CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sunday morning.

Taylor woke at six and headed to the kitchen. She brewed some coffee and pureed a fistful of frozen fruit in the blender before mixing it with fresh orange juice. The concoction was thick, like a milkshake, and loaded with vitamins. She drank it, then sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper. Most of the half hour she spent with the paper was divided between world news and the business section. She finished with the paper and poured another cup of coffee. It was quarter to seven when she sat on the window seat in the living room overlooking the street. It was a beautiful late September day, and the neighborhood was already alive with dog-walkers and joggers. She glanced at the sold sticker on the for sale sign and smiled.

She was back. Back from the edge of the abyss of depression that had gripped her for almost two weeks. Moping about and feeling sorry for herself was something Taylor was unaccustomed to. She had taken her share of hits over the course of thirty-seven years and this was simply one more. G-cubed was her creation, built from the ground up. If she could do it once, she could do it again. The steely resolve that had given her direction and tenacity through the tough times in her life was ebbing back into her cells. She could feel the strength returning. She was physically stronger and mentally much more aware of what was happening. Strangely enough, she credited Alan’s job loss as the catalyst she had needed to wake up.

His unemployment was a sign that they had bottomed out. The business, the house, and now their last source of income—all gone. There was no place to go but up. Starting from scratch at almost forty years old wasn’t her idea of success, but at least she and Alan were tackling it together. To her, that was the key. There was something about two people attacking a problem together that diminished the size of the mountain. Maybe the mountain was crumbling a bit.

Sam Morel had called Saturday night while she and Alan were working through the offer on the house with their Realtor. His computer wizard had managed to pull something off a hard drive from one of Brand’s computers. Something about Mexico. Nothing definite, but the drive had contained the names of a few banks and possibly even an account number or two. Just the fact that he had something was a boost. Whether that would ever translate to them getting all or part of their money back was another story. She wasn’t holding her breath.

There was a low sound from the hall, and she glanced away from the street scene. Alan was leaning on the door jamb between the hall and the living room. He wore a white housecoat and the hint of a smile.

“Thinking?” he asked. His voice carried in the quiet house.

She nodded. “Thinking how lucky I am,” she said, locking eyes with him. He didn’t show surprise.

“It’s good to have you back,” he said, making his way into the room and sitting beside her so their hips were touching. He rubbed her calf and looked out the window. “You okay with the price we got for the house?”

“Sure,” she said. “It was exactly what the Realtor thought. No surprises. I like that.”

He gently squeezed her calf. “You look great.”

“That’s because I’ve already had two cups of coffee. You want some?”

“I’ll get it,” he said. “You want some more?”

She nodded and handed him her cup. He disappeared into the kitchen for a minute then returned with two steaming mugs. They drank the coffee and watched the activity outside their window for a few minutes. Then he said, “What do you think of Sam Morel’s new information?”

She took a moment before answering. “I’m not getting my hopes up, but I like it. Any news is good news. The fact that they uncovered something about banks is probably the best we could hope for.”

“He said it was unusual that they would use Mexican banks,” Alan said. “One of the Caribbean countries was more likely.” He sipped his coffee. “I wonder why they did that. I mean, they think about every detail, leave no paper trail that would lead back to them, then use a bank in a country with strong ties to the United States. It doesn’t make sense.”

Taylor was thoughtful. “No, it doesn’t. Maybe the money’s not there. Maybe it’s a decoy.”

It was Alan’s turn to ponder. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “but I don’t know. Without Sam Morel’s connections, the computers would have come on the market and been sold without anyone the wiser. The information they retrieved was on hard drives that had been wiped clean. That’s a lot of hoops to jump through for planted information.”

“I suppose. They would have made it easier to find the ties to the banks if that’s what they wanted. That means the information Sam has is probably legit.”

“That’s good,” Alan said, running his hand up her thigh. She smiled. “You know, we can always hope.”

“That and get out there and earn some more money.”

“You got something on the go?” he asked.

“Nick Adams offered me a senior position. I think I’ll take it.”

Alan raised an eyebrow. “You never said anything.”

She gave him a quick grin. “I didn’t want you to get all excited in case I turned him down. We’ve been competitors for quite a few years now.”

Alan finished the last of his coffee. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that he’d make you an offer. He knows your abilities.”

She nodded. “It’s a good offer.” She grasped his hand. “We’re taking almost seven hundred thousand out of the house sale, and he’s offering me one-eighty a year plus bonuses. We’re going to be okay.”

He saw the spark in her eyes and knew that his wife had returned. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “We’re going to be okay.”