10: Infringements

As the elevator door opened on the ninth floor, Andrew found himself face to face with Evelyn. She smiled, bumping into him like this, a cute, shy smile that lit her face, and if possible, made her even more spectacularly pretty. Beside her, a bored young man in building livery held a dolly with a stack of boxes leaned against him.

“More records heading upstairs?” Andrew stepped out of the elevator, holding the door as the dolly was wheeled in and so he could talk to Evelyn as they passed each other in a simple dance.

“Yes sir. The last of them," she beamed, hurrying around him. "Then it's only the content of the desks. I should be back shortly.”

“Very good. I do have another meeting this afternoon—."

Evelyn smiled, nodding. "Yes sir. I know. Do you need me to attend with you?"

"No. Not at all. Only if I miss your return, do have a good evening.”

“I’ll certainly be back before you leave," she assured him with a little wave as the elevator doors closed.

He was glad she was excited.

Surprisingly, his cold cup of coffee awaited him as he opened his office door. Evelyn seldom missed such things, and the mere thought gave him pause. It was the first time ever— in fact, once he clarified his expectations, she never made the same mistake again. 

"Extraordinary. Still, this will not do.” Unable to face the prospect, he snatched the clear pink mug Evelyn had brought for him off his desk and headed for the small kitchenette where he knew she would have fresh coffee, leaving the office door open.

The percolator was still on the small hot plate, hot to the touch when he brushed the backs of his fingers against it. "Perfect." 

Dumping the cold coffee in the sink, he poured a fresh cup. “Now where does she keep the sugar?” It took several minutes of methodical searching through the cupboards and drawers before he found the small box of cubes. Naturally, he thought. The most obvious drawer, right beside the percolator and with stirring spoons.

It was as he turned at his desk that Andrew realized a slightly unkempt man was in the office, seated on the small sofa out of view from the door. Dark-haired, scruffy and spindly-limbed with rattish features, he looked more like a discarded suit that had seen better days, with the crooked knot in the tie worn too loose and the wrinkly jacket unbuttoned. 

Andrew glanced down at his calendar, confirming what he already knew. “Hello. I must apologize. It appears you've been directed to the wrong floor. With whom was your meeting?” His senses rose to high alert when quickly it became clear from the look on the lanky man’s face that he hadn’t expected Andrew either.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The rangy man stood, extending a hand to Andrew over the desk. “Edwardo Montero,” he introduced in a slow drawl, tinged with the slightest hint of a southern accent. “This used to be the office of Russell James. You bear a striking resemblance to him.”

Andrew shook the man’s hand. “My older brother. I’m Andrew James.” His mind instantly leapt to the records he’d found, the list of strange addresses and bank deposits to an unidentified account. Could this be who they were attached to? The name Montero certainly didn’t ring a bell. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Montero?”

“No, no. I didn’t mean to intrude. Just making a social call on an old friend.” Despite the polite words and tone, it was clear from Edwardo Montero’s posture that, like Andrew, he was confused and suspicious of this encounter. "I'll check with the desk downstairs for his new office. Apologies for the mistake, sir."

A 'friend'. Doubtful. Russell and he had shared the same sympathies about the reliability of such 'friends' available in their sphere, and while Edwardo Montero did not appear to number among those, he also didn't look like the kind of character his brother would know. “How were the two of you acquainted, Mr. Montero?”

“We had business a long time ago. Nothing you need trouble yourself over.” Montero started for the door. “Again, my apologies for the intrusion.”

“Mr. Montero, I might have use of your services. Perhaps you'd care to have a seat?” Quickly, Andrew came around the desk to intercept the man before he could leave. “If you please, what type of business?”

Halting where he was, Montero bristled, taking an aggressive stance. “With all due respect, Mr. James, the business I have with your brother is the private kind. If you’d direct me to his new office, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“My brother’s new office is a plot in the cemetery on my family’s estate," Andrew bit out, barely suppressing his sneer. "Russell is dead, Mr. Montero. He has been for nearly a month. I would expect a friend to know that. Especially an 'old friend'."

Montero gave him a slimy lopsided grin. "We fell out of touch periodically. I hadn't heard from him in a while, so I was checking in is all. I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. James. Do forgive me."

"If you would, kindly explain what kind of business you had with my brother and perhaps we might help one another.”

Tipping his head, Montero peered down his nose at Andrew. “Our business involved Mrs. James.”

“Charlotte? You know where she is? Mr. Montero, Charlotte James is now my wife.” Andrew paused, hoping to see how this new information sunk in, but Montero’s face was a mask. "Kindly have a seat. Let's talk some business." 

Montero removed a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, tapping it against his hand to extend one before putting it to his lips. “Let’s just say I have a knack for locating Mrs. James.”

“Indeed. No small feat. As I’m certain you know, she can be a handful. I can see how someone with your expertise might come in handy. I’d like more time to consider the circumstances and how best to apply your skills. If you’d be so kind as to leave me your contact information.”

**

Returning to the ninth floor, Evelyn knocked on Mr. James’ door, and, expecting him to have departed early for his afternoon meeting, she opened it without waiting for a response. “Mr. James? Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t see another meeting on your calendar. I’ll just wait—.”

She froze, recognizing the man in Mr. James’ office. Fixing him with a distrustful stare, Evelyn sought his name in her head, then her eyes flicked to Andrew. By the set of his body and tilt of his head she knew he wasn’t expecting this man either and had his own questions he wanted answered. At the silent caution in his eyes, she backed away. "— just wait outside."

“There’s a familiar face. It’s quite all right, Miss. I dropped in unannounced.” Montero cast a speculative glance between Evelyn and Andrew. “My apologies for confusing your scheduling. I believe Mr. James and I have no further business. I’ll be around,” he mumbled around the unlit cigarette dangling from his thin lips.

His eyes roved over Evelyn appreciatively as he ambled out of the office. “Good day, Miss. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. James.” 

When he was gone, Evelyn closed the door with more vehemence than she intended. She shuddered, watching her boss flop into the executive chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Staring out the windows at nothing, he tapped one foot, pondering.

“Mr. James, are you alright?”

“If that was actually revulsion I saw in your shudder, then I suspect I’ve fared that encounter better than you." Andrew turned his chair to face him. "Are you alright?”

She stared at the door, one lip curled up slightly in disgust. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’ve met him before.”

“Only like that. He’s an unsavory sort, always showing up unannounced. Your brother met with him occasionally.”

“Starting when?”

“Sometime before I became his secretary.”

“He says my brother hired him to keep tabs on Charlotte’s whereabouts.”

“And you believe him?”

His eyes, more green than blue today, met hers. “You don’t. What do you know about him? You said he was unsavory. In what way?”

“He’s an unpleasant person, sir. With what I consider questionable methods and connections. The man is shrouded in secrets and lies.” Evelyn stared at the door where Montero had disappeared. “Maybe he was watching Mrs. James. Maybe it was for your brother. But I have no doubt there’s more. I’m just not certain how you’d get it out of him.”

“Thank you. That will be all for now, Miss Moore.”

"Yes sir." A writhing tendril of smoke coming from the trash caught Evelyn’s eye as she stepped out of Mr. James' office.  Leaning over, she realized it came from a carelessly discarded matchbook, its last match, burned, but still smoldering. Hearing the elevator open, she watched Montero enter, smoke trailing from the cigarette dangling from his lips, then snatched the matchbook up, snuffing it completely out.

Evelyn turned it over in her hand. It had come from De Baliviere Restaurant in St. Louis. That would certainly account for the southern accent, she thought. Before she could consider further, Mr. James emerged, hat and jacket in hand, from the office behind her.

"There shouldn't be much in the desk drawers to take upstairs. Remove what you'll need from this desk as well, and we'll finish our week in our office on the thirty-eighth floor."

"Yes sir."

Adjusting his cufflinks, Andrew strode towards the elevator. "I'm off to my afternoon meeting. I don't anticipate returning before you leave at the end of the day. Should you need anything, kindly leave a note in my office upstairs."

"Yes sir." When he was gone, Evelyn stared at the matchbook still tucked in her hand. Debating only a moment, she opened the drawer of her desk and dropped it in.

**

I shall be incredibly grateful to be back on the thirty-eighth floor and have use of the executive lift again. No sooner had he stepped into the elevator and turned to face the doors than he realized irritably he'd be stopping on every floor down to the Trust's grand lobby.

I should have taken the stairs. 

Tapping one toe impatiently, Andrew skimmed the lobby area before the lift on the eighth floor as it stopped, releasing a couple passengers then boarding another. Then the doors slid closed silently and the elevator lurched downward.

At least the crowd's likely to be smaller. Probably still would have taken less time to walk the nine flights of stairs. 

His displeasure festering like a gangrenous wound, he waited with anxious breaths as the same scene played out on the seventh floor, then the doors closed and the lift lurched towards the sixth. 

Finally.

From the sixth floor, the elevator would descend directly to the lobby where doubtless, Mickey would be waiting and he'd be on his way to his last meeting of the day. With a relieved sigh, Andrew stared blankly into the sixth floor lobby as the doors slid open. 

It was as the passengers going downstairs with him were boarding that Andrew spotted him. 

Montero! 

And Mrs. Stiles?

The steel-haired woman looked about anxiously, then with a hard shove, pushed Montero around a corner into an open office and out of sight. 

"Excuse me, please." Narrowly slipping through the closing doors, Andrew strode across the space casually, tucking unseen around a corner where he could listen. 

"—pleasure to see you too, Miranda," Montero chuckled mirthlessly, his voice low. 

"Edward, I'm in no mood for your shenanigans," Mrs. Stiles hissed. Casting a quick glance left then right into the outer office area to reassure herself of their privacy, she returned to the whispered conversation and Andrew inched nearer, listening closely. "I've got a fine enough mess to take care of as it is, I don't need you contributing to it. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Mrs. Stiles. Why aren't you still in New Orleans looking after our charge like you're supposed to?"

With a contemptuous huff, Mrs. Stiles spat, "Charge! I don't even know how you can refer to her that way. She's a disaster and I don't want Rebecca around it. I've done my time. If you want her watched, go look after her yourself."

"Might have to. Appears people have a bad habit of dying around you, like our mutual friend."

"Spare me, Edward. You couldn't have cared less about him."

"Maybe not, but I sure cared about him footing the bills and I'm damn sure your unexpected appearance here has something to do with the fact he's not around to do so any longer. Where's Becky anyway? You haven't been leaving her alone, have you?"

"Of course not, I'm her mother, Edward. After our mutual friend hired me on, I hired her into the secretary pool. She's downstairs monotonously copying Trust mailings—remarkably, she's good at it. She does well with clear direction." Mrs. Stiles' head popped out the door to check the outer office area again and Andrew flattened himself against the wall. "And it's most certainly not my fault he jumped. If only he'd succeeded in taking the girl with him."

Jumped? They were talking about Russell! And Evelyn!

"Taking the girl—!? She wasn't part of this! What the hell happened, Miranda?"

"I don't entirely know. It was hard for him to spend time with us—."

Why would Russell be spending time—?

"You mean with you."

Good God. Was he having an affair with her?

"Don't patronize me! I mean with us. She's his flesh and blood too." With a heavy sigh, Miranda Stiles continued, "I only knew his holdings have been in a mess since the Crash. Between us and Charlotte, he was broke. That's why he was still at the family estate, unlike the baby. All I knew was there was fighting, and of course everything had to protect the baby," she said with a sneer.

His flesh and blood? Who!? And what baby!?

"That doesn't tell me what happened and what it had to do with the girl."

"It's pretty simple, Edward. He jumped. Perfect little thing that she is, the girl actually managed to stop him."

"Stop him!?" Montero gawked incredulously. "He did it twice!?"

"No. The girl managed to catch him—"

"Jesus!"

"—but she couldn't hold him. He pulled her out with him. Then the baby caught her, and she lost her grip on our mutal friend. That should have been the end of it." she huffs in frustration. "I'd gotten rid of her, then he went and hired her back—."

"Miranda! The girl wasn't the problem. The family is— they're the ones who denied our birthright."

"She is a problem, Edward. He felt obligated to look after her. God knows who he told or what she knows!"

"None of that matters. Since you weren't where you were supposed to be, you didn't get the message. She found us. It's only a matter of time until she catches up."

"That's impossible."

"There's always a trail. It took her a while but she found it."

"What do we do?"

"You do nothing. Keep your head down and take care of Becky. I'm going to pick up a job and see if I can figure out a way to get us out of here."

"Where are we going to go? Where's left to us?"

"I don't know. Just— don't do anything to expose yourself until I can figure it out. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't panic, alright? We've still got each other. We'll be okay." Ducking, Montero kissed Mrs. Stiles on the cheek. "If anything happens, take Becky and you know where to find me."

"I'll see you out."

**