Shadow Account

by Stephen Frey

  Stone shook his head. “I can’t say any more right now. Just be careful.”

  For the last three hours Conner had been going through the Pharmaco file: financial statements, SEC documents, and news articles about the company. Now he was ready to get to the valuation. With a couple of quick taps on the keyboard, he called up a spreadsheet. With it, he could project Pharmaco’s earnings and cash flow, then discount the cash flows back to the present to see what the company was worth. To see if the European company was offering a fair price, or trying to steal it.

  Conner heard the Phenix front door open and close, and he glanced up from the computer. He’d assumed he was the only person left in the office. Someone must have comein . He leaned forward in the chair, straining to hear anything.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crash followed by several bangs. He rose quickly from the seat and raced to the hallway, hesitating at the door. He heard a female voice scream; then there was the sound of smashing glass. The commotion was coming from Paul Stone’s office, three doors down. He sprinted the short distance to Stone’s door and peered inside. Rebecca was about to hurl a file against the wall.

  “Hey!” Conner charged into the office as papers flew everywhere. “What are you doing?”

  Rebecca was sobbing, tears streaming down her face. She ignored him and reached for a banker’s lamp on Stone’s desk.

  Conner grabbed her wrist before she could get it. “What’s the problem?” he demanded.

  “Let me go!” she shouted, twisting to break free.

  But Conner held on tightly until she finally stopped struggling.

  “Please let me go,” she begged, still sobbing.

  “Not until you stop the wrecking ball imitation. If you break anything else, I’ll call the cops. Promise me you’ll calm down.”

  “Okay, okay,” she murmured.

  “Good. Now I’m going to let go. You better not do anything,” he warned, releasing her arms.

  Her shoulders sagged and she stared down at the floor.

  “What’s the matter?” Conner asked again.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, her lips quivering.

  “Believe what?”

  “I can’t believe Paul could do this to me.”

  “Dowhat ?”

  Rebecca looked up slowly, her face streaked black by mascara. “I thought he loved me. I’m so stupid,” she muttered.

  “What happened!”

  “He told me he was going to leave his wife. He swore he would. He said he loved me.”

  Conner grimaced. This was something he didn’t want to get in the middle of. Somehow Rebecca had figured out what the real deal was. That she was nothing more than a physical distraction. “Yeah, well—”

  “I’m so stupid,” she repeated.

  “No, you aren’t,” Conner said compassionately, pushing several strands of hair from her face. Stone was an arrogant prick, but he could turn on the charm when he wanted to. Conner had seen him in action. A snake of a salesman who could make even sophisticated business types believe he liked them. Believe they would all be friends whether there was a transaction or not, when all he really wanted was their money. If Stone could do that to people who were already jaded, it was no surprise he could reel in a young, naive woman like Rebecca. “You have to look hard to see the real Paul Stone.”

  “But I never thought he’d cheat on me, too.”

  Conner looked up. “What do you mean?”

  Rebecca wiped her face. “I just saw him having dinner with some blonde. And I know it wasn’t his wife, because she was in here the other day. So he’s cheating on Mandy with me, and onme with some other woman!” she screamed, her emotions spiraling out of control again. She reached for the lamp.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Conner caught her wrist before she could do any damage. “A blonde?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, seething. “And he told me he didn’t even like blondes.”

  It made no sense for Stone to cheat with a woman other than Rebecca. Sooner or later Gavin would find out. Then there’d be hell to pay because the whole reason Gavin had arranged Rebecca for Paul was so he could carry on an affair without Mandy finding out. By going outside the firm, he’d be risking discovery, and Gavin would go ballistic, maybe even fire him.

  “What did this woman look like?” Conner asked.

  “I don’t remember. I was so damned mad when I saw them.”

  “Did she havelong blond hair?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was she tall or short?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must have seen,” he pushed.

  “They were sitting down at a table. I couldn’t tell.” She glanced angrily at his hands, which were still gripping her wrist tightly. “You’re hurting me.”

  Conner released his grip. “Sorry.” A thought had flashed through his mind. Something that, if he could prove, would take everything that was happening to a new, almost unbelievable level. “Is there anything you can tell me about the woman? Any distinctive feature?”

  Rebecca thought for a moment. “Not really. She was blond and kind of pretty. But not as pretty as me.”

  Then it hit him. The answer to that frustrating feeling that had been gnawing at him since Wednesday night. The feeling that he was missing something that should have been obvious.

  “All right,” he said quietly. “Go home and get some sleep. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for what you saw.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said angrily. “You should have seen how close they were. Leaning toward each other while they were talking. He was . . . He was stroking her hand.”

  “Paul’s told me how much he cares about you, Rebecca,” Conner said.

  “He has?” she asked meekly.

  “Several times. And to tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised. It’s pretty obvious to everyone in the office how he feels about you. I mean, he’s a changed man since you showed up.” Conner smiled sadly. “It’s not like anyone blames him either. For wanting to be with you, I mean. His wife is such a . . .”

  “A bitch!” Rebecca finished the sentence.

  “Well—”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Conner snapped his fingers. This would convince Rebecca. “You know what I just remembered?”

  “What?”

  “Paul told me he was having dinner tonight with the granddaughter of a man we’ve been working with for quite some time. The old guy owns a big sports apparel company in California or something. Paul’s been trying to convince him to sell the company because his family wants cash. The granddaughter has been representing the rest of the family in the whole thing. Paul was meeting with her tonight to update her. What you saw was business. Nothing more.”

  Rebecca suddenly looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. “Really?”

  “Yup. Paul and I talked about it last week. It slipped my mind.”

  She put her hands on her chest. “That makes me feel a little better.”

  Conner nodded, spotting an AT&T Wireless bill lying on top of the in-box on the corner of Stone’s desk. “You should get going,” he urged. “Call a car service to take you home.”

  “Are you sure that’s all right?” she asked timidly. “I live all the way out on Staten Island. It’s an expensive ride.”

  “No problem,” Conner assured her. “You shouldn’t be riding the ferry this late at night. Go call a car. And get a receipt. I’ll sign it. Okay?”

  “Thank you very much, Conner.” She glanced around the office, surveying the damage. “What should I do about this?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. You go call that car.”

  When she was gone, Conner moved to Stone’s desk, picked up the cell phone bill, and slipped it in his pocket.

  “A man named Conner Ashby was in Washington today.”

  “Should that mean anything to me?”

  “Ashby met with someone named Vict
or Hammond at the accounting firm of Baker Mahaffey who then sent him out to see Glen Frolling. Frolling is the treasurer of Global Components.”

  “How do you know he saw Frolling?”

  “That’s how he signed the visitor register. To see Frolling. We checked the register an hour ago. You should know that Frolling is the corporate secretary of Global Components. The man who keeps minutes of the board meetings.”

  “So he would be in a position to know.”

  “Yes.”

  Cheetah paused. “Do you think he told Ashby anything?”

  “Frolling is no idiot. He knows where his bread is buttered. But this guy Ashby turns out to be pretty resourceful. Frolling might not have had to say anything.”

  Cheetah looked out the window into the darkness. “What is Ashby’s interest in Global Components?”

  “I can’t be specific. But I will tell you that it’s ultimately the same as yours. Even though he doesn’t know it yet.”

  . . .

  “Hello, Eddie.”

  “Hey, Mista Ashby.” The doorman glanced up from the sports section of hisNew York Post .

  “Thanks for sticking around.” Eddie’s shift had finished at midnight and it was almost one o’clock.

  “What do you need?” Eddie wanted to know.

  Conner glanced at the on-duty doorman, then gestured for Eddie to follow him to a spot in the lobby where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Are there any apartments on the seventh floor, my floor, that are rented but not occupied?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An apartment that’s leased, but you never see the tenant?”

  Eddie scratched his head. “Now that you mention it, I can think of one place. I’ve never seen anybody from 7G.”

  7G was a few doors down from Conner’s. One of the doors where the fresh scuff marks on the floor and walls were. Scuff marks he’d noticed the day he’d fought with the intruder.

  “I just figured it was coincidence,” the doorman continued. “Or that the people in that apartment were on a schedule that didn’t square with mine. I’ve been doing the four-to-midnight shift for six months. They just rented 7G in June. At least, that’s what the sheet says.”

  “The sheet?”

  “Yeah, it’s a list we keep at the front desk that lets us know about new tenants. This is a big building. There’s lots of people moving in and out all the time. Without the sheet we’d never be able to keep track of everybody.”

  Conner glanced warily at the on-duty doorman. “Do you guys have master keys?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie confirmed hesitantly.

  Almost suspiciously, Conner could tell. “Can we go up and take a look inside 7G?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Huh?”

  “I want to take a look at that apartment.”

  “No way. I could get fired for that, Mista Ashby.”

  “No one will ever know.”

  “The tenants in the apartment will know.”

  “You just said yourself you’ve never seen them. And that it’s been three months since the place was rented. Don’t you think you would have seen someone by now?”

  Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. But like I also said, that might be coincidence.”

  “No,” Conner said confidently. “The place is empty.”

  “Then why do you want to look around?”

  “I’ve got my reasons, Eddie. Please.”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  Conner checked over his shoulder, making certain there wasn’t anyone outside the front door peering in through the glass. He’d been careful coming out of the Phenix building, scanning up and down Park Avenue several times before climbing in the cab.

  “Tell you what,” Conner said, “why don’t you ask the guy who’s on duty now if he’s ever seen anyone from 7G. If he hasn’t, then you’ll know it’s clear and we can check it out.”

  “I still don’t want to—”

  “I can get you and your dad those Yankee tickets.” Gavin could get tickets to any major event in New York City with twenty-four hours’ notice. And not for nosebleed seats. He got the best in the house. He was that connected. “The ones I got for you in the spring.”

  Eddie’s eyes widened. “Right behind the dugout?”

  “Yup. I might even be able to get you into the clubhouse after the game.”

  The opportunity to rub elbows with the Yankees was too much for Eddie. “Let me talk to Charles,” he said quickly, nodding at the other doorman.

  “Okay.”

  “Go wait by the elevators,” Eddie ordered, sauntering toward the other man. A few moments later he was back with a set of keys. “All right, let’s go. Charles says he’s never laid eyes on anybody in 7G either. He says it’s weird.”

  The elevator rose quickly to seven. The doors parted, and they headed down the hallway, Eddie in the lead. When he reached 7G, he hesitated, glancing around, then knocked several times. When no one answered, Eddie slid the master key into the lock and pushed.

  “Jesus,” Conner whispered, flipping on the lights.

  “Damn,” Eddie murmured.

  It was exactly as Conner had suspected. What had hit him as he’d stared into Rebecca’s eyes. There was nothing in 7G but the broken remains of his original furniture. Whoever was responsible for what had happened in his apartment last Wednesday night had used 7G as a staging area. A place to keep the identical furniture that would be swapped out with the smashed articles in his apartment—and a place to store the broken goods until they could be removed without drawing any attention.

  Conner spotted a bucket in one corner of the living room. A long mop handle rose from it, propped against the bare wall. He hustled across the parquet floor, freezing when he reached the corner. Paralyzed as he stared down at the liquid. It was bloodred.

  Jackie Rivera handed the taxi driver a twenty-dollar bill, and he took off without even asking if she wanted change. When the taillights disappeared around the corner, she glanced up and down the deserted, tree-lined street, then up at the four-story West Side brownstone. It was two o’clock in the morning.

  A dog barked somewhere in the distance and she hurried toward the basement entrance. It was beneath the steps leading up to the brownstone’s main entrance on the second floor. She lived in the garden apartment, behind the thick black bars of a protective outer door.

  She moaned as she moved carefully down the narrow slate path beside the front steps. The bulb outside the protective door was out and it was pitch black. She rooted through her purse, finally finding her keys. Glancing back over her shoulder when she heard something.

  She tried to guide what she thought was the right key into the lock, but it wasn’t going in. Her hands shook as she tried the next one, but now she couldn’t find the keyhole.

  Jackie screamed as a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, dropping her purse as she turned to fight the attacker.

  “Jo, it’s me.”

  She brought her hands to her mouth, then threw her arms around Conner. “You scared me to death!”

  “Sorry. I tried to call you a couple of times today, but I couldn’t get through.”

  “I’ve been with my sister, and I turned my cell phone off,” she explained, trying to calm down. Still shaking badly.

  “How is she?”

  Jackie was silent.

  “Jo?”

  “Not good,” she said, her eyes tearing up. “Oh, Conner, it’s just . . . It’s just so hard.”

  Conner pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Jo. I’m so sorry.”

  16

  It was early Tuesday morning. So early, the sun’s rays hadn’t begun to filter down through the humidity that had drifted back over the mid Atlantic yesterday afternoon, enveloping Washington in a gray haze. But they soon would, and he needed to be long gone before they shed any real light on the matter.

  Lucas stood in a grove of trees near the Lincoln Memorial, gazing at the faint images of stars rippling in the reflecting pool—a man
-made pond that stretched out several hundred yards in front of the steps leading up to the massive statue of the sixteenth president sitting in his great chair. Lucas lifted a cigarette slowly to his lips and inhaled deeply. He smoked only when he was under pressure. It had been that way ever since the night at Northwestern when Brenda had left him. The night she’d figured out how much better she could do. But tobacco did the trick. Moments ago, his fingers had been shaking so hard, he’d barely been able to light the match. Now they were dead calm. He leaned around a tree and peered into the gloom, but there was still no sign.

  He put his head back and exhaled, blowing smoke up into the low-hanging branches. Make the move or not? That question had dogged him for the last forty-eight hours like a far-off drumbeat, gradually growing louder and louder. The problem was that he didn’t have all the information.

  He had a lot of it. He knew for certain that Alan Bryson had received 550,000 in-the-money options from Global Components. While he was a member of the company’s board of directors—specifically, chairman of the audit committee. Fifty thousand directly to him and five hundred thousand to him via the AB Trust. Cheetah had confirmed through forensic accounting and several well-placed calls to friends in financial institutions around the world that Bryson ultimately controlled the trust. Those options were now worth over $35 million. But the real issue was that they had been worth almost $20 millionthe day Bryson had received them . Lucas also knew that Bryson had received the options the same year Global Components had hired a new auditor—Baker Mahaffey—which Cheetah believed was a huge red flag. And Bryson had motive for his fraud: paying off a huge sexual harassment suit.

  Lucas had determined that Alan Bryson was not as close with the Beltway Boys as they were with each other. Bryson wasn’t actually as much of an insider as the press portrayed. Bryson was close to the president, but not to the jewels. In fact, Franklin Bennett, with his close connections to Sheldon Gray and Walter Deagan, was actually more of a Beltway Boy than Bryson. Lucas had learned this Sunday from a woman he knew at the Pentagon. Sometimes it was an advantage to seem meek.

  Finally, Lucas knew that the president had very publicly made Alan Bryson his second in command on Project Trust. And told the nation that he was a man of unquestionable character in a speech only a few nights ago.