Looking stoic yet relieved, Quinn agreed to the meeting and then shook hands with Tate and Kamin before leaving for his room.
As Quinn walked away, Tate leaned over to Kamin and whispered, “I think events one and two of our plan can be considered a success.”
They exchanged roguish smiles.
Several hours later, alone in the private smoking lounge of the Banff Springs Hotel, with its dark cherrywood walls, plush Persian rugs, and soft leather sofas, Wayland Tate and Jules Kamin lit nine-inch Havanas and raised their Dirty Martinis to the initial success of their stock-manipulation plan. After a beautiful day of skiing with Andrea Vargas, Quinn had quietly acquiesced, signing all of the necessary paperwork to collateralize his Musselman stock options. The dinner that followed had been extremely pleasant, and Vargas later reported that she and Quinn shared several goodnight kisses before bedtime. Everything was going as planned. David Quinn had now been locked into the secret partnership until he died.
As the buzz from their martini’s and cigars grew, Kamin turned to Tate with a question. “Are you anticipating any last minute reversals from Quinn?”
“No,” Tate said. “We just need to make sure there are no hitches in the ongoing execution.”
“He’s feeling trapped and he doesn’t like it,” Kamin persisted.
“Of course he doesn’t like it. He’s addicted to running his own show. But what choice does he have?”
“Like I said before, we don’t want another Zollinger on our hands.”
“Where’s all this worry coming from? You keep asking me the same damn question,” Tate said without hiding his annoyance. Then he sucked on his cigar while considering Kamin’s enduring fear. Kamin had to be obsessing over more than the failed acquisition of Fielder & Company, Tate thought. Was it the neutralization of Charles Fielder? Whatever it was, Tate didn’t like it.
“I don’t know, Wayland,” Kamin said, exposing his feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability. “Maybe it’s the rising body count.”
“There’s huge risk in what we’ve decided to do, Jules,” Tate said. “Charles’ disclosure plan used to be our immunity blanket, but now it’s gone. This is a whole new ball game with higher stakes and even greater rewards, which means whenever things go bad, our damage control must be swift and merciless. Call it our new competitive advantage.”
Kamin smiled as Tate sucked heavily on his cigar and then blew perfect smoke rings into the air. They both laughed.
“You really think we’re moving too fast with Quinn?” Tate asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I’d feel more comfortable if he were sleeping with Vargas,” Jules said.
Tate sat back, his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa. With the confident air of a pimp fully in control, he said, “I didn’t believe I would ever say this, but it’s just a matter of time. When the Hardware City takeover is averted and Musselman stock starts climbing again, Quinn will be ready to celebrate. Mark my word, that’s when he’ll sleep with Andrea Vargas. I guarantee it.”
“I hope you’re right, Wayland,” Kamin said, smiling cagily.
“Would you like to wager on it?” Tate asked, displaying a toothy grin. “Let’s say your share of the Musselman take?”
Kamin immediately shook his head, “No thanks.”
They both laughed long and loud before lighting up another Havana and ordering more Martinis.
When they finally decided to call it a night, Tate was satisfied that Kamin, while not entirely happy with recent decisions and events, would get over it. What choice did he have? Tate was in control and as usual he would do whatever it took to stay there.
21
Wilson – Cambridge, MA
At four o’clock in the afternoon, Yankee pot roast and stuffed Cornish hen with all the trimmings were spread out on the thirty-foot dining table. His mother and Anita had outdone themselves, Wilson thought. Both of them were great cooks and they loved entertaining. The delicious meal was accompanied by urbane small talk and, of course, a lively discussion about stopping any further investigation and getting on with their lives. It felt like a “B” movie without the canned laughter, but he remained confident that the mock discussion would accomplish its purpose for long enough to fortify their protection. Even if the surveillance crowd didn’t believe everything, they would certainly conclude that Wilson, his family, and their friends were sufficiently scared to back off.
After dinner, Carter, Rachel, Emily, and Wilson removed themselves to the belfry library. Everyone else moved to the family room to listen to the string quartet that Wilson had arranged, rehearsing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3. Once in the library, the four of them sat down at the Queen Anne table while Wilson made sure both nullifiers were turned on. Then, looking at Carter and Rachel, Wilson recounted what he’d found in his father’s office at Fielder & Company.
Rachel was as shocked and saddened as he had been when she found out about their great-grandfather’s murder. Wilson attempted to console her, but without much success. She remained morose throughout the rest of the meeting.
Carter asked a few questions and then shared his own revelation.
“There are a dozen primary suspects. One or more of them must have orchestrated everything,” he began.
Wilson looked at Emily who was studying Carter. “How did you narrow it down?” Wilson asked. A dozen primary suspects…
“To tell you the truth, it was quite simple. I merely identified the clients with the most entrenched patterns of questionable practices. There are twelve of them who surpass the others by a substantial margin.”
There it was, again, that same elusive enigma and cool resolve that Wilson loved and hated about his father. He glanced at Emily again. How many secrets do Carter and my father share?
“Did you know that my great-grandfather was murdered?” Wilson asked.
“Yes. I think it’s what started your father down this path.”
Wilson’s anger was rising again. “My father told my mother that one of his partners was being wined and dined by descendants of the people who killed my great-grandfather. Have you found anything that …”
Carter cut him off. “Four of the twelve primary suspects have restructured their corporate debt or acquired new equity funding through a consortium of European and Asian investment banks.”
Wilson stared at Carter, reminding himself once again to calm down. Carter would only share what he wanted and only on his terms.
“I’m not surprised,” Wilson said.
“From the inception of recorded history,” Carter said with a confident professorial air, “Certain malcontents, rebels, zealots, visionaries, and others of similar intent have entered into secret orders with blood oaths to keep their power-mongering and nefarious misdeeds hidden from the rest of the world. Subscribing to the maxim of ‘control or be controlled’ they formed secret pacts to minimize risk and maximize success. It is the inexorable nature of some men and women to form secret alliances for the purpose of gaining power, wealth, and advantage through whatever means available. As much as I’m loath to admit it, I cannot deny the overwhelming evidence that Charles created such a secret society among clients of Fielder & Company.”
Wilson remained silent, keeping his composure, not for the sake of appearance but concentration. He glanced over at Emily while squeezing her hand.
Carter continued, “As I pieced together my own experiences with Charles and the salient elements of Fielder & Company’s history, it became clear that his business practices were designed to manipulate stock market prices through sophisticated disinformation and shrewd business changes, thereby creating circumstances advantageous to himself and his clients. Once clients became entrenched in Fielder & Company’s methods, which on the surface appeared to be completely legal, they apparently qualified themselves to become members of an exclusive insiders club, where CEOs from the world’s largest corporations could amass unimaginable wealth by trading on e
ach other’s company secrets. When Davis Zollinger was murdered for what I presume was a desire or threat to leave the club, it must have devastated Charles. He immediately placed a moratorium on corporate restructuring engagements at Fielder & Company and entered into merger talks with KaneWeller. But I suspect he had already lost control of the clandestine partnership and was attempting to regain it when he was shot.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Wilson felt a cold numbness spread from the back of his head. Carter’s bold conclusions were more emotionally jarring than he’d anticipated. If Carter was right, and Fielder & Company was an elaborate front for some sort of secret network of corrupt CEOs, then the Zollinger sisters were right. They really had uncovered a secret society that was getting away with conspiracy, fraud, and murder.
Carter saw the growing distress on Wilson’s face. When he spoke again his tone was quieter and more personal.
“When your father and I were in school together, we vowed to change the world just like the rest of our boomer generation. But Fielder & Company’s history suggests an activity level well beyond what I imagined possible from Charles. I’m as astonished and troubled by my findings as you are.”
“Who were his closest confidants in the partnership?” Wilson asked, pushing his chair back from the table and feeling suddenly protective and defensive about his father.
“No way to know for certain,” Carter answered. “I found nothing that openly revealed the agendas or inner workings of Fielder & Company’s secretive meetings with client CEOs. Every year there were dozens of outings with groups of CEOs at exclusive resorts, but no records. The only thing I was able to document was the pattern of manipulation and disinformation among Fielder & Company clients. It’s all in the client correspondence, especially emails. Sudden board changes, management reorganizations, carefully timed spinouts, merger and acquisition rumors, surprise divestitures, frequent IPOs, disarmingly candid press releases, shareholder scare tactics, threatened lawsuits, leaked memos about new products and services, anonymous chat-room revelations, innuendoes about…”
Wilson interrupted. “Daniel claimed everything Fielder & Company recommended to its clients was legally defensible.”
“Everything I just mentioned can be made to fit the technical requirements of a legal defense. I suspect it’s how the partnership lured its new members,” Carter said.
“How did you discover all of this so quickly? I’ve been through my father’s files…”
Now it was Carter’s turn to interrupt. “Email logs. As a historian you learn to avoid the most obvious and plentiful information sources in favor of the obscure and hidden ones. They tend to be less manufactured and manipulated. Email logs are easily retrieved, scanned, and queried, if you know how to do it.”
“What else, Carter?” Wilson asked, his head full of questions and suspicions about Carter. It was time for confrontation. “You could not have come to these conclusions just from email logs. What else do you know about my father that you haven’t told us?”
Carter hesitated a moment. “This is the difficult part. Fielder & Company’s more questionable activities were handled through an elaborate shadow network. Charles hinted at it from time to time, but I never understood it until now, thanks to his assistant Anne Cartwright. Either unwittingly or deliberately, she showed me enough pieces to put the puzzle together,” he said, pausing to open one of the manila folders lying in front of him. “A network of highly discreet purveyors provided client CEOs with whatever they wanted—competitor espionage, eavesdropping, lobbying schemes, inside tracks on government contracts, political clout, hacking into computer systems, access to restricted databases, off-shore tax shelters, private investment deals available only to insiders, confidential corporate information, mega-stakes gambling, designer drugs, fashion models and actresses, exotic getaways, personalized security, counter surveillance, legal protection, even contract assassins.”
The room was deathly silent.
“I think that’s why Charles was seeking my help,” Carter continued. “He’d created this ultimate insider’s club with the intent to one day expose it, showing the world just how easy it is to manipulate stock exchanges, live above the law, and exploit the masses. My guess is he was trying to finish the job his grandfather Harry Wilson Fielder, Congressman Louis T. McFadden, and William Tate Boyles had started decades earlier.”
“What about the KaneWeller merger. Won’t that expose them?” Rachel asked as she squirmed in her chair, looking terrified.
“By my estimate, less than half of Fielder & Company’s client CEOs are members of the partnership; it’s safe to assume that they’ll distance themselves from the new merger as soon as they can, without raising any eyebrows. Within a year or so, I suspect the partnership will be operating completely on its own through new organizations. The murders have made it impossible for them to dissolve the secret society, which leaves them only one course of action—protect, defend, and expand. The bigger they get, the less vulnerable they become,” Carter said, looking at Wilson.
Wilson was deep in thought. The puzzle pieces were finally solidifying into a complete picture. He knew what needed to be done. It was time to act. “We have to stop them,” Wilson said resolutely.
“My sentiments, precisely,” Carter said. “Otherwise, we’ll never be rid of them. They will keep us under surveillance indefinitely, while continuing to exploit and manipulate everything that is near and dear to all of us, right under our noses,” Carter said.
“So what are we supposed to do?” Rachel blurted.
“Keep them believing that we are moving on with our lives. Meanwhile, we need to carefully and discreetly turn everything we have over to the FBI. Let our government do what we pay them to do,” Carter said, casting a probing look at Wilson. “We have neither the resources nor the expertise to expose them.”
Wilson considered Carter for several moments before shaking his head. Carter was baiting him and he knew it.
“I disagree. We’re the only ones who can expose them. And thanks to my father, we do have the resources,” Wilson was firm; he glanced over at Emily, whose eyebrows were raised in astonishment.
“Carter’s right,” Rachel pleaded. “We should turn everything over to the authorities. You have to let it go, Wilson.”
Emily decided to step in. Taking Wilson’s arm, she gently pulled him toward her.
“We need a break,” she said.
Wilson didn’t put up any resistance, suggesting that everyone take a fifteen-minute. Then he steered Emily toward the guest bedroom.
“You can’t be serious,” Emily said, as soon as they were alone. “We have no choice but to turn this over to the FBI. Where are you coming from? You can’t believe…”
But Wilson cut her off mid-sentence. Although sympathetic toward Emily’s stance, he was resolved as to the course of action he needed to take.
“I know it seems like I’m overreacting, but everything we’ve been talking about just started getting clearer. Much clearer. The CEOs in this partnership are too wealthy, too powerful, and too essential to the American economy for the FBI to expose them. We’d be better off going to The Wall Street Journal or The New York Times.”
“Why do you want to put our lives in further danger?” Emily said, her brow deeply furrowed. “You really think that’s what your father wanted?”
“Of course not,” Wilson said with a slight edge to his voice.
“Then why won’t you accept Carter’s advice and leave it to the FBI,” Emily retorted, no longer able to keep the edge out of her voice.
“We can’t turn this over to the bureaucracy. Not yet.”
“Not everyone who works for the government is a puppet or incompetent,” Emily insisted.
“Em, it’s not a question of competence or expertise or even resources,” Wilson replied, his tone softer now.
“What is it then?” Emily demanded, maintaining her ire.
“I don’t trust them,” Wilson explained
. “Exposing this sort of calculated scheming, by hundreds of CEOs from the world’s largest corporations, is asking too much of them. The international ramifications and global economic entanglements are too great.”
Emily’s eyes had grown hard and angry.
But Wilson could see the fear behind the anger. He knew this was what scared her about him. When he became willful and—in her estimation—obstinate and isolated, he was no different than the CEOs he was hired to transform. But he couldn’t ignore the sense of rightness he felt about his new resolve.
“Why, all of a sudden, do you feel so committed to this course of action?” Emily asked, her voice growing calmer.
“Let’s face it, if Carter is right about this insider’s club of CEOs, a full-blown investigation with the intent to expose everything would constitute a threat to national security too great for any government to justify, especially a self-righteous superpower like the United States. We’ve been preaching market capitalism and the rule of law to the entire world since World War II. There would be immediate global outrage, a wave of international reprisals against the U.S., and then economic chaos throughout the world,” Wilson said, seized by a rush of righteous indignation. “If we give this to the FBI now, they’ll have no choice but to make some arrests, deliver a few indictments, and then cover it up in the name of national security and global stability. You know that’s what would happen.”
Emily wrapped her arms around Wilson. “Let’s finish this meeting with Carter, then we can talk some more.”
When they reconvened in the belfry library, Carter was the first to speak.
“How long have you been thinking this way, Wilson?”
“Less than an hour,” he said, glancing at Emily. Then he returned his focus to Carter. “I’ve been putting the pieces of this puzzle together since my father was shot. Corruption expands until it’s exposed. Completely exposed. Even if the FBI, the SEC, the Justice Department, the NSA, or any other government agency actually succeeded in disbanding Fielder & Company’s secret network, none of them would ever acknowledge the full extent to which the system of capitalism has broken down. And without full acknowledgement, we will never be able to correct things.”
The Insiders Page 14
