Free The Birthday Girl by Stephen Leather Page A

He scratched the end of his nose with the first finger and thumb of his right hand. 'There is one thing, Mr Sabatino.'
    Sabatino tore his eyes off the pasta. 'Not here, Maury. Vincenti will take care of you outside.'
    Anderson grinned. 'Thanks, Mr Sabatino. Thanks a lot.' Anderson stood up and held out his hand, but Sabatino was already twirling his fettuccini around his fork. The financial director shrugged and walked away. The smaller of the two bodyguards, the one chewing the cigar, handed him a rolled-up copy of the Baltimore Sun on his way out. Inside was a polythene package containing an ounce of cocaine. Maury Anderson had a major habit, and it was a habit that, for the moment at least, Sabatino was prepared to feed. At some point in the future Anderson would outlive his usefulness, literally, and it would be time to take him on a picnic. Sabatino was looking forward to the prospect.
    Mersiha tip-toed down the darkened stairs and into the study in her nightgown, closing the door behind her. She sat down in her father's chair and switched on the computer and its monitor. The screen flickered for a few seconds, then it asked for the password. She typed in her own name. It had been the password for as long as she could remember; her father never changed it.
    A menu flashed on to the screen. Towards the bottom of the menu was the program that kept track of the company's finances. She called it up and brought up the most recent profit and loss account. She ran her finger down the screen, silently mouthing the figures. Total income was well down on the previous year, but expenses were several hundred thousand dollars higher. The payroll and the company's Medicare payments made up the bulk of the outgoings. She closed the file and called up the report her father used for forecasting cash flows. She chewed the inside of her lip as she studied the figures. If the Middle Eastern order came through for the MIDAS system, the cash flow would keep the company going for at least three months. But that was purely a forecast; the money, and indeed the order, had yet to be received.
    Mersiha called up the balance sheet. Over the months she'd been following her father's financial problems, it had been the balance sheet which had caused her the most headaches. At first she hadn't been able to make sense of the lists of assets and liabilities, but she'd spent hours in the school library reading every economics and business book she could get her hands on. It had been hard going, but gradually she'd worked out how to read the company's records and now she could tell almost at a glance how the company was doing. Its current account showed a substantial drop on the previous month, and accounts receivable had also dropped. Only capital equipment had stayed the same, and Mersiha knew that was pretty much a hypothetical figure anyway. Who would want to buy second-hand manufacturing equipment if CRW couldn't sell its own products?
    While the assets were considerably down, the company's liabilities continued to rise, and it clearly wouldn't be long before they crossed over and the firm had a negative worth. Mersiha felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She checked the financial projections every week or so, and the picture was getting steadily worse. She wished that there was something she could do to help her father, but she knew she was powerless. She was just a kid. She'd give anything to be rich, to be able to write her father a cheque big enough to solve all his problems. She hated to see her father unhappy, hated it with a vengeance.
    She called up QUICKEN, the program her father used to follow his personal finances. He had three bank accounts, and she checked the balances in all of them, then she went through his credit card billings and household expenses. As usual the biggest purchases had been made by Katherine. Several pairs of shoes, a gold bracelet, lots of clothes. The company's financial problems hadn't persuaded her to cut