by Kaylea Cross
“You mean to tell me that after everything that’s happened, they still decided to invite him?”
“They didn’t mean to. His name had been on the original guest list, and somehow it was never taken off, so when the invitations were sent out, his went out by mistake. Still, I can’t understand how he could have accepted it. Lisa wanted me to bring Dennis along, thinking that Dennis might be able to get close to Muller and get some information out of him.”
“Doesn’t Muller know that Dennis works for the Treasury?”
“He might know his name, but not his face: they had never actually met. Dennis did all the prep work, but he was not part of the deposition proceedings; that part was handled by the lawyers in the Enforcement Division.”
“I see. So you chickened out and instead of asking Dennis you asked Laskin?”
Janet nodded. “At least that’s better than going alone. Besides, Laskin is sharp.”
“From what you told me, he sounds like an ace.”
“Be nice.”
“Not if it’s going to stand in the way of your happiness. In fact, I’ll be as mean as possible to get you off your butt and into Dennis Walker’s arms.”
* * *
David Muller entered the swanky interior of the Carlyle hotel on the Upper East Side. “How may I help you, sir?” The head waiter hovered by David’s elbow.
“I’m meeting John Francis,” Muller gave the alias that Cornelius Finnegan had told him to use.
The head waiter nodded. “Right this way, sir.”
David followed the head waiter through the dimly lit carpeted lobby into the restaurant. It was a little after six in the evening, and the dining room was mostly empty. David prided himself on patronizing New York’s most distinguished restaurants, but the Carlyle had escaped his attention until now. In his mind the establishment was obsolete. Only someone as socially unrefined as Cornelius Finnegan would choose a place like this for a meeting. But then again, unrefined or not, Finnegan’s powerful connections could not be underestimated.
“Here we are, sir.” The head waiter opened the heavy curtains that hung across the entrance into the private dining room, then quietly left.
David immediately saw Finnegan’s hefty frame behind the round dining table, but the primary object of his attention was the man seated next to Finnegan. The two made the most incongruous pair, with Finnegan resembling a giant spud, and his companion being as willowy as a reed.
“David, there you are!” Finnegan’s brogue filled the room.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” David replied in the crispest American diction he could master.
“David, I’d like you to meet my good friend Kevan Magee. Kevan, this is David Muller, a very capable and smart young man who also happens to be my daughter’s soon to be fiancé.”
David did his best not to wince at the introduction. If things went according to plan, there was a good chance that Finnegan would soon abandon his patronizing ways toward David. He brushed his hand against his jacket pocket, thinking of the brilliant plan he had devised to get rid of Finnegan and his homely daughter. Now, all he had to do was get Kevan Magee to talk.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kevan,” said David and offered his most open smile.
Kevan extended his bony hand. “Any friend of Cornelius’s is a friend of mine,” he said in a voice that was as thin as his physique.
“What do you say we eat first and talk later? I’m starving.” Finnegan patted his ample stomach.
“Sounds good to me,” Kevan agreed.
“What will you be drinking, David?” Finnegan asked.
David glanced at the glasses that stood opposite Magee and Finnegan; he did not even have to guess what was in those glasses: eighteen-year-old Macallan was the only drink that Finnegan favored. “I’ll have a gin martini with a lemon twist,” replied David. He was not speaking out of spite; it was simply that the smoky smell of Macallan gave him a headache.
Finnegan burrowed his nose in the menu, licking his lips as he always did in anticipation of a meal.
David eyed the menu with indifference. Food was the last thing on his mind: he was hungry for far more important things. With the help of his lawyer, Tom Wyman, David had spent the past two weeks setting up a network of companies through which he could conduct the kind of trading activities that Finnegan had been hinting at—insider trading to put it bluntly. Wyman’s help did not end with a network of companies; he had given David a wonderful idea on how to end Finnegan’s clout over him once and for all. David patted his jacket pocket: inside it an iPhone was recording each and every word that was being uttered by Finnegan and Magee.
“So, Kevan, Cornelius tells me that the two of you go back a while,” David probed after they had placed their orders with the waiter.
Kevan nodded, pressing a napkin to his lips. “Yes, indeed.”
“We went to the same Catholic school up in the Bronx, St. Simon’s,” Cornelius cut in. “Kevan was the brain and I was the muscle—we made a damn good team.”
“Yes, those were good times indeed,” Kevan agreed.
“There’s nothing like sharing childhood reminiscences,” David remarked. By the looks of him, Kevan seemed to be much more suited to a religious vocation than that of a corporate board member, and David was beginning to have serious doubts whether Kevan would in fact be able to deliver the valuable information that Finnegan claimed his friend had access to.
“Remember the time when you had the brilliant idea to put a cockroach into Sister Myra’s chalk box?” Finnegan elbowed Magee. “The darn thing nearly got away, but I got it in there. It was right before the math test, too. I thought our math teacher was going to have a heart attack: there she was, reaching for some chalk, and the cockroach crawled right over her hand. Needless to say the math test was cancelled.”
“And the best thing was that we never got caught,” added Magee.
This time David’s laugh was genuine.
“And the time we put glue on Sister Agnes’s chair?” Finnegan’s ample frame quivered with laughter. “I tell you, David, there are enough stories to fill a book. Ah, the food is finally here—it’s about time.” Finnegan cast an impatient glance at the waiters.
Kobe steak was placed in front of Finnegan. David had opted for seared grouper, while Magee had ordered soft-shell crabs. “You call this a steak?” Finnegan eyed the waiter with indignation. “I can barely make it out on my plate!”
“I apologize, sir, but this is our portion size for kobe steak. Would you like another piece?”
“Oh, forget it,” Finnegan waved his fork. “Just bring me another plate of mashed potatoes and put some gravy on them.”
“Would pommes mousseline be all right, sir?”
“Whatever you call it. Oh, and bring us a bottle of Macallan so we don’t have to call for you every time our glasses go dry.”
“Certainly, sir.” With a bow, the waiter departed to execute Finnegan’s order.
“That does it, Kevan. Next time we’re going to Keens.” Finnegan cut into his steak. “Chewy like a piece of rubber,” he muttered between bites. “How’s your dish, David?”
David’s grouper was tolerable, but before he could respond, Finnegan switched his attention back to Magee. “What’s that you ordered, Kevan? Reminds me of the cockroach I put into Sister Myra’s chalk box.” Finnegan looked genuinely pleased with his joke.
Magee, who had been gamely attacking his dish, contemplated the last remaining soft-shell crab on his plate. “Indeed, there is a slight resemblance, but I would imagine that soft-shell crabs are much tastier than cockroaches although I have to admit that I never chanced to eat a cockroach.”
Finnegan chuckled. “That’s Magee for you: he’s always got a comeback for every line.”
David smiled in agreement. Indeed, his impression of Magee had undergone a complete transformation: there was much more to this Magee fellow than he had thought.
After they were finished with their main courses, Finnegan ord
ered a slice of cheesecake, while David and Magee limited themselves to coffee.
“So, Kevan, I think now is a good time to tell David about the purpose of our little get-together,” said Finnegan, licking the last bit of cheesecake from his fork.
Magee nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “David, Cornelius has told me a lot about your financial expertise, but I hope that you will allow me to ask you a few questions.”
“By all means.” David did his best to put on the most genial expression.
“Let’s say a certain public company, let’s call it company A, is in merger talks with another public company, let’s call it company B. What do you think would happen to the shares of these companies if the merger were to go through?”
David suppressed his irritation. Was Magee questioning him on the rudimentary principles of financial markets? “Typically, once the merger is announced, the stock of the acquiring company would decline in price, while the stock of the company that is about to be acquired would appreciate in price. Of course, that depends on the conditions of the merger. If the company is being bought at a discount—”
“It’s being bought at a premium,” Magee interrupted, “and a handsome one at that. And what would you do if you were to know about such information several days before the merger was to be announced?”
“I’d buy call options on the stock of the company that’s being acquired. This would require a smaller financial commitment than buying actual shares of the company and result in a much greater gain. Of course, I’d have to be sure that the information is reliable,” David added.
“It is ironclad, which is why it is imperative to proceed with great caution.”
“Oh, calm down, Kevan.” Finnegan poured himself another drink. “David is not a novice. He knows what he’s doing. Besides, as New York attorney general, I’ve got everyone covered.”
“I do not doubt you, Cornelius, but I do remember a certain investigation involving Bostoff Securities and Emperial hedge fund, the latter of which, if memory serves me correctly, David was the owner.”
Magee’s black, button-like eyes burrowed into David’s face; in them, David saw ruthless shrewdness. If anything were to go wrong, Magee would not hesitate to cut anyone’s throat, including Finnegan’s, in order to save his own neck.
“Like I told you, Kevan, I’ve got your back, just like I’ve got David’s. Who do you think put the kibosh on the Bostoff investigation?”
“I do not doubt your abilities, Cornelius. I am merely anxious to ensure that everyone’s interests are protected.”
“I know that, Kevan, and I give you my word that we can trust David. I trust the man with my daughter. Is that not enough for ya?”
Here, David felt a pang of guilt, as he thought about the microphone in his jacket pocket.
Magee took a sip of his scotch. “It is, Cornelius. The question is, is it enough for you?”
Noticing the exasperated look on Finnegan’s face, David decided to intercede. “Kevan, I understand that we just met, but I hope that Cornelius’s word will suffice until we become better acquainted. In the meantime, please feel free to ask me any questions you may have about my background or professional experience.”
Magee nodded. “David, I hope that you will not take me the wrong way. I do not have any doubts about your knowledge or trustworthiness. I am merely concerned for the safety of everyone involved.”
Finnegan grunted. “We understand that, Kevan, but from what you told me, this deal is going to come down soon, and unless you’ve got someone else in mind to trade for us, you’d better tell David what it is he needs to do.”
An hour later David left the Carlyle, smiling like a cat that ate a canary. Even better than the prospect of making a hefty profit from Magee’s information was the knowledge that David now had Finnegan and Magee—the maggot, as David had nicknamed his new acquaintance—by their balls. Even Finnegan’s connections would not save him from the scandal that would unleash if David were to release the recording of their conversation. Finally, his luck was turning around. David signaled to an empty cab that appeared by the curb—more evidence of his newly found luck—and gave the driver the address of Mila’s new apartment. Soon he would be able to see Mila as frequently as he wished.
Chapter Twelve
Alex Kingsley checked his schedule for the day. He had a one-hour space between meetings, which would give him plenty of time for a quickie with Georgiana. This was truly the perfect job. Alex was about to buzz his assistant in when her number rang on his telephone. “Mr. Kingsley?”
“Georgie, you must be psychic. I was just going to call you. Get your hot behind in here.”
“But Mr. Kingsley, I have Mr. Finnegan on the line for you.”
Alex gulped, his desire draining right out of him. “Put him through please.”
“Cornelius? How are you?” Alex’s shoulders tightened with apprehension. Why was Finnegan calling him now when Alex had just given him a report two days before?
“Hello, Alex. How’s the job treating you?”
“It’s going well, thank you, sir.”
“Any new developments?”
“Not that I am aware of, sir.”
“Perhaps you’ll be interested to learn that Jon Bostoff has started a consulting company: a white collar crime consulting service, to be precise.”
“I see.” Alex wondered what Finnegan was driving at. It was not uncommon for former crooks to offer consulting services, Frank Abagnale being one of the most famous examples. Why couldn’t Bostoff do the same?
“Do you?” Finnegan added meaningfully. “Reformed sinners can be very dangerous. We wouldn’t want Bostoff in his new capacity to start digging under Muller.”
“I understand, sir.” Alex could have kicked himself for being so dense. He knew personally what a pest a reformed sinner could be: Dennis Walker was the perfect example. With Muller let off the hook, Bostoff would be out for blood, and if he was anywhere as good as Walker was, both Finnegan and Alex would have to watch their backs.
“Perhaps I should remind you that Bostoff has been barred from the financial industry for three years. I think that it is the responsibility of the Investigations department—and by that I mean it’s your responsibility—to ensure that this sanction is enforced.”
“I understand, sir. I will take care of it.”
“Make sure that you do.”
Before Alex had a chance to utter any more assurances, Finnegan hung up.
Alex stared at the phone. He had made the decision to trust Janet as his eyes and ears at the office. Yes, she had put up resistance at first, but he had attributed her initial refusal to scorned pride: what woman did not hold a grudge against her ex-boyfriend? Still, that did not mean that the two of them could not look past their differences and become allies. The past weeks had proved that Janet had finally learned to adapt: she had provided Alex with detailed reports on her colleagues’ activities. Alex had specifically instructed Janet to notify him of all the developments related to the Bostoff and Muller case, and she had repeatedly told him that there were no new developments. Was the bitch lying to him? He would find out right now.
Alex picked up the phone and dialed Janet’s extension. “Janet, please stop by my office immediately,” he barked and hung up.
* * *
As she headed toward Alex’s office, Janet wondered about the reason behind her summons. She had been feeding Alex with fake reports ever since the commencement of his tenure at the Treasury. Could it be that he was on to her?
“Janet!” Laskin’s voice made Janet stop dead in her tracks.
“Hey there, Peter.”
“How’s it going, Janet? Boy, I tell you, either you’re really busy or you’ve been avoiding me because I haven’t seen you all week.”
Avoiding running into Laskin, and when failing to do so coming up with excuses not to meet him for drinks or any other of the outings that he so tirelessly suggested, had become Janet’s routine in the
past few weeks. “You guessed it—it’s the first one—I’ve been really busy.” Janet hoped she sounded convincing. She only had to keep up her charade a few more days until Lisa’s wedding, which was on Saturday.
Laskin eyed her dubiously. “So you haven’t been avoiding me?”
“Come on, Peter, you know better than that! Why would I be avoiding you?”
“Oh, I don’t know … For the same reason you’ve been blowing me off every time I ask you out for a drink.”
Janet widened her eyes, feigning a hurt look. “Me, blowing you off? I’ve just been real busy, that’s all.”
“So we’re still on for the wedding?”
“Of course we’re still on for the wedding. You’re my date, remember?”
“What’s all that wedding talk about?” Alex’s Kingsley’s voice made Janet freeze with her mouth agape.
“Good morning, Alex. I was just on my way to your office with my report,” Janet rattled off.
“And you were doing that by chatting idly in the hallway?”
“Actually, sir, we were just discussing one of our latest leads,” Laskin cut in. “I think we might be on to a tax evasion scheme.”
“Tax evasion, huh?” Alex smirked. “So what’s tax evasion got to do with a wedding?”
“Oh, that sir, absolutely nothing sir,” Laskin replied coolly. “Janet needed a date for her friend’s wedding, and I agreed to accompany her, that’s all. We were just confirming the details since the wedding is this Saturday.”
“I see. Excellent. Carry on Peter. I sure would like to see a report on that tax evasion scheme you mentioned.”
“I’ll get it on your desk as soon as I have all the details, sir. See you later, Janet.” With that, Laskin left Janet alone with Alex.
“Shall we?” Alex motioned toward his office.
“Of course.” Janet followed Alex into his office.
“So, what’s the department been up to this week?” Alex asked after he took a seat in his chair and propped his feet on his desk.
“We’ve had a very large number of alerts this week,” Janet began, “and we are still going through all of them to select positive leads.”
