The Man I Thought I Knew

  The Man I Thought I Knew

  Two-Faced #1

  E. L. Todd

  Hartwick Publishing

  Hartwick Publishing

  The Man I Thought I Knew

  Copyright © 2020 by E. L. Todd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  One

  Carson

  I knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, boss?”

  His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at the paper in his hands. With salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard, he was one of those handsome men who aged nicely, like a fine wine that only got better with time. Without looking up, he waved me in with his fingers.

  The office was busy with people making copies, talking on the phone at their cubicles, occasionally yelling across the room at one another for something. It was casual, somewhat chaotic, like the floor of the stock exchange.

  We were the most respected newspaper in the world, so we had to hustle and make every second count. Sometimes shouting at a neighbor was easier than a stupid email that ended with “Sincerely Yours.”

  I stepped into the office and took a seat, knowing he’d called me in there to hand me the next assignment. My heart always raced during these moments, because I worked my ass off for the good stories, and every time I was given one, I assumed that my last article had been well received.

  He finally put down the paper and took off his glasses to regard me. “Carson, I’ve been given a few leads from anonymous sources. The information checks out. It’s yours if you want it—”

  “Absolutely.”

  He held up his hand to silence me before I ran my mouth and said a million things. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

  “You know I never turn down a story.”

  “But this dangerous. You gotta keep your head down, Carson.”

  “Psh.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “I can handle Baghdad, so I can handle this.”

  His hard, beady eyes stayed on me, slightly annoyed. “The big banks are discriminating against their clients. They’re only handing out large loans to the clients that have at least a hundred million dollars in their accounts. Businesses that actually need it are either being denied, or their paperwork is getting lost. My sources say there’s a bigger scheme going on here, that investors are pulling some kind of strings to make their pockets fuller. Sources suspect corporations are inflating their net worth with these loans, to attract more investors. Might be the biggest case of corporate fraud we’ve ever seen. You’re gonna have to ask questions people don’t want to be asked—and you might pay for it.”

  I wasn’t scared of anything—especially suits. “I got this.”

  He regarded me for another moment before he handed me the folder. “Be safe, Carson. I don’t want your body to be found in the Hudson.”

  I opened it and took a look inside. “Corporate fraud…so easy.” I rose to my feet and gave him a thumbs-up. “Thanks so much, Vince.” I turned to leave his office.

  “Carson.”

  I turned back around in the doorway.

  “You’re one of the best journalists I’ve got. You don’t need to keep proving yourself.”

  I hustled like any day might be my last. A fire had been lit under my ass, and work had become my entire life. I wanted my name to mean something, to command respect in the journalistic community. “You know I’ve got an ass that don’t quit.”

  At the end of the day, I stopped by Charlie’s cubicle. “Ready?”

  Without acknowledging me, he logged out of his computer, took his flash drive, and then packed his bag to leave. He walked beside me, and we left the floor together, waiting until we were in the elevator with the doors closed.

  “What story did Vince give you?” Charlie was in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, nearly a foot taller than me, having kind eyes that matched his kind heart underneath that strong chest.

  “The story of the century.”

  “Start talking.”

  “Corporate fraud. The banks are in cahoots with the biggest corporations in the country, using their loans to inflate their stock values.”

  Charlie had to blink a few times to process what I’d said. It was unbelievable, to me as well as to him. It was definitely the story of the century. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “I don’t have the details, but that’s what we know from sources.”

  “Jesus Christ…”

  “Yep.” The elevator lowered to the bottom floor, and I took advantage of the opportunity to dance around, raise my hands over my head, shake my ass in celebration. “Who’s the baddest bitch in this place?”

  He gripped the strap of his satchel and chuckled. “Carson, this could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous is my middle name.” I kept dancing.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Look, it’s always dangerous. I wouldn’t like my job if it weren’t.”

  “I would.” He shook his head.

  “And Vince asked me. Mwah.” I shook my shoulders to make my tits shake. “He could have asked Arthur or Cameron, but nope—he asked me.” I cupped my mouth and shouted in the elevator. “Who’s the hottest bitch in this place?”

  He chuckled. “Congrats, Carson.”

  “Come on.” I nudged him in the side, still dancing.

  He rolled his eyes before he started to dance, moving in the silence to the gears of the elevator. We made our own music together, spinning around, shaking our hips, partying without a single sound.

  Then the doors opened on the lobby.

  We immediately straightened, seeing people waiting to get inside.

  “Hey, how you doing?” I strutted past them.

  “Have a good one,” Charlie said, moving with me to get past the crowd.

  We walked away together, suppressing the grins on our faces.

  “Was that the owner of the paper?” Charlie asked.

  “Yep.” I burst out laughing.

  He laughed too. “Fuck.”

  Charlie and I were roommates. It was the only way we could afford to live in Manhattan, which was a much better commute than taking two trains from Brooklyn. It was a two-bedroom apartment with a good-sized living room but didn’t have much of a kitchen.

  But it was perfect for us.

  “What do you want for dinner?” I stared into the fridge, my hand gripping the handle on the outside.

  Charlie fell onto the couch, putting his feet on the table. “Beer.”

  “Well, we don’t have that.”

  “We’re out?” He dropped his head back and sighed. “Goddammit.”

  “We can have some delivered…for a small fortune.”

  “Maybe next time I get a raise.”

  “So, we can make—”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Charlie was closer, so he yelled, “It’s open!”

  Denise walked inside, her purse strap across her chest so her bag could rest on her opposite hip. She had short blond hair, a little more height than me, and she had blue eyes, unlike mine. “Hey. What’s for dinner?”

  Charlie shifted on the couch so he could look at her. “Beer. But we realized we’re out.”

  “Oh…then I should just go.” She turned back to the door and chuckled. “Nah, I’m kidding. I still want to see my little sister even when there’s no beer or food.”

  I shut the fridge and sighed. “We’re gonna have to order something. I’ve been so swamped at work I haven’t had time to go to the store.” I cam
e back into the living room to face her.

  “You guys want to get Thai food?” Denise turned to Charlie. “There’s that great place just across the street.”

  Charlie rose to his feet and joined us behind the couch. “I’m not going to say no to that.” He slid his hands into his pockets and looked at her, his eyes focused for a few seconds too long. “You in, Carson?”

  “It’s better than starving, so let’s do it.” I grabbed my purse, and we headed across the street. We got a table, and I ordered a Thai iced tea. “What’s new, Denise?”

  She shrugged. “Just work, work, work. What about you?”

  Charlie sat beside her, his eyes on her most of the time, even though I was directly across from her. “Carson got the article of a lifetime.”

  “Really?” she asked, turning back to me. “I feel like you’ve already gotten three of those.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just so good that it keeps happening.”

  She chuckled but rolled her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Corporate fraud.”

  “Doesn’t require travel, right?” Denise asked. “Because we’ll miss you too much.”

  “Not sure,” I said. “I just got the assignment like two hours ago, but I’m eager to get started.”

  We ordered our food and then made small talk, chatting about the next game night, the creepy dude at the gym who sweated on everything, and the wait for summer to hit the city. Charlie was quiet, like he usually was around Denise. He kept his head down and ate most of the time.

  “So, when are we going to get together?” Denise asked. “Since you’ve been so busy lately.”

  “How about Saturday?” I asked. “We’ll either have a game night or go bowling.”

  “Going to bring Boy Toy?” Denise teased.

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on if I’m horny or not.”

  “Well, Boy Toy is pretty hot,” Denise said. “Don’t see it going anywhere?”

  I shook my head quickly. “I don’t want it to go anywhere, and he knows that. Guys have their regulars on the side. Why can’t I have mine?”

  “Very true.” Denise finished the rest of her tea before she stood up. “I’m gonna powder my nose, and then we’ll go.” She left her satchel behind and walked off.

  I put my leftovers in the paper bag the waitress had left on the table.

  Charlie was right by the window, so he looked outside, his elbows on the table. He had dirty-blond hair, bright eyes, and a muscular physique. He was a few years older than me, but he shared my immaturity.

  “You need to stop making it so obvious.”

  His eyes shifted back to mine, his expression defensive right away.

  “One, stop staring. Two, don’t be so quiet.”

  He drank his tea and ignored what I’d said.

  “I’m just trying to help you.”

  “Got it.” He sat back in the chair and rubbed the back of his neck.

  I’d known Charlie since we started working together at the New York Press, and he had no problem getting dates, picking up women at bars and the gym, but Denise had always been under his skin and wouldn’t go away…for years. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  Two

  Carson

  I sat across from Jerry Hempstead in the booth, wearing a black cocktail dress and heels, my glass of Bordeaux in front of me. “Your corporation brought in more than a billion dollars last year. That’s a B. Not an M. And yet, you accepted this loan from the bank when you shouldn’t even need the funds. Let’s talk about that.” I picked up my glass and took a drink, my lipstick smearing on the edge.

  Jerry was a middle-aged man who had a crooked look about him. He was a cliché, looking as evil as he probably was. He’d been there picking up a prostitute when I’d intervened, embarrassing him in front of his tail and cornering him in this booth. Now, I had dirt on him—which was why he was still sitting there.

  Overweight and sweaty despite the cold temperature in the bar, he stared at me with a ferocious glare. “Not much to say.”

  “According to my records, you just raised the value of your company by five points a week ago, at the same time this loan closed. You want to talk about that?”

  He gave me a grin, but it wasn’t kind or warm. It was more of a sneer. “Sweetheart, you talk the talk. You probably walk the walk. But you have no idea what you’re getting into. I suggest you let it go.”

  “Nah.” I took another drink. “I never let anything go. This problem won’t go away. Every time you’re out trying to pick up a piece of ass while your wife is out of town with the kids, I’ll be there.”

  “Will you be the piece of ass?”

  “Oh honey, you couldn’t afford me.”

  “I disagree. I have something you want. You want some information, it’s gonna cost you.” He nodded to the doorway. “Get on those skinny knees and blow me good, and maybe I’ll give you a few names.” He was sleazy, disgusting, and the criminal I accused him of being.

  “Nah, I’m good.” I pulled out the recorder and set it on the table. “Work with me, Jerry. I have a good relationship with the Feds so I can get you immunity if you make this worthwhile.”

  He glanced at the recorder before he flicked it away, making it slide off the table and back onto my seat. “Do you know how to swim?”

  My eyes narrowed on his face, knowing he was going to say something sinister in a few seconds.

  “Because you’re gonna be dropped in the middle of the ocean if you keep asking these questions.” He grabbed my glass, took a drink and got his spit on the edge, and then scooted out of the booth. “Have a good one, Carson.”

  I didn’t look at him as he walked away. “Give my best to the missus…” I sat perfectly straight, my empty glass full of his spit in front of me. Now I needed another drink, a stronger one.

  It was a quiet night in the bar, probably because it was the middle of the week and summer was still a few weeks away. When the hot season arrived, there’d be so many tourists they’d be breathing down your neck in every hot spot in Manhattan.

  I needed some quotes for this story, but that was impossible if nobody would talk. I had bank documents and recordings of private conversations, but I needed a little more to actually break this story. I’d contacted my source at the FBI, but I wasn’t getting a callback.

  Distracted by my thoughts, I didn’t notice the man approach my table. He placed a glass of Bordeaux in front of me, replacing the defiled one that sleazy man had ruined. The man helped himself to the seat across from me.

  “Look, I’m really not in the…” I shut my mouth when I got a look at the guy. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his forearms chiseled and covered with those corded veins I liked. He had tanned skin, like he was an outdoorsy kind of man, and his broad shoulders showed a commitment to the gym. His arms were thick, and he was ripped, maximizing the muscle without being bulky. He was muscular but lean, like he lifted weights and was a runner. But his face was the best part. He had that cut jawline sprinkled with dark stubble, dark eyes, and short dark hair. His neck had a few corded veins running down underneath the neckline of his long-sleeved shirt.

  And he had a glass of scotch in his hand.

  No beer. No wine. Just straight liquor.

  Wow, this guy was something.

  He lifted the glass slightly, swirled the amber liquid a bit, and then brought it to his lips for a quick drink. He licked his lips before he set it down again, looking at me like he’d already said hello even though he hadn’t said a word.

  It was rare for me to be caught off guard by a man, to be thoroughly impressed by just his energy and appearance. But he made my mouth close, made me stare, made me a little nervous.

  After another sip, he spoke. “I thought you deserved a drink after you handled that asshole.”

  I didn’t even care that he’d been eavesdropping. “A couple drinks, actually.” I took a drink, letting what was left of my lipstick smear ag
ainst the glass. “And thank you.” I held up my glass before I set it down again.

  He nodded.

  “Oh no…you’re the strong and silent type.”

  He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing.

  “I’m a sucker for the strong and silent type.”

  His eyes looked out the window for a second, a small smile moving onto his lips. He turned back to his scotch and took a drink, like the booze didn’t affect him at all. “I was about to head home when I overheard your conversation. Never heard a woman handle herself like that.”

  “Then you need to get out more.”

  He grinned again, and it was such a handsome look on him, a soft touch to all his hardness. The shadow on his jawline was so masculine and sexy, and the deep brown color of his eyes made him look dangerous, even when he smiled. He leaned against the back of the leather booth, his shoulders wide, his long arms reaching the table where his hands cupped his glass. “Are you a cop?”

  “No,” I said with a laugh. “I’m a journalist.”

  “Why is that a funny question?”

  “Because I don’t have the spine for a job like that.”

  “After what I heard, I disagree.” He leaned forward, his elbows landing on the table, his palm circling over the top of his glass, his fingers along the edge. “What kind of journalist are you?”

  “I write for the New York Press.”

  His eyebrows rose, like he was familiar with the paper and its prestige. “That’s impressive.”

  I appreciated the compliment, but I didn’t respond to it. My success usually intimidated men, along with my loud mouth and opinionated comments. But so far, he didn’t seem like one of those guys.

  “It seems a bit dangerous, based on what I heard.”

  “Oh, that was nothing.” I took another drink, glad that the wine had settled in my stomach and made me relax a bit. This man set all my nerves on fire. My conversations with Jerry got me nowhere, but it was worth it…because it led to this.