“She was never much of a laugher at the best of times.”
“Yeah, but we had sex. I mean, it must be three months.”
“Jesus! Three months?”
At the next table, Sandy stole a glance at Greg. Three months? Maybe she could use this.
A young DA told me yesterday he hadn’t had sex with his girlfriend for three months. “Things have changed, but she refuses to talk about it.” How are our crimebusters supposed to do their best during the day when they can’t get any at night? Come on, lady! New York can do better. Put out or get out!
Thin, thought Sandy. Very thin. No sex for three months. Half the married bedrooms in America would tell that story. But no one admitted it, that was the thing. Titillating. A young DA. Call him a “prominent” young DA. And possibly make something up about the kind of cases he specialized in. What kind of cases were sexy?
Rob sighed. “Well, I’m not surprised. Emmy and I have thought things haven’t been great between you guys for a while.”
“Really?” Greg looked at Rob in surprise.
Rob nodded.
“Maybe Emmy could talk to Louise,” said Greg hopefully.
“I don’t think so, Greg. You know, Louise…”
“What?”
“She’s not, you know…”
“What?”
“Come on, Greg, you know she’s not very easy to get on with. She doesn’t … you know … connect.”
Greg stared at Rob, aghast. “You mean you don’t like her?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“What about Emmy? Doesn’t Emmy like her?”
“Greg, does that matter?”
“Emmy doesn’t like her, either?” Greg was dumbfounded. “Neither of you? All this time? You never liked her? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“You liked her. That’s what mattered. We liked her for your sake.”
“What’s that mean? For my sake. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Look, Greg. You liked her—we liked her.”
“No,” said Greg. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t like her. I loved her. That’s the difference. I loved her, Rob.”
“I know you did, buddy. I know it, Greg.”
Sandy’s heart contracted. It was so sad. So romantic. And best of all, it was true. She had to use it. Somehow.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Rob.
Greg shook his head.
“Have you thought about it?”
Greg sighed. He stared into his beer. “Do you think it’s possible just to fall out of love with someone?” He looked up at Rob. “Just like that? Over a California roll?”
Sad Sushi, thought Sandy, instinctively grasping for a header. Tearful Teriyaki?
“I don’t know,” said Rob.
“I think that’s what’s happened.”
Rob wasn’t so sure. He didn’t think Greg had fallen out of love with Louise. Not yet. But it looked as if he realized he needed to. That was a big step forward.
“Well, if it’s happened, it’s happened, Greg. You know, I think it happened to Louise a long time ago.”
“I guess so,” murmured Greg. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t happen with you and Emmy. The perfect couple.”
Rob didn’t say anything to that. No couple was perfect.
“I’m not jealous,” said Greg. “It’s great. You two guys deserve it.”
Rob shrugged. “So what are you going to do?”
“Do you think it might be a phase Louise is going through?” said Greg.
“You mean like something that’s going to pass?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t think so, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Rob. “Anything can happen, but … I wouldn’t bet on it.”
There was silence. Sandy glanced at them again. Greg was staring vacantly at the table.
“You don’t know what you’re going to do?” said Rob.
“What would you do?”
Rob sighed. He said it as gently as he could. “Greg, I think maybe it’s time to move on.”
Greg frowned. “I think … I think I have to think.”
Rob watched him. “Maybe you should take a couple of days off work. Tell them you’re sick or something.”
Greg didn’t reply.
“You need a place. Use mine until you find something.”
Greg shook his head. “My folks have the apartment. They’re only there during the week.”
“You don’t want to do that. Listen, I practically live at Emmy’s. Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor. The mice could use some company.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Absolutely. Just let me know.”
Greg nodded. For longer than was strictly normal.
“Greg?”
“I really appreciate that, Rob. I might just take you up on it. You’re a good friend, you know.”
“Like you haven’t done stuff for me.”
Greg looked tearful. His eyes were moist. “I appreciate it. I just want you to know that.”
“Hey, you don’t need to say that.”
“But I want you to know it.”
“Okay. Greg, I know it.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay.”
Sandy rolled her eyes. Guys! Why didn’t they get up and hug?
“What’s happened with that new job you were telling me about?” said Rob. “You decided yet?”
Greg shook his head. “I haven’t been able to think about it.”
“Yeah. Probably not the best time to make any decisions.” Rob checked his watch. “You want another beer? I’ve still got a little time before I’ve gotta head uptown.”
“You going back to the office?”
“Like every night. One more beer won’t hurt. Same again?” Rob looked at the bar. “I’ll just…” His voice trailed off. “Just give me a second…” he murmured. He stared at the television.
Sandy glanced at the TV to see what he was looking at. A reporter was talking. There was a company logo on the screen behind him. Sandy tuned in to the reporter’s voice.
“… stock price rose after the company reported a strong quarterly performance, beating market expectations and apparently putting to rest any lingering concerns from earlier this year that profits were under threat. Company chief executive Michael Wilson attributed the result to a strong performance across the board, and particularly in the company’s East European operations, the outcome of a program of cost control and efficiency improvement. With earnings up a fraction over nine percent, Wilson said the results showed that the upward trend in growth at the company was based on sustainable fundamentals. Looking at the numbers, I don’t think anyone would argue with him, Dave.”
The picture cut to the studio anchor.
“So, good news for Louisiana Light shareholders,” said the anchor. “In other company news, aluminum giant Alcoa today announced the suspension of its development program in…”
Rob shook his head. “Nine percent,” he murmured.
Greg looked at him. “What is it?”
Sandy took her eyes off the television.
“Is that your client?” said Greg. “Louisiana Light? The one you wouldn’t tell me about?”
“And putting their stock price just where they want it.” Eastern Europe, he thought, remembering the Hungarian writedown. If you could write down, what was to stop you from writing up to get exactly the results you wanted?
“What are you saying?” said Greg. “Are you saying they’re manipulating their results?”
“What?” Rob looked at him. “Jesus, Greg. No, I’m not saying that. It’s confidential, right? You can’t say anything.”
Sandy froze. She was absolutely, utterly still. If she could have, she would have stopped her heart beating. Everything in her strained to hear.
�
��And you think they’re overstating their earnings?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I’m not saying that. Greg, this is serious. I didn’t say anything, okay? I didn’t tell you who they were. If their name gets out, this whole thing we’re doing will be over.”
“Okay. Don’t worry.”
“Forget I said it, huh?”
“Okay,” said Greg. “It’s fine. I didn’t hear anything.”
Sandy looked down. There was a bag on the floor with a company name. She twisted down, pretending she had dropped something, to see the name. Dyson Whitney. What was Dyson Whitney?
Rob pushed his chair back.
Sandy straightened up.
Rob went to the bar. Sandy looked away, trying to keep herself from glancing at Greg, who was still sitting at the table. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do. A plan came into her head. She tried to figure out if it would work.
Suddenly she got up and left.
She walked a short way up the street in the direction of uptown, than waited. She ran over everything she had heard, on the television, at the table. The plan she had just made. She could barely contain her excitement. And trepidation.
She had to wait about fifteen minutes. Then Sandy saw the two of them come out. They separated and he walked up the street toward her, as she had hoped. She was literally shaking with nerves.
Then she went right for him.
“John Williams!” she said loudly, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Rob looked at her in bemusement.
“John?”
“Sorry, I think you must be mistaken.”
“Really? I’m sorry. Aren’t you John Williams from Dyson Whitney?”
Rob frowned.
Sandy put out her hand, hoping like hell he didn’t see it quivering. “Sandy Pereira.”
Rob shook it. “Rob Holding.”
“Really? From Dyson Whitney? Rob Holding?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Sandy laughed. “I don’t know why I thought you were John. I’ve only met him a couple of times. Hey, you guys work with Louisiana Light, don’t you?”
Rob stared at her.
“They reported their results today, did you know?”
Rob was still staring.
Sandy pushed a card into Rob’s hand. “I work on the finance page of the Herald. True, we may not be the Journal, but we do our bit. Louisiana Light reported earnings nine percent up today, did you know that? We’ve been hearing Louisiana Light has been overstating things a little. Do you want to comment on that?”
“I…” Rob searched for something to say.
“We understand there are serious doubts over their results. What do you say about that?”
“I don’t say anything.”
“So you don’t deny it? Good. Can I quote you on that?”
“Quote me? No, you can’t quote me! Quote me and I’ll sue you. Look, Ms. Pereira, I think I should just…” Rob stopped talking and pushed past her.
“Rob,” called Sandy as he hurried away. “Call me. You’ve got my card. Call me.”
He dropped into the subway entrance and was gone.
Sandy stood for a moment longer. She could have yelled with excitement. Yes! For the first time since she left college, she felt like a real journalist.
She grabbed a cab for the office. She headed right for Marvin Koller, the guy who handled what passed for the finance page of the Herald. And had made a number of passes at her.
“Marvin, someone just told me Louisiana Light is pumping their stock price.”
“Yeah, and the pope’s a Catholic. Come over here, honey. We’ll pump something else.”
“Marvin!” said Sandy. “You’re disgusting! Listen to me. Some guy from Dyson Whitney told me Louisiana Light’s pumping their stock.”
Marvin looked at her more seriously. He was a pudgy, scotch-soaked lecher in a third-grade suit, but he still had a nose for a story.
“What’s Dyson Whitney?” asked Sandy.
“It’s an investment bank.”
“Well, Louisiana Light’s one of their clients. He said they’re manipulating their results.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say. But it’s a secret.”
“A secret?”
“It’s all over if it gets out. He said they’re overstating their earnings.”
“Hold on.” Marvin switched to Bloomberg on his computer. “What did you say they were called?”
“Louisiana Light.”
“Louisiana Light,” murmured Marvin, typing in the name.
Sandy could see him reading the screen. She went a little closer, trying to see. Not too close.
“You’re right. They reported earnings up nine percent. Their stock price went up a dollar eighty.” He looked at Sandy. “What did he say exactly?”
“He said they were overstating things. They were putting their stock price just where they wanted it.”
“Just where they wanted it…” murmured Marvin. “But he didn’t say why?”
“No. Only it’ll be all over if it gets out.”
“What will?”
“Everything. Everything they’re doing.”
“What’s everything? Be specific! What? What is it?”
“I don’t know. But it’ll be bad, Marvin. Real bad.”
“Real bad?” Marvin scratched his nose. A rodentlike gleam came into his eyes. He looked at Sandy suddenly. “Did he say he had evidence?”
Sandy hesitated. “Yes,” she lied.
“What?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Who is he?”
“Marvin, he won’t talk.”
“Where’s the proof?” demanded Koller.
“He won’t give it to me.”
“Go back and fuck him.”
Sandy rolled her eyes.
“You already fucked him?”
“This is all we’ve got, Marvin.”
Marvin Koller glanced at Sandy, evaluating her. For once, not in the usual way. Why would she make this up? She wouldn’t know enough to make this up. Koller thought about it. Word it carefully. Report it as a rumor. Age-old journalistic technique. Set the hare running and see what comes out of the trees to chase it.
“I want to work on this with you, Marvin,” said Sandy.
Koller shrugged. How long would it take to work on a ten-line piece of innuendo?
“Marvin?”
“Okay. Jesus, relax. It’s not like we’ve got Hitler’s diaries.”
“I want a byline.”
“You want a byline now? On rumor, lady, we don’t do bylines. Trust me, I’m protecting you.”
“I want a byline!” said Sandy.
“I’ll give you a credit on the page. Additional reporting.”
Sandy thought about it.
“Take it or leave it, honey.”
“I’ll take it.”
The Herald’s first edition hit the streets at three A.M. By seven, Reuters and Bloomberg were both reporting the story. At nine-thirty, the New York Stock Exchange opened for business.
17
TRICKY SWITCHES
Hearts were aflutter yesterday as electricity generator and distributor Louisiana Light turned in its best quarterly earnings in two years. Michael T. Wilson, CEO of the company, is the darling of the markets again. Or is he? A little birdie tells me that the folks at investment bank Dyson Whitney have their doubts about those earnings, and they should know, now that Louisiana Light is one of their clients. Tricky switches in the Baton Rouge control room? Is everything quite as picture perfect as it seems? Just where did those extra earnings come from, Mr. Wilson?
Mike Wilson froze. The fax showed part of a page from a newspaper and the article had been circled in black. It had come through from Amanda Bellinger, senior partner at the PR firm Hill Bellinger, and Stella had left it on his desk. It was the first thing he saw that morning as he opened his briefcase.
The stock price, he t
hought. What would this do to the stock price?
The phone rang.
“It’s Ms. Bellinger,” said Stella. “She wants to know if you’ve seen the article yet.”
“Tell her I’ve just seen it. I’ll get back to her.”
Wilson slammed the phone down. He scanned the article again. Who’d written it? No byline, obviously. Not man enough to sign his name.
The phone rang again.
“What?”
“Ms. Bellinger won’t take no for an answer, Mr. Wilson.”
“Put her through.”
Amanda Bellinger came on the line. “Mike, this is outrageous!”
“What’s going on?” demanded Wilson. “I put out our best results in two years and pay you guys to get the message out and what happens? Huh? What happens? Look at this!”
“Obviously this didn’t come from us.”
“Who did it come from?”
“Is there any truth in it?”
“Of course not!” snapped Wilson. “It’s innuendo! It’s slander! We’ll sue the motherfuckers.”
Amanda Bellinger coughed.
“Did you hear me, Mandy? We’ll sue the motherfuckers!”
“I heard you, Mike. Listen. It’s the New York Herald.”
“So?”
“No one believes anything in the Herald. They’ll assume it’s garbage.”
Where there’s smoke there’s fire, thought Wilson. That’s what everyone would assume.
“We need a strategy to deal with this,” said Amanda. “‘Contain, control, consign to history.’ That’s my motto when it comes to things like this. In a week, it’ll blow over.”
A week, thought Wilson. In a week, a lot of other things might have blown over as well. A lot of other things might be consigned to history.
“Mike?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Work out a strategy and get back to me. I’ve got things to do.”
“Mike, we’ll handle this. I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah.”
Wilson put down the phone. He switched on his computer and stared impatiently at the article as the machine booted up. Someone had talked to the newspaper, he thought. There was just enough truth in it. Someone must have talked.
The bankers? “A little birdie … at Dyson Whitney…” Maybe it was the bankers. But what did they know? How could they know anything?
He typed in his password. Finally the computer was on. He turned to the screen and checked the stock price.
Due Diligence: A Thriller Page 13
