"Fifth floor, did you say?" Frieda asked, her voice lined with tension as she stared at the elevator's metal doors.

Beverly had to worked to keep her foot from tapping impatiently, the thoughts in the back of her mind stuck on Deb, and all the ways their half-baked plan could go wrong. "Yeah, that's it. Can I ask about the delivery back there? It just looked like a college student, and I'm wondering if it was from my school, or something."

"Oh, no," Frieda's laugh was grating and fake. "Just something for one of our workers—I'm sure it's just his lunch."

Beverly's phone buzzed in her hand, and she snuck it a quick glance, seeing it was a text from Deb.

Twelfth floor – a Mr. Joseph Harris. I'll be going up once the elevator comes back.

"Food, huh? Weird; I didn't see any food cartons or anything." While Frieda digested that, Beverly quickly sent off two texts. One to Deb—Roger. Be careful.—and one to Francis: On my way with Frieda in tow; please play along, and I'll explain later.

Frieda shifted from foot to foot. "Well, who's to know? Food delivery has gotten so odd, don't you think? I've heard of all sorts of . . ." tuning out the woman's nervous stream of chatter, Beverly read Francis's response.

You better; stay safe, whatever it is you're doing.

She tucked her phone back in her pocket a moment later, sending up a prayer that both she and Deb would remain safe as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor.

"Look at that," Frieda was saying, her voice high, her eyes darting back to the elevator every several steps they took. "That wasn't long at all. Did Mr. Knott say why he needed me up here? There are very important things I have to—"

"There you are!" Francis exclaimed, stepping out from the IT department with a wide grin on his face; only the slightest narrowing of his eyes told Beverly he was suspicious and less than pleased with her confusing texts.

"Yes," Beverly stepped forward, speaking before Frieda could open her mouth and mess the whole operation up. Giving Francis a pointed look, she continued, "I brought Frieda as well, just like you asked. You had something really important to show us, I believe? Maybe something that will take more than five minutes to accomplish?"

"Right," Francis nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between the two women bemusedly. "Of course. Yes, come along, you two—there is indeed something very important to look at!"

"Mr. Knott," Frieda tried again, only for Francis to wave her off.

"No, no, it really is important. Here we are, now, come with me . . ." he guided Frieda along with a hand against her shoulders, shooting Beverly a quick What-the-actual-Hell? look as he ferried them towards the IT department's glass walls.

***

After keeping them involved by discussing different ideas for a new company slogan for at least ten minutes, Francis caught Beverly's gaze, shoulders loosening when she nodded once.

"Ah, well," he cut off Frieda's half-hearted "Why go for gold when you can get Silver?" slogan idea, "that's all the time we have for it today. Great ideas, though, really. Frieda," he smiled kindly at the woman, "you're welcome to leave, now; Beverly and I will return to my office to discuss some things."

Frieda's expression twisted into one of immense relief, and she nodded furiously. "Perfect. Thank you, Mr. Knott." She rushed off as fast as her pencil skirt and heels allowed, and Beverly was left alone in the hall with a possibly angry Francis Knott.

Once the elevator doors had closed on Frieda, Francis spun to face her. "Forgive my confusion, but what in the hell is going on, Beverly?" The words, thankfully, weren't said with venom, but it was clear he was distressed.

Her eyes darting to a small camera residing in the far corner of the hall, Beverly asked, "Can we go to your office?"

He blew out a heavy breath but nodded, nonetheless. "Sure, Beverly. Come along."

She followed after him as he led her to his office, internally debating how much information she should give him. On one hand, she wanted to learn as much as possible about Joseph Harris; on the other, she didn't want to involved Francis in something that had the potential to end in catastrophe.

Once they were inside the safety of his office, Francis dropped his calm façade and practically fell into his chair, waving for her to sit on the opposite side of the desk. She did, feeling like a small child who'd been sent to the principal's office. "Beverly," he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and holding his fists just below his chin, "you and I both know you're a smart, sensible woman. So, I expect an honest answer as to what is happening, and why I feel so convinced that it's bad."

Beverly nodded slowly. "First, I need you to answer a question for me. Do you know who Joseph Harris is?" Hopefully, the man would be no more than a low-level employee that Francis could be rid of easily.

All her hopes died when Francis's brows rose in surprise. "Joseph? He's my CFO. Why? Is he part of whatever's going on?"

Unable to stop a pained moan from escaping, Beverly set her head in her hands. Of freaking course Joseph Harris was important—it would've been to easy, otherwise. "CFO as in . . .?"

God, I hope I'm wrong. Maybe it stands for Cafeteria Food Overseer or something. Anything other than what I think it stands for, because that would mean—

"Chief Financial Officer. He handles all our money, basically."

Or, in simpler words, Joseph Harris had the ability to invest in or extract from the company's money supply to accomplish whatever he desired and cover his tracks after doing so; he could take out money and put it towards just about anything. Like, drugs, for instance.

". . . well. Shit."