by Kaylea Cross
“Whatever his new scheme is, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
* * *
Jon Bostoff took a sip of scotch and checked his watch. The toasts would start soon, and he had to put his happy face on. His little brother was getting married. After the deluge of misfortunes that had assailed the Bostoff family over the past year, they were due for a little happiness in their lives.
Jon had worked hard to make up for all the wrongs he had done, but some things could never be corrected: the pain he had caused his father, the disappointment of his younger brother, and the shame Jon had brought on the Bostoff name. He had wanted to turn his father’s company into a financial empire; instead, Jon’s reckless actions had resulted in the collapse of Bostoff Securities. The past year had been a veritable hell as Jon was dragged through countless depositions, forced to disclose the details of a market manipulation scheme he had worked so hard to construct. He admitted his guilt, but in all fairness he had not been the mastermind behind the scheme. True, he had constructed the highway that subverted speed limits that the rest of the industry was expected to follow, but he was not the one driving the cars that raced on its smooth runway—the steering was done by his clients. David Muller, the owner of Emperial hedge fund, had been one of Jon’s biggest clients. Jon’s lawyer had assured him that Jon would get credit with the investigators for his cooperation in providing evidence, and that Muller was the main target of the case.
Jon’s shock was impossible to put into words when he learned the investigation’s verdict. Bostoff Securities was fined in the amount of one million dollars, and Jon was barred from the financial industry for three years. With the legal fees piling up and the fine hanging over his head, there was no other option but to liquidate Bostoff Securities. Jon’s shock had been even greater when he learned that the case against Emperial and David Muller had been dismissed due to lack of evidence.
The hardest part was breaking the news to his father, Hank Bostoff, who had put his life into building the company. Jon had expected chastisement and banishment; instead, his father had surprised Jon with mercy and understanding. “Anyone can slip, son,” Hank had said. “What sets the man apart from the rest is how he gets back on his feet. I know that you have it in you to get back on track.”
From that moment on, Jon dedicated his entire existence to repairing his credibility. With the ban hanging over him, the financial industry was closed to him. He had to find a new way to make a living. He would have to start over. The answer surprised him most of all. One night, as he was contemplating his options, Jon received a call from his lawyer asking him if he would be interested in providing consulting services to a financial company that had caught a rogue trader among its staff and was looking to strengthen internal controls. “I have not given your name or anything like that, Jon, but I thought that you could provide valuable input to this company from your recent experience.”
Thus began Jon’s consulting career. He was surprised by how quickly his client list grew. His clients consisted of companies that had already experienced problems with nefarious employees and were looking for ways to avoid a repeat experience, and those that were being proactive and were looking for preventive measures to avoid having such experiences firsthand. Jon understood the needs of his clients, and, most importantly, he understood the motivation of the culprits. Finance was a game of high risk and high reward, and the temptation to seize the reward often surpassed the fear of risk. Emboldened by profits made in a good year, traders often lived beyond their means, certain that each year would be better than the previous one. A trader who had made a wrong bet and was losing money on a stock position could turn into a desperate man, willing to go to great lengths to conceal the loss so that he could get that coveted bonus to pay for the lavish condo or vacation home he could barely afford in the first place.
Lies and cover-ups were a slippery slope: once one started, it was almost impossible to stop. Just recently, Jon had helped a client catch a rogue trader who was forging profit and loss reports. The trader had a programming background, which made it easy for him to break into the firm’s systems and manipulate the data, making his losses look like profits. The management began to suspect things, but could not quite make heads or tails of things, and they wanted an independent party to investigate, which was where Jon’s expertise came in. Still, the job was no picnic, for as much as he enjoyed the idea of helping his clients, Jon could not help feeling compassion for the culprits. After all, not so long ago he had been one of them. He just hoped that the bad guys he now helped to catch would have the will and decency to transform their lives, as he had done. It had been a long road, with an even steeper road lying ahead of him. To cover his legal fees and settle the regulatory fine, he had to sell his recently acquired beach house in the Hamptons and his mansion in Westbury, Long Island and move his family to a modest three bedroom house in Connecticut. Had it not been for his wife’s help, Jon doubted that he would have survived this mortification.
Candace Bostoff, née Covington, had been standing by Jon’s side ever since he planted a wet one on her at a party at Duke University over twenty years ago. Candace came from a wealthy family. There were many young men with far more impressive pedigrees than Jon’s who were vying for her attention, but Candace chose Jon. They got married right after graduation, by which time Candace was already pregnant with their firstborn, Tyler. The Covingtons had not approved of Candace’s choice of husband and had made it clear that the Bostoffs would not partake in the Covington fortune. It had been just as well with Jon who intended to make his own way in the world. Granted, Jon did not exactly come from nothing himself. His father’s boutique investment firm generated a steady stream of revenue, which Jon hoped to take to new heights. As a young man, Jon was eager to share his business ideas with his father, but Hank Bostoff liked doing business the tried and true way. So Jon bid his time, waiting until his father was ready to retire and hand over the business to him. By the time Hank Bostoff was ready to hand over the reins to Jon, time had passed, and the business opportunities that Jon had wanted to take advantage of were already taken. Still, he was eager to make up the lost ground and transform Bostoff Securities into a money making machine, so that he could finally provide Candace with the lifestyle she was born to have. Not that Candace had ever made a comment about their comfortable middle-class lifestyle: she had been perfectly content. It was Jon who had wanted more. How reckless he had been! Pride and ambition were valuable qualities, but when left unchecked they often drove men to do unthinkable things. If there were one thing that Jon Bostoff was certain of, it was that he would never let his pride or ambition get the better of him again.
“Are you ready to give your speech, honey?” Candace Bostoff squeezed her husband’s hand.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Jon smiled, pressing Candace’s hand to his lips. Jon glanced at the bustling reception hall. It was reassuring to see that even after the Bostoff name had been dragged through the mud, true friends remained by their side. Jon was about to turn his attention back to Candace when he felt blood flow to his face. There, among the guests who were supposed to be the closest of family and friends, sat David Muller, the man whom Jon held personally responsible for all of his misfortunes.
“Jon, what’s wrong?” Candace whispered.
He frowned, debating whether he should mention Muller’s presence at the wedding to Candace. He was not sure if Candace had seen him, and he did not want to ruin the mood. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just nerves I guess.”
“Nerves? When have you ever been shy about public speaking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired. How about a kiss to give me some courage?”
Jon attempted to steer Candace’s attention away from the guest tables, but was too late. “Is that David Muller?” Candace asked, her face turning pale.
“That’s the bastard in the flesh,” Jon hissed. “I have no idea who invited him. He’s got some nerve showing up here.” Jon
saw the pained expression on Candace’s face. This was the last straw. “That’s it. I’m going to go over there and throw him out.”
“Wait.” Candace grabbed his hand. “Who’s that woman sitting next to him?”
“The redhead? I have no idea, but I’ve got to say that Muller has certainly come down in his standards. He used to date supermodels. I guess life’s not treating him as well as it used to.”
“Jon, I think I know who she is. Her face looks familiar; I remember seeing her in one of those society magazines. I’m pretty sure that’s the daughter of the state attorney general.”
“You mean Cornelius Finnegan’s daughter?”
“I’ve never been good with names, but I never forget a face when I see one, and I swear I saw her picture in one of the newspapers. She was photographed next to her father, who is this hefty, bulky guy, and her mother who is actually quite pretty, and I remember thinking what a shame it was that the girl took after her father.”
“Candace, you are brilliant.” Jon pulled his wife close to him and planted a long, passionate kiss on her lips.
Candace blushed. “Jon, what’s gotten into you? You are the brother of the groom. There are people watching us.”
“What’s wrong with a man kissing his wife?” Jon beamed. “Baby, I think you just figured out a way to make Muller pay his due.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that he got away with a slap on his wrist, and I was put through the mill?”
“Jon, do you mean to say that Muller got off the hook because he had the attorney general to protect him?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ve been made a scapegoat, and I don’t like being anyone’s cat’s-paw. I’ll show that bastard.”
“Jon, please don’t make a scene.”
“Oh, I won’t. In fact, I’ll go over there and say hello, being my most cordial self. Sooner or later the bastard will slip, and even his friends in high places won’t be able to protect him.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Baby, I missed you.” David tightened his arms around Mila’s lanky body. To say that he missed her was the understatement of a lifetime. His attraction to the woman had reached the level of addiction. When he was not with Mila he was thinking of making love to Mila, and when he was with Mila he was anxiously counting the hours until their separation, already longing for the next time he would see her.
“I missed you too, honey.” Mila pressed herself against him, making every muscle of his body ache with desire.
“Oh, yeah? I bet that I missed you more,” David whispered, reaching for the zipper on the back of Mila’s dress.
“Hold on a minute, honey. I want to show you what I’ve done with the place.”
Ever since David had gotten Mila the lease on the new place, she had gone gung ho on the idea of decorating. Last week it had been a set of art deco lamps for the bedroom and a Roy Lichtenstein lithograph for the living room. True, Mila’s taste was expensive, but it amused David to discover that underneath the sexy vixen exterior, Mila possessed the genes of a homemaker.
“It’s in your study. I can’t wait for you to see it.” Mila tugged at David’s arm. “Come on!”
“What is it?” David asked, cocking his head sideways to make better sense of the image that hung on the study wall.
“It’s a Pablo Picasso lithograph! It’s called Cubist Composition. It’s a numbered edition and it’s been hand-signed by Picasso himself,” Mila replied with the air of an art historian.
“Wonderful.” David stood back, regarding the image on the wall, wondering how much it had cost. Mila certainly had expensive taste. Good thing that his earlier chat with Finnegan and Magee promised to provide a sizeable bump to his net worth.
“Oh, I almost forgot, this came too.” Mila motioned toward a metal cabinet by David’s desk.
David was pleasantly surprised by the news. He had been so consumed by Mila’s presence that he failed to notice that the safe he had ordered earlier had been installed in his office, three days ahead of the scheduled delivery date. The timing could not have been more perfect—funny how even the smallest things began to turn out in one’s favor when one’s luck was coming around.
“What do you need this ugly thing for? It’s ruining the whole ambiance.”
David traced his fingers over the safe lock. “It’s a safe, baby.”
“I know it’s a safe. My question is, what do you need it for?”
“To keep important things safe.”
“What things?”
“Things that could make us both very, very rich.” David nuzzled Mila’s neck.
“In that case, I guess it’s not that much of an eyesore,” Mila conceded.
“I’m glad to hear that. Now, where were we?” David reached for the zipper on Mila’s dress, undoing it in one swift tug. “I think we’d better move into the bedroom,” he whispered.
An hour later, after he had his fill of her, David rose from the bed. “I have to work for a bit, baby.”
“All right,” Mila mumbled into the pillow.
With one last, longing look, David tore himself away from her and walked toward the study where he had established a work camp. Mila’s apartment had been rented under an alias, which would make it difficult to trace it back to him. Besides, he felt confident that the records he kept at Mila’s place would never get into the wrong hands.
It was hard to concentrate on business with the knowledge of Mila lying naked in the bedroom, but it had to be done. David forced himself to focus on the market charts on the computer screen. So far, the information Magee had given him had worked like a charm. Magee was on the board of Rover Industries, a giant manufacturing conglomerate. Rover had a number of different divisions that manufactured commercial equipment for a variety of industries. Some of their products included commercial chillers, engines, and even construction cranes. But the best part about Rover, the part that interested David, was that Rover often subcontracted projects to other companies. A multimillion dollar contract from Rover could easily result in a three- to four-dollar jump in the stock price of the company that received the contract. Of course by the time the news reached the market, it was impossible to take any advantage of the price jump, but if one had advance notification one stood to make quite a profit.
Rover had a tiered approval process for its business: smaller contracts were approved by senior management, but the most substantial contracts were presented for approval to the board of directors. So far, Kevan Magee had given Muller two leads. The first one had been Orion, a mid-size publicly traded manufacturing company that was to receive a fifty-million-dollar three-year contract from Rover for the manufacturing of engine components. When Magee had given David the information, Orion’s shares were trading at seven dollars a share. According to Magee, the news of the contract award was to be announced in a week’s time, which gave David plenty of time to load up on the option positions for Orion’s stock. At seven dollars a share, purchasing a physical stock position would have required a significant capital commitment; instead, David purchased stock options that would enable him to purchase Orion shares at nine dollars a share. The beauty of option contracts was that they did not have to be exercised: one could simply buy an option for a stock and then sell it at a later time without having to acquire the stock position. Orion was a quiet stock without anything in the company fundamentals indicating shift in revenue or growth, so Muller had been able to snap up the options for less than a dollar per contract. With the money wired to him by Magee and Finnegan and the addition of his own funds, David had acquired option contracts for close to a million shares of Orion’s stock. This time he decided not to trust any particular brokerage firm to execute his trades, but split the orders between several brokers. All the trades were placed in the name of Phoenix Fund, a charity that sponsored scholarships for young men and women who were interested in pursuing careers in finance. Who would ever question a charity?
Hell, David had even gone so far as to dole out a few thousand bucks in scholarships to several lucky buggers to make it look legit. Once the news of Orion receiving the contract from Rover was publicly announced, Orion’s stock jumped to ten dollars, making the options jump two dollars in price. David sold off his option position at a hefty profit, which made Finnegan and Magee two very satisfied customers.
Magee’s second lead involved a similar setup where Hudson Steel, a piping manufacturer, had been awarded an eighty-million-dollar contract by Rover. Prior to the announcement of the contract award, Hudson’s stock had been trading at ten dollars per share, which was when David had acquired a large number of option contracts to buy Hudson’s stock at eleven dollars. Once the news of the contract was made public, Hudson’s stock jumped to thirteen dollars per share, leading the option price to appreciate from the two dollars David had paid for it to five dollars.
Already the bank account for Phoenix Fund had over ten million as its balance. Granted, the amount would have to be split three ways between David, Magee, and Finnegan. David had considered claiming all the spoils for himself—after all, it would be unlikely for either Finnegan or Magee to protest once they learned that David possessed several recordings of their conversations that clearly implicated Finnegan and Magee in an insider trading scheme—but then decided against it. Three million and change was a good cut, but it was not good enough to get out for life, at least not for David. Magee was the golden goose, and for now David did not intend to slay him or his owner, Finnegan. Instead, David would wait for a tip that would ensure that he would never have to worry about money again. Then, he would leave Finnegan and Magee high and dry. And if Magee’s latest tip were to materialize, David would not have to wait long.
During their last meeting, Magee had mentioned that Rover wanted to branch out into the automobile industry and was looking to acquire an automobile parts manufacturer. So far, the choice had been narrowed to three companies: Stork Enterprises, Richardson Inc., and Valley Metals. The three companies were publicly traded, with their stock prices hovering in the ten- to fifteen-dollar range. David was certain that once the merger target was announced, the target’s stock price would appreciate significantly while Rover’s stock would decline, reflecting the costs associated with the acquisition, as was always the case with the acquiring company. The trick was to get in on the action before the news became common knowledge. David planned to load up on the stock options for the company that Rover would choose to acquire and go short on Rover’s stock. After he claimed his windfall, David would not need to concern himself with either Magee or Finnegan any further, but for now David had to ensure that he retained the trust of the two men. This in itself would not be that much of a burden, except for the fact that remaining in good graces with Cornelius Finnegan required David romancing Aileen Finnegan, and David was getting sick and tired of the arrangement.
