Page 1 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Hana

I speed walk through the office, drop my backpack at my cubicle, and practically slide into the only open seat at the table in the conference room.

I’m leaving on a business trip in the morning, so I was planning to work from home today, but Randy—my boss and the owner of the startup software company I work for—called an all-hands meeting. Mandatory.

The email came in at ten minutes to eight, my workday normally starts at eight, and I was still in my pajamas. I’ve never gotten dressed, made coffee, and sped through town faster than I did today.

It’s not like Randy to call meetings like this.

One of many things I love about my job is how laid back and easygoing both Randy and his partner, Glen, are.

This morning’s email did not sound easygoing or laid back.

I glance at Dana, one of the programmers, and she gives a tiny, one-shoulder shrug, like she’s confused too.

Randy’s in his office, which has glass walls so we can see him, and he’s on the phone, talking animatedly to someone. And it doesn’t look good. He’s pacing, waving one arm around and now his face is turning red.

“Randy’s not having a good day.” One of our sales guys, Seth Crandall, says with a frown.

I don’t like Seth, and normally I ignore him, but today I agree with him.

“Something’s up,” Dana says quietly. “The server has been down all morning. And when I tried to troubleshoot, Randy stopped me, said not to bother.”

Now that’s weird.

I pick up my phone and send a text to my best friend, Claudia.

She’s the lead programmer here at VineTech.

She lives in Fort Lauderdale with her professional hockey player husband and their infant son, Anderson.

She’s the one who got me the job here, and when I’m not traveling, I split my time between the home office here in Philadelphia and down in Fort Lauderdale with her and my brother.

HANA: Do you have any idea what’s going on? Dana said the server is down.

CLAUDIA: I think we’ve either been hacked or there’s some kind of system failure. I texted Randy but he said he’d explain everything at the meeting.

HANA: He’s on the phone in his office and he doesn’t look good. He’s yelling and his face is red.

CLAUDIA: Yikes. This can’t be good. I’ll be joining via video call, but so far he hasn’t started the meeting. Is Glen there?”

I look around. As far as I can tell, Glen isn’t here and his office is dark.

HANA: No sign of him. No lights in his office either.

CLAUDIA: I talked to him yesterday and he sounded weird, distracted, and told me to do ‘whatever’ when I asked about implementing the new data stream.

He said it wouldn’t matter in a few days anyway.

When I asked him what he was talking about, he said something like ‘don’t mind me, I’m in a bad mood.

Randy will call you later.’ And Randy never did.

HANA: My spidey senses are tingling.

CLAUDIA: Mine too. And I don’t even have spidey senses.

HANA: LOL I was in my pajamas when he called the meeting. I look like a homeless person today. No makeup, hair in a ponytail, and the only clean jeans I have.

CLAUDIA: What—my mom isn’t doing your laundry anymore?

HANA: Very funny. I stopped her. I’m a grown-ass woman. It’s already incredible that they let me live in their house when I’m in Philly. I don’t need her to do my laundry.

CLAUDIA: I know how many clothes you have. If you’re down to your last pair of clean jeans, maybe she does…just sayin’.

I chuckle because she’s right.

I’m terrible about laundry.

I’m perfectly capable of doing it, I just get lazy on my days off.

That was part of today’s plan, though. Work from home so I can do laundry and pack. My flight to San Jose leaves at the ass-crack of dawn, so the plan was to get everything done and get to bed early.

“Sorry, everyone.” Randy comes into the conference room looking… harried ? Worried? Freaked out? Hard to tell because I’ve never seen Randy’s hair sticking up or his shirt on inside out.

He stands at the head of the long table resting his hands on it. He drops his head for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then slowly lifts it, looking around.

“I have bad news,” he says finally. “Last night around nine o’clock, I got a strange alert from the bank, telling me our main account, the one we pay all the bills and salaries from, was under the minimum amount.

When I went in and checked, someone had drained the account. Over four million dollars.”

Jesus.

I can hear the almost collective sharp intake of breath around the room.

“You got hacked?” Seth asks incredulously.

“No.” Randy swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Glen took it.”

“Why would Glen take it?” Dana asks in confusion.

“Because he took the money and bankrupted us before leaving the country.”

The room goes dead silent.

“What does that mean?” I ask finally.

“It means… the company is bankrupt and we’re all out of work.”

This time, the room erupts in conversation, anger, and yelling.

“Let me finish!” Randy yells after a few minutes of people talking on top of each other.

When it’s finally quiet again, he continues.

“Like most big companies, we have multiple accounts. The one he drained is our main operating account. The others require both of us in person to move money, so he was shut out there. Unfortunately, there isn’t a whole lot.

But I’ve got my lawyer working on it and as soon as I can get the money released, I’ll split it among all of you.

I’m not even taking any for myself.” He pauses.

“It should come out to about ten grand a piece. I know that’s not a great severance package, but as of now, our doors are closed. ”

“Instead of paying us, why can’t you keep the doors open?” Seth asks.

“Because we have two big loan payments coming up for the hardware we leased, and once I pay the building lease and utilities, we’ll have zero operating revenue. There’s no way for me to keep the company going. Unless you all plan to work for free.”

“Don’t we have sales revenue coming in?” I ask.

He nods. “Sure, but short-term, it’s not enough to keep the doors open. I’m sorry, guys. I wish things could be different.” He looks so defeated, I feel sorry for him. VineTech was his brainchild, his baby—and I’m furious that Glen would betray him this way.

“This was about money?” Seth asks finally. “Like, Glen just took it and moved to Tahiti or something?”

“I don’t know where he’s gone, but I’m pretty sure he left the country. The money was moved to an account in the Cayman Islands, so he could be anywhere.”

“Well, fuck.” Dana looks like she’s going to cry. “I’m eight weeks pregnant. No one is going to hire me if they find out I’m pregnant. And what am I going to do about insurance? Can I even get CObrA if the company goes under?”

There are a lot of questions, and not nearly enough answers.

It goes on for about an hour, as we try to brainstorm, come up with ideas on ways to keep things going.

Randy even shows us the company bank accounts—including the one that currently has a ninety-two-dollar balance.

But there doesn’t appear to be anything we can do, even if we were willing to work for free for a month or two.

Hardware for a tech company is expensive, and the amount of money to lease the offices in this building is staggering.

I had no idea it cost so much. Hundreds of thousands of dollars to run the company monthly—and that’s before payroll.

“Hana, I’d like to see you in my office privately,” Randy says quietly when everyone starts to leave.

“Okay.” I follow him in confusion, exchanging a strange look with Dana. Why would he single me out? He just wrote us all checks and told us to cash them immediately, before creditors came after him.

“What’s going on?” I ask once he closes the door.

“I’m afraid your day is going to go from bad to worse.”

Worry winds through my gut, leaving me anxious.

“What’s going on?” I repeat.

He sighs and rests on the edge of his desk. “Once the company officially closes its doors, which will happen in the next few days, we can no longer hold your visa.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush.

I assumed that once I had the visa, which was good for two years, I could just find another job. I didn’t even consider that the visa itself was connected to VineTech.

“What…” I shake my head, trying to clear my racing thoughts. “I don’t…”

“I’m so sorry, Hana. I spoke to our attorney this morning—that’s who I was arguing with before the meeting. I fought for you, but it’s out of my control. As soon as we officially go out of business, you’ll have seven days to leave the country.”