by Rickie Blair
He pulled a ten dollar bill from his wallet, dropped it on the counter and turned to the door. How had this simple case become so complicated? They should turn over the information they’d collected and tell Global TradeFair’s lawyer to … do what, exactly? Get a subpoena to search Capital Street’s records? That was the kind of mess they wanted to avoid by hiring Bhatt & Delaney. Clean, simple, and low profile, that’s what they were paying for.
Leta would know what clearing house Capital Street used. Hari reached for his phone and then let his hand drop. He couldn’t ask her to reveal something that might trigger a conflict of interest. Tossing his coffee cup into the café’s recycling bin, he headed for home.
As he slid his key into his apartment door, a courier came up the hall behind him.
“Hari Bhatt?”
He turned and nodded.
“Special delivery. Sign here, please.”
After tipping the courier, Hari closed the door and dropped the padded envelope on the coffee table. He sat on the sofa and flipped open his laptop. First he would list all the clearing houses Capital Street might use, and then see how many favors he could call in.
An hour later he had amassed a short list of numbers to call including Capital Street’s auditor, an accounting firm in Jersey City that Hari had never heard of. Why wouldn’t Capital Street use one of the Big Four? Deloitte, PwC, Ernst & Young, or KPMG? He moved the auditor to the top of his to-call list.
But today was Sunday and tomorrow, Memorial Day. No point calling anybody. Meanwhile, Ruby had been in Southampton for over twenty-four hours. He glanced at the padded envelope, which had no return address. Could it be from her? Hari ripped off the top and upturned it over the table. A USB drive fell out. He plugged it into his laptop and clicked on the ‘read me first’ file.
Hari, this is my data on csm. You’ll know what to do with it. Ben.
Frowning, Hari picked up his phone and called the courier company.
“Can I help you?” a woman answered.
“I’m calling about a package that was delivered to me today.” He gave her the tracking number.
“Special delivery, correct?”
“Yes. Where and when was it brought in for delivery?”
“It was dropped off in Jersey City on—” She paused. “Well, that’s odd. It was dropped off several months ago, but with a delayed delivery date. Hang on.” The phone line clicked over to canned music. Hari paced while he listened to Percy Faith’s Summer Place. The music stopped and the clerk came back on the line.
“The sender asked that it be delivered after two weeks without contact from him. He’s been calling in regularly.”
“So the last time you heard from him was at least two weeks ago.”
“I guess. Like I said, odd.”
Hari clicked off the call and slumped into the sofa. He had hoped that Ben was safe and sound and his usual paranoid self. No such luck. His phone beeped with an alert for a missed call. Leta had left a message while he was on the line with the courier company.
‘Hi, Hari, sorry I missed you. I’m on my way to Southampton. Fulton called this morning and said he needs me there after all.’ She chuckled. ‘I think he’s having trouble convincing Olivia to invest her inheritance.’ A roar in the background muffled her next words. ‘I’m getting onto the helicopter now. I’ll call you when I get back.’
Hari placed the phone on the coffee table. Benjamin, Ruby, and now Leta had all disappeared into the black hole of Capital Street Management. Not to mention Brigitte Perrine. And Jourdain de Montagny. Hari shuddered at the memory of the gunshot in Brigitte’s forehead, the blood in de Montagny’s office, and Felix’s warning.
Have you never heard the story about Fulton’s original partner?
He ran a jerky hand through his hair. Was he being overly cautious? What was it Ruby said before she left?
I’ll bring you back an ashtray.
Hari shook his head, smiling at the memory. They needed facts, not paranoia. He opened the files on Ben’s USB drive and started to read.
Chapter Forty-Six
“Oh yes, I see it now.” Olivia nodded, binoculars covering her eyes. A tiny bird with a bright yellow head and chest, black bill, and greenish-gray wings perched on a branch fifty feet away. “It’s beautiful.” She handed the binoculars back to her companion. “Well-spotted, Dave.”
The lean gray-haired man standing beside her accepted the binoculars with a satisfied smile.
“Thanks. I was hoping to see a prothonotary warbler on this trip, but they began migrating through the Atlantic Flyway weeks ago and I figured we’d missed them. I guess this one’s a little late.” He pushed up the peaked brim of his cloth cap, raised the binoculars to his eyes and leveled them at the bird. “I can always tell my warblers. I’m something of an expert, actually.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “I mean, I write a few papers from time to time.”
“Don’t be so modest. Clearly you are an expert.” Olivia tried to grin, but her jaw was exhausted from smiling all morning. What she wouldn’t give for a nice comfy chaise longue and an interesting beverage right about now. They had been tramping around Montauk Point State Park for hours. Her bare arms were scratched and sunburnt and her feet ached despite the Birkenstocks, or perhaps because of them. She glanced around, looking for the rest of their group and finding them about a hundred yards up the path. A man and a woman, both middle-aged, conferring over a birding guide and pointing at a tree.
Olivia had tried all morning to steer the conversation to the Castlebar Fund without success. Warblers, on the other hand, were good for endless discussion.
“I think I saw a tea room when we passed the lighthouse a while back. Maybe we could—”
Her companion lowered the binoculars and smiled.
“You’ve been a real trouper, Olivia. A spot of lunch sounds like a good idea.” He waved at the other two, who waved back and started up the path toward them.
Twenty minutes later the four birders sat on teak benches at the bluff’s edge, watching whitecaps foam and break on the beach below. They unwrapped the sandwiches and soft drinks Carly had packed for them in Stonehaven’s kitchen.
Dave offered Olivia a wrapped sandwich. “Lobster?”
“Is there anything else?”
“I think there’s some smoked chicken with Gouda in here,” he said, rummaging through the backpack. He pulled out another sandwich and handed it to her along with a bottle of mineral water. Then he pulled out a large paper package wrapped with twine. “Interested in one of Carly’s brownies, Ellen?”
“Oooh, I’ll definitely take one of those, Dave,” his companion said, tossing her hat onto the bench beside her and reaching for the package.
They munched contentedly for a while, then Olivia put down her sandwich.
“Thanks for letting me come along. This has been so educational.”
“Our pleasure,” Ellen said. “It’s always a treat to meet a young enthusiast. Most of us are so old.”
“Speak for yourself, Ellen,” Dave said with a grin. They all laughed.
“I wish I had my phone, though. I downloaded a bird identification app on it especially for this weekend. I don’t suppose you know—”
“Where Carly keeps them? Nope, and don’t think we haven’t asked,” Dave said, contemplating his lobster roll. “Helen runs a tight ship, doesn’t she, hon?”
Ellen shook her head with a smile.
“We’re not even allowed to check in with the grandkids.”
“Have you known the Fultons long?”
“Decades. Ellen’s been involved with Helen’s charities over the years and we’ve been in the Castlebar Fund the entire time.”
“Mr. Fulton says I should invest my inheritance in the Castlebar Fund.”
Dave stopped chewing.
“He’s letting you in?”
“Yes, if I want.”
“You should jump at it, dear,” Ellen said. “It’s been a godsend for us.”
&
nbsp; “So you get regular payments?”
“Oh no, we leave it all right where it is. But knowing we have that cushion meant Dave was able to retire early and we could travel to the places we’ve always wanted to see. Although at this rate, we’ll soon have to tap our Castlebar money, won’t we, hon?”
Dave nodded. “It’s good to know it’ll be there when we need it.”
* * *
Ruby lay in bed and watched the lace curtains on her guest room window billow in the night breeze. The clock on the nightstand clicked over. Two-thirty. She tossed back the sheet and pulled a fringed silk shawl over her nightgown. After listening for a few moments at the door, she crept into the hall on bare feet.
She tiptoed up the curved staircase and onto the second floor landing. Moonlight streamed through windows that extended to the vaulted ceiling. Mansions loomed on either side of Stonehaven, and directly ahead shimmering waves disappeared into the horizon. A hundred yards out from the beach surf crashed against a rocky island, sending spray into the air. The serene sight did little to lift her spirits. Her quest was pointless. What good would it do to find Fulton’s computer if she couldn’t communicate with Hari?
But as she turned to walk back downstairs she noticed a door that hadn’t been on Helen’s tour. Ruby tiptoed over and silently turned the knob. Inside, narrow wooden stairs ended in a landing half a floor above, then turned and continued for another half-floor. She crossed the threshold, pulled the door closed behind her, and started up.
Ruby stepped off the top stair and into the octagonal cupola on the roof. She had seen it, outlined against the sky, when her Town Car drove up the hill, but had assumed it was ornamental. Moonlight shone through windows in each of the eight walls, illuminating an antique partner’s desk. Filing cabinets, a computer with dual monitors, and a swivel office chair completed the furnishings.
We strive for total relaxation, a complete respite from the workaday world.
Ruby pursed her lips. Right.
While waiting for the computer to boot up, she pulled Hari’s list of passwords from her cardigan pocket. It took only half a dozen tries to hit the right one. Stonehaven123. With a shake of her head, she began her search. After an hour she was ready to give up. Old invitations, emails, and family photos competed for hard drive space with charity campaigns, librettos, and plans for a beach house renovation. The browser’s favorites bar pointed to sites for figure skating videos and soap opera episodes. Ruby clicked off the computer and stared at the filing cabinets with a sinking feeling.
On the way back to her room she detoured into the kitchen to grab a ginger ale from the massive Sub-Zero fridge. She snapped the tab on the can, turned to the entrance, and froze at the sound of a door latch. She whirled around to see a handle twisting on the other side of the room. Helen had said that door led to Stonehaven’s wine cellar, but who would need a bottle of wine at four in the morning? Ruby put the soda can on the counter with a shaky hand and took a step back, her heart in her throat.
Too late. The door had opened.
A young man wearing track pants and a hoodie stepped into the room and stared at her. His face was familiar, and she struggled to place him.
“W-who are you?” she asked.
He closed the door behind him and walked over, stopping a few paces away. She eyed him uneasily. Should she run? Scream?
“I’m security. I look after things.”
“Mrs. Fulton didn’t mention a security guard.”
“I’m only here at night.” He ran his eyes over her thin cotton nightgown and took a step nearer, his face twisted in a leer.
Ruby pulled her shawl closer and crossed her arms. She glanced around and noticed a block of knives on the counter.
“I’m just leaving,” she said, her voice more wobbly than she would have liked.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. When she shuddered and tried to pull away, he tightened his grip.
“I could scream,” she said.
“Then why haven’t you?”
With a rapid movement he clamped his hand across her mouth and pulled her against him, twisting her around and off the floor. She struggled to escape, kicking wildly, her heart pounding in her ears.
“Listen, bitch,” he whispered in her ear, “I know who you are.”
Ruby froze with her breath caught in her throat. He released her and she lurched forward, falling onto the counter beside the knives. She lunged for the block and whirled to face him with a paring knife in her hand, her chest heaving.
“Don’t come any closer.”
He laughed. “You gonna stick me?” He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her. Ruby gasped and the knife clattered onto the floor. As she turned her head away, a bitter beery smell washed over her.
“You tell anyone about this,” he said, “and I’ll be back for you.” His upper lip curled and then he shoved her away. He adjusted his cap, ambled to the terrace door and keyed in a code. The light over the keypad turned from red to green and he stepped onto the terrace. The door closed behind him with a click and the light blinked red again.
Air returned to the room as Ruby leaned her trembling arms on the counter. She crept down the hall to her room and jammed a chair under the door handle before collapsing onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, she remembered where she had seen his face. It had been at Global TradeFair. She had bumped into him on her way out. But why was he here? And how did he know the codes for Stonehaven’s security system?
Chapter Forty-Seven
It was early Sunday morning, after countless cups of coffee, when Hari found the smoking gun that had eluded Benjamin Levitt.
It was a routine footnote buried in Ben’s analysis:
“The auditor reports Castlebar Fund assets are held by the Depository Trust Company and all trades are cleared through them.”
He read it again. All trades are cleared through them.
There was nothing there that would have aroused Ben’s suspicions. But Hari, unlike Ben, knew that DTC had no record of Castlebar trades, and held assets of a few million dollars for a fund that supposedly contained billions.
His hand dropped from the keyboard. The Castlebar Fund, one of the most sought-after investments on Wall Street, was a fraud. A Ponzi scheme. Fulton took in money from new investors, skimmed his share off the top, and distributed the rest to existing investors. They believed those quarterly payments were gains on their original investment when they were actually funds stolen from new investors.
It was a giant game of musical chairs, in which the first ones seated made a fortune but the last ones in lost everything. As soon as the music stopped—or, in this case, when Fulton couldn’t solicit enough new money to meet those quarterly payments—the whole thing would collapse.
Hari’s mouth went slack as he stared at the screen. How could one of the most respected hedge fund managers on the Street be a con artist? It couldn’t be true. He must have missed something. But the lead weight in the pit of his stomach said otherwise. The rumors, the whispers, the threatened lawsuits that mysteriously disappeared—they had been right all along.
Ben had been right as well. He warned that the Castlebar Fund’s returns were impossible, but no one believed him. Now Ben was missing, as was Keller, who was also linked to the Castlebar Fund. Had TradeFair’s comptroller discovered Fulton’s fraud and threatened blackmail? Maybe Ruby was right and Keller wasn’t Brigitte Perrine’s killer. Maybe she had been murdered by someone connected with Capital Street Management. The money in Keller’s and Perrine’s Castlebar Fund accounts could have been used to meet that quarter’s payments.
Hari stared at his phone, his heart racing.
Why had Ruby not returned his calls? Had Fulton found her searching through his computer? Leta had not responded to his messages either. A sudden chill lifted the hair on the back of his neck.
He snatched up the phone and dialed Nolan’s number. But when the detective’s voice mail message began, Hari clicked off the call and pl
aced the phone back on the coffee table. He was alleging a massive, almost unthinkable, fraud and he couldn’t prove any of it. Not without convincing the regulators to check DTC’s records, and that wouldn’t happen on a long weekend. If it happened at all. As for the rest? Conjecture and paranoia. Just because Ruby and Leta weren’t answering his calls didn’t mean they were face down in an alley somewhere. They were at a high-society house party in Southampton, with other high-society guests. He was being ridiculous.
Hari stared at the phone, rubbing a hand across his face and recalling Ruby’s words.
Half of Manhattan would kill for an invitation to this soirée.
Clenching his jaw, he dragged the laptop nearer. Perhaps he was paranoid, but his partner had earned her tabloid name. ‘Ruby Danger’ was much too cavalier about risk. It wouldn’t hurt to check up on her. He set his browser to search for helicopter rentals and dialed the first number on the list. Twenty minutes later, he dialed the last.
“I’m sorry, but everything’s booked for this morning. We’ll call you if there’s a cancellation.”
With a heavy sigh, Hari pushed away the laptop and looked at his watch. Six a.m. He had called seven helicopter charters without luck. He would have to drive to Southampton. If he left now, by the time he picked up the Fiesta, battled weekend traffic, and located the house, it would be noon. But his only other option was to wait for a helicopter charter cancellation that might never come.
He felt for the Gucci keychain in his pocket. First, he would pick up Leta’s Glock.
* * *
Hari drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and craned his head to peer over the line of vehicles waiting to cross the bridge. In forty-five minutes he had travelled barely a mile. Out of the corner of his eye he caught flashing lights up ahead. A car in the lane beside him moved up and Hari swerved into the opening, ignoring the blare of a taxi horn.
