Sheep's Clothing - Chapter One
Now let's get this story going by backing up a little bit...
Chapter One
Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly. Paperwork. Always paperwork. It was an advantage to being Green Arrow, vigilante extraordinaire, instead of Oliver Queen, business mogul. Green Arrow didn't have to file quarterly reports for the shareholders. The outfit was better, too.
The intercom on his desk buzzed. "Yes?"
"There's a gentleman here to see you, Mr. Queen."
Oliver sighed, and tried to keep the aggravation from his tone. It wasn't his secretary's fault no one knew what an appointment was for. "Who is it? I was about to call it a day."
"He says he's from accounting and that it's very important."
"You verified that he's who he says?" It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to weasel his way in by saying he already worked for him.
"Yes, sir. He says he has an extremely important issue to discuss and that he has supporting documentation with him."
Oliver very distinctly heard the smile in her voice. She knew just how much he loved paperwork. Then again, she also thought he was a boozing, womanizing playboy who would rather do anything than work. It was a delicate balance to keep his parents' company running smoothly without looking like he worked so hard to get it done.
"All right," Oliver said, sounding every bit the put-upon boss. "Send him in."
A few seconds later, a man timidly came through the doors into the office. He was a dark-haired, thirtyish man, wearing a cheap, although neat suit. He looked around the state of the art office with wide eyes, and Oliver doubted the guy had ever been quite so high up in the building before. He had the distinct air of a low-level worker-bee.
Oliver sat back in his chair and once again tried to tamp down his annoyance. After all, the guy had to have something pretty important to have worked up his nerve to come in the first place. Not every peon had the nerve to track down the CEO and demand to see him, and without an appointment no less.
"What can I do for you, Mr…?"
"Willmington-Pruett."
Oliver held back his smirk, barely. "Well, there's a mouthful."
The man didn't so much as bat an eye and Oliver pursed his lips. Accountants… no sense of humor.
"What can I do for you?" Oliver put on his business face. He really didn't want to be here anymore, especially not talking to one of the bean-counters. "I need you to make this quick. I have somewhere to be."
The man cleared his throat. "Mr. Queen… sir…"
"Spit it out, Mr. Will…" Oliver huffed impatiently. "What's your first name?"
"Gregory, sir."
"Great. Greg. Let's get this show on the road. What's so important that you had to barge into the office of the CEO at six o'clock on a Friday evening?"
"I… I found…"
"You found…" Oliver made a rolling hand motion to encourage him.
"I… I'm in charge of several accounts that were handed over to me when you bought a controlling stake in Luthorcorp."
"Good for you," Oliver said. "And?"
"And I've noticed several anomalies." The man's nervousness seemed to lessen as he opened a folder in front of him and began to pull out several sheets of paper. He brought them to Oliver and fanned them out on the desk in front of him. "This… here and here…" He pointed to the pertinent places on the papers. "And this company…," he pointed again, "I don't think it even exists. I think you're being taken, sir, for millions and millions of dollars." He stood back and once again looked nervous, shifting back and forth on his feet. "These figures are, of course, just the tip of the iceberg. I have everything here." He pulled a disc from his coat pocket and handed it to Oliver. "That is a far more detailed analysis."
Oliver was very careful not to show any reaction to the pages in front of him. This wasn't another case of someone noticing the missing money Chloe had sunk into kryptonite weapons. Unfortunately, it appeared that this one accountant had been put in charge of several of the myriad accounts used to fund Oliver's "outside" activities. Some projects could easily be hidden as legitimate business expenses, but other things were so obviously not a part of Queen Industries or Luthorcorp business that it wasn't even funny. At the moment, Oliver really wanted to get his hands on the regular accountant he paid a small fortune who was supposed to be handling these accounts. Apparently, a couple of them had slipped out of his hands, and he'd better have a seriously good explanation for putting the Justice League in this potentially dangerous position.
"You figured this all out by yourself?" Oliver knew just how unbelievably complicated the figures were even for just a few of the accounts handled in the conglomerate that was Queen Industries.
"Yes, sir."
"And why didn't you report this to your immediate superior?" he asked casually. "Why bring it directly to me?"
"Sir, I didn't know who to trust." The man looked around as if even now someone might pop out of the stainless-steel surroundings to silence him. "From the looks of this… this is a long-term situation, sir. They've been bleeding millions from the company for years. To cover tracks like that would take more than just one person. It would take…"
"A conspiracy?" Oliver's eyebrows rose, putting just the right amount of derision into his tone. The truth was, it was exactly as the man said. He'd spent quite a lot of money to keep his activities nice and quiet. The only thing this guy didn't know was that no one was stealing from Queen Industries. It was Oliver's money to spend. He just didn't want anyone knowing how he was spending it.
"Sir, I'm not crazy," Gregory said defensively, a trace of anger appearing below the surface. "I've spent a couple of months collecting those facts and figures. Just look at them. You'll see…"
"Ok." Oliver held his hands up in an effort to placate the man. "Give me a few days. I will have my personal team look at these and we'll take it from there. If they determine that you're right, then we'll deal with it accordingly. Until then…" Oliver stood. He came around the desk and, without seeming to do so, turned the man toward the door and began ushering him out. "I need to know that I can trust you to keep quiet about this. This will be very bad for business if what you say is true. And we'll also need to be ahead of them on this. If they're this good at covering their tracks, I don't want them to have a heads-up and try to empty any more funds out and disappear. You understand?"
The accountant nodded heartily. "Of course, Mr. Queen. That's why I brought this directly to you."
"Good man." Oliver clapped him on the shoulder, cementing their buddy-buddy, man-to-man secret pact.
Once he was gone Oliver walked straight back to his desk and picked up the phone. He had calls to make, dummy corporations to close, money to move, and apparently, an overly-astute accountant to have transferred. He would make sure it looked like a promotion for a job well done, and then Oliver would make sure the man never got within two miles of any of the accounts that needed delicate handling.
Oliver sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. He was supposed to be at the charity gala by eight. He hit the button on his intercom. "I need you to call my date and tell her I'm going to be late."
Oliver heard the door to his office open, followed by the tap of stiletto heels. He looked up, the phone still cradled against his shoulder.
"Oliver?"
The drop-dead gorgeous brunette standing in front of him with her arms crossed, tapping a toe impatiently, managed to put a wealth of information into that one little word. She informed him that she had already been annoyed when he decided to save time by sending the limo to pick her up without him in it, and now, as he looked at his watch, he realized he'd kept her waiting another half hour or so since she'd arrived.
"I'm sorry, Portia. Something came up at the last minute. Let me do one more thing and I'm all yours."
He added a patented I'm-Oliver-Queen-so-you-have-to-forgive-me smile for good measure. In the middle of a marathon of telephone calls, texts, and e-mails, his assistant had appeared with his tux and he'd managed to change into it while continuing to work. The businesswoman who'd demanded a video conference was probably still blushing. It was amazing the problems one little accountant could cause. No doubt, as soon as the gala was over, he would be right back on the phone.
Oliver finished his call while Portia continued to shoot daggers at him, and then stood and came around his desk. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you," he said. "I promise."
"How?" she asked, clearly still annoyed, her pert nose turned up in disdain. "By making another date you cancel at the last minute?"
Oliver just shrugged and grinned impishly. She knew him too well. It didn't matter anyway. He had Chloe now. The only reason Portia was going with him to the gala was because Chloe might be ready to admit that their relationship was more than a series of booty calls, but she wasn't ready to be his arm candy for the paparazzi to plaster all over the tabloids. Since Oliver couldn't go alone to these events, the solution was now standing in front of him. Portia didn't exactly like him, but she appreciated one thing that trumped all his faults; his big, fat wallet. No doubt, she had dreams of bagging the most eligible bachelor in the country, but Oliver was a master at keeping gold-digging women at arm's length.
For just a second he remembered the fury, the near heart-stopping panic, when he'd thought Chloe was one of them. Chloe, his Chloe, had embezzled money while he wasn't looking. Even now, he could feel his heart thudding a little harder in his chest. Thankfully, it had all worked out. He didn't know what he would have done if it had turned out Chloe really was like all the other women in his life who'd tried to use him for his money or prestige.
"Well?" Portia said testily. "Are you ready?"
Oliver's cell phone rang and Portia sighed loudly. He picked his cell phone up from his desk and couldn't help a small smile from appearing at the name that appeared on the screen.
"Hi."
"Hi. Can you talk?" Chloe asked. She knew he was supposed to be on a so-called date. She might not like it, but she liked it better than going herself and being paraded like Oliver's newest prize filly.
"Not really," Oliver answered. If Chloe was calling on League business then there was only so much he could say in front of Portia.
"Ok, just listen then. There's a problem out by the docks. A Luthorcorp ship is offloading several containers and if I'm right we're not going to like what's inside."
"Have you called the Coast Guard?" Oliver couldn't exactly ask if Aquaman was en route.
"Yes. He's the one who sent me the alert, but he needs backup. Canary's still in Europe and our Winged friend is incommunicado."
"How about our IT guy?" Oliver asked.
"Cyborg is a couple of hours out, but he's on his way."
"They need me?" he asked almost hopefully. He really wasn't looking forward to an evening of stuffy party guests and a surly woman with designs on him.
"This is FYI for the moment. I'll contact you if you're needed."
"Just what every man wants to hear a lady say."
There was a pause as Chloe pulled herself out of her strict Watchtower mode. "I may call you anyway," she said more lightly, "just to make sure Miss Rich and Snooty isn't getting handsy."
"I reserve that privilege strictly for you," he said, mindful of Portia standing beside him, once again tapping her foot. "It's all that typing. Amazing dexterity."
"Ollie," Chloe warned.
"Hey, you started it. I'm just praising one of my very, very skilled workers on an excellent job."
"Oliver," Portia nearly snapped.
"Better go, Ollie. Your date's getting antsy."
"You know," he growled, "this wouldn't be necessary if you would just-"
"Have to go," Chloe said breezily. "The Coast Guard's calling."
The phone disconnected and Oliver just shook his head. He tucked the phone in his breast pocket. "All right, Portia." He offered her his arm. "Time to be fashionably late."
"Who was that last call you took in your office?" Portia asked.
Oliver turned toward his would-be date, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Subtle as always, Portia."
"Who is she?"
Oliver honestly couldn't remember exactly what he'd said, so he decided to bluff. "What makes you think it was a woman?"
Portia's eyes narrowed. "I know what a man sounds like when he's talking to a woman in front of another woman."
Oliver's smirk grew into a full grin. "I talk to all kinds of women in front of other women," he said, enjoying baiting someone who had made sure his entire night was torture from beginning to end. Or maybe that was just his need to get away from her and back to Chloe.
"That wasn't a phone call with a business associate." Her tone was heading toward shrill, too close to accusing for Oliver's liking. He made a mental note not to ask Portia out again. Covering for Chloe's fear of publicity was one thing, but putting up with a territorial female, especially one who had no right to be, was entirely different.
"Portia," Oliver said straightly, "we have an understanding. You want to be seen on my arm, and I need a pleasant companion for a few hours to keep me from falling asleep at the fortieth function this month where I've had to talk to the exact same people over and over again even though we ran out of things to say about five years ago."
Portia stepped closer and raised her hands, resting them possessively against his chest. Oliver heard the distinct sound of a camera flash and knew he'd just given some photographer his money shot for the evening. "Oliver, you know we mean more to each other than that."
Oliver tried not to growl openly and push her away. Portia didn't know any better and it was really his fault that she was in the deluded position she was. She didn't know he was using her or how important Chloe was to him.
Oliver's cell phone rang, breaking the moment. He pulled it from his breast pocket and punched the button to answer a little harder than necessary. "Queen."
"Feelin' formal tonight, Ollie?"
The tension in his shoulders immediately lessened at the sound of Chloe's voice. "Hey."
Portia backed away from him as if she'd been burned. She looked around them, seemingly afraid someone in the crowd around them might notice he was talking to someone he appeared to like better than the woman who had accompanied him to the party.
"Ollie, the Coast Guard has run into a few problems. He could really use another hand and Victor is still half an hour out."
Oliver nodded, although he knew Chloe couldn't see it. His mind was already going over plans and strategies, contingency plans, avenues in and out of the area. He'd been down by the docks often enough on patrol to be very familiar with it. "Send what you have. Tell him I'm on my way."
"Leaving?" Portia asked, her tone deceptively light. She was definitely beyond angry, reaching Vesuvius levels. It might not be necessary for him to avoid her in future. From the look on her face, she might never come anywhere near him again.
"I have to go," Oliver said without the requisite apology attached. As long as he was being a jerk, he might as well do a decent job of it, so he added, "You can find a way home, right? Or do you want me to send the limo back for you?"
Portia's nostrils flared in annoyance, but she smiled. "I'll take care of it, Oliver. Don't worry. But you are going to make this up to me."
"I'll have my assistant call you," he said, causing another round of nostril flaring. Oliver gave her a quick peck on the cheek and headed toward the elevator, irritated that she wasn't angry enough to give him the boot. Unfortunately, some women were willing to hang on to a billionaire no matter how badly they treated them.
Oliver pulled his phone out and called for the limo to be waiting for him by the time he was downstairs, then he began shuffling through the information Chloe was sending to his phone. After a day of paperwork, meetings, e-mails and calls, he finally had real work to do.
Chapter Two