Shadow Account

by Stephen Frey

  But Lucas couldn’t yetprove that Bryson had received all those options as the result of a quid pro quo. He couldn’t prove Cheetah’s theory about Bryson agreeing to look the other way while the new accountants from Baker Mahaffey performed black magic on Global’s financial statements. If he could, Bryson had a problem. Then, so would the president.

  Lucas couldn’t prove the quid pro quo yet. But he had a pretty good idea of how and where to start.

  Another thing Lucas needed more information about were the specifics of what the president had planned for corporate America, Wall Street, and the accounting world. There were rumors that what was coming was catastrophic, but that might just be a bunch of bullshit. The speech the president had promised—detailing his plans to stop the pirating of 401Ks and IRAs and restore trust to the financial system—might be a huge disappointment.

  Make the move or not?Be a man or not? That was the real question. And he’d need to swallow a heavy dose of courage before he could answer in the affirmative.

  He grimaced and looked down. He might need a dose of that courage before he had dinner tonight, too. He was meeting Brenda at a nice place downtown. She had suggested it on the voice mail she’d left at his apartment the other day—he was allowed to check his machine once a day. He’d finally called her back this afternoon to accept—after starting to call at least six times, then hanging up.

  Lucas took a long drag from the cigarette. So many years and so much pain. He was proud of himself for calling her back. It was something he probably wouldn’t have done a couple of weeks ago.

  After placing that ten of diamonds in the mailbox, Lucas had met Sunday afternoon with one of Franklin Bennett’s lieutenants at the Vietnam Memorial, after having lunch with his friend from the Pentagon. But he hadn’t told the low-level West Winger anything important. All he’d communicated was that he needed to meet directly with Bennett.

  Now that meeting was scheduled. It would be tomorrow. Adrenaline surged through Lucas at the thought of confronting the president’s chief of staff, and he quickly brought the cigarette to his lips again. The plan could backfire so easily. Which was why he was standing in a grove of trees near the Lincoln Memorial at four in the morning. He had to gather as much data as possible before facing Bennett.

  In the dim light, Lucas spotted someone walking alongside the reflecting pond. Though he could make out no specific physical features, he recognized Harry Kaplan’s distinctive limp.

  Lucas moved out of the trees, careful to avoid the exposed roots snaking across the ground. “Harry,” he called softly as he broke the tree line and stepped onto the sidewalk beside the water.

  Kaplan squinted into the darkness. “Oh, hello,” he said, extending his arm as they came together.

  Lucas flicked the butt of his cigarette into the reflecting pond, and they shook hands. Harry Kaplan wasn’t just another speechwriter on the deputy chief’s staff. Not one of the people who opened a can from a closet and touched up a few words here and there for an early November VFW rally. Roscoe Burns used Kaplan to draft original speeches that mattered. State of the Union and direct-from-the-Oval-Office communications to the entire country. Like the one last Friday night introducing Project Trust. Because of that, Kaplan had inside information. Information that could help Lucas find his courage.

  “Thanks for coming, Harry.”

  Kaplan nodded. “How was your weekend? Did your friends from Illinois enjoy Washington?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your friends. The people that were coming to see you for the weekend.”

  “Oh,oh right .” Lucas suddenly remembered what he’d told Kaplan in Georgetown on Friday afternoon. “Yes, they had a great time. Thanks for asking.”

  “Sure.”

  “Look, I know this may seem a little strange,” Lucas said with a self-conscious grin. “Meeting out here at four in the morning and all.”

  “A little,” Kaplan agreed warily, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

  But he’d come anyway, and Lucas was pleased with himself for knowing that the other man would do so without asking questions—at least beforehand. Kaplan loved mystery, manifested in the way he played chess. He was constantly trying to use deception to mask his true attack. He just wasn’t very good at it.

  Kaplan was a wizard with words, but that was all he was used for at the West Wing. He often complained that if the deputy chief of staff would just give him more information and give it to him sooner, he’d be able to write even better speeches. But Roscoe Burns didn’t let him in on the most essential data until the very end. Which Kaplan resented. Another reason he’d agreed to meet under mysterious circumstances, Lucas knew. After two years in the West Wing, Kaplan wanted to feel he was more of an insider—as everyone in Washington wanted to feel. But he wasn’t getting that from the deputy chief.

  “It had to be this way,” Lucas began ominously.

  “Why?”

  Lucas glanced back at the grove where he’d waited for Kaplan. Dawn was breaking over the trees. He needed to make this quick. “You have to promise me you won’t say a word to anybody at home.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’m working on a project directly for Franklin Bennett,” Lucas explained. “It’s top secret.”

  Kaplan’s eyes widened. “Really? I had no idea you were close to Bennett. You never told me that.”

  “I couldn’t,” Lucas answered, using a self-important tone to enforce the false perception. “Franklin doesn’t want anyone to suspect something is going on. But he’s given me permission to talk to you, andonly you.” Which was a complete lie. Bennett would have a heart attack if he knew this meeting was taking place. But the hell with him.

  “Wow. What’s going on?”

  “The deputy chief might confront you at some point to see if you have been approached. If he does, you cannot admit that our meeting took place. You must keep our communication to yourself.”

  “I swear to you, Lucas. I won’t tell anybody.”

  Lucas suppressed a smile. It had been so easy to hook Kaplan. As easy as it was to beat him on the chessboard. “Here’s the deal. Bennett’s concerned that the deputy chief of staff, your boss, may not be giving him complete information on a certain issue. That Burns may be holding back on some very important data. Or worse, that Burns may be a loose cannon.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Kaplan agreed. “He’s cocky, and he hates Bennett. But what kind of information are we talking about? What’s the issue?”

  “Project Trust,” Lucas replied. “I need to know exactly what’s going into the president’s speech that will detail Project Trust. I need to know what the president is going to propose.”

  Kaplan didn’t answer right away.

  Lucas stared at the other man through the feeble light, trying to assess the hesitation. “Has the deputy chief conveyed these things to you yet?” That could be the problem. Kaplan might not know specifics yet. “Harry?”

  “He’s told me certain things,” Kaplan confirmed quietly.

  “Well?” Lucas prodded. “What?”

  “This is strange.”

  “What is?”

  “Roscoe Burns told me that all information concerning Project Trust is highly confidential. He told me I couldn’t say anything to anyone.” Kaplan paused. “Even to Franklin Bennett. He mentioned Bennett by name, and he’s never done that before, Lucas.”

  A shiver charged up Lucas’s spine. Roscoe Burns should never be tellinganyone on his staff to keepanything from Franklin Bennett. The directive had to have come directly from the president himself. Suddenly Cheetah’s speculation didn’t seem so crazy.

  “The president is really going to come down hard on these people,” Kaplan spoke up. “Reallyhard.”

  Lucas nodded. “Specifics, Harry. Come on.”

  “Next week, the president is going to announce sweeping regulatory changes for Wall Street,” Kaplan began. “And intense oversight of corporate boards and specific requi
rements for the way public accounting firms conduct audits,” he continued. “It’s armageddon for corporate America, and the president is completely committed to it. According to Burns, the president is willing to go nuclear on this. And you know what? He’s got the votes on the Hill to do it.”

  It was exactly as Cheetah had speculated. Or was it really speculation, Lucas wondered. Maybe Cheetah knew more than he was letting on. Maybe he and Bennett had planned this. Lucas had to be so careful. He was walking through a nest of vipers, and the key to taking advantage of the situation would be to anticipate the strikes, just as he did in chess. Or maybe he’d have to turn into a snake himself and become the smartest viper in the pit. “Tell me about the new Wall Street regulations.”

  Kaplan chuckled. “When the president gets through with all this, and I’m quoting Roscoe Burns now,” Kaplan said, interrupting himself, “investment bankers will be trading in their white collars for blue ones because they’ll be lucky to earn minimum wage.”

  “How’s he going to make that happen?”

  “The president is going to propose a pricing grid foreverything Wall Street does. From mergers and acquisition deals to initial public offerings to selling shares to your grandmother. It’s effectively going to chop fees the suspender-set can charge to a bare minimum. A government oversight board will be created to enforce the grid and will have the right to review any transaction it wants. If the oversight board finds that an investment bank charged more than what the grid allows, or if the institution can’t provide the information concerning a transaction the board has requested details on immediately—probably within twenty-four hours of the board’s request—heavy fines and sanctions will be levied. It’s going to be worse than a public utility commission, for Christ’s sake. Of course, the real reason to implement this whole thing is so that the government can look at everything Wall Street does. To make transparent an industry that’s operated in the shadows for a hundred years. In the process, the president will slash investment banking compensation to the bone. The days of kids just out of business school making millions are over, and it will be even worse for the top guys.” Kaplan smiled. “Personally, I love it. I’m tired of hearing about these big shots making ten to twenty million dollars a year to press a few palms and play eighteen holes three times a week.” He pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “But listen to this. This is the kicker. The president is going to propose raising the top marginal income tax rate for individuals toseventy-five percent .”

  Lucas caught his breath. “Seventy-five percent?”

  “Seventy-five percent,” Kaplan confirmed excitedly. “Most people don’t remember, but it was that high before. Back when Nixon was in office. But yeah—seventy-five percent. That rate will apply to all income over a million dollars. Plus he’s going to wipe out deductions for those people. No exceptions. At the same time, he’s going to lower rates on the middle and lower class. And like I said, he’s got the votes to do it.”

  Before Kaplan had finished the sentence, Lucas was off, sprinting down the sidewalk beside the reflecting pool.

  “Hey!” Kaplan called. “Where are you going?”

  Lucas didn’t answer. There wasn’t much time.

  17

  Conner sipped coffee from a porcelain mug as he reviewed the Pharmaco valuation analysis he’d printed out before leaving last night. The mug had been a gift from Liz a few weeks after they met. It hadELVIS on one side in bold black letters, surrounded by musical notes. The memory of her giving it to him was bittersweet. She had surprised him with it one night, and he’d wanted to go out afterward to eat at an Italian place around the corner. But she’d refused to leave the apartment with him—as usual, her need for secrecy dictating their relationship.

  He had an appointment with his contact at Merrill Lynch in a few hours to find out why Liz had quit the firm so suddenly. Maybe the answer would clear up the question of why she never wanted to be seen with him, too.

  It was six thirty—early even for Conner. But he wanted to be ready when Gavin got in from Long Island. If there were suddenly going to be tens of millions of dollars in the Phenix bonus pool at the end of the year because of the two huge transactions on the horizon, he wanted his share.

  He stretched, leaning back in the chair and reaching for the ceiling. His body was stiff. He’d stayed at Jackie’s apartment last night, holding her until she fell asleep. Stroking her hair until her breathing had finally turned slow and regular. She’d hugged him at the door two hours ago as he was leaving for Gavin’s apartment to shower and change, whispering how wonderful it had felt to be wrapped in his strong arms all night.

  A slight smile creased Conner’s face as he thought about it. It had been nice to hear that.

  He stretched one more time, then scanned the cluttered desk and credenza. Searching for his copy of the presentation he and Gavin had delivered to Pharmaco’s board of directors last Friday. He wanted to check a number they’d put in there, but he couldn’t remember where he’d put the damn thing. And he couldn’t pull up an electronic copy, because the office network was temporarily down, according to a message flashing on his screen. “I’ll never find it in here,” he muttered, standing up and heading for the doorway.

  He chuckled as he passed Paul Stone’s office. It was way past cluttered. It was a wreck—thanks to Rebecca. And it was going to be fun watching Stone’s reaction.

  Conner moved into Gavin’s office. The old man’s copy of the Pharmaco presentation ought to be in here. They’d come straight back to the office on Friday after the meeting in Princeton. And it seemed unlikely that he’d taken it to Long Island.

  Conner searched the desktop, then the credenza beside the desk, picking up a stack of magazines when he spotted something that looked like the presentation. As he picked up the magazines, a plain white envelope fluttered to the floor. Conner replaced the magazines on the credenza, then leaned down and retrieved the envelope, staring at the return address as he slowly straightened up. Pharmaco International. Princeton, New Jersey. Postmarked last Friday. The day he and Gavin had made the presentation.

  The envelope was open.

  He slid the letter out and began to read.

  Dear Gavin,

  Thank you for coming to Princeton today. The board wholeheartedly agrees with me that you made a strong case for hiring Phenix Capital to represent Pharmaco.

  Unfortunately, the board has come to the conclusion that we must hire Harper Manning to represent us instead. Harper Manning has

  the resources and the reputation the board believes Pharmaco requires for such a challenging and important assignment. It would be too great a risk for us as directors to hire your firm. In these times of activist shareholder rights groups, we would be second-guessed for

  the rest of our corporate careers if we hired you and something

  went wrong. I know that at some point Phenix Capital will be ready

  for this kind of assignment, but you aren’t there quite yet. At least, not for us.

  I hope you understand our position. Perhaps there will be other things you can work on for us. I’ll keep you in mind. Please feel free to call me to discuss this matter. Once again, I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do.

  All best.

  Kenneth (Kenny) R. Johnson

  Chief Executive Officer

  Pharmaco International

  The letter shook in Conner’s hand. There was no transaction—at least, not for Phenix. Pharmaco’s board of directors had selected Harper Manning to represent the company. The old man had lied. The huge file sitting in Conner’s desk chair the other night had been a forgery. Not sent over by Pharmaco. Probably put together by Gavin himself. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

  He slid the letter back inside the envelope and replaced it in one of the magazines, then glanced at the doorway. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the office when he’d arrived. He had to be the only one here.

  He started going through Gavin’s desk, beginning w
ith the top drawer. The hell with privacy. Gavin had investigated his life, and had him followed. Gavin had shown no respect for privacy, and lied about Pharmaco. It was time to find out what other secrets the old man had.

  In the bottom right-hand drawer was a small box. Conner knelt down and removed it, then placed it down on the carpeted floor. He lifted the lid off and peered inside. Envelopes. He picked up the top one—just the wordGav scrawled on the front of it—and pulled the folded page from inside. It was from Helen. Signed by her at the bottom.

  He leaned around the desk and glanced at the office doorway once more. Prying into the intimacies of a man’s marriage wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he needed information anywhere he could get it right now.

  Gav, what’s going on? Why are you away from me so much these

  days? Is it really business? Please tell me. I’m beginning to think it isn’t. And if it isn’t, I swear I’ll call the lawyer. I can’t have you do this to me. I’m not going to keep playing the fool. We’ve been married for thirty-four years. I love you so much. But I’m going crazy thinking that you’re—

  “What are you doing?”

  Conner’s eyes flashed to the doorway. Lynn Jacobs, Gavin’s assistant, stood there staring at him. “I was looking for Gavin’s copy of that presentation we made to Pharmaco last Friday,” he explained, sliding Helen’s note back inside the envelope, the envelope back inside the box and the box back inside the drawer. She couldn’t see what he was doing because the desk blocked her view. He closed the drawer, stood up, and grabbed the presentation off the credenza. “Here it is,” he said, holding it up as he headed toward her.

  As she stepped aside to allow him out of the office, he could see the suspicion all over her face.

  The woman pulled back the pastel yellow comforter and rose slowly from the king-sized bed, then moved out onto the balcony of the fifth-floor apartment overlooking the glistening turquoise waters off south Florida. She put her head back and closed her eyes as she leaned against the railing, enjoying the warm morning breeze coming in off the ocean. It blew gently over her body, causing her to shiver even in the heat as her long hair fluttered in the breeze, tickling her shoulders.