Chapter Sixteen

Ashlee

 

There were so many tabs open on her internet browser that she could no longer read the titles of them all. And she wanted to scream. Every now and again she'd pick up the scent of something helpful, but again and again it turned out to be rumor. At this point she was believing most of what she read, rumor or not. It was becoming astonishingly clear to her that Diego Silva was not a pillar of virtue. More than that, the more she read, the more she thought that he had to be using his position for something. Leopards didn't change their spots. And Silva was a big, fat leopard.

But Kishanna needed proof. Hell, Ashlee herself needed proof. The Freedom Group didn't work on rumor. She couldn't allow it to. Enough people thought that they were a bunch of conspiracy theorists; she couldn't allow them to be found to be using unverified information.

“You'll go blind if you stare at your screen all day.”

Matt was standing in her doorway, elegant as ever. Perhaps he could help her, she suddenly thought. Blake had been helpful, of course, but as young as he was and as obsessed as he could get with ideas, she didn't really want to bring him in on this. He had provided her with the information she needed to get started, but he was not the right person to discuss things with. He wouldn't be able to be objective, while Matt would. And Matt had a lot of connections in a lot of places. There was always the chance that he knew someone, somewhere, who could help her.

“Come in,” she said. “Close the door.”

He did as he was told and sat down, crossing his legs neatly and straightening his tie. She began to talk, explaining all that she knew. And as she did so, he leaned further and further forward in his seat, drinking it all in.

“And that's about it,” she finished. “But I'm damned if I know where to go from here.”

He was quiet for a while, and she let him think. When he finally spoke, he said: “Is there any other explanation that could fit the facts as you know them?”

“I don't think so. I've done the same, Matt. I've tried to think of other explanations, but I can't come up with a single one. But to be honest, what I think doesn't matter, does it? It all comes down to proof. I need someone or something to show that Silva is misusing his position. That he's using his position as president to profit himself and his family, and that he's using the military for personal reasons rather than for defense. Getting that proof is what's key, whatever I might think.”

“You're right,” Matt said. “But I'm not sure I can help you there. You're the researcher. You're far better than I am at tracking things down. I'm a people person.”

“And don't you know anyone who might have more information? Someone who works for one of Silva's companies, something like that?” she asked in desperation.

Matt shrugged. “I know plenty of people who work for Silva's companies, but none of them are the sort to turn whistle blower. You know the kind of people I mix with, Ashlee. The rich ones, CEOs, vice presidents—they're not likely to turn to bite the hand that feeds them. You need someone a little further down the food chain for that.”

She sighed and ran her hands through her dark hair. “You're right,” she said. “I'm tearing my hair out here, though. I don't want to let this go. I really think we're onto something.”

Matt looked at her, then leaned back. “And have you thought about what the Freedom Group should do if all this does turn out to be true?” he asked.

“I—well, I mean, we . . .” She had no clear answer.

“You probably need to start thinking, Ash. I mean, if this is what we do, if we believe in freedom and democracy and everything that we spout off to our followers and sponsors, then surely we bear some responsibility for fixing the problem. Are we fixers? Or are we talkers?”

“What exactly do you mean?” she asked.

He backed off a little. “Nothing, not yet anyway. Just that you should give the matter some thought. I have a few ideas myself. If we find the proof, let's get together and have a chat about it, okay?”

He seemed almost embarrassed, more flustered than Ashlee had ever seen him before. And she didn't want to think about what he might be intimating. Matt stood up, then immediately sat down again.

“Actually, there is someone,” he said. “Not sure if they'd be helpful or not. But those files you have outside.”

He was referring to the large stack of files that was kept in the outer offices. Information about every meeting, every contact, every person who had in some way connected with the Freedom Group. Ashlee had started keeping the files at the very beginning, never knowing when a contact might become important. As it was, filling out the forms inside had turned out to be more of a pain than anything else, but she continued to do it anyway out of habit.

“What about them?”

“I skim through the new ones,” he said. “Just in case. You never know when someone might turn out to be an old classmate, or a relative of someone important, that kind of thing.” He smiled wryly. “I figure I'm probably better placed to spot that sort of thing than you are.”

“Probably.”

“But there was one, a recent one. I only read it the last time I was in the office, so it must be new-ish. The guy worked for PetroCorps.”

“So?”

“So, that's a Silva company,” Matt said.

She vaguely remembered seeing the name on one of her many open browser tabs.

“I'm not saying the guy will help you or anything, but he might know other people that will. It's a foot in the door anyway. Even if he's low level, it'll be easier to contact someone in middle management that way than by approaching a company president.”

“Fair point,” said Ashlee.

She followed him out of the office and picked up a handful of files covering the last week or so. After bidding him goodbye, she went back to her desk with the files and started flicking through them. When she found the name she was looking for, she groaned. Hell. Why did it have to be him? But PetroCorps was written clearly in the profession box. Since it was the only lead she had, she couldn't afford to be picky. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and dialed.

“Hello, can I speak to Douglas Davis, please?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Ashlee Townsend from the Freedom Group.”

The voice on the other end of the phone brightened. “Ah, I've been expecting your call. I'm so glad. This is about the DNA testing, isn't it?”

She had to take another deep breath. “Yes and no,” she said. “Yes and no. Any chance that you're free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Name a time and place and I'll be there,” Doug said.

And Ashlee was sure he would be. Conspiracy theorists liked nothing more than a friendly ear to listen to them.