Shane reached out to press the intercom button on his desk phone. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Thank you, sir. Line one.”
“Thanks, Ginger.” He took a bracing breath. “Well, this could be really good or really bad.”
Justin reached for the door handle. “Call me when you’re done.”
“I will.” Shane punched line one.
* * *
Darci sat perched on a bus-stop bench across the busy street from the Colborn Aerospace headquarters. The June sunshine glinted on the giant royal blue sign, which stretched across the front of the building. The twenty-one story structure was two blocks from the river, overlooking a small park.
Her father’s unmailed letter had been a revelation. It explained Ian’s bitterness, his rages at Dalton Colborn and likely his fondness for Scotch, which had increased as the years went by. The letter accused Dalton of betraying Ian, of stealing and patenting her father’s next-generation turbine design.
It seemed Ian and Dalton had been best friends for years, until Dalton got greedy and stole everything for himself. Ian’s letter had threatened a lawsuit. He wanted money, sure. But he also wanted professional recognition for his invention. Dalton had won a prestigious award for the turbine, gaining fame that had translated into wealth and skyrocketing growth for Colborn Aerospace, while Ian’s marriage had broken up and he had spiraled into depression and obscurity.
The letter stated that there was irrefutable proof of Ian’s claim in the company’s records. He said his original, signed schematic drawings were hidden away in a place where only he could find them. He’d wanted a court order to retrieve the designs and force Dalton to come clean.
But the letter was never mailed. And Darci could only guess at the reasons her father might have changed his mind. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to tip Dalton off, to risk Dalton finding the drawings and destroying them. If so, why hadn’t he called a lawyer? Or maybe he had.
She realized she’d probably never know.
Now she sat staring at the Colborn Aerospace building and wondered if the proof could possibly be inside. Were there papers moldering in a basement filing cabinet that showed her father was a brilliant engineer? If there were, how could she get her hands on them?
She watched people walk in and out of the building, alone, in pairs, in groups. Some were obviously executives and office staff. Some were maintenance workers. Some were likely clients and customers.
She could walk into the lobby right now, and nobody would stop her. Though there was probably security to keep her from getting much farther than that. Maybe she’d ask to see Shane Colborn. Maybe she’d march right up to him and demand to see the historical files.
Then again, maybe that would be stupid. Shane was likely as selfish and greedy as his father. If he learned there was proof of his family’s dishonesty, there was no way he’d let her hunt for it. Instead, he’d be the one to find it and destroy it.
A bus rolled along the curb. Its air brakes groaned as it came to a stop and blocked her view. A few people stepped off while others boarded, then it pulled away, diesel engine grinding loudly before the sounds mingled with the other traffic.
Children squealed in the park beside her. Birds swooped from aspens to maple trees. The wind freshened the air, blowing away the exhaust from the four-lane thoroughfare.
It was lunchtime, and hundreds of people moved through the park and along the sidewalks. More entered the Colborn building. More came out.
Staring at the imposing stone structure, Darci knew the smart thing to do was walk away. She should forget the letter existed and carry on with her regular life. She could head back to her car, return to the loft and finish unpacking her belongings.
It was Friday. She and Jennifer were going to the Woodrow Club tonight. They’d meet up with some friends from Columbia, have a few drinks, maybe run into some nice guys. Who knew? This could be the night she met her soul mate.
Not that she was necessarily fixating on meeting Mr. Right. She’d like to get married someday, settle down, have kids. Who wouldn’t? But she was in no hurry.
Her and Jennifer’s web-design business was growing at a very satisfying pace. They’d planned a vacation in New York City for July. They had reservations at a hotel on Times Square and tickets to three shows. It was going to be fantastic.
Another bus passed, but it didn’t stop.
She gazed over the tops of the cars and taxis, staring at the glass doors that led to the Colborn Aerospace lobby, while speculating on what kind of a person could get access to the basement. A repairman, perhaps. She could rent a uniform, buy a toolbox and pretend she was from the telephone or the electric company.
Too bad she didn’t know a fuse from a resistor.
Maybe she could deliver a pizza.
A woman headed up the stairs to the front doors, then paused to smooth her skirt, seeming to brace herself before reaching for the door handle. She looked young, nervous and self-conscious.
Job interview, Darci concluded.
Then she sat up straight, a lightning bolt flashing in her brain.
Job interview.
Employees of Colborn Aerospace could wander all over the building. They would have security access, possibly even door keys. Nobody would question their right to be there. And they could chat up the other employees, find out where company records were kept, browse through them under one pretext or another, probably find anything they wanted about the company’s history.
That was the answer. She’d apply for a job, go to work for Colborn. It was a brilliant plan.
Under normal circumstances, Darci’s guilt alone would have stopped her from crashing any party anywhere, never mind one that hosted the who’s who of Chicago. But a week into her new job at Colborn Aerospace, she’d learned the oldest records were kept at the Colborn mansion. Tonight was her best chance to look around inside.
She’d rented a four-thousand-dollar, beaded, gold silk evening gown, splurged on a pair of sparkling heels and shelled out a fortune for hair and makeup at the swankiest salon in her neighborhood. If she did say so herself, she looked fabulous. At a passing glance, nobody would guess that she didn’t belong among the rich and influential.
Now she just needed to get through the front door.
At the top of the semicircular staircase, a butler was discreetly checking invitations. Darci hovered at the edge of the driveway, wondering how best to approach him, but she didn’t dare stand still too long or she’d call attention to herself.
A gray-haired couple brushed past her. The woman was dressed in a dramatic peacock-blue gown with a diamond brooch at the shoulder. Making a split-second decision, Darci fell into step beside the woman.
“That’s a lovely brooch,” she said to her as they walked.
Luckily, the woman turned and gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you. It’s Cartier.”
Darci frowned. “Oh dear. You have a little crease.” She boldly reached to the fabric above the brooch, pretending to smooth it out.
“May I confirm your invitation, sir,” the butler said to the older man.
Darci’s heart thudded as the man handed him a card.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Saunders,” said the butler.
“There we go,” Darci said to the woman, keeping her gaze studiously fixed on the dress, pretending she was part of the Saunders party. “That looks much better.”
“Thank you.” The