Shadow Account

by Stephen Frey

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  “Five minutes.”

  She didn’t bother answering. They could wait. It was time for her to start taking control over every facet of her life.

  Which was how the whole thing had started.

  7

  “Good afternoon. Morgan Sayers investment banking group. How may I direct your call?”

  The woman’s greeting was practiced and professional. “Is Todd Bishop there?”

  “Mr. Bishop is in Europe. May I put you into his voice mail?”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Not until next week. Let me trans—”

  “This is his brother-in-law,” Conner interrupted. He wasn’t going to wait until next week to start digging.

  There was a brief pause at the other end of the line.“Brother-in-law?”

  “Well, brother-in-law to be. He’s marrying my sister, which is why I’m calling,” Conner continued. “It’s very important that I talk to him as soon as possible. He and I need to make some arrangements.”

  “Todd is gettingmarried ? My God, I had no idea.”

  “I doubt he’s told anyone yet,” Conner said. “He and my sister are trying to keep it quiet.” Which wasn’t true. Not according to Liz, anyway. She’d told him there was a huge engagement party at a Connecticut country club one weekend last month. And that formal announcements had been mailed out back in June. “They aren’t planning to actually tie the knot for a year.”

  “Oh.”

  The woman at the other end of the line sounded confused. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t understand what?”

  “I . . . I don’t want to say anything wrong,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe Todd and Martha got back together before he left for Europe Sunday evening.”

  “Martha?”

  “I’m going to put you into Todd’s voice mail,” said the woman quickly. “I don’t think I better say any more.”

  “No, wait—” But she clicked off the line, and the voice mail greeting started.

  Conner listened to the voice briefly but ended the call without leaving a message.

  Martha. Maybe that was Todd’s pet name for Liz. He shook his head. Doubtful. Besides, the woman who’d answered the phone thought Todd and whoever Martha was were separated. Liz hadn’t mentioned anything about a breakup. She would have told him.

  Then again, maybe she wouldn’t.

  So there were two possibilities. Todd Bishop was the wrong man, or Liz had been lying about the engagement. If she’d been lying about the engagement, maybe she’d been lying about a lot of other things, too.

  Conner called Jackie Rivera’s office next.

  “This is Jackie Rivera.”

  “Jo, it’s Conner.”

  “Hey there,” she said, her voice coming to life when she realized who it was. “Isn’t this a surprise? Conner Ashby actually calling me back when he said he would.”

  He felt a quick twinge of guilt. He needed something from her. That was why he’d been so prompt.

  “Unless of course you’re calling because you need something.”

  “Uh . . . maybe.”

  “I hate you,” she said, laughing. “Well, I should. But I don’t.”

  In every pound of sarcasm there was at least an ounce of truth.One of Jackie’s favorite sayings. “Jo, I need to ask you some accounting questions.”

  Jackie had been an accountant for thirteen years, and she was as good as they came. Conner had met her through a business associate shortly after joining Phenix, and had retained her several times since to work on transactions with him. To make certain the big boys were doing their jobs. So often these days they weren’t.

  “Is it a couple of quick questions?” she wanted to know. “If it is, that’s fine. We can do it now. But if you’ve got a lot of material you want to cover, we’ll have to talk later. I’ve got a big client coming by in a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, this may take a while. It’s probably better if we do it in person.”

  “How about tomorrow at two?”

  “Great. See you then.” He was about to say good-bye when he realized he hadn’t asked the question. “Hey, how about my thought for the—?”

  “When you think you should keep going, stop,” she said. “And when you think you should stop, that’s when youreally need to keep going.”

  Conner chuckled. “Thanks, Jo. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  He slid the cell phone into his pocket.

  “Would you like me to try Mr. Davenport again?”

  Conner glanced up at the receptionist. He’d been waiting in the lobby outside Merrill Lynch’s high net worth individual group for twenty minutes. This group took special care of Merrill’s very wealthy clients. A half-million-dollar net worth was chump change to these people.

  “It’s no problem,” the young woman added.

  He was waiting to see Ted Davenport, the group’s senior executive. A man Gavin knew and had called this afternoon from the limousine while they were coming back into the city. That was one thing about Gavin: When he promised to help, he followed up right away.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  He watched the young woman place the call. She was pretty, which didn’t surprise him. Most high rollers, especially the international types, were men. And they wanted eye candy walking around when they visited the States to check on their money. The Merrill executives knew this, so the group behind the lobby door was probably staffed with a bevy of attractive young woman. Women like this receptionist. And like Liz. Probably Ginger, too, though he’d never met her. It was the same all over Wall Street. Savvy investment bankers understood the deal just as well as film producers and cola executives. Sex sold everything.

  “Mr. Davenport says he’ll be right out. He apologizes for keeping you waiting.”

  “Thanks.”

  Davenport didn’t care about making him wait. What he cared about was Gavin hearing about it. Despite being fired from Harper Manning, the old man still cast a long shadow on Wall Street. People expected him to make it back to the top. BothForbes andFortune had run articles in the last several months predicting that, despite Gavin’s advancing age, he had at least one more run left. InForbes ’s case, Gavin had made the cover, a copy of which he’d framed and placed prominently in the Phenix Capital reception area.

  The lobby door opened and a trim man wearing round, tortoiseshell glasses appeared. “Conner?”

  “Yes.” Conner stood up and they shook hands in front of the receptionist.

  “Ted Davenport. Nice to meet you. Come on back to my office.”

  Conner followed Davenport through the tastefully decorated floor to a spacious office overlooking New York harbor. As he’d anticipated, he’d seen several attractive young women along the way.

  “Please.” Davenport gestured at a comfortable-looking couch as he sat down in an easy chair.

  “Thanks.”

  “Would you care for anything to drink, Conner? How about an Evian?”

  “No, thanks.”

  People in this group didn’t actually manage money. They didn’t pick specific stocks or determine portfolio allocations. They simply collected cash and entertained. The better they entertained, the more they collected. So everything here focused on creature comforts and etiquette.

  “How’s my old friend Gavin Smith?” Davenport wanted to know.

  “Fine.”

  “You work for him, right? I think that’s what he told me when we spoke earlier.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the new firm? What’s the name again?”

  “Phenix Capital.”

  “That’s right, Phenix. How many people has Gavin hired so far? He always was one of those guys who needed an empire.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Thirty!Jesus. That’s a lot even for Gavin. At least, so quickly. You gu
ys must be cranking out the deals.”

  “We’re doing all right.”

  Phenix had closed just four transactions since Conner had joined—and none before that. A tiny number of deals for any mergers and acquisitions group. And none of them were more than $50 million in size, so the fees were small, too. Phenix’s revenue was less than a million dollars for the year.

  “Where are the offices?”

  “On Park Avenue between Fifty-second and Fifty-third.”

  Davenport whistled. “High-rent district. But then our business is all about image, right?” he asked.

  Not like he was really looking for an answer, Conner realized. So he didn’t give him one.

  “Thirty people and a Park Avenue address.” Davenport laughed. “That’s one hell of an overhead nut. Must be close to ten million a year, all-in.”

  It wasn’t quite that high, but it was close. And the continuing losses concerned Conner. Thirty employees and four deals didn’t add up to positive cash flow on anybody’s books, so he’d asked Gavin about the situation. Twice. Both times he’d gotten angry responses, so he hadn’t pushed. Besides, everything had to be fine if Gavin was doling out $25,000 raises and maintaining a Long Island mansion and a Manhattan penthouse.

  “How did you meet Gavin?” Davenport asked.

  “We both graduated from the University of Southern California.”

  Davenport chuckled. “A few years apart, I assume.”

  Conner smiled. “Quitea few. We were introduced at an alumni function two years ago,” he explained. “Before the UCLA game. At the time, I was with a West Coast investment banking firm, and he was just starting up Phenix. We hit it off right away. We talked for almost an hour before the game and had to hustle to the stadium to catch the opening kickoff. After that he’d stop by to see me when he was traveling out West, and take me to lunch when I was in New York. I was pretty impressed that a guy as big on Wall Street as Gavin would take an interest in me. Last summer, he offered me a job, and I accepted on the spot. The idea of working at a small firm directly with a man like Gavin was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. He was pretty nice about the whole thing, too. He even paid for me to move to New York.”

  “That’s Gavin. A good man.” Davenport shook his head sadly. “What happened to Helen last year was so terrible. She was a wonderful woman. I always enjoyed seeing her when she came in. Just a terrible shame,” he murmured. “She was an active woman, too. Goes to show you what can happen when you don’t wear a life jacket. The currents around Shelter Island are tricky. They’ll drag you to the bottom and never give your body back.”

  “She drowned?”

  Davenport looked up. “You didn’t know that?”

  Conner hesitated. “I knew she fell overboard. I just . . . I thought there was another boat involved. I thought she’d been hit and killed.”

  “Hit?”

  “Yeah, run down by a drunk kid in a speedboat.”

  Davenport looked out the window at the harbor. “My understanding was that Helen drowned and they never recovered her body.” He paused. “I never heard about another boat.”

  “I must have misunderstood.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong.” Davenport sat up in his chair. “Gavin said you wanted to ask me some questions.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, but I don’t have much time. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes.”

  “What can you tell me about a woman named Liz Shaw?”

  Davenport’s eyes flashed to Conner’s.

  “I believe she worked here,” Conner continued.

  “She did,” Davenport confirmed, “until two weeks ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “I fired her.” Davenport held up one hand. “Let me clarify that. Technically, she resigned. But I would have fired her if she hadn’t quit.”

  So Liz had kept at least one major event in her life a secret. She’d never said anything about being fired, and he would never have known, because she’d told him never to call her at work. “Did she come in late and leave early a lot?” That would make sense. It would fit with the trust fund story.

  “No, Liz was always on time. She didn’t know much about finance. But for her job that didn’t really matter.”

  “So,what happened ?”

  Davenport hesitated. “Why are you so interested?”

  “She applied for a job at Phenix and Gavin asked me to check her out,” Conner answered quickly. He’d been ready for the question.

  “Uh huh. Well, let’s just say I don’t think it would be wise to hire her.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t say any more. It would be against our policy.” Davenport stood up. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get to this meeting. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “Could I see Ginger?” Conner asked.

  “Ginger who?”

  “I don’t know her last name,” Conner admitted.

  “There’s no one in my group named Ginger.”

  “What?”

  Davenport shook his head. “Sorry.”

  No one named Ginger here. Liz fired two weeks ago. Todd Bishop not Liz’s fiancé.

  “Conner, I really do need to—”

  “One more question,” Conner interrupted, standing up, too.

  “Yes?”

  “How do you know Gavin?”

  Davenport opened the office door. “I used to take care of his considerable wealth,” he explained. “Gavin didn’t like his partners at Harper Manning knowing how much he had. So he kept it here instead.”

  “You said you ‘used to’ manage it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why don’t you manage it anymore?”

  “To keep money in my group, you have to maintain a minimum net worth. Gavin fell below that minimum some time ago.”

  Conner emerged from the Merrill Lynch building into the long shadows of early evening. Men and women were hurrying toward subways and buses. Manhattan’s rush hour was in full swing.

  As he crossed the street, Conner glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sound of a vehicle backfiring. Through the crowd he spotted a striking woman standing on the far corner, gazing in his direction. She wore reflective sunglasses beneath the brim of a dark blue baseball cap with a red insignia.

  Conner stared at the woman as commuters streamed past her. Sunlight blazed about her slim frame, making it difficult for him to see much. Just long blond hair flowing from beneath the cap down onto her shoulders. Then she faded into the crowd. As if into a mist.

  Conner headed back across the street toward her, just as the light changed and a pickup barreled into the intersection. He jumped back on the curb, barely avoiding the right front fender of the truck. The driver slammed on his brakes and shouted through the open passenger window at him. Conner ignored him and bolted to the back of the truck, then across the street toward a huddle of people milling around on the corner waiting for the light to change. Through the crowd he caught a glimpse of the baseball cap and the blond hair moving away. The woman looked so familiar. So damn familiar. He raced after her.

  Then a door opened and Conner veered right, directly at an elderly woman pulling a shopping cart. He tumbled to the sidewalk to avoid her, but was back up on his feet quickly. His eyes darted around, searching for the baseball cap and the blond hair, but they were gone. He sprinted ahead. She couldn’t have gone far.

  The woman lay on the backseat of a taxi, chest heaving, staring up into the brown eyes of the driver. He was looking down at her through the Plexiglas as if she were insane. She’d hurled open the cab’s door without any warning, then tumbled inside and slammed the door shut, flattening herself on the seat.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, one hand holding a steaming cup of coffee, the other on the steering wheel.

  “This weirdo was stalking me.” Her heart was racing—and she loved it. “I’m just lucky you were here.” It had gone so perfectly. Conner had seen her and chase
d her, but she’d gotten away. They would be very satisfied when she reported back to them. “You’re my savior.”

  “What I am is off duty,” the man replied angrily. “Get out of my cab.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow and slowly removed the baseball cap and sunglasses. Then ran her fingers seductively through her long blond hair. “Really? I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping you would help me.”

  The cabdriver’s irritation faded as he got a better look at her. “Well, I guess I could take one more fare this evening. Where are you going?”

  The elevator doors opened onto the seventh floor, and Conner headed quickly down the hall toward his apartment. Gavin had warned him in the limousine not to come back here. That it could be very dangerous. That whoever had broken in might be watching, hoping he’d show up. Gavin was probably right, too. It probably was dangerous. But he had to search the apartment one more time for anything that might help him figure out what had happened to Liz.

  As he hurried along the corridor, Conner spotted a few scuffs on the tiles in front of several doors. And a couple of black marks on the walls. The guy next door had moved out recently and probably hadn’t put down mats like he was supposed to. But that wasn’t surprising. For the Upper East Side it was a cheap building, and the place wasn’t maintained very well. So people didn’t care if they damaged things here.

  He noticed that the bulb above his door was burned out, and he had to squint as he slid the key in the lock. He shook his head as he moved into the apartment and locked the door behind him. If he and Gavin won the Pharmaco deal tomorrow, he was going to move into a better building. It was time.

  The place was in perfect order. Like it had been when he’d left for Penn Station at one o’clock this morning. The bookcase was back against the wall—his Phenix binders replaced on the shelves—and the television was intact. His clothes were back in the dresser drawers, and the computer was on his desk. He glanced toward the corner of the bedroom. And no sign of Liz’s body.

  Over lunch Gavin had asked a question that now haunted him: Was he absolutely certain Liz was dead? Conner knelt down beside the spot where Liz’s body had been and ran his fingers slowly across the smooth wooden floor. No remnants of blood. He leaned down and peered carefully at the tiny cracks between the boards, searching for residue. Nothing. He took a deep breath. He thought he was certain, but now—