Underwater (23 page)

He sat down at the square kitchen table in the crumbling house—he called it the crap-house—and closed his laptop. It was eleven thirty on Friday night, September twenty-fourth, and his wife and daughter were asleep in bed. He had arrived here about forty minutes earlier after an evening spent with Rachel. He picked up his glass of vodka and drained it.

During the last few weeks, he had learned everything he needed to know about SlimZ. He’d accessed the IT system using basic SQL injection, something he learned back when he built up his coding knowledge, before pitching his personal assistant website idea. After just a few tries, he had guessed Candace’s username—unimaginatively, she had selected her maiden name. Discovering her password took some time, even though he had the benefit of Jess’s hint. When he finally figured it out, he’d been furious: it was their mother’s name spelled backward, plus the number 2.

When he saw the swimsuit designs in the system, he’d chosen not to leak them. Instead, he’d decided to do something else, something that would cause his sister not only embarrassment, but money.

The person at SlimZ tasked with production of the swimsuits was a bitch named Phoebe, and the one in charge of “fulfillment” and distribution was named Holly. Both of them reported to Ginger, the COO. Another bitch, Amanda, was in charge of sales and marketing. The sales team was already taking orders from the buyers. They would total up the orders and advise Phoebe’s group of the numbers. Phoebe would then schedule production at the factory in Brooklyn. Several months later, if all went well, the stores would receive their orders.

But what if the numbers were changed in the system, after the sales team had placed its orders? As far as Monty could tell, the two areas—sales and production—didn’t communicate with each other. He could easily alter the numbers in the orders placed by the sales team, adding or removing a zero or two. He could make this buyer’s order larger and that one’s smaller and keep the total the same, so as not to arouse suspicion. He could also change the amounts of the particular designs each retailer ordered. Then, after the wrong numbers and types of swimsuits were produced, shipped, and received, SlimZ would have to deal with a huge fuckup: angry retail buyers, bad PR, and maybe even a falling stock price.
That
should get Candace’s attention.

He had already changed some of the numbers and was getting ready to change more. With a bunch of queen bees working there, he was sure that once problems were discovered, shit would fly, along with accusations and blame.

The fun part would be to sit back and see how long it took for chaos to ensue, and for Candace’s company to implode. If it didn’t happen quickly enough, he could do more damage, then watch the very fabric of SlimZ unravel around her.

18

Revelation

W
ednesday, October sixth was a warm, sunny day: crisp in the morning but not too cool, with a hint of a breeze and a cloudless, dazzling blue sky above. Indian summer in Atlanta resembled the best kind of summer days up north, but it lasted longer. The heavy heat of the last few months had disappeared and the promise of a southern winter awaited—the kind when jackets are necessary but overcoats, boots, and gloves are rarely needed and usually worn only for fashion’s sake. Fall colors were just beginning to appear in Georgia, but they were worth the wait: brilliant golds, oranges, and reds would soon adorn this city, built inside of a forest.

David Shepherd returned to his office from lunch and sat down at his desk. Several items awaited his attention and had to be addressed. One of them concerned Candace Morgan’s property on Arcadia Lane. The house had gone on the market on Saturday and was listed with Charlotte Rivers, one of Atlanta’s most successful realtors. Charlotte had a reputation for hard work and integrity, knew the market inside out, and was well connected with Atlanta’s top-tier business community. If anyone could get Arcadia sold, Charlotte could. She would get as high a price as possible, helping David minimize Candace’s loss. Charlotte would also be aggressive in finding a buyer and skilled at closing the deal.

Charlotte expected any serious offer to be much lower than the $1,490,000 listing price Candace had decided upon, but had declared that the sale should top a million dollars. Candace’s exposure in the deal was several hundred thousand over that figure. When David added in Ken’s fee, the taxes and insurance, and the cost of Monty’s movers and rent, Candace had just sunk another two hundred grand into the place, making her total investment over $1.7 million. Ken’s team had taken five weeks longer than originally planned to get the house ready for the market, and David hadn’t yet paid the invoice.

He was glad he hadn’t. Late this morning, he had received a troubling message from Charlotte detailing several concerns. To name a few: the landscaping was unfinished, some of the doors were sticking, and several drawer pulls and cabinet knobs were missing. In short, although extra time had been allowed, the job was sloppy. Candace would be incensed if she found out that any of the work remained undone. David decided to give Ken a call and have him rectify the situation immediately, before any more showings took place.

The house needed to be perfect by Friday, in time for weekend appointments. Candace was getting married in New York on Saturday; by Monday, she and her new husband would be in Fiji, where they would stay for the next two weeks. David was looking forward to the respite from one of his most demanding clients.

On Friday morning, Candace woke up in Rob’s bedroom—
their
bedroom—in Manhattan. She’d had all her things from her New York apartment moved over early last month, before the unveiling of the new line at Fashion Week at Lincoln Center. Despite the earlier leak to Woohoo, excitement about SwimZ had been high and buyers had loved the designs.

Rumors had buzzed about that Candace herself had decided to buck tradition and let the news out early, to get people talking. Whatever people believed, the unplanned strategy had worked—or at least, hadn’t hurt—and Amanda’s team had already taken orders from Neiman’s, Saks, Nordstrom’s, Bloomie’s, and several specialty boutiques. Production had been launched with delivery scheduled to occur in late January, just in time for the spring break and cruise seasons.

After her coffee, Candace planned to go to the gym and then to return home and work from the apartment until late in the afternoon. Later that evening, she and Rob were hosting a dinner for twelve at one of Manhattan’s newest restaurants, Slipaway. Their guests were Deirdre, Rob’s mother; Myron Frisch, chairman of SlimZ’s board, who would give Candace away; Charles Chadwick—the head of Rob’s firm—and his wife, Nancy; Paula, SlimZ’s head of design, and her husband Steve; CFO Courtney and her date Henry, an investment banker; and COO Ginger and her boyfriend, Mark.

Amanda planned to arrive tomorrow in time for the wedding, and Candace hadn’t bothered to find out whether she was bringing someone. Jess would be arriving today with her boyfriend, Beau. They weren’t attending the dinner—tonight was their own. Candace had instructed her to be up early tomorrow morning, however, and to be available to help as needed. Candace had a massage scheduled for ten o’clock and early afternoon hair and nail appointments at Carena’s, a chic Manhattan
atelier de beauté
frequented by the city’s super-wealthy. Photographs would be taken at half past four at the St. George Hotel, and the ceremony at Holy Cross was at six. Then it was back to the St. George for the reception, a sit-down dinner for ninety-four people, and dancing until the wee hours.

Rob had left for the office an hour ago. He planned to put in a full day today before disappearing from the office for a fortnight, something he had never done. He would be home this evening around six, then the two of them would get ready for dinner. Candace dressed for the gym, dropped her iPhone in her bag, and left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

She finished her workout at ten thirty and entered the women’s locker room to retrieve her bag, planning to walk the two blocks back home to shower and dress. She donned a light jacket—the weather was gorgeous today, if a bit on the cool side. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out her phone to check for messages. Eight new emails were waiting for her attention, one of them flagged as urgent. It was from Ginger. Candace sat down on a teak bench in the locker room and opened the message.

Ginger had forwarded an email from Phoebe, who was charged with scheduling production of the SwimZ orders. Candace read the message quickly and dialed Ginger, who picked up on the first ring.

“Did you call Phoebe?” asked Candace.

“Yes, but I haven’t given her directions yet. Should we get her on a conference call?”

“Let’s talk privately first. When did she notice the numbers?”

“This morning, just before nine o’clock. She said she spent the next hour trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“But she couldn’t, and then she sent you this email.”

“Correct,” said Ginger. “She was panicking, with all of us up here in New York, and you about to be unreachable for two weeks.”

“I won’t be unreachable—at least, not all the time. But she was prudent to email you right away. Who does she have that can help her get to the bottom of this?”

“She has seven people under her. The best one is probably Wendy.”

“Good. Let’s do get Phoebe on the line with both of us in thirty minutes. In the meantime, tell her to have Wendy drop what she’s doing and help her.”

“Got it.”

“You place the call. Phoebe can tell both of us what they’ve managed to learn. I’m leaving the gym and going back to the apartment to jump in the shower.”

“Okay.”

Candace hung up and placed the phone back in her bag. The situation was serious, and it was fortunate that Phoebe had caught the problem before Candace traveled to the other side of the world. Not that she needed something else to deal with today, of all days. She had planned to spend only a few hours this afternoon working, updating herself about the swimsuit line’s orders from store buyers. Now she would have to channel everyone into dealing with a crisis.

She stepped outside and turned left to trot the two blocks over to the apartment. Ten minutes later, she stood under the shower jet in the marble bathroom, thinking through the problem.

The orders Phoebe had received were screwed up. One of the big department store buyers had asked for a very large number of a SwimZ design in red, in just the two smallest sizes. Another one had done the same in a different design in beige. Yet another order from a boutique called Water’s Edge looked extremely large for that vendor. Given the situation, it looked suspect to Phoebe and it didn’t make sense that the small boutique would order such a large inventory. Finally, a major department store buyer’s order had come in with small but lopsided numbers: they had only ordered just five of the twelve SwimZ designs, but only in size fourteen, and only in three dark colors: black, eggplant, and chocolate.

If one of the vendors’ orders had looked strange, the problem was likely in their purchasing system. Computerization had eliminated the routine tasks of many store buyers in recent years, but mistakes were still made from time to time. However, with several different orders coming in the way they had, it looked like an issue for SlimZ, not for the buyers. Was the problem in the SlimZ IT department, and if so, what else was wrong there? Or was it a problem on the sales side? What else was the sales team doing wrong? If any of the numbers were wrong when production was launched, mistakes would cost money—serious money.

A delay in production was not in the plan, and Candace couldn’t allow it to happen, especially since she was about to leave the country. Production of the SwimZ line simply could not come to a standstill for half a month. This mess had to be handled, and it had to be done today. The company could not afford any damage to its reputation, and neither could Candace, to hers. Not only that—her career itself could be at stake, as well as the company’s stock price. Everything she’d worked so hard for and everything she’d built could come crashing down if a solution wasn’t found and implemented immediately.

She toweled off and combed her hair, then threw on a pair of black stretchy slacks and a blue rayon long-sleeved top. Ginger should be calling her soon to patch her into the conference call. She picked up her iPhone and set it on the vanity in the bathroom, making sure the volume was turned on. She sat down and pulled an attached magnifying mirror out and began to apply her makeup.

Two minutes later, her phone rang. She answered the call and put it on speaker.

“I’m on,” she said. “Ginger? Who is on with us?”

“We’ve got Phoebe and Wendy here, Candace.”

Both employees said hello. “Okay,” said Candace, “tell me what you know, Phoebe.”

“Well, you saw my email—”

“Right. What have you learned since you wrote that?”

“Not all that much. Not yet, anyway,” said Phoebe.

No one spoke for a second. “Candace,” said Ginger, “Wendy found another problem: no orders at all in the textured navy.”

“That’s
got
to be wrong,” said Candace. “It’s one of the most popular fabrics we have. Elena Masters loved the maillot and the one-shoulder design in it.”

Elena was a twenty-eight-year-old up-and-coming actress who had grown up in Florida. After her breakout movie, she had been a regular celebrity at Fashion Week for the last four years. The textured fabric she had admired was a tightly woven lightweight in shades of dark blue, with a wavy look. It resembled a solid, but with its woven, uneven surface, hid flaws. Elena’s photo regularly graced the cover of popular fashion magazines, and her approval of the fabric all but guaranteed a big order.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Candace continued, “Perhaps we need to get Amanda’s people to contact all the buyers personally. She’s not arriving here until tomorrow. Wendy, go get her so we can include her on this call.”

“Um, I don’t think she’s in the office. I heard she was taking the day off,” Wendy said.

“What?” asked Candace. “That’s news to me. She’s due to fly to New York in the morning.”

“I don’t know what she’s doing,” said Phoebe. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Okay, look,” said Candace. “I’ll give her a call myself, after we hang up. For now, I want to know what else you’ve found.”

“Nothing, so far,” said Phoebe.

“Keep looking,” said Candace. “Ginger, I want you to manage this situation today, no matter how long it takes. And look into the replenishables from each buyer. If those are okay and we can eliminate everything except SwimZ orders, that would be helpful.”

Replenishables
were stock items that were automatically ordered by the buyers once their inventories reached a certain level. For most of SlimZ store buyers, they included several versions of the flagship product, the longer legging undergarments, the bras, and the shaping camisoles.

“Phoebe, you look for Amanda, in case I’m unable to connect with her,” added Candace. “Get her involved in this immediately. I expect her to be there today until her side of these issues are investigated, and any problems she finds are resolved. Wedding or no wedding.”

“Candace,” said Ginger, “we’ll get this handled, whether it’s today or early next week. Your plans are set.”

“We’ll see,” said Candace. “I’m getting off the line now. You three stay on together and go over every piece of this puzzle. Then get it solved.”

“Got it,” said Ginger.

Candace hung up. The situation was bad—very bad—and it could be devastating. If Amanda was playing hooky after she’d claimed not to be able to fly up to New York today—and in the midst of a crisis—Candace would express her displeasure in the clearest possible terms.

She dialed Amanda’s number.