Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake Read online

  Morning trade at the diner was brisk. Free refills of industrial-strength coffee were going down well with the regulars. Minnie slid into an empty booth with her back to the morning sunshine and found herself confronted by Sarah-Jane, the waitress who had been the calm at the eye of Minnie’s emotional storm the previous night. She ordered coffee and waffles with syrup and sat back.

  Sarah-Jane returned with a jug of coffee and smiled reassuringly at Minnie. A slightly raised eyebrow suggested the unspoken message: caffeine first, put the world to rights later.

  After a gulp of steaming coffee, Minnie took a deep breath and opened her laptop. The search started here. She quickly checked her personal emails. Her work account had been deleted, thank you Ross. Minnie considered hacking into the system to retrieve useful contacts but was distracted by a message from Sid Zane, the man behind the voice recognition software. What now? She feared bad things. It had been forwarded by Angie as requested. Angie added her own subject title: silver linings.

  Dear optimist Angie was reaching out through Minnie’s computer screen.

  Hi Minnie,

  Tried emailing you at work but Angie has now brought me up to speed. I’m gutted to hear that you’ve lost your job over this. I know the advice you offered to Ashton Greene was well-intended and genuine. Such a shame it blew up like the way it did.

  However, it might help you feel better about it all to know that we have had an incredible response from around the world. We’ve had an amazing amount of support and appreciation over the last 24 hours. Thousands of people have contacted us via our website to find out more about the software.

  Parkinson’s isn’t the easiest disease to diagnose so the awareness-raising might speed up that process and enable treatment to begin earlier. YOU made this happen. I know it was unintentional but some good has come out of a bad situation. Please believe this.

  Thank you.

  Give me a shout when you’re back in London.

  All the best,

  Sid

  Minnie exhaled. She did feel marginally better. Sarah-Jane had topped up Minnie’s coffee without her even noticing, that was helping her along too. Then she tapped Greene into Google and her new-found optimism faded to black. There had been total silence from Team Greene but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the world. The Internet was still chattering about the billionaire who, apparently, was not rich enough to fight a disease that was drastically reducing his ranking among the world players.

  Social media sites, tweeters and bloggers had truly sensationalised the scandal and it was starting to read like a Hollywood script. Speculation was mounting. Some would have it that Greene had just months to live, others knew for a fact that the man was already dead, yet others suggested he had faked his own death to escape gargantuan debts or some sordid secret. Some news feeds fixated on a tropical island getaway facilitated by private jets and a huge entourage. Then there had been ‘sightings’ and quotes from ‘reliable’ unnamed sources saying Greene had been spotted drowning his sorrows at a bar; one even claimed to have spotted the businessman at an assisted suicide facility in Switzerland. Minnie shuddered as her mind worked overtime: would Greene go for a lethal fast-acting barbiturate to end it all?

  Parker Bachmann and Greene’s relationship was also extensively dissected. ‘Is The Wedding Of The Year Off?’ hollered the headlines.

  The business world had its views too. CEO illness was now a huge talking point. Some suggested that Greene should have taken a pre-emptive strike and spoken out about his health problems to control the situation while others insisted he was entitled to a private life. Greene Inc stock prices that were still dropping suggested otherwise.

  Minnie got the distinct impression that rich and handsome individuals with access to enormous wealth and great doctors weren’t supposed to be inconvenienced by health troubles. She sensed a degree of fear too. After all, if the Great Greene with his good looks and immense wealth couldn’t fight an illness with all the resources at his fingertips what hope in hell was there for ordinary people?

  Then came the backlash suggesting that Greene had got what he deserved; to be taken down a peg or two because no one is allowed to have it all – something’s got to give.

  It was also duly noted that the average age of onset Parkinson’s is 60. Ashton Greene was 39, which set people off in yet another spin. The general opinion was that his life was over before he had even reached 40. He had been written off and no one was going to get a happy ending. How Hollywood would handle this version of the script, Minnie had no idea.

  The embarrassingly clear capture of Minnie’s conversation with Greene at The Savoy had received over two million unique hits online to date. Minnie had expected lawyers at Greene Inc to strike back but, as far as she knew, no one had filed a complaint about the privacy-invading YouTube video. The three-minute footage just kept clicking up the hits.

  No wonder Greene had gone to ground.

  Parker Bachmann, on the other hand, last seen in London, resurfaced in San Francisco to comment on her version of events. She announced through the official City Hall website that she had returned immediately to the States to deal with an urgent health bill crisis. Such was her commitment to the people of San Francisco and her public position that she had she had put her role as mayor before her pressing personal issues. No further comment. There was, however, no mention of her fiancé nor the ‘wedding of the year’, as her public relations team had previously liked to call it.

  Minnie surfed news and gossip sites in mounting despair. She had unleashed a beast that would not go back in its cage. She wanted to cut her tongue out as punishment. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she cursed.

  Until the horror moment at The Savoy, Minnie had built up a decent professional relationship with Greene. He never communicated with her directly but she had been accepted into his inner circle at work. Now she had crumbled that trust into pieces and thrown them for the vultures to feast on.

  It seemed that no one could find Greene and no one from his administration was talking. The media wanted an official confirmation: did Greene have Parkinson’s or not? But the question was met with an orchestrated shut-down; the silence was impenetrable.

  Perhaps, thought Minnie, when you are rich enough it is possible to disappear forever without a trace.

  Sarah-Jane appeared at her elbow with yet more coffee and a smile.

  Keep it simple, stupid, Minnie muttered over and over between mouthfuls of scalding hot coffee.

  Tempting as it was to pretend to be a tourist with no other mission than to explore San Francisco, Minnie knew it was time to start work on finding the missing Greene. She headed back to the motel stopping off at a convenience store to pick up bottled water and a bag of salted peanuts for later. She needed to stock up on snacks she could count, she would then be able to eat and to keep her head focused whenever her thoughts started to wander.

  On impulse, she added a copy of Surfing Magazine to her purchases. This made her smile for the first time since landing in San Francisco. Perhaps Jackson had used his subliminal powers to recruit her into his world after all. She imagined that his voice had gone below the threshold of her conscious mind as he talked about waves and waxed boards on the non-stop flight across the Atlantic.

  Minnie chose to work at her laptop sitting cross-legged on the bed instead of using the desk and chair in the corner of the motel room. After a more thorough search, she was not surprised to find out that Jones & Sword had completely erased her from its organisation. She had been locked out of its state-of-the-art computer system and it would take considerable time to hack into her deleted account because she had worked with some of the best mathematicians and coders in the world. She now had no access to the equations, algorithms and formulas she had worked on for the Greene Inc natural gas deal. It would remain the property of Jones & Sword until the paperwork was signed. She didn’t dare to even take a peek at the company’s source code on the server in case it triggered a tracking
system that said she was attempting to remove code, an offence that would land her in jail.

  There was nothing to remind her of what she had done and how she had done it. She would have to start at the beginning again and hope that her memory and the Pythagorean theorem didn’t let her down.

  What did surprise her, though, was the fact that the colleagues with whom she had worked over the years had not attempted to contact her privately. She had become a ghost with a bad reputation – careless, unprofessional and foolish. It didn’t matter that she had an IQ of 172 and workaholic enthusiasm, all Minnie would be remembered for was her mistake.

  Minnie didn’t expect the ‘simple route’ to produce leads but she had to start somewhere. Her first call was to the Greene Inc HQ in Silicon Valley. After waiting on hold time after time, Minnie finally spoke to someone who was in the position to give her some answers. The company receptionist stonewalled her for a while, eventually telling Minnie in no uncertain terms that there was no way she would even consider passing on any message to Greene. Reading between the sharp breaths and staccato phrases Minnie was sensing her extreme irritation and frustration. Under Minnie’s questions her fury increased, and probably with good reason. She must have been constantly fielding calls from many people demanding to speak to Greene: from the world’s media, from colleagues and from enemies alike.

  Having drawn a blank with the direct approach, Minnie remembered that in a previous life she had held a contact for his personal assistant, Meredith Lockhart. It wasn’t too difficult to recall it because Minnie never made a call using contact names or speed dials, she always keyed in the number manually. She had no difficulty in remembering sequences. It was her own telephone directory numbers game, a gift from her subconscious mind.

  She took the notebook that Angie had given her and played around with some numbers until she was confident she had the right sequence. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a number she had used often in spite of the amount of work she had done for Greene Inc over the last six months. This was down to a strict one-way control of communication: no one contacted Greene or his assistant, he decided when it was time to talk.

  Back to the number sequence, first attempt, fail. Second time, lucky.

  Minnie hesitated. The number had been confirmed by Meredith Lockhart’s voicemail message. The first option was to leave a message… maybe not. The next option was to hack into the woman’s saved messages in the hope that she could find a clue as to Greene’s whereabouts.

  Minnie was aware of the laws that existed, and were enforced, to stop people with her skills intercepting messages. This awareness caused her some anxiety because she did like to obey the rules. There was no anti-establishment side to her whatsoever; indeed, she loved adhering to rules. Rules went hand in hand with numbers for Minnie. Yet she found herself, within a window of 24 hours, accessing information from a phone Sim that didn’t belong to her.

  She tried to rationalise her actions. Sadly, the unfortunate Greene situation was shaking the rule book and bringing out Minnie’s worst side. She shook out seven peanuts, a reassuring prime number, and slowly ate them one by one – a countdown to the crime she was about to commit. She hesitated briefly over the encryption algorithm and then manipulated its weakness to take a look inside Lockhart’s phone.

  It should have been a straightforward process but Greene Inc was clearly more security conscious than most organisations. She was able to access the first message and quickly read through it. It offered no leads but did trigger a self-destroying script. Someone was one step ahead – this didn’t happen often to Minnie, at least, not on a technological level.

  Things were about to get more complicated.

  Minnie lay down on her bed and then sat up again when she heard a message alert on her phone. Angie popped up on Skype with a wave and a bear hug emoticon.

  Angie Buckingham: You’re awake (smiley face)

  Minnie Chase: Tell that to the nightmare (sad face)

  AB: Any luck with Greene?

  MC: Papped heading to Switzerland on a private jet

  AB: Fondue?

  MC: Lethal injection

  AB: NO! (shake)

  MC: Yes (worry)

  AB: Er, really?

  MC: I don’t know

  AB: Use your special powers (nerdy face)

  MC: I’ve tried

  AB: Text? Email?

  MC: Geek proof. I’m working on it

  AB: Wow! You’ve met your match? (surprised face)

  MC: I’m channeling my inner dork

  AB: (smiley face)

  MC: What do I do?

  AB: Think like him

  MC: (dollar sign)

  AB: Workaholic. Anything else?

  MC: Health bombshell

  AB: Then he’ll need a doctor

  MC: Leading neuroscience centre?

  AB: Beats fondue

  MC: Or...

  AB: Yes?

  MC: Keep it simple

  AB: Lightbulb moment?

  MC: Find the person who isn’t in hiding...

  AB: ...who can lead you to Greene

  MC: Parker Bachmann, mayor of San Francisco

  AB: Her public schedule should be online right down to the time and location (clapping)

  MC: Yes

  AB: Be persuasive. Offer an incentive. You can get the natural gas deal back on the table

  MC: I can?

  AB: Think trump card. Restore confidence in Greene Inc. Reassure her. Kiss ass (winking)

  MC: Thanks, darling

  AB: (bowing)

  MC: (kiss)

  Minnie suspected she was at risk of becoming dangerously addicted to her smartphone. She had been using it illegally, very un-Minnie, and realised she was now constantly checking for messages from James George. She needed to hear him say that they would live happily ever after. Her frustration and irritation began to build up exponentially. Sitting in her motel room was not the answer, so she headed out and joined the tourists, striding in the direction of Chinatown where there were welcome distractions from the garish window displays to the old women focused on card games in the square.

  Eventually, Minnie headed back to her diner and chose a window seat so she could look out over the hustle and bustle of the colourful San Franciscan street. People-watching occupied her for a while, some puffed up the hill with determined strides while others took a more leisurely pace in the summer sunshine.

  Minnie thought about Jackson and wondered if he had challenged his girlfriend over the cheating revelations. Guilt washed over her because she knew she shouldn’t have hacked into the phone. It was a show-off thing to do and, worse, churlish. It was out of character. Minnie didn’t go out of her way to deliberately hurt people. The fact that James George had two-timed her was a private and separate issue. She had to deal with that problem herself.

  She was tempted to call Jackson and apologise. She was also tempted to ask him if he would like to eat with her. Minnie hated eating alone. She was, she knew, around 5,369 miles or 11 hours and 14 minutes from anyone she really knew and it was starting to get to her. Someone she remotely knew was better than no one at all.

  She picked up her surfing magazine and flicked through the pages. It was an alien world to her – athletic and confident with stunning photographs of waves and surfers. The pages were also packed with people who were cool and beautiful enough to go by an alias like ‘Snowflake’.

  She then considered sending Jackson a text but, as ever, she was uncertain about the words she should choose, numbers were easier to deal with, much more predictable, infinitely more reliable. She looked around to see if Sarah-Jane was around, that would give her some human interaction. Minnie couldn’t spot her so she slowly, disinterestedly, picked up the menu instead and tried to convince herself that the terrible ache in her stomach would disappear as soon as she’d eaten lunch.

  7

  Mayor votes with her feet

  Angie was right. Parker Bachmann’s public schedule was online. It wa
s simple to track her down. Minnie re-read the statement Bachmann had issued via the Office Of The Mayor website that blah-blah-blahed about her returning to San Francisco alone to address an urgent health care situation caused by budget cuts from Sacramento. Minnie recognised this well-worn formula. It was unofficially called ‘covering your ass’.

  Bachmann’s statement didn’t mention Greene in person but alluded to the idea he had remained in London to finish business. Reading between the lines, it was obvious she desperately didn’t want to turn a private matter into a public brouhaha but there was no escaping the fact that she didn’t remain at her fiancé’s side when the Parkinson’s story exploded.

  Other people seemed incapable of reading between the lines. The media, for example, took a more direct approach and demanded to know who leaves a loved one alone during their time of need?

  Suffice it to say, Parker Bachmann was well and truly caught up in the Greene media maelstrom. Frenzied speculation over the wedding dominated all media formats with headlines such as ‘The Runaway Bride’ and ‘Mayor Votes With Her Feet’. Photographs of Bachmann had been extensively Photoshopped to capture the public imagination. She was pictured, wearing a bridal gown, cantering into the distance on horseback while another popular image saw her pounding over rough terrain with a wedding party chasing after her. The media was working hard on this high-profile take down.

  Debates and opinion polls covered the hot topic and there was endless commentary on wedding vows: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health. Wife caring for her man in his hour of need, or not in Bachmann’s case. The main question in print and on lips was whether the wedding was off because Greene had a non-curable neurological disease.