The next morning I took everything back to the office and resolved to stay as late necessary to finish the statements. I kept my office door closed and had calls held, so things moved along at a good pace. Unfortunately, I definitely didn’t like the emerging picture.
The wayward commissions already totaled close to $100,000. Since I was working through them alphabetically, I’d finished Cameron’s and Kate’s statements. They would be furious when I told them what was happening, but they had to know. Orders supposedly shipped after the cutoff represented $7,000 in commissions to Kate and around $4,000 to Cameron. None of it seemed to make sense. As hard as I tried to accept that the supposed incorrect dates were typical of computer program errors, I knew for a fact that wasn’t likely.
Stranger still, were those HRF orders among the entries that I couldn’t tie to any of our known representatives. Did we have accounts that were basically house accounts, therefore not commissionable? Did that mean they wouldn’t come across my desk? That was nonsense. I was responsible for tracking all sales. If there were special accounts, someone should have told me. Maybe there were some in the preceding quarter. The only reason they caught my attention this time were Julia’s yellow lines setting them off. Sandwiched as they were in the yellow borders, it was impossible to miss the mysterious transactions. I considered whether to ask about them, and decided not to. Something weird was going on, and questions would only alert her.
A loud rap at the door interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at my watch and saw it was after five. Where had the time gone? The receptionist stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“Kimberly, I was just about to leave for the day when this came.” She held out a thick envelope. “It seems to be from some escrow company, and the bike courier said he needed a signature, so I signed for it. It’s marked “personal” for Julia. I was going to leave it in her office, but it looks important. I thought you might want to get in touch with her instead. After all, she isn’t expected back in this office for a few more days.”
Escrow company? My curiosity was aroused. She did say she was renting a house in Paradise. Maybe she had decided to buy it. Picturing what I’d seen of the town of Paradise Hills, I banished that thought from my mind. I couldn’t picture anyone actually buying a house there. Next I considered taking an innocent little peek before depositing it on her desk. If I could figure out how to open it without her knowing, that wouldn’t hurt— would it?
I smiled at the receptionist. “You did the right thing. I’ll call her so she can tell me what to do with it. Do me a favor, and make sure the door is locked when you leave. I’ll be here all by myself.”
I listened for the sound of the door closing, then waited a few more minutes to be sure before I tackled the envelope. I didn’t need anyone walking in on me just as I was snooping. Confident the coast was clear, I studied the envelope. Fortunately it didn’t have one of those tear-off strips. That would have made it impossible. Maybe good old fashioned steaming would work.
I took the package into our company kitchen and boiled some water in the electric teapot. Holding the envelope over the spout like I’d seen in movies, I waited a few minutes. It worked. I was able to peel back the flap without a single tear. I pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, then stared at the name on the transmittal letter clipped to the papers. MULCT Enterprises, Attention: Julia Harris and what appeared to be Julia’s home address in Seattle. I took everything back to my desk where I could take my time going through the contents of the package.
Apparently someone goofed and made out the courier slip for delivery to Julia’s business address instead of her home address. As I thumbed through the pages, it was easy to see they were escrow papers, but not for some little shack in Paradise Hills, Washington. The description of the property was a home in Medina, the community that boasted Bill Gates as one of its residents. I jotted the address on my notepad, then let out an involuntary low whistle when I saw the price—over $4,000,000. There were signatures line for Julia on behalf of MULCT Enterprises. I wondered what the initials stood for, but couldn’t come up with anything. Unless she had a bundle stashed away, I couldn’t imagine how Julia could afford a house this expensive. Maybe MULCT was a limited partnership and she was the general partner.
I grabbed everything in the stack and headed for the copy room. Just in case this meant anything, I wanted a copy for myself. Otherwise I’d have nothing to back up what I saw. The last paper fluttered out of the machine when I thought I heard a noise out front. My heart did a two-step.
“Is anyone there?” No answer. Just nerves. I continued to straighten the papers and put them back in the envelope, took a glue stick from the sorting table and ran it across both sides. Then I pressed the flap to reseal it. I wasn’t cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff.
It was time to call Julia and play innocent. I dialed her cell number. Three rings. “Julia Harris here.”
“Hey, I thought I’d better call you. We were about to close up when a bike courier delivered an envelope to you from an escrow company. I thought it might have something to do with the house you’re renting in Paradise. What would you like me to do with it?”
There was a hesitation. “Something from an escrow company?” A sharp inhale, then, “Can’t trust anyone. They were supposed to send it to my house. You’re right. It’s something about the rental house. Thanks for letting me know. Just leave it on my desk and I’ll drive in tonight to get it. How are the statements coming?”
Now it was my turn to hesitate. One thing I knew for sure. Those papers had nothing to do with a house in Paradise Hills. I was happy I’d copied them. “Statements, yeah, well, I’m almost done. Figured I’d stay late and finish them tonight. There were really a lot of dates entered wrong, just like you said.” My wicked streak took over. “Amazing how computers can do things like that, isn’t it.” I was very careful not to say a word about the mysterious HRF designation.
“Well, why don’t you call it a day? You’ve been working hard, and if you’re almost done, I’d say you deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll see you in a few days and thanks for alerting me.”
Okay, so she didn’t want to run into me when she picked up the envelope. I wondered if she would stay in Seattle overnight, then drive back to Paradise in the morning. A round trip would take about seven hours.
As I drove home, something kept niggling at the back of my mind. Then, in a burst of clarity I remembered Matt and Julia saying the big party would be in a rented mansion in Medina. Could it be?