Glaring at his opponent, Michael stood up and opened the door. Bull Neck blocked his path until Rondell nodded that it was okay to let him past. Once outside the building, Michael found a narrow alleyway off Cedar Street. He managed only a few steps down it before leaning his hands against the wall and throwing up.
Chapter 4
THE PARK VIEW ROOMS of the Four Seasons Hotel were on the northwest corner of the building. Through the full height windows of their executive suite, thirty-nine floors up, Michael and Caroline enjoyed an uninterrupted view of Central Park.
“Come back to bed,” Caroline said, pulling back the duvet. “We don’t have to leave for another hour.”
Michael walked to the bed, slipped off the Egyptian cotton bathrobe, and snuggled up beside her. “Thanks for organizing this.” He kissed her on the lips.
“You’re welcome. It didn’t seem right staying at home. I wanted us to celebrate it properly. It’s not every day my husband makes equity partner.”
“I’d have been just as happy at home with you and the girls.”
“I know. That’s because you don’t know how to treat yourself. You’ll spend money on us, but never on you. It’s as though you feel guilty in some way.”
“Not really. I get a lot of pleasure seeing you enjoy it. That’s all I need.”
“Speaking of pleasure.” Caroline wrapped her legs around him.
A little over an hour later, they were sitting in the back of a Lincoln Town Car, crossing Brooklyn Bridge with Manhattan behind them. Caroline looked beautiful, wearing her favorite black dress and the diamond earrings Michael had bought her from Tiffany last Christmas. He wore a casual, gray wool suit, which she had chosen for him, as she had all his clothes.
The driver dropped them at the front of the River Café at the far end of the bridge. Sitting at the bar in the corner, they sipped cocktails and enjoyed the view of the Manhattan skyline as they waited for their table. Caroline had requested a table right next to the front window, and ten minutes later, one became free. The moment the waiter arrived, she ordered a bottle of Vilmart Champagne before Michael could say anything.
He smiled at her. “I wouldn’t have ordered a Miller Lite, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You normally do.”
The waiter came with their Champagne, lit the candle in the middle of the table, and took their order. Caroline chose lightly poached sea scallops, followed by a fillet of Chilean turbot.
“I’ll have exactly the same,” said Michael, handing back the menus.
When the waiter left, Caroline reached across the table and squeezed Michael’s hand. “You’re an enigma to me, Mr. Hoffman, even now, after ten years.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You have a high-powered job, and yet, take you outside your work environment, and you don’t know what to do.”
“That’s why I married you.”
“Anyway, I love you for it.”
“Thank you. So you don’t think you married a roughneck?”
“Not at all. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved.”
“I don’t really think about it that way. I’ve always just wanted to provide the best for you and the girls. That’s what drives me.”
“I don’t know many people who lose their parents at a very young age, grow up in a children’s home, and then make it to equity partner in one of the biggest law firms in the world. That’s an immense achievement. You have a right to be proud.”
Michael looked away. The pang of guilt made it difficult to maintain eye contact with his wife. Ten years ago, when they’d first met, he’d told her he was an only child and that both his parents had been killed in a car wreck when they lived in Baltimore. He could hardly tell her now that he’d just been to his mother’s funeral, nor that he’d actually grown up in Chicago’s south side before being incarcerated at an institution outside Baltimore. Michael was desperate to end the lies and to share everything with the woman he loved. He wanted to tell her the whole truth about his childhood: how his drunken mother tormented him, and how he ended up in juvenile detention on a murder conviction. That way she would understand what made him the person he was today, why he appeared an enigma to her. But that truth would devastate her and the life they’d built for their family. He would never be able to do that to them.
It was a welcome relief when the waiter brought their appetizers.
“So what do you think of the view?” Caroline said. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”
“It’s fantastic.” Michael stared out of the window toward the twinkling lights of the city across the East River.
Just a few days ago, somewhere over there in lower Manhattan, he’d met a man he’d hoped he would never have to see again, a man who had the capacity to destroy their lives because of what he knew about Michael’s past.
Chapter 5
THE TRAIN WAS SCHEDULED TO DEPART from Grand Central a couple of minutes before seven. Although it was crammed with commuters making their way home, Michael managed to find a window seat. He threw his briefcase in the space above his head, nodded to the man sitting opposite him, and then settled down, resting his scalp against the cold window.
Since he’d met with Rondell at his grimy little office building last week, he’d thought of little else. How the hell was he going to avoid cooperating with that criminal piece of shit? Trying to ignore the conversations going on around him, Michael closed his eyes when the train pulled out. There had to be a way out of this mess. Maybe he could go to the police or the FBI and tell them about Rondell and his illegal insider trading plans? There was a chance they already knew something about him. This couldn’t be the first time he’d leaned on someone, or paid them, to provide confidential information. But going to the authorities would mean having to tell them Rondell was blackmailing him, and that would require an explanation of what exactly the man had over him. How could he expect to answer their questions without revealing some of his past? There was no telling how that might end if they chose to look further into Michael’s background. He couldn’t take that risk.
The warm train rocked gently from side to side, and Michael flirted with sleep, his mind drifting back to the last time he’d dealt with the police.
Police sirens rang out. Then, moments later, there were three loud bangs on the door of his mother’s apartment, followed by three more.
His mother opened it and then, seconds after, shouted, “Danny, come here now.”
He already knew who was at the door. He’d been waiting for them ever since he’d returned home earlier that evening. A few minutes later, he was sitting next to his mother in the back of a police car, desperate for her to hold his hand. Trembling, he looked out of the side window, through the baying crowds, to the other police car parked alongside and stared at Rondell, on his own on the back seat.
“What have you done, Danny?” asked his mother, her face full of rage.
“I didn’t do anything, Mom. I promise.”
“They said a man has been hurt. What has that got to do with you?”
“I didn’t do it.” He glared at Rondell as his police car drove in front of theirs. “I didn’t do it.”
There was a loud thump on the roof of the car. “If I ever see you again, I’m gonna kill you, you fuckin’ animal,” shouted one of the men crowding around their vehicle.
Danny flinched and then reached for his mother’s hand. She pulled her arm away and stared ahead as the police driver forced the patrol car through the seething mob.
An announcement echoed from the train’s speaker system, jolting Michael from his semi-conscious thoughts and hurtling him back into the present. He bolted upright, shivered, and then stared at his pale reflection in the window against the dark outside. As much as he despised the idea, he was going to have to go along with Rondell’s illegal trading scheme, at least until he could work out a way to stop him without exposing his background.
Resti
ng his head against the window again, his mind returned to the meeting at Cedar Street and something Rondell had said about Michael’s voice. If only he’d not been so stupid, allowing his ego to get the better of him, Rondell would never have found him. Michael had always kept a low profile, even though his work involved some of the most important corporate deals handled on Wall Street. Why had he agreed to be interviewed on the TV that one time? It was his own fault. After all these years, he’d made the mistake of assuming his past was long dead and buried.
Idiot!
He sat upright and glanced at his watch. In a few moments, he’d be at Westport station. He grabbed his briefcase and made his way to the door. Ten minutes later, he pulled up on the drive of his white, colonial-style home on a quiet tree-lined road on the outskirts of town. Remaining seated in the car, he tried to collect his thoughts, knowing he could share none of his worries with Caroline. Whatever happened, he had to shield her and their daughters from all this. Anything else was unthinkable.
“You look tired,” said Caroline, kissing him when he walked into the house. There was a smell of cooked food in the hall. “I’ve made your favorite: eggplant Parmigiana.”
“I thought I recognized that smell. I’m starving.” In truth, eating was the last thing Michael felt like doing right now.
“Go get changed while I serve up.”
“Are the girls in bed?”
“Yes, but they’re waiting to say goodnight to you.”
Michael went upstairs to change, stopping to pop his head around the door of Emily’s bedroom. Their youngest was already asleep. He didn’t disturb her, as much as he wanted to pick her up and hold her close to him.
When he reached six-year-old Hannah’s bedroom, the lamp was still on. She was reading her Kindle, so he went over to kiss her goodnight.
“You look worried, Daddy,” she said, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired, that’s all.” He brushed back her hair with his fingers. “How was school today?”
“Hard work, but I didn’t mind. If I’m going to be a lawyer when I grow up, I need to get used to it.”
Michael kissed her on the cheek, choking up inside. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Try to get some sleep now.” He took the Kindle and placed it on the bedside cabinet before turning off the lamp. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He walked through to the master bedroom, loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes before sitting on the corner of the bed. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. If keeping his family together meant having to break the law, then he was prepared to do it. Rondell would get his way. It would be a massive risk but, provided he was careful, no one would need find out he was leaking sensitive information about corporate takeovers to a small, backstreet hedge fund. As Rondell had said, there was no reason to link the two of them. No one knew they were connected. Why would they?
That night, again finding it difficult to sleep, Michael’s mind wandered. He thought about Chicago and his recent visit. He’d been stupid going back there after all this time. If he hadn’t attended his mother’s funeral, then Rondell’s men would never have been able to confirm it was him. Once they saw him turn up that day, they knew they had their man. But how had Rondell known about the funeral in the first place? While Michael had made it his regular business to check online for any mention of his family, Rondell would have had no reason to do so. Did he still have contacts back there? He couldn’t have. Michael assumed, like him, once he’d been released from prison as a young adult, Rondell would have been given a new identity and moved to a new city, such was the venom and hatred directed at the two child-killers where they grew up. Even Rondell would not dare show his face back there, surely?
A chill ran through his veins when the revolting thought entered his brain. He struggled to breathe and stared at the dark ceiling above him, unable to move. It was the most obvious explanation, after all. Rondell had to have known about his mother’s funeral because his men must have murdered her.
Oh my God.
They had beaten an elderly woman to a pulp, making it look like an interrupted robbery in her own home. It was classic Rondell. He was the same evil monster he’d known as a child. He must have known there was a good chance her funeral would bring Michael back to Chicago. Her murder had been the bait. Once they’d set their trap, all Rondell’s henchmen needed to do was watch, and when they saw him turn up, they knew they had their man.
Chapter 6
OCCUPYING ALMOST AN ENTIRE BLOCK on Liberty Street, the lower Manhattan head office building of investment banking giant, Corton Zander, always reminded Michael of an ugly glass cage, with its black windows and exposed steel framework. No doubt they’d paid one of New York’s finest architects millions of dollars to come up with the design, but it was lost on him. Of course, he’d never mention that to his best client.
The yellow cab dropped them outside the main entrance just as it began spitting with rain. While Michael and two of his senior associates filed into the polished marble reception area, Glen Towers, a young first-year associate fresh out of law school, heaved two large files from the trunk and paid the driver. After signing in, the Dudek team made its way to the forty-third floor, where Amanda Etling was waiting to greet them. Etling was in her mid-thirties, a stunning brunette with short, dark brown hair in a pixie haircut that reminded Michael of Anne Hathaway, the actress.
“Come on in,” she said, shaking Michael’s hand, but ignoring his associates.
That was something he could never understand; none of the senior staff at his investment bank clients ever acknowledged his junior team members. It was as if they didn’t exist. Had they forgotten they were once in their shoes?
“We’ve got a pile of work to get through.”
She led them into one of the larger meeting rooms, a soulless space with bare white walls and harsh overhead lighting. On top of the boardroom table were stacked at least twenty files, which almost hid Etling’s two male colleagues sitting at the far end and tapping away on their laptops. From the bags under their eyes and the shadows on their chins, they looked as though they’d been there all night. The smell of stale coffee pretty much confirmed it.
“Where do you want us?” Michael asked, slipping his jacket off.
“Over here.” Etling pointed to the seats opposite the one she was about to take.
Michael sat directly across from her, flanked by his two senior associates, both experienced lawyers, women who’d worked with him on many of Etling’s prior deals. Towers placed his heavy files on the table in front of him before taking his seat. He glanced at Michael, as though he was asking if he’d done the right thing. Michael nodded his approval and smiled.
Etling pointed to the two files in front of Towers. “Are those all you have?”
Towers looked like a terrified rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. Someone, a real client, had actually asked him a question.
“They’re just the ones we need today,” Michael said, coming to the rescue of his junior colleague. “You should see what we have back at the office. We didn’t want to strain Glen’s back.”
Towers made a nervous grin, but still didn’t risk saying anything.
“Okay, let’s get started.” Etling poured herself a fresh coffee from one of the flasks on the table. “Help yourselves,” she said, nodding at the others. She started reading her handwritten notes on the yellow legal pad next to her coffee cup. “It’s a tight timetable. We’ve got exactly four weeks before the deal’s scheduled to be announced to the market. That doesn’t leave us long.”
“We can handle it,” said Michael, while Towers began scribbling notes of the meeting on his pad. His other colleagues focused on Etling, their faces held as if they were fascinated by her every word.
Etling frowned. “Remember, this is a strategic deal for our client. The board of Spar Cellular wants to learn everything there is to
know about Collar Telecom. They don’t want a repeat of the Vodafone Mannesmann deal, where there was a huge write-down after the acquisition, so they’re going to want to diligence this thing to death. We’ll take care of the commercial aspects with KPMG, but you guys are going to have your work cut out on the legal diligence. They’ve got subsidiaries in over thirty countries.” Etling talked in a machine-gun monotone, only surfacing for air when absolutely needed.
“I assume the four weeks is driven by price sensitivity.”
“Right.” Etling took a sip of coffee to lubricate her vocal chords before unloading another magazine of words. “Collar’s stock price today is $20.40. The acquisition is priced at thirty bucks a share. Spar wants that offer to still represent a healthy premium when the deal’s announced. It’s—”
“Right now, the price is $20.65,” said one of Etling’s colleagues, reading from his laptop without looking up.
Etling pulled a face, as if she had a sour taste in her mouth. “It’s been edging up ever since our client kicked off these discussions. They’re getting nervous, and that makes me nervous. We cannot afford to see this deal leaked. If it gets anywhere near to twenty-five bucks, Collar’s going to want to renegotiate the price. It’s already toppy, so we need complete confidentiality on this one.”
“There’ll be no leaks from our side.” Michael’s heart rate increased as he thought about the price-sensitive information he’d just received and what Rondell would expect him to do with it.
“Don’t worry,” said Etling, smiling. “If we had any doubts about that, we’d never use your firm again.”
Michael forced a laugh. “That’s a relief.”
His associates joined in the frivolity.
After the meeting, Michael and his three colleagues returned to Dudek’s office building, where, in the main boardroom, he briefed the wider team working on the Spar deal—some twenty lawyers, from associates to salaried partners—on the work they had to do in the short timeframe. He relayed Etling’s message about share price creep and drilled into them how important it was that everything remained inside the confidentiality bubble. If anyone breached client secrecy, they would be summarily dismissed. Although he didn’t really need to, he reminded them that investment banks like Corton Zander came back to Dudek, Collins, & Hamilton not only for the firm’s legal expertise, but also for the way it protected its clients’ information. This was at the heart of the firm’s reputation. As he drilled the standard warnings into his team, Michael felt a complete fraud, knowing that it would soon be he, and not his staff, who would be breaching their client’s trust.
Once a Killer Page 4
