Page 14 of Wells

"Hey, what's the name of the company? I'll look them up on my day trades and tell you if they're as corporate as you think."

"It's a huge shipping company. One of the biggest logistics outfits in the world, and I had no clue one of them was sitting right here in New Orleans." I sling my bag higher on my shoulder. "Stone Intermodal."

"No kidding." Locke nods, impressed. "I know it well. High-dollar stocks."

"Right? It's exactly what I need."

We push out into the Magazine Street sun. "Call me later, Darlin'."

Locke does his signature kiss on my cheek and then flits off in the opposite direction from where I'm heading. My legs are a little tight from class, and the walk to my car is good for me.

I have a callback. I have money coming in. I have the anonymous man sealed in his own box, separate from everything else, exactly where I keep him.

Hopefully, next week I'll sit down for my final interview and get the job. For the first time since Cas left, things are finally going my way.

FOUR

Wells

Known but Unnamed: Half the pleasure of a masked ball was dancing with someone whose gait or laugh you knew while the name behind the costume stayed out of reach. Sometimes you recognize a person long before you are allowed to know who they are.

The packet flags fifteen minutes before I finish tracing the source.

Someone breached the Singapore routing system last week. Whoever it was covered their tracks well enough that the system logs looked clean, but volume discrepancies told a different story. Two shipments that should have crossed each other in transit showed simultaneous corridor use that physics does not permit.

I pull the metadata, cross-reference the terminal access logs, and isolate three employee IDs that pinged the same secured zone within a four-minute window. Two of them work the graveyard shift. The third doesn't work in Singapore at all.

There it is.

I flag the account, lock the credentials, and route the full packet to Ridge with a note that says one line.

Internal breach, Singapore terminal, recommend audit.

My phone buzzes before I can move to the next screen.

I glance at the display. Sandra Benney, HR. My jaw locks, and I let it ring twice more before I answer.

"Stone."

"Wells, good morning." Her voice is warm and efficient at the same time, the exact tone that means she wants something I will not want to give. "Do you have a minute?"

"No."

"Perfect. I'll make it less than a minute." She was probably already prepared for my response. "We discussed the graphic design placement a few weeks ago."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do you remember the board asked for someone to turn your findings into visuals and reports for your weekly leadership briefings and quarterly board meetings? We've come up with the position of data visualization designer."

"Okay."

"We've identified a candidate. We’d like to set up a time for you to meet her before we offer the job."

"This is that bullshit position where we pay someone to dumb down my reports?"

"Not exactly. She isn't someone you hand finished work to. She's embedded with your function, sits in on your briefings, works through the data with you, and builds everything from the daily dashboards to the quarterly board packs. To make your work make sense, she has to understand it, which means she'll be in your orbit, asking questions. Think of it as the presentation of your genius."

Ass kisser.