Private Player

by Louise Bay

  “Have you told the police about the account?” I saw it as a good thing that the account was in Mark’s name alone. The police still needed convincing that Audrey wasn’t in on whatever scheme Mark was running.

  She shook her head. “Not yet. Of course I’ll cooperate with them but I can’t help thinking I should give Mark a heads-up.”

  I reached across the table and squeezed Audrey’s shoulder. “Promise me you won’t do that.” The police had been clear with her that if she had any hope of immunity from prosecution herself, she wasn’t to tell Mark anything. Only cooperation and discretion would keep her out of prison.

  I’d advised Audrey to see what she could find in Mark’s office. Any evidence could be a useful bargaining chip that might save her.

  “You think he’s planning to fly to some island and leave me to deal with the consequences of him stealing from people?” she asked, her voice wobbling.

  Audrey had far more questions than I could answer. Especially today. My focus was split and I didn’t know left from right. “Does the amount invested match the amount in the offshore account you found?”

  “No, the amount in the account is a lot less. But that would make sense. I imagine from time to time people want to withdraw their investments. And he wouldn’t take everything.”

  She was right, the discrepancy did make sense. But if the numbers had matched, it would have been a coincidence the police couldn’t ignore.

  “Maybe I should just turn over what I have to the police,” she said.

  “You need to think about yourself. Protect yourself. If the police haven’t arrested Mark it’s because they’re waiting for something damning. Use this time to ensure your safety in all this.”

  “There’s something else,” she said, taking a deep breath as if she were summoning courage. She handed me her phone.

  It was a picture of a list of five handwritten numbers, all in the same format but with different letters. I glanced up at her.

  “The top one is the Cayman account,” she said.

  I held her gaze. “Did you find anything else with these numbers on it?” It looked very much like Mark was hiding more than one bank account from his wife.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t have much time to look, but nothing so far.” She covered her eyes with her hands, swallowed and then took back her phone, clearly determined to try to keep herself from being upset. “I just can’t believe that I just signed those bloody papers,” she said.

  Her signature on the papers transferring their house into an offshore trust was what the police had contacted her about. At least she wasn’t a trustee. It wasn’t exactly a smoking gun but a gun nevertheless. I knew she was a wife who trusted her husband and didn’t think to question him when she was given documents to sign, but the police didn’t know her like I did. “Can you remember what he said when he asked you to sign them?”

  “Just that he was setting up a trust for the house because it was tax efficient.”

  Why wouldn’t she trust him? He was her husband and a successful wealth manager.

  “Do you think it was just that one time that he gave you something to sign?”

  “I’m not sure. I trust my husband.” She paused. “I trusted my husband. Completely. Since we started dating, he’s never given me any reason to doubt him. Not until now.”

  I let the silence rush in. She knew her husband better than that. She’d seen what had happened at university. At the time I thought he’d made a one-off bad decision that could have cost him his entire future. Now I realized that, far from being out of character, what had happened when Mark and I were roommates at Oxford was exactly the opposite. He was a liar and a cheat.

  “You think he was planning to leave me? I checked and his passport is still in our safe.”

  How was I supposed to answer a question like that? I didn’t like to say that a man with over a hundred million dollars stashed in the Cayman Islands—and very probably more than that—didn’t need his own passport. Enough money would guarantee safe passage to wherever he wanted to go. Audrey knew that. She wasn’t stupid.

  I’d known Mark and Audrey a long time. Mark had grown incredibly successful over the years. He’d become one of those wealth managers people brag about at dinner parties, because to have Mark manage your money meant you had achieved a certain level of wealth. And everyone knew that Midas Mark, as he was known, made his clients a lot of money.

  A couple of times on boozy nights out, I’d been tempted to ask him why he’d never asked me to invest with him, but something had stopped me. As if subconsciously, I didn’t want to know the answer. I glanced down the sheet of names. I was pretty sure these people were never going to see their money again.

  “I think Mark loves you,” I told her, thinking about how money did weird things to people. I’d lost and gained friends over the years over money—whether it was from jealousy or people wanting something from me. The only thing that had remained consistent was my family. Because money wasn’t the currency they dealt in. To a family full of doctors, it was intellect, world impact, and number of saved lives that counted. My money, far from making my family proud, made me the black sheep.

  “But he doesn’t love me enough to tell me about the Cayman account, does he?”

  There was no answer to that.

  “Did you find out when the account was opened?” I asked. I wondered if he’d gotten himself into trouble recently. Despite the sinking feeling in my gut, I was still trying to find a simple solution that proved Mark wasn’t doing anything too nefarious.

  She pulled out a small, black notepad and flicked through some pages. “I made notes. I just wish I could have printed more off.”

  “You can’t download it onto a USB?”

  She shook her head. “There’s some kind of lock on it. Stops any kind of copying.”

  “But not printing? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, these are printouts from the photos I took.” She paused. “Here it is. Just over seven years ago. That was just after he started out by himself. Shit. You think it was all a lie? Do you think he ever invested a penny?”

  “I don’t know, Audrey. Maybe we’ve got it all wrong and he’s not a thief and he’s just a shitty husband who’s trying to hide money from you.” Neither one of us really believed that. Given the list of his investors, there was no way he would have been able to make over a hundred million in honest commissions and live the opulent lifestyle he and Audrey were used to. If he wasn’t stealing everything people invested, he was skimming off a large chunk.

  “Maybe he’s in trouble. Maybe he’s laundering money for some kind of drug cartel,” she said.

  “We’re hearing hoofbeats. We should assume horses, not zebras.”

  Audrey picked up her cup again. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know—don’t assume some kind of rare diagnosis when the most obvious one is the most likely.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You should have been a doctor.”

  There was more than a splash of irony in Mark’s wife saying so, when Mark himself was the reason I wasn’t a doctor.

  “It could be anything. But a mysterious amount of cash in an offshore account when Mark has access to this kind of money?” I closed my eyes and tried to come up with explanations that weren’t rooted in dishonesty. “The only thing I can think of that might be close to legitimate is if he was holding that money for someone else. But if he was, he would likely be hiding it for someone who wasn’t legitimate, so I’m not sure that makes it okay exactly. He’s probably still doing something criminal. Can you try to see if you can get statements? Then you can see the money coming in and where it’s from.”

  She nodded. “I can try. And when I do, then what?”

  Then we needed to figure out how deep Audrey was wrapped up in this, regardless of whether she’d intentionally participated in her husband’s crimes. But I didn’t want to scare her. “Let’s just take it one step at a time. We still don�
��t know what we’re dealing with.”

  She sighed and nodded. “We need a place to meet. I think Mark bought the whole I-just-bumped-into-you-when-I-was-out-with-the-girls excuse, but if it happens again and it’s in the papers, he’s going to think we’re having an affair.”

  “I think it’s okay as long as we don’t meet at night again,” I said. The pictures had been brutal. The share price had slumped this morning. I’d told the chairman about the article in the Post and it had seemed to placate him, but image rehab wouldn’t work if I stepped even a toe out of line. Audrey was right. We needed a new place to meet. “We can speak on the phone mainly. Just focus on getting copies of stuff. Set up a safety deposit box and store them there.”

  Her coffee cup clunked as she put it down a little too heavily. “You really think a safety deposit box is necessary? I’m not Jason Bourne.”

  “No, but the last thing you want to happen is for him to find a bunch of printouts and start asking questions.” I’d never known Mark to be a violent man, but then again, I didn’t think he was capable of a hundred-million-dollar fraud either.

  She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  “I really have to go,” I said. I’d already missed one meeting to be here. And I didn’t want Madison Shore thinking I was ignoring her even when I had no clue how to navigate her presence in my office.

  Audrey grabbed my arm as I stood. “Thank you,” she said. She looked exhausted. And I wasn’t surprised.

  “Things will work out,” I said.

  I hated to have to pull away and leave her, but I needed to make sure that my world wasn’t tumbling down beside hers.

  “Stay in touch.”

  I left the frying pan to head back to the fire.

  Ten

  Madison

  Nathan Cove was late.

  I rose from the chair in his office where Gretel had invited me to stay until Nathan returned and went over to the window. We were only six floors up so I could see the street. Had he left the building? I checked my watch. The itinerary that Gretel had produced for me said very clearly that he was supposed to be in a meeting with his Director of Operations right now. And I was supposed to be with him. But Christine had abandoned me here before telling me she was going to track her boss down.

  It was clear from Gretel’s tight mouth and his assistant’s furtive glances between us that Nathan was AWOL. How did the CEO of a FTSE 100 company disappear in the middle of the day? What possible reason could he have for not telling his assistant where he was going? I could think of only three reasons.

  A colonoscopy.

  A prostitute.

  He was under a bus.

  I jumped as the door behind me opened and Nathan swept in looking more handsome than he did on Saturday, if that was even possible. My pulse began to drum in my neck, and I found myself not wanting to meet his eye in case he realized I was remembering him naked and moving over me just a few days ago.

  I was here to do my job, not fantasize about hot guys in suits. It was the Post I worked at now. Not Rallegra.

  “Madison,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” His assistant bustled in behind him. He dismissed her with a few words, took off his jacket, and sat down at his desk.

  I smiled at the wall behind him as if I were afraid of being turned to stone if I looked him in the eye.

  “Let’s get down to it,” he said as I took a seat opposite his desk. Nathan seemed a little different to the man I’d met on Saturday. Perhaps this was just him at work—a little harried—but something told me the cool, confident, slightly arrogant man I’d met on Saturday was the real him. This guy in front of me, with his oh-so-neat hair sticking up as if his hands had been resting in it, and his tie a little wonky, somehow didn’t fit.

  He looked at me and blew out a breath. “So, this is a coincidence.” He paused as if he were waiting for me to say something. “Or maybe it isn’t?” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

  What did that mean? “Nathan, we don’t know each other well, but from what little experience I have, you’re pretty direct.” Maybe he was only so forthright with women he was trying to sleep with. “What is it you’re trying to say?”

  “I’m doing a very bad job of asking you whether you knew you were going to interview me when we met at the wedding.”

  He thought that I was sleeping with him to get a story? My insides shriveled at the idea. I was ambitious and desperate to prove myself, but there was a line. “No,” I said. “That’s not who I am.”

  He exhaled and closed his eyes in a long blink, as if he were relieved. “I’m sorry I asked. I’ve gotten more suspicious of people recently, and it just seemed a huge coincidence.”

  “I thought so too until I saw Gretel’s email to my boss. It was time stamped after we sat down for the wedding breakfast.”

  A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth just as I flushed at the memory of exposing my knickers to someone who was then, a perfect stranger.

  “It’s just one of those weird things that happens, like when you’re thinking about a person and then they call,” I said, trying to stop him thinking about whatever it was he was thinking about. Because if he started thinking about Saturday night, I’d start thinking about Saturday night. About his eyelashes. His hands. His . . . expert tongue.

  “I believe you,” he replied. “But it does make this profile a little . . . challenging.”

  “Are you saying you want me to pass on the assignment?” I asked. If I couldn’t deliver this for Bernie, I’d probably get the sack—not good for a burgeoning career, even if the position was only temporary to begin with. If I confessed to knowing Nathan, Bernie would ask me why I hadn’t mentioned it at the time. Even if I kept my job, I wouldn’t get another opportunity like this for a long time. Maybe ever. I didn’t want to pass on this profile. And I didn’t want Nathan to ask for someone else.

  I wanted to do my job.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a sigh.

  “I’m good at my job,” I said. But I couldn’t write the profile if Nathan was uncooperative. I needed him to trust me.

  “That’s not the issue,” Nathan responded. “The fact is that if you write a profile that paints me as an unfocused womanizer and then people find out about our personal relationship, my career is likely to come to an abrupt halt.”

  “Mine too,” I said. I might not be the youngest CEO in history, but I’d worked hard to get where I was and I didn’t want some one-night stand undoing all my effort.

  “Right.” He nodded. “But if you write a profile on me that says that I’m great at my job et cetera, et cetera, and then our . . . dalliance is exposed—”

  “Dalliance?” I asked, amused at his charming euphemism. “Did we step back in time to nineteen fifty-three?”

  He looked me dead in the eye. “If people find out we fucked on Saturday.” He raised his eyebrows. “Better?”

  My cheeks flushed, heat pouring off me like he’d lit me on fire. I preferred the word dalliance.

  “Whatever you write, people will think it’s improper if anyone was to find out, and I can’t be associated with anything unethical,” he continued. “The board are looking for a reason to fire me. Our previous association would be the smoking gun. I’ll lose control of this company. It would finish me, professionally.”

  “Same,” was all I managed to squeak out. The way he was talking, it sounded like he definitely wanted me to pass on the project. But I needed this. I glanced away, suddenly aware of how very naked I’d seen the man sitting in front of me. How much that man had been able to make me feel.

  So. Much.

  Working together wasn’t the best idea. How would I ever concentrate? But I’d have to find a way. I wasn’t about to lose my dream job because I was mooning after a man.

  “You’re assuming that what happened on Saturday will get out. We could just not tell anyone,” I suggested. I thought back to the wedding, and we’d been discreet. No one else h
ad been around when he’d ducked in and out of my hotel room. And afterward, I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. I’d switched off my phone yesterday so I wasn’t distracted during the drive home, and then I’d crawled into bed before my parents got back from their weekend away. My sole focus had been catching up on some of the sleep that the man sitting in front of me had stolen from me.

  He looked at me so intently, it was almost as if he were trying to read my mind. “You’ve not told . . . anyone?”

  “I know it must hurt your ego, Nathan, but Saturday night wasn’t the first time I’d ever had sex, and I’m not a teenager, bursting to share all the sordid details with my girlfriends.” Okay, so before Saturday it had been a while since I’d had sex. And I’d never had sex like the kind Nathan and I had. But he didn’t need to know either of those things. The fact was, I hadn’t told anyone.

  “Not even your mum?”

  “My mother?” I asked, making sure I’d heard him correctly. If he knew who my mother was, the woman who had broken the story about him and Audrey Alpern yesterday, he’d definitely want me off his profile. But how would he know? Unlike me, my mother didn’t use my dad’s surname. And although some people knew who I was related to, it wasn’t something I shared widely.

  “Or your dad, sister, best friend, whoever you talk about sex with?”

  “Have you told anyone?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “Like who? Why would I tell anyone?”

  “Right. And why would I?”

  He exhaled. “So, if we kept it between us . . .”

  “We’re the only two people who will ever know. And we’ll both keep our jobs.”

  “Unless you decide it’s too good an angle to give up. I mean, it’s a little ironic. Don’t you agree? You’re here to find out whether or not I’m focused on partying or Astro and you’ve slept with me? I mean, you’re a source for your own story.”