him something similar," came the reply. "From what I gathered though; He's more concerned that you'll take advantage of your post here to accomplish more personal goals."

And wasn't that the truth. She couldn't wait to rip into their database and query every last record until she found that transaction.

The young lady thought out her next words carefully. "Nothing changes. If I do dig up any dirt, it'll be brought to you as I've always done. What troubles them is the fact that I know what to look for this time around."

"And what's that?" he inquired.

"A two million dollar paper trail."

Holland's eyes widened. It was the only reaction she got but it was good enough for her.

Despite the trouble she was in, Emma awarded herself a smile anyway.

So Sined had conveniently left out that bit did he?

"There's a potential case of fraud amounting to two million dollars. And the person meant to have received it knew absolutely nothing," she elaborated.

Yes, there were much bigger cans of worms they'd opened but this was by no means a light scandal either.

"Explain," he commanded.

Where to begin. He'd likely find it ridiculous but she would have done her part.

"At about this time last week, Connor dialled me up. He wasn't his normal self. A call from a loan shark had him on edge," she began. "Apparently he was indebted to them for a large sum of money. The catch is, he never remembered taking a loan."

Holland simply sat quietly and listened.

"When he told me sum, I thought he was playing a belated April fool's joke again until he mentioned the name of the account handler. It was Sined Okajima."

Her superior finally spoke up. "Since when does Sined get his hands dirty with debt collection?"

Was that seriously the first question that came to mind?

"Well, I just assumed his involvement was warranted once money hit seven digit figures," she shrugged. "Anyway I'll admit. I did break protocol and went through the data they sent us last year.

"Only eight percent of the loans given out in their last financial year were above a million. However, I failed to find the one credited to my brother."

"So they lied?"

Emma shook her head no. "It wasn't all that simple. You see at lunch, I agreed to go with him to their headquarters. He had an appointment scheduled with the man in question.

"He recognised me and seemingly had no problem with my attendance although I did notice a bit of surprise on his end."

"Cut to the chase Emma."

"Oh, um, okay... Well, for a long time now, my brother's always had a knack for mechanics.

His third year project was based on renewable energy. Specifically a large scale magnetic generator. It's a concept he's been working on from a young age actually."

"And what's that got to do with anything?" His impatience was starting to manifest.

"Mr. Okajima had a hard copy of the said dissertation," she replied a little more confidently. "It was filed away with the rest of the loan application."

Holland's phone began to vibrate on the surface of his desk. He ignored it, clearly more interested in what she had to say.

"Aren't you going to get that?" She asked.

"Why, is it troubling you?"

Emma nodded after a delay. "A little." Simply put; interruptions vexed her.

"Then why don't you turn it off?" he suggested.

She couldn't help but blink at that. He said it with such a sober face. "Are - are you sure?"

Her superior quirked an eyebrow. Of course. He was always sure.

Emma stood up and reached over the glass surface of his oversized table. There was no proof, but a nagging feeling told her his eyes didn't spare her a moment of privacy.

She couldn't help but question his motives. What annoyed her the most was how she didn't mind.

No. What then annoyed her the most was the picture on the caller ID. Just the letters of the alphabet arranged in that manner disgusted her.

His girlfriend never failed to make a twice a week appearance just to remind each and every one of them how unattainable her man was. It wasn't just a reminder though. She flaunted it.

Emma happily cut the call. No. Who's she kidding? She added it to the bar list and then set the device to flight mode just for extra measure.

No doubt she'd be found out but to hell with it. It would make for a good laugh later.

Opting against sitting down again, she turned around and leaned on his table, assuming the position he took when she first arrived.

A bit out of line, yes. But hardly anything worth reprimanding. "Where were we?"

"You were about to tell me why Amalgam had a copy of this boy's work," he stated, seemingly a little put off by her elevated stature.

"Well it would seem it had a lot to do with the terms the application was accepted under.

As you're aware; Due to the tight prerequisites, it's next to impossible for a sole individual to receive an advance.

"So when it came to his, a loophole was utilised. The application was accepted as an investment rather than a regular loan. The contract states he was to receive two million under two conditions.

"First; He uses it to complete a live implementation of his project in a year.

And Secondly; Payback instalments were to commence after the first year had run its course. As it is, he was already overdue by the time our friend contacted him."

Holland furrowed his brows, much like his intelligence had just been insulted. "There are so many loose ends there, I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with how something of this magnitude could take place in his name and without his knowledge."

Emma shrugged sheepishly. "I only have theories. The most probable scenario involves his ex, a girl by the name of Ivy Bridges. It was her name and signature on the witness line."

"And whose signature was on the borrower's line?"

Emma avoided his eye contact as she answered. "Connor's. But he doesn't remember signing anything."

"And I seldom remember the rest of the night after a few shots of tequila," he countered.

She was afraid of this reaction. Her boss had little pity for those who failed to read the fine print. "Sir, do you know how hard it is to aim a pen after tequila? This was forgery, not alcohol."