Rooms - James L. Rubart [39]
“I’m going to act for a moment like you’re serious.”
“O . . . kay . . .” Micah drew the word out as his knuckles turned white from his grip on the phone. “Humor me.”
“The stock has never traded for more than 74¼. Ever. Heck, we’re only off our three-year high by five points. And it looks—”
Micah hung up and clicked his mouse. A graph popped up on his screen showing him RimSoft’s three-year high was 72⅜; the low was 14.
He grabbed his temples and pressed hard. He tried taking three deep breaths but didn’t succeed. He buzzed Shannon. “I need the hard copies of our monthly statements on the stock price for the past six months. I’d appreciate if you could do it quickly.”
“They’re all in the compu—”
“The hard copies, Shannon. Right now!” He slammed the phone into its cradle. Fifteen million dollars. Gone.
Something smacked onto Micah’s desk thirty seconds later. By the time he looked up, Shannon had turned and was walking back to her desk without comment.
He dug through the reports knowing what he’d find. But he ripped through them anyway and finished by sweeping the pile off the edge of his desk. Terror hammered at his mind as they fluttered to the floor.
Micah picked up the phone. It slipped from his fingers and rattled on his desk. He picked it up again and hit six on his speed dial.
“Hello to you. Rick’s Gas & Garage.”
“Devin, it’s Micah. I have to talk to Rick.”
“Hey, Micah, good to hear from ya. What’s going on? How are—?”
“I gotta talk to him now, Devin!”
“Oh, sorry, he ran up to Seaside to pick up parts we need right away, you know, so, well, you’re gonna have to wait or talk to me, I guess.”
“Have him call me on my cell the instant he gets back, okay?”
“Sure.”
Micah rubbed his hands back and forth on his thighs as he stared at the ticker symbols that streamed across the bottom of his computer screen. Normal volume. Nothing unusual about the Dow or the S&P. RimSoft’s stock was steady, riding little waves up and down.
Micah pulled two Wall Street analysts’ predictions for the stock. All said RimSoft’s stock was a good bet even though it traded near its all-time high. Nothing indicated it ever traded as high as 83.
What was happening? He begged God to talk to him.
A bead of sweat meandered down his right temple. He wiped it away and stared at the moisture on his fingertips. After the third trickle of perspiration, he tried Rick again to no avail.
Micah grabbed his coat and walked out the door. “Shannon, I gotta go. I’m going back down to the beach.”
“You’re leaving? You just got here. What about this afternoon’s meetings?”
He was four steps toward the elevator when her question registered in his fog-filled mind. “What?” He turned and took a half step to the side to keep from stumbling.
“Are you okay, Micah?”
He swallowed and resisted the panic that pressed in. “No. I mean, yes, I’m fine.”
She pursed her lips as though she were about to whistle and squinted at him.
“I’m okay, really. I’ll be back up in a week, and we’ll do the meetings then. I’ll give you a buzz Monday. I just need to deal with something right now.” There had to be a reason for the stock drop. He would find it.
“The answer to your panic is at the beach?”
“It was after I read something down there that things got weird.”
Shannon frowned. “What’s been getting weird?”
“I’ll talk to you Monday.” He jogged toward the elevator, then reached for the button. He didn’t push it. Instead he walked back to Shannon. “Sorry for yelling when I asked for the stock reports. I’m . . . it’s just that . . .” Micah stopped his gaze from flitting around her desk and settled on her. “No excuses. I was a jerk. And I’m really, really sorry.”
He walked out of his building and looked to the left, then the