St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

proprietary information,” Foley snapped. “Our clients expect confidentiality. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”
    “Then you’re here about the Bertone account?” Kayla repeated.
    “Yes,” Foley said through his teeth.
    “Good.” Her fingers drummed on the table. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m not happy about the Bertones. Come Monday, I’m thinking about going to Mal Townsend and asking for reassignment.”
    Foley looked like someone had handed him a foot-long worm. “What are you talking about? Mal isn’t your boss. I am!”
    “And Mal is your boss,” Kayla said. “You’ve turned down my requests for reassignment for months. I don’t have any choice but to go above you.”
    Foley straightened in the booth. The Bloody Mary glass met the table’s polished surface hard enough to slosh a few drops down the side. “You’d go against my direct order?”
    “I said I was thinking about it.” She frowned and rubbed her eyes. “I’m spooked by this Bertone situation, and you’re not giving me much help.”
    “What the hell is she doing?” Faroe asked.
    Rand scratched his shirt. Hard. It was Kayla’s show. He yawned and made a show of putting in the second earbud. Soon he was jiving to an imaginary beat.
    Foley glared at Rand. “I really don’t want to discuss bank business in front of a total stranger.”
    Rand had closed his eyes and was humming a tune. Badly. He could still hear the conversation but gave no sign of it.
    “Ignore him,” Kayla said, shrugging. “Jerry’s high-octane in the sheets, but beyond that he’s no lightbulb.”
    Four tables away Faroe almost choked on his coffee.
    “Trust me,” she said to Foley. “It’s not like we’re giving Bertone’s private banking information to the comptroller of the currency.” Then her eyes widened and she looked at her boss like she’d never seen him before.
    “Kayla—” Foley began loudly.
    “That explains a lot,” she said over him. “We’re avoiding the normal reporting requirements for large transactions by handling them through a correspondent banking account. Right?”
    Rand began snapping his fingers lightly, shoulders swaying to an imaginary beat, hips hitching in time. He opened his eyes long enough to give Kayla a come-and-get-it leer.
    Foley’s hands fisted. He glared at her through his amber shooter’s glasses. His expression said he would love to see her over the sight of a gun. And her boyfriend right after her.
    “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Foley said.
    “I know that my name is on the bottom line as the one responsible for the Bertone account, that you told me to set it up, and that nowhere are you on record as being responsible for anything to do with Bertone’s money.”
    “Go, sistah!” Faroe said in Rand’s ear.
    “Oh, yeah, babe,” Rand sang huskily. “Lay it down on me.”
    She kicked him under the table.
    He didn’t open his eyes.
    “I don’t have anything to do with Bertone’s money,” Foley said.
    “Bullshit,” Kayla said sweetly. “I suppose you didn’t recommend a real estate agent to me when I wanted to sell my ranch.”
    “Well, I, uh, yeah,” he said, surprised by the change of subject. “I was just trying to help.”
    “Who? Thanks to the agent you sent me to, my ranch was instantly sold at a price well above market value to—surprise!—Andre Bertone.” Kayla’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was sarcastic enough to curdle milk.
    “Uh…” Foley drank more Bloody Mary. It didn’t inspire anything but another drink. He signaled the server.
    “So now I look like a dirty banker,” Kayla said. “You gave me full responsibility for the Bertone account to set me up. You’ve been planning this for months.”
    Rand kept his eyes closed. He whisper-sang words to an old blues tune. Hip-hitches kept time.
    “Will you tell that idiot to stop twitching?” Foley snarled.
    “As soon as you cut me in on a share of the profits from Bertone’s correspondent account.”
    Foley blinked. “A share?”
    “As in money. Real money. Half of what you’re getting.”
    “Are you crazy? You can’t—” Foley broke off as the server returned with another Bloody Mary. He took a steadying swallow. “You can’t prove any of this.”
    She smiled slowly. “Want me to try?”
    Foley wondered how the hell the conversation had gotten out of control. “Look, you misunderstand.”
    “That was yesterday. Today I’m a lot smarter. Half of what you’re