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history, and rather than move to more spacious quarters, the company had merely built onto its existing structure, resulting in a sprawling, confusing labyrinth of corridors and offices. Employees who had worked there for weeks still got lost, and an extrareceptionist was on the payroll just to guide visitors to their destinations.
    Company president Herbert Decker felt it was his duty to walk through the corridors like a leader, his chest out and shoulders back. It was a habit he practiced even at night, when all the employees had gone home. His patchy beard didn’t quite hide his weak chin, and he wore his hair in a comb-over that only accentuated his balding head.
    He wished things would get back to normal. The Vikkers employees were already nervous and afraid for their jobs in the wake of the recent merger with Lyceum Metals, and Burton Sabini had only added to the chaos.
    That ungrateful little prick. Decker had chosen him over younger, flashier candidates for the CFO job because Sabini seemed like the type who would stay put. The others would have bolted as soon as they were able to trade up to higher-paying positions at other firms. Who knew that the Milquetoast would perpetrate the biggest crime in the company’s history?
    That bastard.
    Decker stepped into his office to see Ted Michaelson reclining on the sofa. Michaelson was a free-lance private investigator Vikkers often hired.
    “Make yourself comfortable, Ted.”
    Michaelson laughed and sat up. “Don’t mind if I do.” The investigator was plump, fiftyish, and sported thick stubble on his chin.
    “Thanks for meeting me so late.” Decker sat at his desk. “Things are crazy here during the day.”
    Michaelson pointed to a collection of plaques on the wall, each commemorating a new metal formulation. “Busy putting more of those up there, huh?”
    “Yeah.” Decker patted his comb-over. “What do you have for me?”
    “I’m covering all the bases. By the time I’m through, there’s nothing about Burton Sabini we won’t know.”
    Decker’s eyes narrowed. “There’s only one thing I want to know. Where’s our goddamned money?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    “So you keep telling me. What do you think of the D.A. offering him a stipulated polygraph test?”
    “It shows they have even less of a case than we think they do. They’re not even close to getting that money back, which is why you were smart to hire me. I’m sure Myth Daniels won’t agree to the exam. She’s smarter than that.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”
    “No, not really. Something else has come up.”
    “When it rains, it pours, huh?”
    “A federal agent has approached one of our vice presidents about turning evidence against us.”
    “For what?”
    “They’ve been rather vague. Some bogus charge, probably.”
    “Do they have proof?”
    “I doubt it. They’ve been bugging the hell out of Matt Lansing in Finance. They want him to spy on us.”
    “Lansing told you this?”
    “Yes.”
    “I should talk to him.” Michaelson jotted down Lansing’s name in his pocket notebook. “I’ll put him under surveillance.”
    “Why?”
    “To make sure he doesn’t start talking to the feds any more than he admits to. He may be straight with you now, but once they start putting pressure on him, your boy could turn on you in a heartbeat. Do you know the agent’s name?”
    Decker handed Michaelson a small piece of paper. “It’s here, along with his office number. Steven Lars. Heard of him?”
    “No, but there’s no reason I would have. I’ll check him out.” Michaelson flashed a toothy smile. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
    “Positive. I want
you
to enlighten
me.
What are they looking for? How much do they know? Where are they headed with this?”
    Michaelson nodded as he pocketed the slip of paper. “You may not like the answers to those questions.”
    “Don’t worry.” Decker leaned back in his chair.