NATS POV

I dropped off the sketch at the police station half an hour ago after making a copy for myself. I found out that the woman's name was Destiny, and apparently Children's Services is short staffed and overrun, so Andy is staying at the police station tonight while they search for her dad. While we search for him. I offered to take her for the night, but it's against policy and while I understand that and I wouldn't want them to just release a child to the first stranger that offers, I'd feel better if she was safe with me.

Before Sam left my apartment she gave me the name of the man who held the art opening. All she or google knew is that Roger Douglas owns an art supply company called Color Me Inspired Art Supplies and the address to his building is 1528 Doris drive. I'm currently standing in front of that building, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The entire, very large building is made of windows, so I can see the football field sized lobby, completely empty besides a reception desk with a single receptionist and a couch that looks completely out of place shoved off to the side.

I dig the card Sam gave me out of my purse, glancing at it again. Understanding creeps into the edges of my frazzled thoughts as I slide my thumb across the logo and the ink smears. These cards are freshly printed and the building isn't even furnished yet.

Hmm...

I walk towards the reception desk, the abrasive sound of my heels clicking against the polished tile echoing in my head as exhaustion pounds through my skull. I changed into a skirt and heels and I have on enough makeup to hide my lack of sleep, but not enough to make me feel like a clown. I don't wear makeup very often. Or skirts. Or heels. But sometimes I'm required to wear them all. They get me into places I wouldn't get into otherwise. For example...

The woman behind the desk looks up with a polite, slightly surprised smile, telling me they haven't had a lot of clients.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"Can I help you?"

"I have a meeting with Mr. Douglas."

"Name?"

"Nat Lewis."

She enters my name into her computer- the only thing on the ten foot circular desk besides a phone.

"I'm sorry, there's nothing here" she notes, glancing up at me in a mixture of apology and confusion.

"But i've had this meeting for weeks. I'm supposed to talk to mr. Douglas about buying art supplies for my school. I haven't looked anywhere else and school starts soon. What am I going to d-?" I start, raising my voice with panic, letting it waver, even crack at the end.

She reaches for the phone.

"Mr. Douglas, there has been a mistake in your schedule. You have a meeting with a miss Lewis... She's here... Yes sir."

Her body language tells me everything I need to know, but I make a show of holding my breath anyway.

"He'll see you. His office is down the hall to your left, third door on your right. Go right in" she instructs.

My knees weaken with genuine relief.

"Thank you" the two words come out softer than I intended.

"You're welcome."

I follow the directions she gave me, glancing into the open rooms as I pass, finding them all empty.

I know she said to just walk in, but I knock anyway, waiting for him to call out a 'come in' before I open the door and step inside.

His office is full of sleek, polished surfaces that gleam under the bright, artificial lights. Long desk made of dark marble with a comfortable enough looking chair behind it and expensive, uncomfortable looking chairs in front of it. The small bookcase in the corner is only half full and the tan love seat against the wall to my right looks like it's never been sat on. It all feels very... sterile.

A stark contrast to the man behind the desk.

He's tall and average looking with balding brown hair and kind eyes, his slight pouch stressing the buttons on his expensive, pinstriped shirt.

He stands, holding out his hand with a genial smile.

I return both gestures.

"Hi, I'm Nat Lewis."

"Roger Douglas" he introduces, motioning towards the chairs in front of his desk, taking his own. "I hear there was a mistake in my schedule?"

I sit, fighting a grimace when my earlier observation was correct and they're expensive, but uncomfortable.

"It's ok. You and your assistant have been very kind" I assure as a little niggle of guilt gnaws at my gut at the lie.

"So.. what did you wish to discuss?"

"I would like to purchase art supplies for my school for the upcoming semester. Would I have them by then?"

He looks taken aback, but he quickly recovers, clearing his throat.

"Of-of course!" He stammers with a slight tremor in his voice as he searches around the scattered papers on his desk, grabbing a catalogue, holding it out to me. "Just fill this out, and i'll get working on it right away."

I flip through it, putting an x next to almost everything before handing it back.

"I can have everything to you by the middle of the week" he promises.

"Who do I pay?" I ask, rising to my feet as he does.

"Just stop on your way out and Lindsay- my assistant will handle everything. If there are any problems or you have any questions, just let me know" he offers, handing me a business card with his number on it.

"I will, thank you." I take the card and turn to go, but make a show of stopping. "Actually there is something you might be able to help me with."

"Anything" he invites.

"I was a friends plus one to the art opening at the gallery on Jackson and Day last night. I heard you held it?" I pose it as a question, waiting for his confirmation.

He blinks, but his only response is a slight, jerky nod.

"It was a beautiful opening, but I accidentally spilt a glass of champagne on a woman I met there. I have her jacket at the dry cleaners and i'd like to get it back to her, but she left before I could get more than her first name. Is there any chance you have a list of guests?" I ask evenly, hiding my desperation well. A little too well in all honesty.

He doesn't respond for a long moment as he puts together the mistake in his schedule and the coincidence of me being here today and at his opening last night.

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he presses the intercom button on his phone.

"Take down miss Lewis's information and give her a copy of the guest list from last nights opening. Thank you Lindsay."

A female voice comes through the speaker.

"Right away sir."

"He might not be on the list" he states, not knowing how important this is to me or how my heart falls at the unassuming words. I'm not going to like whatever he says next. "I partnered with another company for the opening. It was a company that teaches art classes. Every painting at the gallery was painted by one of their students, using only our supplies. I had a list of guests, but so did they. Plus the waiters" he explains, confirming my suspicion as I fight the urge to break something in frustration.

"Can I have the names of the company you partnered with and that catered the opening?"

He nods.

"Also give ms. Lewis all the information we have about Art From The Heart and the company that catered last nights opening" he request of Lindsay.

"Thank you" I murmur, unable to keep the meaning out of my voice.

"It's no problem."

I turn to go and i'm almost to the door when curiosity gets the best of me and I stop again.

"Your business cards are new, your building is empty, you have one employee, and you promised to fulfill my large order in a few days with no notice. What happened? You obviously had a lot of money when you started" I observe softly, though I already have an idea.

He says nothing, seemingly at a loss for words, but all the color drains from his face.

"Can I take a guess?" I offer.

He hesitates a moment before motioning for me to continue.

"You used to work with money..." I start, trailing off, studying him. "Accountant? You had your own firm?" I guess, taking his thick swallow as a yes. "But it wasn't just you was it? College friends?" A barely noticeable clenching of his jaw says I hit a nerve. "But it wasn't enough. You wanted.. more. One of your clients comes to you and says he has an idea and the money, and wants you to run it?" I muse, hitting the nail on the head judging by his sharp inhale. "So what happened? It's a solid idea, you obviously had a good starting capital and you're more than capable of running the place."

He looks away, but not before I see the emotions etched across his features.

"My friends bought out my share of the company, and I spent it all on this place" he drawls, waving around the sterile room, his voice the kind of soft that makes me want to hug him. He obviously treasures this place and things aren't looking good. "My client was supposed to put up seventy percent of the starting capital and we were going to be fifty fifty partners. But he stayed on as a client at my old firm and didn't tell me and they lost all of his money."

I bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that those aren't friends and I understand why his old firm was so successful. It's a blood thirsty world, and his "friends" are sharks.

"We make all clients sign a contract stating that if we lost their money we weren't responsible or required to pay them back, and there's no way to prove they did it intentionally, so he can't give his share of the money. I don't know if we'll even make it till the end of the month. I put all my families savings into this place and have nothing to show for it but an empty building. That's why we had the opening. I was told by a friend in the art world that showings are the best way to make a name for yourself but there was no money for it, so I had the idea to partner with the art class and was barely able to pay my half" he confesses gruffly.

"That's why you payed in cash" I deduce.

He looks like he wants to ask how I know that, but he reluctantly lets it go.

"I had to empty my personal bank account and the guy said if we paid in cash he'd cut the price so he didn't have to claim it on his taxes."

This poor man. He's a good guy who just wanted more for himself and his family, but he's going to end up with nothing.

No way in hell. Not if I have anything to do about it.

"I'll make some phone calls. I have friends just about everywhere. They won't get away with this" I promise gently, understanding his helplessness more than I care to admit.

"Wh- who are you?" He whispers, looking like he's trying not to give into the hope.

"I'm your first client."