Free White Collar Girl by Renée Rosen Page B

place.
    â€œLet’s just say I wasn’t happy about it. But I’m a loyal servant of the city. I only want what’s best for Chicago.”
    I tried not to roll my eyes.
    â€œAnything else you need to know?”
    â€œI’m still wondering why you came to me. I know you have your reasons. I just don’t know what they are.”
    â€œMaybe I didn’t want someone as jaded as a Walter Harris or a Marty Sinclair.”
    â€œMaybe so.” I didn’t believe a word of that and pursed my lips to keep from saying more. No point in pressing for an answer he clearly wasn’t ready to give. “All right then, let’s cut to the chase—what have you got for me?”
    He rubbed the excess sugar granules off his fingertips and pulled a document from his breast pocket, creased in a trifold. “Why don’t you take a look at this and tell me what you see?”
    I unfolded the document and began to read. “City council meeting agenda?” I glanced up at him. “This is public record. There’s no scoop here.”
    â€œKeep going.”
    My eyes scanned down the list of proposed ordinances and new appointments all put forth by Alderman Frank O’Connor, the city council chairman. Nothing stood out to me. I looked up again and shrugged.
    â€œStop when you get to the fourth item under Miscellaneous Number 25
.
”
    I read silently to myself:
Miscellaneous Item Number 25 (4). Orders authorizing the payment of hospitalization and medical expenses of police officers injured in the line of duty
. “So? They risk their lives every day. The city should pay for their medical needs.”
    â€œI wholeheartedly agree.”
    I looked at him. I didn’t get it. “Am I missing something here?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact, you are.” He reached into his other pocket and produced an envelope. “Here’s a report with a list of the officers’ names, their injuries, their doctors and the amount of their claims.”
    I opened the report and glanced at the list of about seventy-five names, neatly typed in uniform columns.
    â€œNow, I don’t know about you,” said Ahern, “but I think there’s something mighty suspicious about all this.”
    I looked at the list again. The first thing that struck me was that several of the officers were from one district. “Looks like a lot of the injuries happened in the 35th District.”
    â€œYou’re getting warmer.”
    The second thing I noticed were the staggering dollar amounts—$825, $900, $1,150, $2,165—all being paid to one doctor: Dr. Stuart Zucker. My pulse began racing because I knew. I knew I was onto something. They don’t teach you this in journalism school. It can’t be taught, but there’s a feeling you get in your gut—pure instinct. “This is major insurance fraud we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
    â€œYou didn’t hear me say that, did you?” Ahern gave me a thin, rigid smile. “Oh, and Miss Walsh, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but you may want to take down some of that information, because I’m not about to leave that list with you.”
    Heat crawled up my neck and cheeks as I reached inside my bag and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, scratching down names and dollar amounts as quickly as I could.
    â€œI’m sure you know what to do from here,” he said.
    I continued to write, and when I set my pen down, he plucked the list from my hand and folded it up, tucking it back in his pocket as if it had never existed.
    â€œTrust me, Walsh. This is a house divided.” He picked up his knife and sliced it through the igloo, sending the sugar cubes crashing down.
    I reached for a cigarette, struck a match and watched it burn between my fingers.
    â€œYou think you can do something with this, Walsh?”
    I gave him a nod and lit my cigarette, the flame still