"So, are you gonna tell me why you were in the area, or were you just that eager to see me?" Lois asked as she nursed a cup of coffee. We were seated in the kitchen, having showered, and in Lois' case, changed into a new set of clothes.
I took a sip of my own coffee before answering, "He threw a brick through my window."
"What?!" Lois practically shrieked as she stared at me with wide eyes, "Why would he do that?"
"Well, I imagine it was one of his goons, but that's besides the point," I muttered, "Long story short, I'm trying to rebuild a farm that he wants to buy, and an asshole like him can't take no for an answer. Never thought he would start moving like a mobster, though. Which is why I originally came here to ask what you knew about him and his family, but turns out I couldn't keep my hands to myself."
Lois smiled at my flirty compliment before her expression shifted to a more serious one, "You probably know that the Northwests are one of the families responsible for founding the town, but what you don't know is that when they came here, the Northwests didn't have a penny to their name."
I leaned forward in my seat, "Really?"
Lois nodded, "They were indentured servants, the lowest of the low."
I frowned, "But then how did they end up becoming one of the richest families in town?"
"Rumor has it that one of the daughters managed to convince some senile banker to sign over ownership of the town bank and his entire fortune," Lois muttered conspiratorily. "They used that money and power as leverage to build their empire, with predatory loans to buy up businesses and repossess farm land."
"And it seems like they're still at it to this day, keeping the family tradition alive," I grunted and resisted the urge to spit at their mention.
"If I thought there was any chance you might listen to me, I would tell you just to give up the farmand save yourself the trouble," Lois tapped her cup before glancing at me with worry clear in her eyes, "Just promise me you'll be careful, the Northwests have connections everywhere."
"Think there's a chance they may try to kill me?" I asked somewhat jokingly, but judging by the look in Lois' eyes, she was legitimately worried, "Sorry, I shouldn't joke about that, but let me reassure you, if they come for me, they're in for a world of hurt."
After a second, Lois' smile returned, "Alright then, I'll take your word for it. Besides, it's not like he has a personal vendetta against you."
"Ehh, wouldn't be too sure about that, I did show up to his house and tell him that messing with me would be the last peaceful moment of his life."
Lois was silent for a long second before she glared at me and placed her hands on her hips, "That better be a very poorly timed joke, young man."
"It's not," I answered with a frown as I stared back at Lois, refusing to back down, "He attacked my restaurant, which is also where I live with your daughter. The bastard also did it when I was away, meaning he had eyes on me. He quite literally threw the first stone. Now it's up to me to finish it."
I stood up from my chair and walked over to Lois, putting my hand on her hips, "I understand that you're worried, and you're right to be. But trust me, I know how to deal with guys like him. They're like cockroaches once you lift the rock they're hiding under, all they do is scurry away."
I ended my short speech by leaning down and kissing Lois on the lips and pulling her in by the hips. After a second, Lois was quick to reciprocate, opening her lips for my tongue as we passionately made out.
After a minute, I pulled back and let my hands drop away from her body, even though it almost physically pained me, "Alright, I should get going. I need to find a window repair company that specializes in reinforced glass…God, I already know that's going to be expensive."
---
"You're back," Ashe looked up from her seat facing the door, one leg resting on the other with a metal bat laid across her lap, "That took longer than expected. Everything alright?"
"Sorry about that, I had to visit a friend," I replied before staring pointedly at the bat on Ashe's lap, "Where did you get that?"
"Keep it behind the seats in the truck, "Ashe grunted as she stood up, "If you don't need me for anything else, I'm gonna take off now and get on back to the farm."
"You're all good here, and thanks for the help, Ashe." I walked over and stuck out my hand, which she shook with a firm grip, "We're partners in this now, you're risking you and yours on my behalf, I can't take that for granted. Get home safe now."
Ashe gave me one last nod before she walked out of the restaurant, though she still chose to leave through the window instead of using the working door.
I shook my head at her antics before sighing and beginning the long process of moving everything that wasn't nailed down into the kitchen so it wouldn't be stolen overnight. Luckily, it was already dark out, and no one was about, so I was able to use my Puppeteer's hands and the weightless curse to help move all the furniture in no time at all. But my night was far from over.
---
"You're still up?" Megan groaned as I heard her shuffle out of the bedroom, no doubt rubbing her eyes, "Did you even get any sleep last night?"
"No," I shook my head as I continued typing on my computer, pulling up another file and making a note of it in a notebook, "I started doing some research and found more than I was expecting."
"What more is there to find out about a reinforced window?" Megan asked blearily as she slid into my lap and leaned against my shoulder.
"Huh? Oh, I wasn't talking about that, though I did find a company they're installing it Monday for about 7,500."
"Well then, what were you talking about?" Megan asked as she glanced at my laptop, "What am I looking at?"
"Public tax records dating back for the last fifty years, which I'm cross-referencing with some financial audits of various companies and organizations that Northwest family is affiliated with," I explained, pulling up several pages and tabs that showed numbers, spreadsheets, and the correlated fiscal years."
"Is there something suspicious about them?" Megan muttered as she narrowed her eyes at the spreadsheets as if a closer view would dispel their secrets.
I grinned, "At first glance, no, but if you scratch the surface, there's a lot more underneath it all. I just need to find the right string to pull and unravel it all."
"How the hell do you know all to do this?" Megan asked, impressed.
"I was an accountant, remember, I managed the accounts for the biggest companies and conglomerates in my firm. All of them are involved in some form of fraud. Half my job was essentially making sure the numbers lined up just enough to make things work. Gave me almost a sixth sense for finding fudged numbers," I explained before pulling up an invoice sheet, "For example, one of the most common methods is invoice fraud, when a vendor sells a product, they often try to change around the unit number or unit price to make it seem like they sold more than they actually did."
Megan frowned, "Well, how do you know that these are fake? They all look real to me."
"I know because the IRA actually found out that there is a probability curve for how many times a number will appear in a given statement. I created a spreadsheet of every statement and the number of times each number appeared, and ran the probability of it occurring naturally."
"And?" Megan urged me to continue.
"And there's only a 2.65% chance that these statements are not entirely forged," I finished, making Megan grin, "So you gottem!"
"Not yet, it's not enough, a 2.65% chance isn't enough to put the nail in the coffin, we bring this to any court, and it's almost certain to get thrown out, also trying to blackmail them will only make them turtle up and scrub their records."
"Okay, but finding this was a good thing, right?" Megan asked as she glanced at me, and I nodded, "I'm willing to bet that if there's a 97.35% chance these statements are forged, then there's far more happening than what I've uncovered here. Fortunately, I already have a lead."
I typed a quick command into my laptop and pulled up a logo titled, 'Northwest Academy.'
"The fancy private school?" Megan muttered, "That's the lead?"
"Each student who attends is sponsored by a Northwest Scholarship, which supposedly draws money from a trust fund managed by a non-profit organization."
"Let me guess," Megan interrupted, "That non-profit also has Northwest in its name."
"The Northwest Scholar Investment Org., which has a long list of very generous donors going back over years," I pointed out with a grin, "People are essentially giving them money, and when you deal with people this greedy, they can never resist skimming off the top, I just need to dig up the numbers and I'll get exatcly what I need."