by Rickie Blair
So either Mila had lied and Dimitri didn’t have them, or … Ruby sat straight up. Dimitri intended to double-cross the mob. He wanted the bonds for himself. And what better way to avoid suspicion than to insist that Ruby still had them? That would explain why Hari had to die. Because he knew Ruby didn’t have the bonds. And he would have told Viktor that if he had come looking for them. Which meant Dimitri would come after Ruby next. To silence her.
For several seconds, she forgot to breathe.
Things couldn’t get much worse. Unless … If the mob suspected Dimitri, he could torture Ruby into supposedly giving him the bonds. Then he could put a bullet in her head, ‘return’ the bonds to the mob and be considered a hero. For the first time in her life she regretted having read so many bad scripts.
She could still call the police and take her chances with the SEC. The girls’ nest egg would be gone, though. And she would not be able to clear Quentin’s name, or her own. And what about the bruises on Mila’s arm? Had that been Dimitri? The mobsters? Or someone else?
Ruby massaged her aching temples.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed with the television remote in her hand, she clicked on CNN. A newscaster was speaking, but it was the scrolling caption at the bottom of the screen that riveted her attention. Actress Ruby Delaney sought by police as a person of interest in the disappearance and suspected murder of Wall Street financier Hari Bhatt. It was on a loop that repeated every few minutes. Ruby stared at the television with her mouth open and her throat tightening. She turned up the sound.
‘… a former TV actress who turned to alcohol and pills after a family tragedy and who, police now believe, faked her own death …’ The police had not found Hari’s body in the parking garage, but vivid details about a pool of blood on the concrete floor sent Ruby running into the motel room’s washroom. Afterward she leaned both hands on the sink, staring with unfocused eyes into the mirror, until the jangle of a news alert drew her back to the television.
The police had found Hari’s Jaguar. The station showed a crane hoisting the car onto a flatbed truck. When the camera zeroed in for a close-up of the shattered driver’s window, Ruby held her breath. Her fingerprints were all over that car. She closed her eyes with a long exhale. Not that it mattered now.
There was also a startling new twist in the case. On Wall Street, Carvon’s share price had plunged. The company’s missing CFO, Hari Bhatt, was considered by the Street to be integral to Carvon’s operation. Shareholders were bailing.
Carvon’s CEO Antony Carver, who was ‘devastated by this latest tragedy,’ according to a company spokesman, had declined to be interviewed. So CNN interviewed a prominent analyst instead. The analyst talked about revenue shortfalls and mysterious accounting breaches and other incomprehensible jargon.
‘The short-sellers are making a killing today,’ he concluded with a smile.
Even the reporter winced at that one.
Ruby swung her legs over the bed and muted the sound. Short sellers. Antony knew better than anyone when the Carvon share price would drop. Was he also ‘making a killing’?
Charlie whimpered at her feet and Ruby glanced down.
“I’ll take you out in a minute, sweetie.”
The terrier attacked the empty chip bag again and shook it, growling, until he backed into the leather tote bag. He whirled around, barking at whatever had bitten him on the tush. Ruby smiled and bent down to throw her bag back onto the bed. As she did so, she remembered that Hari had said there were things in the car she needed to see.
Things, plural. Which meant more than Charlie.
She pulled the Hello Kitty bracelet from her tote bag, snapped it open, and slid the USB connector into her laptop. The documents she had copied on the Apollonis were still on the USB drive. But according to the list of contents on the laptop, those files had been altered.
Ruby checked the clock on the night table. This was going to take time, maybe all night. Reaching for a cola, she snapped open the tab and settled in to read.
* * *
It was three a.m. before she found the name she had been hunting for, but hoped she wouldn’t see.
Charlie was curled up on the bed, yelping and scrabbling with his paws as he chased squirrels in his sleep. Ruby had downed a flood of cola to keep from following him into dreamland, where she expected to confront worse things than scampering rodents.
The documents were heavy reading. Carvon was a holding company that had acquired dozens of legitimate subsidiaries over the years. But Hari had told her that Antony siphoned cash from Carvon to dummy companies. So she assumed the statements on the USB drive referred to those fake businesses.
Hari had highlighted transactions and added notations, such as ‘to company x,’ or ‘from company y,’ or even, ‘!!!’. There were hundreds of annotations. Ruby closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. How would she ever make sense of it? Shaking her head, she clicked on yet another file.
This was the list of deposits to the offshore account, the one she had seen on the Apollonis. But Hari had added a number beside each deposit that corresponded to a series of numbered folders. Each folder contained statements for an individual account.
Ruby clicked on each folder in turn until she found one titled Quentin Wade.
Her brother-in-law.
She squinted at the screen, puffing air through her lips. Was this the girls’ money? The statement looked like the one she had picked up during her last visit to Vancouver. Ruby rummaged through her tote bag, slid out the mangled document and checked it against the account in the folder. The statement in her hand showed a diversified portfolio of stocks and bonds. Apple, IBM, Toyota. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But there were no Apple, IBM, or Toyota shares in the second account, the one in the numbered folder on her laptop. That account showed dozens of trades but only one stock. Carvon & Co.
Not only that, but the Carvon trades had been profitable short sales. Most of the gains had been transferred to the offshore account, but the amount of cash left was still ten times higher than the insurance settlement Quentin had invested for the girls.
According to the statement, Quentin Wade opened this second account with a deposit that matched the amount of the insurance settlement. And that original deposit had come from the girls’ trust fund.
So Hari had been right when he said the girls’ account was empty.
Ruby lowered her head between her knees, fighting nausea, trying to remember what Antony had said on the Apollonis. You’re the one who’s going to get burned. You and your dumb-ass brother-in-law.
So this was what he meant.
The other statements showed similar withdrawals which had also gone into the offshore account. Those must be the dummy companies set up by Antony. Most of those accounts had been cleaned out and closed.
About a dozen accounts were still active, including Quentin’s. All the active accounts showed massive pending short-sale contracts for Carvon shares. When the stock plummeted after the shareholders’ meeting, each would be worth millions more.
But Carvon’s stock had plunged ahead of schedule, after Hari’s disappearance. So these trades were already profitable. Antony could clean out the accounts and leave town immediately. He wouldn’t have to wait for the shareholders’ meeting. And he would leave behind evidence that Quentin Wade made millions short-selling Carvon stock after obtaining illegal inside information from his sister-in-law Ruby Delaney, a.k.a. Mrs. Antony Carver.
Ruby lowered her head into her hands and waited for her stomach to stop churning. As bad as this was, it wasn’t the entire story. What about the honest investors, the retirees whom the accountant in Boca Raton had mentioned? Their shares would be worthless. They would never recover, the accountant had said. She shook her head to clear the memory. What was she supposed to do about that?
With a heavy hand, she clicked the files closed one by one. One last folder, labeled Caracas, caught her eye. It must be the travel itinerary
she saw on the Apollonis. Tapping her fingers on the keyboard, she stared at the file. Maybe she missed something. She opened it and scanned to the bottom.
Sure enough, there had been a late addition. A water taxi service in Toronto. Ruby picked up the phone by the bed and punched in the number, hoping the service was open at five a.m.
A cheery female voice answered.
“Three Star Water Taxi. How may we help you?”
“I’m calling to confirm a pickup for Mr. Quentin Wade.” Ruby crossed her fingers. “Tonight?”
“I’ll check. Yes. We have it. Eleven o’clock, correct?”
“Yes. And, I’m sorry to bother you,” Ruby chuckled, “but I’m such a noodle-head I forgot to write down the pickup point.” She held her breath.
“Ontario Place. On the far side, at the marina. That’s an odd spot for a pickup,” the woman added in a puzzled tone. “The marina closed for the season last week.”
“Yes, well, my boss is a strange guy. Thanks for your help.” Ruby replaced the handset, chewing her lip. She had the beginnings of a plan. And it might even work. But first, she retrieved Pete’s card from her wallet and dialed his number.
“Pete Osler. Leave a message.”
“It’s Ruby Delaney. I’m willing to come in and tell the police everything. I’ll meet you outside the station, about ten tonight.” She paused. Would that be enough?
“I swear I didn’t kill Hari Bhatt. But I know who did. And I think I know why.”
Charlie sat up and cocked his head to one side. Smiling, Ruby gave him a scratch behind his ear. He had been a welcome addition to life on the road, but he might be in danger if she kept him around. She didn’t want to lose him twice.
“Let’s get you to the airport, Charlie. I know two little girls who will be thrilled to see you.”
The little terrier jumped off the bed, chased his tail in a quick frenzied circle and scampered to the door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dimitri slumped in the chair and tried to focus on Viktor’s blurry face. His left eye was swollen shut and his shoulders and arms throbbed from being tied back for hours. Viktor was speaking, but his words made no sense.
Viktor stepped away. Another shadowy figure moved in, lifting a bucket.
Dimitri squinted at him. Bogdan.
“Fuck you,” Dimitri said, his voice hoarse.
A bucketful of cold water slammed into his face, snapping his head back. He gasped and turned his head to the side, coughing, as water ran off his chin. He tried to wrench his arms free, but his hands were still pinned behind the chair. Shaking water from his hair, he looked up.
Viktor leaned against a table, glaring at him. Bogdan stood beside Viktor with his arms crossed.
As the water cleared from his ears, Dimitri caught strains of Call Me Irresponsible drifting into the windowless basement room. Viktor inclined his head at the door and Bogdan closed it. The music stopped.
Viktor walked over, grabbed Dimitri’s hair and yanked him upright.
“Do you have any idea how much money we lost today?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Viktor released him and nodded at Bogdan, who stepped forward and plowed a fist into Dimitri’s solar plexus.
Flames exploded in his chest and shot out along his arms. He gulped for air, unable to breathe, until finally his lungs filled. Gasping, he turned his head to the side and vomited onto the floor.
Viktor bent over him.
“Do you know what happened in the stock market today, Dimitri?”
Squinting up at him, Dimitri shook his head.
“Carvon stock fell through the floor. Two weeks early. Before we had our short sale in place. We lost millions. And why? Because you,” Viktor thumped Dimitri’s head with the back of his hand, “killed someone no one wanted to be dead.”
“I’m sorry—”
Viktor thumped him again.
“Shut up. You were always a problem, from the beginning. You never do as you are told.” Muttering, he shook his head and walked out, leaving a cigar smoldering in an ashtray.
Bogdan leaned over, smiling, and rammed his fist into Dimitri’s upper arm. He followed Viktor out and slammed the door.
Dimitri doubled over in his chair, waiting for the pain to subside.
* * *
The pain had been worse on that day twelve years ago when he cradled his arm at his side, turned to Viktor and said, “My arm is broken.”
“Screw your arm. What have you done? Why was there smoke?”
When Dimitri told him, his mentor’s face went white. Viktor stared at him, his fists clenching and unclenching by his side.
“Stay here,” he barked.
Viktor nodded to Bogdan, and the two men stepped outside the derelict stone hut outside Moscow where they fled after Dimitri’s first big assignment had gone so wrong.
Viktor and Bogdan huddled together, talking. Dimitri peered at them through a space he cleared with his thumb on the grimy window. After about half an hour, a car pulled up. The driver lowered his window and Viktor bent his head to talk to him. As the car drove away, Viktor walked to a nearby fence and gazed at the snow-sifted fields of wheat stubble. Then he turned and stomped back to the hut.
Dimitri darted to his chair and sat down.
Viktor walked in and stood in front of him. His voice was cold.
“The man you killed, my niece’s father, that had to be done. But the woman is from people we do not cross. And you left witnesses, too many. So now we have a problem. You are a problem. I am a problem as well because I vouched for you.”
“You told me he would be alone. What could I do?”
Viktor took a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it. He sucked at it, looking away as smoke swirled around his face. He lowered the cigar.
“Bogdan says I should shoot you.”
Dimitri held his breath.
Viktor scratched his chin.
“You have the article?”
Dimitri nodded.
“At least you did that right.” Viktor puffed on the cigar and watched the rising smoke. “When I was your age, the vor v zakonye had honor. We were respectful.” He shook his head. “Everything has changed. Now everything is about money.”
He looked at Dimitri.
“You will go to New York and you will take my niece and her brother with you.”
“Will she know?”
“That you killed her father? Of course not.” He cocked his head to the side, studying Dimitri. “I have seen the way she looks at you when you come to the house. And the way you look at her.”
“I do not look at—”
Viktor held up a hand to silence him and nodded at Bogdan.
“We will come later. Meanwhile, you must care for my niece and her brother. Understand?”
Dimitri had nodded, relief flooding over him. It had seemed like the answer to his prayers.
* * *
Footsteps echoed in the hall and the door opened. Viktor walked in with Bogdan behind him. Viktor contemplated Dimitri for a long time before he spoke.
“We told you to watch that woman, to keep her from screwing up our plans and yet, somehow, she gets off the ship. With our money.” He raised his hand.
Dimitri cringed and turned his head away.
Viktor lowered his hand.
“But did I punish you? No. Because you are family.” He walked over and picked up the still-smoldering cigar. Leaning against the table, he took a long drag and exhaled. “So, how am I rewarded for my kindness?”
Dimitri said nothing.
“Who told you to kill that man?”
Dimitri tried to focus on the blurry edges of the floor tiles.
“I didn’t—”
“No.” Viktor held up a finger. He stubbed out the cigar. “Say nothing. Because I know you helped Ruby Delaney get off that ship.”
Dimitri’s leg muscles tightened and he swiveled his head to look up.
“I didn�
��t—”
“Shut up.”
He looked down again.
“Now, why would you do this? She is good-looking woman, I agree. Under other circumstances I might understand. But she had twenty million dollars of our money, Dimitri. And I think you know where that money is now.”
Viktor and Bogdan stared at him.
He shook his head.
“I don’t know where it is.”
Bogdan took a step closer and Dimitri cringed.
“But I can get it.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow.
“You have twenty-four hours.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A hollow feeling grew in the pit of Ruby’s stomach as she watched Charlie’s crate bump along the conveyor belt to a Vancouver-bound plane. She was determined to recover her nieces’ nest egg. But she couldn’t let Antony walk away with five hundred million dollars of shareholders’ money, either. Her plan might be a bit risky, though. A bit? Rolling her eyes, she turned to the exit. Foolhardy would be more accurate.
A steady stream of SUVs, delivery trucks, and massive tractor-trailers surrounded the stolen minivan as Ruby drove into downtown Toronto and swerved onto the expressway that led east to the banking district. On King Street, she turned into the parking garage under the Carvon building. Carvon was listed on the New York Stock Exchange and headquartered in Manhattan, but its largest branch office was right here in Toronto. And according to a news release on the company website, Toronto was where the board had elected to hold this year’s annual meeting.
In two weeks’ time, Carvon shareholders would gather under the crystal chandeliers of the century-old King Edward hotel. Waiters would circulate with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne, unlike most such meetings these days, where the beleaguered shareholders would get plastic-wrapped sandwiches and coffee in cardboard cups. But high-priced snacks were not likely to distract investors who had watched their stock drop over forty percent in two years. And now, after Hari’s disappearance, those shares were almost worthless. The shareholders’ gathering promised to be lively, to say the least.
