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Reese stepped away and Hayes dropped his hand. “It should be the third building on this side.”
He stayed between her and the street as they made their way to the structure without further incident. The financial company was located on the second floor, its interior a completecontrast to Rivers’s in the Gaslamp Quarter, with a décor of sleek monochromatic metal and glass. The assistant behind the desk was male this time, Asian American, with an expensive-looking haircut and garbed in a suit. His nameplate identified him as Blake Chen. He offered them a polite smile. “Good morning. Do you have an appointment?”
Hayes hung back as Reese approached him. “I don’t. But I was hoping to catch Mr. Greenley for a few moments.”
Chen began shaking his head before she even finished her words. “I’m sorry, that won’t be possible today. But if you’re a client, or a prospective one, I can certainly schedule a time for you.”
“I’m Reese Decody. Mr. Greenley manages the funds for my brother’s special needs trust. My aunt, Julia Backworth, was the conservator, but she died recently…” Her voice hitched, and Hayes straightened, eying her concernedly. She reached for a tissue on the assistant’s desk and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m in the process of being appointed in her place, but there’s so much to do. So many details to catch up on. I already spoke to the trustee, and he indicated that I direct my remaining questions to Mr. Greenley. Perhaps I can catch him before his appointments start for the day. It would only take a minute or two.”
Chen swung his chair toward his laptop, his expression reflecting a man’s universal discomfort with a woman’s tears. He scrolled for a few moments. “I’m sorry, he has a full schedule today. I’m not sure he’s arrived yet, although Tyler often likes to eat his breakfast outside before his day begins. I can take your name and call you with a time and date to meet.”
Hayes fully expected Reese to leave her contact information, but she straightened, giving the young man a tremulous smile. “Thank you. I’ll call you when I get home and have my calendar in front of me.”
He turned and beat her to the entrance, scanning the hallway before holding the door for her as she stepped out of the offices and walked past him to the elevators, studying the floor directory sign next to it. There were no signs of distress on her face or in her voice when she spoke. “Let’s head to the sixth floor. There’s a diner and outside seating available there.”
It was only then that he realized the young man inside had been played. He shook his head in bemusement. “Very devious.”
She looked smug. “You said yourself that people don’t always realize what they’re revealing. And it’s just a hunch.”
A good one, he acknowledged as the doors to the elevator opened, and they stepped inside. Someone gearing up for a busy day didn’t dawdle in an off-site park or sidewalk café when they could be onsite, minutes from the office. “Do you know what he looks like?”
“Of course. I researched him when I was going over the finance reports. He graduated from Stanford, where he was on a wrestling scholarship, earned a MA from USC, and spent six years at Leech and Martin. He’s been here for eight years. Married. Two kids.”
The doors opened, and Hayes waited until the other passengers had filed out before following them. He ignored the restaurant and the diners seated in the open area outside it to make his way to the double doors leading to the patio. The tables were full, so he followed Reese as she strolled around the area, as if in search of a seat.
The one she slipped into a minute later had a solitary man with a half-full plate seated across from her, holding a cell to his ear. There were hints of his former sport in his thick upper body and slightly deformed ears. He wore his black hair slicked, had the obligatory gold watch on one wrist, and crumbs on the red patterned tie bisecting his white shirt. She smiled and folded herhands before her. The stranger looked startled, then said into the phone, “I’ll call you back.”
“You’re Mr. Greenley.” Reese shot out a hand. “Reese Decody. You manage my brother Ben’s funds for his special needs trust. My aunt, Julia Backworth had your card clipped to her copies of the financial reports.” She smiled winningly. “That’s how I recognized you.”
Greenley slowly shook her hand and then grabbed a napkin to wipe at his face and tie. “Ms. Decody. Of course. It’s a pleasure. I’m familiar with your work.”
“I know you have a full day ahead of you, but I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she’d already sailed on. “I’m sure you’re aware that my aunt died recently. I’m hoping to fill her role as my brother’s conservator, and I’m trying to play catch up. I’d just like to ask about the trust’s portfolio. I’ll admit, my only experience with financial advisors comes from an investigative article I wrote a few years ago about the predatory practices of some firms operating here in the state. It’s so gratifying knowing my brother’s funds are being managed by a company with impeccable credentials.”
The man was quick on his feet. “First, let me extend my condolences about your aunt’s death. We never met, but I was of course familiar with her name.”
“Yes.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Julia was out of the country a lot. She and Mr. Rivers worked together approving expenses to be paid for out of the trust. I was wondering if you could explain the dip in fund growth in the last couple of years.”
He made a point of glancing at his watch before giving a rueful smile. “I’d love to sit down with you when we have enough time to get into your queries with more context and depth.”
She nodded in agreement. “Of course, you’re right. I was just unsure whether I should address this with you, or if we should include one of the firm’s partners in the meeting. Knowing so little about the world of wealth management myself…”
Hayes put a fist to his lips, feigning a cough to hide his smile. Oh, yeah. She was adept at this.
Greenley looked pained. “Of course, if you aren’t fully satisfied with our eventual discussion, we can discuss further steps.” He rose and shrugged into the suit coat hanging on the back of his chair.
Reese went on as if he hadn’t responded, her voice a little louder. “What I do notice when I compare the monthly statements for the last few years, is that the trust’s funds, which used to be growing steadily, have dropped well below the initial amount my parents used to establish it. That drop happened during your tenure managing the account. And I found a pattern in the changes on the itemized investment portfolio that seem to correlate with the dip.”
The man sent a quick glance around the area and sank back down. “I give financial advice, Ms. Decody, which is responsive to my clients’ needs and suggestions. I can assure you that the decisions were not made in isolation.”
She nodded. “I understand. An aggressive capital growth strategy can certainly be more volatile. Who suggested switching to it from the trust’s former conservative investment plan?”
He blinked. “All decisions resulted from in-depth discussions with Mr. Rivers, the trustee. And I can assure you, the account is on the upswing. In a few months we expect to regain some ground lost with the squeeze in the market. Following the price fluctuations can be anxiety-inducing, but portfolio investment is a long game.”
“I feel better already.” She offered him a winsome smile and rose. “I don’t want to keep you. I’ll be in touch with your clientspecialist. Thank you.” Hayes headed to the door and opened it for her, leaving behind a very visibly discomfited Tyler Greenley.
“I’m beginning to think you should come with a caution sign,” he murmured as she reached him. “Your so-called ignorance of investments seemed to disappear at the end.”
She waited until they’d wound their way through the tables next to the restaurant to respond. “I have my own accounts and suffer through twice-yearly meetings with my advisor. My eyes glaze over after fifteen minutes, but I absorb enough. Did you hear the entire conversation?”