White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 8

Italian roast

Peter walked through the doors and up to the reception desk.

"Peter Lassen," he introduced himself.

"Can I see your bag, please?" the man behind the desk said and Peter handed over his briefcase as a small basket was placed on the desk.

"The basket is for your phone," a woman meeting up with him said. "I'm Ellen Samuel, Mr. Kent's personal assistant." They shook hands. "Sorry for the security, but we can't risk our visitors leaving with any sensitive information."

"I understand." He did and the security was expected. Still, he got associations to what it was entering prison to visit Neal.

"You can pick up your phone and your laptop at the front desk on your way out. If you'll just follow me, Mr. Kent would like a word before you start." Peter followed her to the passage control as she spoke. She scanned her card and the doors opened. "After you."

"Thank you."

They took the elevator up. Not all the way to the top, but close.

"Sorry we can't give you your own swipe key," Samuel said as she once again had to let him in with her card. "They're for employees only. Executive offices are just around the corner," she pointed and walked into a big corner office. "Mr. Kent, this is Mr. Lassen."

"Mr. Kent, pleasure to meet you."

Wesley Kent turned from his view out the window and walked to meet him with open arms.

"Wesley... please." The handshake was warm and friendly. "You mind if I call you Peter?"

"No, not at all," he smiled back.

"Good. You're gonna be with us for the week, might as well work on a first-name basis."

Peter knew that villains came in many shapes and forms but this man was not what he had expected.

"Most CEOs aren't as welcoming to an external auditor."

"Well, you're just looking at our books," Wesley said with almost a shrug. "Armagnac... my daily vice." Samuel was waiting with two drinks. Wesley rounded the enormous desk to get to his glass. "I thought that we could, uh... You know, drink to your new home for the week."

"Ah, sorry, but not on the job."

"Suit yourself."

"I'll be coordinating with my team at Banefield financial. The first thing I'll need to send to them are expense reports from your senior staff."

"Whatever you want, we will provide. And miss Samuel is at your service."

"If you can just show me where to set up..."

"I'm sorry?"

"My office... where is it?"

Wesley returned his empty glass to Samuel and pattered Peter on the arm.

"Peter, this is your office."

Did they lend the auditor the best office in the house? It was not possible. But Wesley Kent and Ellen Samuel left, leaving him to his work.

Peter looked around.

Apart from the gigantic desk, there was a relaxing chair, a small bar, and a view that would make anyone envious.

Neal was glad that Peter knew about the tape. He should have expected Sara and Peter to talk about it. And as an afterthought, he should have told Peter himself. Somehow he had not, and he knew why. He knew that Mozzie was far more efficient to make something out of it, and he worked alone.