Go-Between

Chapter Sixteen

Well, so what?

Michelle leaned back in her business class seat and sipped her wine. Caitlin dozed in the seat next to her. It was about 8:30 p.m. Los Angeles time.

So what if Caitlin liked Troy? So what if the feeling was mutual? Caitlin was flying back to Houston. He was in Los Angeles.

Of course, with Caitlin’s money, she could fly back to LA any time she wanted. And with this election going on, she’d have plenty of reasons to be in LA.

Just because they were attracted to each other didn’t mean they’d get together, Michelle told herself.

What if they did?

You’re not thinking this through, she told herself. It wasn’t the attraction that was the problem. The problem was Caitlin coming out of her shell. Opening herself up to new ideas. Maybe wanting to quit Safer America.

Or worse. What if Caitlin decided to steer Safer America in a different direction?

Follow the money. She was assuming a lot of things, but if it all came down to money, the people funding Safer America expected results from their contributions.

Who exactly was funding Safer America?

Was there any way she could find out?

Don’t go there, she told herself. She needed to focus, on doing her job and not pissing off Gary. On getting Danny out of jail.

But if her “job” was taking care of Caitlin… what did she owe Caitlin? Anything?

And Gary would almost certainly fuck her over in the end.

It wouldn’t hurt to know more about what she was up against. There were things she could find out without taking stupid risks-more about the backgrounds of the board members, for one. She could do that on her iPad. That shouldn’t be dangerous.

Assuming Gary hadn’t somehow hacked it.

Michelle had arranged for a car service to pick them up at the airport. Caitlin was mostly silent on the ride. Tired, Michelle supposed, and feeling the effects of the wine she’d had on the plane. As they approached River Oaks, Caitlin stirred. A smile crossed her face, as though she’d recalled a pleasant memory.

“You know, that was a really great trip,” she said.

“It was,” Michelle said, mustering whatever fake enthusiasm she had left.

Caitlin suddenly turned to her.

“I know I make a lot of jokes, but you really have been a great help to me. And, okay, I’ll admit it, a good influence.” She reached out and briefly rested her hand on top of Michelle’s. “Thank you.”

You need to tell her, Michelle thought. You have to.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Her apartment felt like a stale sauna, smelling faintly of old moldy carpet. She switched on the air conditioner. Dumped her suitcase by the bed. Checked to see if her cash was still in the other suitcase in the closet. She was a little surprised and vaguely pleased to see that it was.

She took a quick shower, changed into a pair of jersey shorts and Danny’s old Air Force T-shirt. Powered up her Emily phone.

One message.

“This is a collect call from an inmate in…” A pause. “Harris County Jail… If you are willing to accept, press one.”

Click. A hangup.

Danny.

He called again the next day, while she was dropping off Caitlin’s clothes at the dry cleaner. She’d risked keeping her Emily phone on, in case he called back.

She waited for the prompt from the recorded voice, pressed the button to accept the call.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the clerk at the cleaner’s. “I, I have to take this.” Scooping up the clothes she’d laid on the counter, she slung the laundry bag over her shoulder and left the air-conditioning to stand outside on the sidewalk, in the steaming heat of a Houston late morning.

“Hey,” he said. “Hope this is an okay time.”

“It’s fine.”

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“I… I’m sorry, ” she said.

She wasn’t even sure why she was apologizing. For not being there at the hearing. For the way the hearing had worked out. For everything.

She was crying now, and she didn’t know why she was doing that, either.

“Listen,” he said. “Calls get dropped a lot, so I need you to listen.” He sounded exhausted. But not just that. There was something else, something underneath. Something urgent.

“I miss you,” he said. “I… I just want to see you. I know it’s a lot to ask, with everything you’ve got going on.”

He couldn’t be asking to see her just because he missed her. There had to be something else. Something he didn’t want to communicate through the lawyers.

Something important.

The thought steadied her somewhat.

“I miss you too. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Whatever it was, good or bad, she needed to keep herself together.

When she got back to the house, she found Caitlin sitting on the oatmeal couch in the Great Room, tapping away on her laptop.

“The dry cleaning will be ready tomorrow afternoon,” Michelle said.

“Oh, hi.” Caitlin continued to stare at the screen. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

“No problem. Is there anything I can help you with right now?”

“Mmm, not really. I’m just finding that article for Troy. The one about lead and criminal behavior.”

Now what, Michelle thought? There was nothing on the schedule for today. No plans for upcoming events that she knew of. No work she could do. And if she took the afternoon off, she still couldn’t see Danny. There were no visiting hours today.

What was it he needed to tell her?

“Is there anything in particular you’d like for lunch?”

“Lunch?” The little wave. “Whatever you feel like.”

“Well, okay, I’ll figure out something.”

Caitlin nodded, attention fixed on her screen.

“I’ll be in the office if you need me,” Michelle said.

When she checked the Outlook calendar on the office desktop, she saw an event had been added for Friday.

She went back into the living room. Caitlin was still working on her laptop.

“There’s a staff meeting tomorrow?” Michelle asked.

“Yeah. A sort of debrief on the LA event and a pre-planning meeting for the next swing through California.”

“Okay. I’ll try to get up to speed on that.”

“I already heard back from Troy on that lead article. He really liked it.” Caitlin’s lips curved in a small smile.

Michelle managed a smile of her own.

“That’s great!”

Maybe Caitlin’s connecting with Troy was nothing to worry about, she thought. Maybe she was overreacting.

And maybe Safer America was a perfectly legitimate non-profit doing perfectly legal election work.

Figure the odds.

She couldn’t see Danny until Saturday. There were no visiting hours until then. That left the rest of today and tomorrow to occupy herself, somehow.

The staff meeting tomorrow, that could be interesting.

How much could she investigate Safer America without arousing suspicion?

Whatever was on the office computer was fair game, she figured. If there was some kind of scam, some kind of money laundering or illegal donations going on, the evidence probably wasn’t going to be sitting on the computer here in plain sight.

And the board members, who they were, what interests they represented, surely there was nothing too suspicious about her looking into their backgrounds, was there? As Caitlin’s assistant, she should have an idea who the players in the organization were, shouldn’t she?

In the nearly two weeks she’d been working for Caitlin, Michelle hadn’t spent a lot of time on the computer in Caitlin’s office. Mostly she’d used the laptop, and the times she’d been on the desktop, she’d been doing scheduling and researching hotels. Hell, most of what she’d been doing had been exactly what Gary had said it would be: Babysitting Caitlin. Chaperoning her on the trip to Los Angeles. Monitoring her drinking, which so far had been excessive but not drowning-in-a-bathtub drunk. Michelle wondered about that. Maybe she’d been lucky so far. Or maybe Gary’s version of Caitlin was an exaggeration, if not an outright lie, to suit his own purpose, whatever it was.

Or maybe Caitlin had changed. Was changing. The doubts she’d expressed about Safer America, meeting with Troy Stone…

And asking if Michelle wanted to work out with her tomorrow morning at a local River Oaks gym.

“If you don’t mind,” Caitlin had said, with some hesitation. Might as well, Michelle had thought. The River Oaks gym had to be better than the shitty “fitness center” at her apartment complex.

Now, she was here in the office with nothing to do, except possibly arrange lunch.

She booted up the computer.

There weren’t that many folders on the desktop. “Speeches.” “Research.” “Receipts.” “Contacts.” “Disclosures.”

She checked the applications menu. One of the icons was a stylized globe held up in cupped hands. “DonorSoft.”

As good a place to start as any. Michelle clicked on the application.

It opened onto a welcome page. She could see a menu bar across the top: “Home.” “Search.” “Accounting.” “Reports.” “Donors.” “Campaigns.” “Events.” “Volunteers.” “Preferences.” “Help.”

She felt a tingling in her hands. She clicked on “Donors.”

A pop-up box appeared. User Name. Password.

“Shit,” she muttered.

She entered the user name and password she’d been given to log on to the computer here.

User name or password not recognized.

Hardly a surprise.

She tried a couple of the other tabs, less sensitive areas, like “Volunteers” and “Help” and got the same result.

Could she go to Caitlin, ask for access?

What would her excuse be?

I’ll think about it, she told herself. Come up with something.

What else could she explore?

“Disclosures” sounded promising.

She clicked on the folder.

Eight PDFs with the file names “Public” followed by years. Half were labeled “SAF,” the others, “SAA,” one from each year. The most recent were from last year. She clicked on the one labeled “SAA.”

It looked like a tax return. “Form 990. **Public Disclosure Copy** Return of Organization Exempt From Income Tax.”

The name of the organization was “Safer America Action.”

She started paging down.

The first page looked a lot like a 1040. Caitlin was identified as the “principal officer” of a “501(c)4.” There was a brief description of the organization’s mission: “To advocate for the victims of crime in the United States and for effective strategies to reduce crime and build safer communities.” Then, a checklist for “Activities and Governance,” followed by “Revenue,” “Expenses” and “Net Assets.”

They’d raised over $32 million last year.

She kept scrolling. The document looked to be around fifty pages.

Statement of Program Service Accomplishments. Checklist of Required Schedules. Statements Regarding Other IRS Filings and Tax Compliance. Governance, Management and Disclosure.

Compensation of Officers, Directors, Trustees, Key Employees, Highest Compensated Employees, and Independent Contractors.

There was a long list of directors, forty-one of them in alphabetical order, split in two for some reason, with some names that Michelle recognized: several retired politicians, a few famous businessmen, Perry Aisles, the television producer who had introduced Caitlin in Los Angeles. That was where she found Michael Campbell, the Santa Claus representing ALEAAG, the law enforcement officers lobby; Randall Gates, the man from Prostasis, whatever that was; and Debbie Landry, the board secretary.

All of the directors were listed as working for two hours a week, one hour at Safer America Action, the other at a “related organization,” for zero compensation.

The directors’ list was interrupted by a section for “Independent Contractors.” A couple of them were easy enough to figure out: The travel service they used for hotels and airfare. Professional fundraisers. A company that printed annual reports and mailers. A hotel in town that seemed to be where Safer America booked its guests.

But two of the contractors were simply listed as “Consulting Services”: Edgemore Media Consulting and Red Seas Research Ltd.

Edgemore Media received $539,372 in compensation. Red Seas Research got $348,191.

Michelle paged ahead.

In the next section of directors, she found Matthew Moss. Also listed for two hours a week at zero compensation.

The final board member, Steve… she still didn’t know what his last name was.

She continued to scroll.

Next came the highest compensated employees.

The first was Caitlin O’Connor, President.

Caitlin worked thirty-three hours a week, according to the disclosure form: twenty hours at Safer America Action, thirteen at “related organizations.” Her annual salary was divided between three columns, D, E and F. The first was “Reportable compensation from the organization,” which had to mean Safer America Action. The second column was for “Reportable compensation from related organizations.” Maybe from SAF, the other group of PDFs, whatever that was? The third column was “Estimated amount of other compensation from the organization and related organizations.”

From Column D, from Safer America Action, Caitlin received $159,286. From Column E, “related organizations,” she got $127,776. From Column F, “other compensation,” $45,113.

Michelle added up the numbers in her head.

She was getting paid $75K, so she guessed it wasn’t that surprising that Caitlin was making close to $300K, even without adding in “other compensation.”

Not real wealth, not like the hedge fund managers and the Fortune 500 CEOs and the new tech millionaires, maybe not even that much for a person living in River Oaks.

But wasn’t this supposed to be a nonprofit?

The Vice President of Finance/Administration, Porter Ackermann, was next. His salary and compensation were about $50K less than Caitlin’s. He too was working thirty-three hours a week, with a similar split in who paid him.

She had a sudden flash of Porter in his expensive suit, sitting behind his expensive walnut desk. He had other income, she was willing to bet on it.

“Hon?” she heard Caitlin call from the Great Room. “Did you make any reservations yet?”

“Not yet. Anything in particular you feel like?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Caitlin hugged the doorframe. “How about… something healthy?” She grinned. “Sushi, maybe?”

“Sure,” Michelle said.

She scrolled past the other highest compensated employees. She didn’t have much time before lunch.

Statement of Revenue. Statement of Functional Expenses. Balance Sheet. Reconciliation of Net Assets.

A lot of big numbers. Tens of millions in places. There was no way for her to make sense of it skimming like this.

Public Charity Status and Public Support. Reason for Public Charity Status. Support Schedules. Public Support Percentage and Investment Income Percentage. A page for Supplemental Information, left blank.

Then, finally, there it was:

Schedule B. **Public Disclosure Copy**.

Schedule of Contributors.

Her heart beat a little a faster, and she could feel the sweat break out on her scalp and back, in spite of the air conditioning.

She paged past the Organization Type and General Rules versus Special Rules to Part 1: Contributors.

The first contributor’s contributions totaled $8,500,000. The type of contribution checked was “Person.”

The other information, the name of the contributor, the contributor’s address, was blank.

“What?” she muttered. That couldn’t be right.

She scrolled down the page.

The next contributor kicked in $7,000,000. A “Person.” No identifying information.

$5,500,000. $3,300,000. $1,500,000. Two more pages with decreasing amounts. The lowest was $5,000.

No information about the donors at all.

“You about ready for lunch?” Caitlin called from the other room.

“Lunch sounds great,” Michelle said. She closed the program and rose. “Oh, would you mind if I ran a quick errand after? I just need to pick something up at the drugstore.”

“Sure, go ahead. There’s not a lot going on today anyway. Take the rest of the afternoon off, if you’d like.”

“Well, I won’t say no to leaving early,” Michelle said quickly. “There’s just a few things I want to do here first.”

“Do you want to stop at the CVS now?” Caitlin asked after lunch, some $175 of sushi and premium sake. Caitlin had drunk most of the sake, so Michelle was driving. “It’s on our way back.”

Michelle hesitated. She couldn’t think of a logical reason to say no, but she didn’t like the idea of Caitlin knowing she’d gone to buy a flash drive.

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said.

Caitlin made her weary wave. “Oh, you’re not putting me out. I’ll just wait in the car with the air on.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be quick.”

She left Caitlin in the passenger seat fiddling with the radio, the car parked in the middle of the small CVS parking lot.

She bought a box of Kleenex, a bottle of Mrs. Meyers counter cleaner and a bar of hand soap along with the flash drive.

When she exited the CVS, she felt like she’d walked into a sauna, especially after the store’s overly chilly air conditioning. Why do places do that? she wondered. It just made going outside worse.

There was a car parked two spaces over from Caitlin’s White Pearl Lexus SUV. A late model silver compact, one of those anonymous economy imports that you saw everywhere and couldn’t necessarily identify. Something about it nagged at her. What was it? A Kia?

No. A Hyundai.

She drew closer.

A Hyundai with a bumper sticker that said owned by a pug.

Carlene’s car. Gary’s errand girl who’d picked up the suitcase of cash from her apartment.

From behind, the car looked empty, but Carlene wasn’t very big. Maybe she was crouched down, blocked by the front seat.

Maybe she can’t see me, Michelle thought. She circled around to the passenger side.

She’s Gary’s person. You have to assume she’s dangerous.

Michelle had her.38 tucked in her hobo with the custom holster. She wrapped her hand around the grip now. Approached the car and peered through the window.

Empty.

Michelle straightened up and scanned the parking lot, swiveled her head around to check the exit of the CVS.

Where was she?

Just get out of here, Michelle thought. She turned and half-jogged around the Hyundai toward the Lexus.

And saw Caitlin slumped in the passenger seat, head lolling to one side.

Michelle froze, heart hammering in her throat. She took a step toward the passenger door, then another. She couldn’t see Caitlin’s face. Was she breathing?

Michelle rapped her knuckles on the window. Caitlin stirred. Turned her head and opened her eyes.

Relief flooded through Michelle like cool water.

Caitlin stretched and sat up.

“I can’t believe I feel asleep,” she said when Michelle opened the driver’s door. “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

“Not really.” Michelle managed a smile. “This heat takes a lot out of you.”

It was Carlene’s car, she was sure of it, parked in a place where Michelle was likely to see it. Obviously Carlene wasn’t trying to hide her presence, wherever she might be now. She wanted Michelle to know she was here.

As Michelle pulled the Lexus into the parking lot exit, she saw a woman standing by the bus stop on the sidewalk to her left, wearing a sun visor and accompanied by a leashed brindle pug.

Carlene.

She stared at Michelle, the fingers of her free hand finally wiggling in a fractional wave as Michelle steered the car onto the street, turning right, away from her.

Gary’s way of saying that he was always watching.