Wood's Wreck by Steven Becker

charter of the non-profit when Cayenne entered the office. She glanced at the corner of the computer screen and realized it was almost 3. Cayenne nodded hello as if it was 9 in the morning and went for her office. 
    Most days she made a late appearance, her chest was lifted high and there was a swagger in her step. Today, her head was down. After seeing her sitting on Mac’s boat yesterday, she knew why. A night in jail would do that to you. She had been furious when she had seen her and it had taken all her patience to know that a confrontation then and there would not help Mac. What she needed to do was research. Mac could scout out the area and see if he could find out anything, but if she could prove that Cayenne’s non-profit was behind this it would put Mac in the clear. 
    Her dad had always preached to her to follow the money, and she had helped with his construction company’s books through high school. Balance sheets and profit and loss statements were easy reading for her. This often gave her a distinct advantage in the legal world, where no matter how bright and witty her peers were, the ability to do simple addition was a rarity. And the numbers weren’t adding up.
    When she’d started having questions here, she’d done what she did best when things didn’t make sense— dug into the financial statements. Numbers were more truthful than people. 
    The non-profit had been set up as a standard 501(c)(3). Nothing special there. An allowance for officers’ salaries had been spelled out in the charter. The state of the company’s books wasn’t surprising in itself; non-profits often had no business plan, and were after all charities, many set up as tax shelters for their founders. 
    It all seemed to be above board in the beginning—several large grants and a gift from her father’s foundation had financed the first two years. But the third year, things had changed. The meager coral sales in the first two years had been recorded properly, but the expenses remained high and the business was operating in the red. Then the monthly deposits in cash started flowing in, with no paperwork to back them up, along with equally large withdrawals that almost matched the deposits. It looked like money laundering on the surface, but she wanted confirmation. 
    The door opened and Cayenne walked out, looking defeated. “I’m going to get a drink. You want to come?”
    Mel knew that there would be more than one drink, and that this might give her the opportunity she needed. “No, thanks, but go ahead.”
    “You shouldn’t fuss about those numbers and legal stuff so much. We are doing good work here,” Cayenne said, and walked toward her bedroom. 
    Mel put away the papers, not wanting to rouse suspicion, and went to the computer to check her email and wait. Before long, Cayenne emerged in a skimpy cocktail dress better suited for a twenty-year-old, the spaghetti straps barely holding her in. She said goodbye and Mel tried not to chuckle as she listened to the click clack of heels signaling her exit. 
    Really, heels in Key West, she thought. It was the flip-flop capital of the world.
    She waited a few minutes after hearing the car start and pull out, then got up and went to Cayenne’s office. The desk drawers were open and she quickly rifled through them, finding nothing interesting. Next she went to the closet and saw a small safe attached to the floor. A quick tug on the handle confirmed it was locked. 
    As she was about to turn away, she noticed a cardboard box marked ‘taxes.’ She pulled the box into the room, sat cross-legged on the floor, and started pulling out documents.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    The sun had just made its appearance when Jay spat in his mask and placed it over his head. A quick check of his gauges, and, with fins in hand, he stepped down the rungs of the ladder attached to the dock. His feet hit bottom and he reached over and put his fins on one at a time, then swept