As Kohl reviewed the documents, Wiseman’s clear green eyes studied Quinn’s face. “Are you ready to have your life examined with a fine-tooth comb?”
“If that’s what it takes to make things right—yes, I am,” Quinn said, feeling certain once more about his decision to bring in the FBI.
Kohl looked up from the documents at Wiseman. “I don’t think immunity will be a problem.”
“When will you know for sure?” Quinn asked, feeling suddenly apprehensive.
It was Wiseman who answered. “We’ll get back to you within twenty-four hours,” he said. “Will you still be here?”
Quinn nodded as Wiseman and Kohl rose from their seats. Quinn walked them to the mansion’s ten-car garage, where they had parked their gray Ford Expedition.
Wiseman removed his tie and jacket and put on a yellow sweater. Kohl took off her jacket and put on sunglasses. They both assured Quinn that their return to the office would be disguised as a trip to Michigan Avenue for shopping. There were three FBI units in the area. Two would provide cover or intervention, if needed, for Wiseman and Kohl. The third unit would keep the Lake House under discreet surveillance.
As Quinn returned to the master suite, he wondered what an FBI investigation would mean for Andrea Vargas. Suddenly, a craving for her engulfed him. A wicked man’s lament, he told himself, grieving over a once fulfilled but now fleeting fantasy.
Lying on two towels spread over the steam room’s spacious sitting area, Vargas had been savoring the time to herself. When Quinn returned, she quietly prepped herself. Having a man consumed with her the way Quinn was carried its share of burdens.
Twenty minutes later, after surrendering once more to his ardor, Quinn lamented, “I wish I could stay here with you forever.” He was half lying and half telling the truth. “But tomorrow I need to spend some time with my family.”
“I’d love to stay too, but I understand,” she said, placing her arms around his neck and stroking the back of his head. “Your family needs to celebrate with you too.”
Quinn kissed her gently. They both stood under the large shower head in the steam room, feeling relieved as the cool water washed over them. Quinn’s relief was spiritual, having reclaimed his integrity by going to the FBI and now preparing to face the inevitable consequences. For Vargas, the relief was mostly physical, since her body was now in pain from their long weekend together. But she was determined to make sure that Quinn never knew. Little did she know he’d already slipped away.
31
Wilson – Boston, MA
Wilson’s purpose for conducting the whirlwind tour was twofold, one stated and one unstated. Aside from the much-publicized official purpose, the unstated reason for the excursion was, of course, to climb into the minds and hearts of the six vice presidents, planting seeds of trust and baiting those who were part of the secret partnership.
The kick-off meeting began at precisely eight o’clock in the morning with all 161 consultants and 64 staff from the Boston office seated in the stylish auditorium on the ninth floor of the Fielder Building. After a brief but generous introduction of Wilson and his years at Kresge & Company by Human Resources VP Joel Spivey, Wilson reviewed Fielder & Company’s illustrious twenty-five-year history. He spoke about his father’s basic philosophies of rigorous analysis, creative solutions, and exceptional results. Then he presented five initiatives that he promised to begin implementing in his first ninety days as Chairman and CEO of Fielder & Company. Embodied in his five point plan were two initiatives intended to make the secret partnership very uncomfortable. They would serve as Wilson’s bait:
Create a five-year growth plan, building on the firm’s existing philosophy, policies, and culture.
Open the door to global alliances with targeted firms in strategically attractive regions of the world.
Empower vice presidents, office-managing directors, and project leaders with greater autonomy and streamlined management systems.
Launch a marketing and publicity campaign focusing on the firm’s innovations, with new emphasis on writing and publishing by the firm’s consultants.
Expand the firm’s performance-based equity and profit-sharing programs.
After Wilson finished his hour-long presentation, the six vice presidents each took twenty minutes to review the firm’s performance in their areas of responsibility, while elaborating on their own initiatives. The presentations gave Wilson the opportunity to see them in action and assess their loyalty to him and Fielder & Company. Some of their acclamations of allegiance seemed more natural and true than others. Wilson took note of every nuance. Following the three-hour block of presentations, they held an hour-long question-and-answer session. Most of the questions dealt with the initiatives and were easy to answer, but some went deeper.
A stern-looking consultant in her late twenties, who had joined the firm out of business school nine months earlier, asked, “What new information do you have about what happened to your father in Sun Valley?”
“We have no new information,” Wilson said, “but I don’t believe he was responsible for anyone’s death.” Wilson had anticipated the question, but decided not to dwell on it. He quickly moved on to the next question.
A senior consultant in his early forties who’d been with the firm for more than ten years asked, “The publicity campaign in your initiatives seems to be a break from your father’s policy of letting our clients do the praising of Fielder & Company. Could you comment?”
“Given our current circumstances, I believe it’s what my father would recommend. More exposure is vital to our firm’s future growth and most of it will come from you, through articles, interviews, and books. My commitment is to make sure that what you write gets placed with the most respected publications and publishers. As you know, I started my career at Kresge & Company, and we all know how publicity-conscious they have become. We can do it better. Leigh, you used to work for BCG; would you like to make any comments?”
VP Leigh Tennyson seemed happy to reply. “I agree one hundred percent with what Wilson has said. The right kind of publicity has to be one of our strategic priorities, especially now with a cloud of uncertainty hanging over the firm. Word-of-mouth praises from our clients have served the company well in the past, but the world has changed and so have we.”
Wilson smiled to himself, thinking that she couldn’t possibly be part of the partnership, unless she was an exceptional poker player. The last thing the secret partnership needed was unnecessary publicity.
The most difficult question came from a thirty-something consultant who said he’d been with the firm for three years. “What was the reason for the moratorium on corporate restructuring engagements, and where do things currently stand?”
Wilson decided to give the question to John Malouf, VP of the corporate restructuring practice. “John, would you like to handle this one?”
“Supply and demand,” he said in his usual arrogant, enigmatic way. “Too few staff for too many clients. We simply had to slow things down. We should be ready to take on new clients by May.”
He handled the question skillfully, if not truthfully, Wilson thought. The real reason for limiting corporate restructuring engagements, according to Daniel, had been to stop the growing abuse of Fielder & Company’s methods and practices. Although a part of Wilson liked John Malouf—perhaps because he reminded him of his father—it seemed more and more likely that Malouf was a member of the insider’s club.
After the Q&A session was over and everyone was mingling around a lavish luncheon buffet, a recent recruit from the Wharton Business School asked Malouf why Fielder & Company had been dubbed the most secretive consulting firm in America. Wilson couldn’t help overhearing the conversation and Malouf knew it.
“Secrecy sells,” Malouf said.
“What about the new marketing and publicity initiative?” returned the recruit.
“Publicity also sells,” Malouf said.
“You don’t consider the two of the
m mutually exclusive?”
“Not if you publicize Fielder & Company’s furtiveness the way Kresge publicizes its mystique,” Malouf said, more talkative than usual.
“Is that what we’re planning to do?”
“That’s what I’m planning to do,” Malouf said as he glanced over at Wilson.
Wilson held Malouf’s eyes for a moment to let him know that he’d heard his response. Then, a man about Wilson’s age and height tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that they should be leaving for the airport. It was Hap Greene’s man, Mike Anthony, who was also serving as one of their pilots for the whirlwind tour. The game was afoot.
32
Tate – Sorrento, Italy
Bob Swatling fought down his mounting panic as he called Wayland Tate on one of the disposable encrypted phones. It was three o’clock in the morning in New York, nine o’clock on the Bacchus in the Bay of Sorrento.
Tate answered the phone from the upper deck where he was enjoying coffee with his lady friends. “What is it?” he asked, recognizing the emergency ID. He stood up and walked toward the ship’s stern.
“We just finished analyzing the telephone and video monitoring feeds after hacking into the Lake House security system. Fourteen hours ago, David Quinn met with Sam Wiseman, Deputy Director of the FBI, and Kirsten Kohl, head of the FBI’s corporate crime division. He spilled the beans on you and Kamin. Vargas was upstairs in the spa. She knows nothing about it.”
Tate’s body tensed, his mind immediately immersed in contingencies.
“Keep Vargas uninformed. I’ll contact Marco. You can advise Kamin. He’s in Rome. Tell him to switch identities and get lost for a few days. I’ll be doing the same,” Tate said decisively. “Double check the Musselman trading entities. Close down anything that won’t withstand an SEC inquisition. I’ll take care of the other partners. Call me again in two hours.”
“Will do,” Swatling said before clicking off.
Tate left straightaway for the ship’s bridge one deck below. He told the captain to raise anchor, display the yacht’s alternate identity, and chart a course for Monaco where he had full diplomatic immunity. Then he went to his private office off the master suite and opened the concealed vault. He withdrew two encrypted cell phones. His first call was to Diane Morita who was staying at the Quisiana on the island of Capri. He told her to begin executing emergency contingency plans and to advise key partners, the clandestine supplier network, and her staff—with the exception of Andrea Vargas. His second call was to Marco, notifying him to begin damage control immediately.
33
Quinn – Lake Forest, IL
Less than twenty-four hours after Deputy Director Wiseman and Senior Agent Kohl had set the wheels of justice in motion, there was a soft knock on the door of the master suite at the Lake House. David Quinn got up from the bed and put on his robe, before entering the suite’s foyer to open the door. It was Jackson Ebbs telling him that Mr. Frederickson wanted to talk to him on the secure phone in the library. Quinn told Vargas that he would be right back.
“Quinn here,” he said when he got on the line in the library.
“It’s Wiseman,” The FBI executive said. “Immunity for you and your company has been approved. Arrest warrants for Tate and Kamin have been issued, but they’re currently out of the country. We’re trying to track them now. Federal Grand Jury subpoenas could come as early as Friday afternoon,” Wiseman said.
Quinn was both relieved and stunned. In return for immunity, Quinn had promised the FBI that he would testify, but he never imagined it would happen so quickly. He’d been expecting to have more time to end things with Vargas and prepare his family. Suddenly, that seemed impossible.
Wiseman continued, “We’re still uncovering the full range of surveillance on you. To say it’s extensive would be an understatement. Security systems at the Lake House seem adequate, but the sooner you leave the better. Go about your business as usual, until we advise you otherwise. Don’t do anything that will raise suspicions. I suggest you limit what you tell your family for as long as you can. You and your family will be relocated and placed under twenty-four-hour witness protection, prior to any subpoenas or arrests.”
When Wiseman finished, Quinn said, “All I ask is that you make sure surveillance at my home in Hinsdale and in my office at Musselman is jammed or curtailed.” Then he said good-bye and hung up. Despite Wiseman’s warnings, he’d have to tell his wife and family, before overzealous journalists exposed his sins to the world. When he returned to the master suite, Vargas must have seen the lingering torment on his face, even though he tried to clear his thoughts before opening the door.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, walking up to him and placing her hands on his chest as she looked into his eyes.
“Everything’s fine,” Quinn said, trying hard to act casual. He couldn’t afford to raise any doubts in Vargas’ mind, at least not until he and his family were under full protection. He could only imagine what Tate might be capable of doing if he found out too early. “For the first time in my life, I’m actually lamenting going back to work.”
Vargas kissed him on the lips. “Not as much as I am,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder, her lips caressing his neck.
Quinn turned his head and kissed her on the forehead, but he knew she was lying. He had seen the veiled pain on her face during the last time they’d made love. That would not be the time he’d choose to remember for the rest of his life. “Maybe we can get away again this weekend,” he said.
The two of them picked at a platter of fruit and cheese as they got dressed and prepared to leave what had been their love nest for the past several days. After they said their saccharine good-byes, Vargas left for Musselman headquarters to resume her preparations for the grand opening, and Quinn drove home to Hinsdale where his wife was preparing for a celebration.
Later that evening at the Quinn family home in Southeast Hinsdale, David Quinn struggled to feign excitement for the benefit of his wife, his four married children, and close family friends. Musselman stock had closed a few hours earlier at forty-eight dollars a share, making everyone jubilant. Everyone but Quinn. He could only lament that his family and friends, most of whom were Musselman shareholders, would soon know all his ugly secrets. By the time the celebration ended, it had become sheer agony for Quinn, who could no longer stomach keeping his lies to himself. But after thirty-two years of marriage, the least his wife deserved was a private confession.
Quinn held off through a sleepless night, before approaching his wife in the morning. She was in the kitchen cleaning up from the night before. When he asked her to join him in the living room, she immediately dropped what she was doing and followed him to one of the white Bellagio sofas and sat down. She was smiling until he reached down and turned on the central vacuum system to muffle their conversation. He calmly told her that there were people who might be listening. Then he moved closer to her on the couch and took her hand.
“Maggie, I’ve got something to tell you and it’s pretty bad. In fact, it’s downright ugly. And I’m horribly ashamed of it.”
All animation left Margaret’s face and her green eyes filled with fearful premonition as she tightened her grip on her husband’s hand.
He wished to God he’d never met Wayland Tate. “I got involved with another woman when I was in Switzerland,” he said quickly.
Margaret turned pale, her lips beginning to quiver. But she didn’t utter a word.
Cursing his very existence, Quinn would have gladly extinguished himself in that moment if he could have. “Wayland Tate arranged the encounter behind my back. I guess I was so distraught over the company’s problems that I didn’t see it coming.”
Although Margaret continued to hold his hand, she looked away.
“It was a terrible moment of weakness and I accept full responsibility for it. But it’s over. And, I promise you, Maggie, I’ve never done this before and I’ll never do it again. My only hope is that you
will be able to forgive me.”
She sat motionless on their expensive sofa, her eyes glistening but barren. In a low hollow voice, she asked, “Is she who you were with this weekend?”
“Yes, but it’s over, Maggie. Believe me. It was all part of a scheme to manipulate Musselman. Tate sucked me into an illegal stock deal, but I’ve already turned him in to the FBI. He won’t be able to do this to anybody else ever again. There’ll be some ugly press in the coming weeks. But it’s over. He’s been exposed.”
“Are you going to tell the children?” Margaret asked, staring absently, obviously still in shock.
“Yes,” Quinn said firmly. His confession had been quick and to the point, like telling analysts about lower than expected quarterly earnings. He’d learned the hard way that analysts liked to get bad news early and straight. But this wasn’t about quarterly profits or stock analysts; this was about his wife and family. Regrettably, nothing in his experience had prepared him for this.
When the tears finally came, Margaret couldn’t stop crying. The more he tried to comfort her, the more she cried, saying, “All I ever cared about was you and the children.”
He stayed by her side for the rest of the day and night, trying to console her but with little success. Mostly, she just cried. Repeating the same words over and over again, until they were both emotionally exhausted. They finally fell asleep sometime after midnight.
The Insiders Page 19
