Helen Hanson - Dark Pool

by Helen Hanson

  “Understood.”

  “Let me know when you get the list.” He blasted back to his office but didn’t know what to do with the excess adrenaline, so he paced.

  Stephanie routinely sent visitors to the conference room, not his office. Vonda Creevy was an exception. They met in his office the day she brought the gifts and letters from Patty O’Mara. A delivery guy came with her, but Kurt never left either of them alone. Someone had to crawl under his desk to attach the device. That, he would have noticed. So not Vonda Creevy.

  The list of people who wanted to string up O’Mara was too long to distinguish by name, only tragedy. The dentist’s widow now working at WalMart. The couple living in a campsite. The drunk who tried to dance with Spencer Thornton at the Fairmont reception.

  Thornton. Kurt had forgotten about him. He had to call Spencer Thornton. Or did he? Telling Spencer meant admitting that Kurt had lost his edge. Hell, no he hadn’t. Couldn’t be certain of that. Not yet. Maybe O’Mara will call him for another meet. If he wasn’t already dead.

  Stephanie knocked on her way into the room. “The manager ran a check on access for this office. Only one name came up.” Even with the pasty makeup, her face glowed with accomplishment.

  And suddenly, Kurt knew. “It was Russian.”

  Her shoulders dropped. He rarely surprised her. “Alexi Novotny. How did you know?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Maggie tossed the spoon into the sink, the stainless steel clattering on contact. “That’s not funny, Travis.” Her voice sounded mad, but she trembled as if she were scared.

  “I’m sorry.” Travis moved the laptop to the kitchen table, sitting across from their father. “But, I’m not kidding. Dad sent an email. Didn’t you, Dad?” He didn’t own up to it, and Travis wasn’t sure how to explain this one to Maggie. “Let me show you.”

  “How the hell could Daddy send an email?” She seemed to rally her nerve. “And what are you doing with my computer? Don’t you know the—”

  “Hey.” He waved an arm in the air. “Innocent man here, remember?” That quieted her, but he didn’t expect it would for long. “Remember when I found the domain Dad created?”

  She sat next to Travis, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms, and crossing her legs. “Yes.” All traces of fear had vanished, leaving only anger.

  Travis wiped his hands down his jeans. “When you set up an email account, you can create a catch-all account so that any email addressed to that domain name will get delivered. Fender.com is the guitar site, right. So if they had a catch-all email account, I could send an email to Maggie@Fender.com and somebody would get it. You get it?”

  She uncrossed her arms. “And?”

  “I went into the domain manager for the AMirageVistasRight.com domain Dad set up, and I created a catch-all email account. Then I forwarded anything sent there to my free email address.” The words filled him with wonder. “Maggie, I got an email from Dad.”

  Her head shook from side to side in tiny tremors, her ‘no’ gathering force. “Daddy doesn’t do email anymore, Travis. I hate to be the one to break it to you.”

  His elbows rested on his knees to help steady his patience. “Mag, he probably set it up years ago to try and send this email out every week, or every day, or every hour until it landed in an inbox. He used MaggieAndTravis as the email address. Will you come here and read it with me?”

  The tension in her face fled. Her eyes cut from her father to Travis. “You really have an email? From Daddy?”

  He nodded.

  Lines formed between her brows, and her inhale chattered. A tear rolled from one eye. “Read it to me.”

  Travis turned to the screen.

  Dear Maggie and Travis,

  If you’re reading this email, then I’m either incoherent or dead. I set up an account that would continue to send this email until it landed in your lap. You figured out a way to receive it. Nice work.

  Travis stopped and cleared his throat. He studied the face of his father. Dad rubbed his stone. “We got your email, Dad.” He didn’t respond.

  Maggie’s laughter burst through her tears. “He was being polite. He knew you would find the email, not me. Didn’t you, Daddy?”

  Travis continued reading.

  Trisha and I are so proud of you. But neither of us will get to be a part of your future. Neither of us share the life you’re now living. As I write this, we all know she’s in her last months.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I can’t do this. Can we just read it to ourselves?”

  She nodded, her chin wrinkled in a tight frown.

  Her beautiful body withers. And me, I’m fading. My brain sputters when it works at all. I’m not sure which diagnosis was worse. Still, we carry on.

  When Trisha was diagnosed with myasthenia gravis, both our worlds collapsed. She became so weak, and rest, the only cure, was torture. Then signs of my fate started to surface. We tried everything for her, but you know how it went. So I threw myself into programming projects. I wanted to leave you a legacy. And so I did.

  Maggie buried her face in her hair. Travis used the back of his hand to clear his eye. He heard the sliding door open and watched the dogs and his father vanish into the fog.

  “Are you okay, Magpie?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Travis adjusted the laptop screen.

  Remember that the things I’m doing are for you. If we made it this far, then more emails are coming. You’ll know what to do.

  Trisha and I had a different ending planned for our lives, but the choices we make don’t always end up giving us the life we want. When I was your age, Maggie, I expected to be a studio musician. Your mother wanted me to have a stable career, so I got a job in electronics to make her happy. That’s what we call irony.

  Maggie, you’re the one, lovely remnant from my first marriage, and because of you alone, I’d marry that witch again.

  Travis couldn’t keep a straight face on that line. While Maggie’s face was still hidden, her shoulders bounced from laughter. He read on.

  You know that I love you with all my heart, daughter. And Trisha, she loved you like her own. When we leave you, the burden will be yours. I’m so sorry for that. You bring me so much joy. You deserve a better deal than what we gave you.

  Travis, you’re the son every father wants. I’m sorry I won’t see you as a man, but I already know your character. Give Maggie all the help you can, but don’t be in a rush to grow up. You only get one shot at your youth. Catch a wave, son.

  There’s a big one coming.

  Chapter Forty

  With the cold front pushing cumulonimbus clouds eastward, the lighting in Kurt’s 41st floor office dimmed. Stephanie and he turned their heads to the sky by instinct. Rain was a genuine threat.

  “How did you know the name would be Russian?” Stephanie approached the question with hesitation as she should. Kurt wasn’t ready to give anyone his full confidence. This situation required time to study. Plus, he didn’t want to involve her with Vladimir and his cronies. The games they played were dangerous.

  “I need another computer, today. Make it a high-end laptop.”

  Only a twitch, but he could tell that she was hurt. With her crusty exterior, he hadn’t been sure it was possible. “I’ll tell you later. For now, this baby’s going back where I found it.”

  Her voice hit a falsetto note. “You’re putting it back?”

  Kurt and his grin disappeared beneath his desk. He reattached the keylogger in-line with the USB cord for his keyboard. His eyes made contact with Stephanie’s above the desk. “What better way to keep the crowd focused on the wrong shell?”

  Stephanie looked her best with a serious face. Her smile always hinted at evil. “So business as usual, but you need a screaming, pimped system. My favorite kind of shopping. Consider it done.”

  He rose from a squat. “I knew you’d understand.”

  “If anyone else needs to access this floor, the building super will send me
an email with names.”

  “Good work. It’s time we set the damn pace around here.” Kurt grabbed his car keys from the desk drawer and started to leave but remembered Vladimir’s recorder pen was in there. He pulled it out and dropped it into his suit coat pocket. It was a tangible reminder of his enemy. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “But you have an appoint—”

  “Whatever it is, handle it.”

  Kurt parked in the driveway at the Fender home next to an elderly Subaru wagon. Inside the car was clear of junk, but the seats told of hard use. It was probably attractive at one time, but after a decade of dings, dirt, and deferred maintenance, the original luster was long gone.

  The house was a typical beach structure, painted gray, with little architectural appeal on the street side. He figured it to be about 1,600 square feet and built in the late ‘60s or ‘70s when the price of cedar shake for siding was less prohibitive. Juniper hedges lined the porch and were in desperate need of clipping. A faded house flag with a pair of angelfish kissing offered the only shock of color.

  The lawn was scrubby and mixed with ice plant and sand. He made his way to the front door and rang the bell. Inside, dogs barked news of his arrival.

  After several moments, no one came to the door, but the dogs seemed more subdued. Kurt was going to tuck a business card between the door and the frame, but decided not to, in case their next visitors were Vladimir’s thugs. He dropped it in his front pocket. No reason to implicate the Fenders solely on suspicion.

  He turned away as the door opened.

  “Are you Kurt Meyers?” a male voice asked.

  Kurt expected a man when he turned around to greet the voice. “Yes, I am.” The guy was his height but still just a kid. Kurt remembered the face from the newspaper photos of the trial. “You must be Travis. Were you expecting me?”

  “No. I—” Travis’ tanned face washed with rust. “Your picture is all over the news.”

  Something had unnerved him. Maybe jail time. “I wanted to speak with your sister, Margaret. May I come in?”

  “She’s not anxious for company at the moment.”

  A beautiful, young woman in navy sweats and a white t-shirt appeared at the entryway. Margaret. Or Maggie, as she liked to be called. Strawberry blonde and slender, her brother and she shared no discernible resemblance.

  “No, she’s not,” Maggie said, “but I’d rather not give the neighbors any more of a show. Let me see your identification.”

  The request surprised him, but it was prudent. He withdrew his wallet from his suit coat and let the driver’s license drop open for her to inspect. Her lips pinched as she compared the photo to his smiling face. She granted him entrance with a single flip of her hand.

  Travis’ expression was less hard, and he seemed somewhat sympathetic. Apparently, their temperaments differed as well. Kurt trailed them toward the back of the house.

  As expected, all the architectural drama faced the beach. The expansive windows opened to the Pacific Ocean. Even without a twenty-four-hour nightlife, it was hard to believe this view didn’t suit Maggie Fender.

  She led them to the kitchen table and took the head chair, sitting as stiff as a British butler. “Have a seat.” Her back made contact with the chair from coccyx to clavicle.

  “Thank you, Ms. Fender.” Kurt took a relaxed posture facing the beach. Travis sat across from him.

  “We know who you are from the news, Mr. Meyers.” Her eyes narrowed when she spoke. “Why did you come here?”

  Direct. Kurt might call it rude if he weren’t the intruder. “I appreciate your letting me in to speak with you. I just came to talk to you, confirm a few facts I’ve come across. If I may.” He waited for her assent before continuing. “As you may know, Spencer Thornton hired me to investigate Patty O’Mara’s hedge fund on behalf of him and the hundreds of other people O’Mara swindled out of their life savings. Money that was supposed to fund their retirements, grow their businesses, or put their kids through college.”

  He watched Maggie’s guard wilt at that comment. Kurt knew she struggled to pursue her degree.

  “So why were you meeting with him? I thought he was under arrest.”

  “House arrest. He wears an electronic ankle monitor while the feds build their case against him. He’s due for trial in another month.” Kurt rested his elbows on the table. “Patty O’Mara invited me to visit him. I assure you, it was a surprise to me, too. But I don’t know what he wanted to discuss because we never got a chance to meet.”

  Travis glanced at his sister. “Why do you want to talk to Maggie?”

  “Actually, I wanted to speak with you both. But as a minor, Travis, I need your sister’s permission. You are his legal guardian, aren’t you?”

  Any sympathy Maggie may have felt evaporated. “You seem to know all about us, Mr. Meyers. You’ve got one minute to tell me what you want, or I will expect you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t investigating you, only O’Mara and his investors. But throughout this case, your names kept coming up.” Kurt waited for any reaction. Maggie turned to stone. Travis shifted in his seat. They exchanged glances.

  Maggie spoke first. “Coming up, how?”

  In spite of her threat to evict him, Kurt captured their attention. “Several ways. Small ways. First, an investor had an invitation to join O’Mara at an event hosted by The Rockstag Group.”

  Travis didn’t wait for Maggie. “I was framed.”

  “I’m not here to accuse you, son. But your name came up. And with the death of Brian Carter, I came across your father’s.”

  “That’s it?” Maggie was one of those women who radiated even when yelling. “O’Mara had investors from all over the West Coast. My father acted in self defense.”

  “I know he was cleared, Ms. Fender. I know your father’s condition must be very difficult.” The window on this interview was closing. Kurt understood her anger. “Your father also managed the Silicon Valley Server Farm.”

  Maggie pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Kurt stood. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fender. I’m not here to cause trouble. Patty O’Mara’s hedge fund was entirely electronic. Investors logged in to his site to check their balances, transfer funds, check on their earnings. All of it was bogus. O’Mara ran a few trades, but most of what he did was purely a Ponzi scheme.” He faced Travis. “I take money from this new investor to pay you generous dividends. You’re happy because it seems like your returns are high. As long as I keep reeling in new investors to pay the old ones, everybody’s happy.”

  “And the SEC doesn’t investigate,” Travis said.

  Kurt pointed his finger. “Exactly. Which they never did.”

  “But my father, what does this have to do with him?”

  “Patty O’Mara kept all his computers at the Silicon Valley Server Farm. Your father worked there during that time.”

  The brother and sister exchanged startled looks. They knew something. While the other questions may have perturbed them from the loss of privacy, this one rattled.

  “We’re done here, Mr. Meyers. Please, leave.” She pointed the way out.

  “I understand.” He followed her to the door with Travis taking his flank. He waited inside the foyer while he felt for the business card in his pocket. “My only interest is finding the money O’Mara stole and returning it to the investors. People like you, your father. I’d be remiss in my duty if I didn’t track down every lead.”

  Maggie hugged the door but stayed quiet.

  “If there is anything you think might help in any way, please call me. Day or night.” He gave the card to Maggie, but his pleading rested on Travis.

  Kurt stepped to the porch, but he felt he owed them more consideration. “Unless I have something specific to ask, I won’t bother you again. But there is one thing you should know.”

  “What?” Travis kept his sister from closing the door.

  “There�
��s a man who lost millions with O’Mara. That fact doesn’t make him special. But this guy is dangerous. He’s got his own team combing through the details of this case.” And Kurt’s computer searches. But they didn’t need that information to worry them. If it would help, he’d tell them, but anything Kurt had, Vladimir could get, too. “If your names came up when I went looking, they will for Vladimir too.”

  “Vladimir?” Maggie’s face bleached of all color.

  She and Travis weren’t just nervous about accusations. They looked scared.

  “If he or any of his people show up, don’t talk to them. If they give you any trouble, call the police. Then call me. I mean it. Day or night. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

  “Who? Vladimir who might be looking for us?”

  “A Russian mobster. His name is Vladimir Penniski.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Maggie closed the door and waited for her heart to stop jumping. Travis lay against the opposite wall. She probably looked the way he did, and that wasn’t good.

  Russian diners my ass. Vladimir Penniski was more mobbed up than Vito Corleone. The guy personally bit off a man’s nose. He could give loan sharks lessons in vicious.

  “Mag, you need to call the police.”

  Words she never thought she’d hear from her brother’s mouth. Now, of all times. She glared at him from beneath the hair strewn across her face and pushed off from the door. “And tell them what?”

  While he seemed to consider the question, he didn’t have a response.

  “I already went to the police. Two Russian strangers asking about me doesn’t constitute evidence.” She left Travis in the hall and returned to the kitchen.