by Mona Cox
"Babe, I think he's hiding something from me," I say to her and look down. "Something pretty big. Maybe really illegal."
Ashley is silent, putting her hand on my shoulder.
"There's not much I can actually say about it right now, because it involves work too, but every time I try to steer the conversation toward trying to find out more, he plays it off or changes the subject," I say, the words tumbling out of me at this point. "Just the other day, we were having brunch at Balthazar and I thought I'd finally get to the bottom of the whole thing and get the truth. He totally just changed the subject and then when he couldn't change the subject he just made me forget."
"What?!" Ashley asks. "How did he make you forget what you were talking about?"
I almost feel like crying. Not because of Derek actually. But because I'm going to sound so blonde right about now.
"I dunno, Ash," I say to her in a pleading voice. "He just kinda swept me off my feet. Whisked me away to the Caribbean."
Ashley looks at me. "He didn't like your questions, so he flew you off to the Caribbean?" she asks me.
I nod. Then to just dig my hole a bit deeper, I add, "He has a private island."
To her credit, Ashley doesn't do anything right away. I mean, she takes bite of her gyro and chews thoughtfully before looking at me.
"I mean, this one time I was dating this guy who worked at Dow Jones," Ashley says. "I went through his phone one morning and saw his texts with this ho from his office. He was fucking her on the side," she says. I nod at her, wondering what her point is going to be.
"Anyways I totally flipped out on him," she continues. "He made it up to me by taking me to Red Lobster. So I guess I know what you're talking about with your billionaire. Red Lobster to him is a romantic private island in the Caribbean."
Is it me, or is Ashley just sighing?
"So why can't you bring it up at work?" she asks me.
That's it, isn't it? That's the part that makes this situation so fucking sucky.
"Because I love him, Ash," I say quietly. "Or at least I'm falling in love with him so hard right now."
We sit there for a moment. For a moment, the both of us are quiet. The cars and people pass us by. Park Avenue continues to bustle and I look to my left, to the MetLife Building looking down on the entire Avenue from 42nd Street.
"Looks like you need to make a choice, babe," Ashley tells me after a moment of looking at me. I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t envy me. That she actually feels for me. "It sucks, but you need to figure out whether you wanna risk your career by keeping something potentially illegal to yourself for love, or risk losing the guy you’re falling in love with to keep your job with a faceless corporation run by a bunch of dudes."
Wow.
When you put it like that, no mater what I do, I'm kinda fucked. And not in a way that I'm gonna cum, either.
13
Derek
30 million.
That’s how many dollars whoever in Carter Jeffries is stealing from me has taken so far. They’ve been quiet. They’ve been sneaky. And they’ve been very, very careful.
But they don’t know who they’re fucking with. Just because I live in a rarefied world of money doesn’t mean that I’ve lost touch with the world. I’m a shark. I know when there’s blood. I can take a scent. And then stalk my prey. Until I catch them and tear them limb from limb.
Right, sorry for getting carried away, but I get upset, I hope you understand. I have billions of dollars and 30 million isn’t that much in the big scheme of things. But being taken from me means that it can't be used in other operations. That’s the salary that could go toward many people who come look to me for jobs. That’s health insurance money. That’s retirement money.
What I’m trying to say is that money isn’t just mine. It’s money I would have spent that would have directly helped another person’s livelihood.
But like I said, I'm tracking it down based on the scent.
And I think I’ve found it.
All I need to do now is wait. Control myself from jumping in and letting my emotions run my judgment and just wait.
Four.
That’s how many weeks Alicia and I have been dating. When I first told her I didn’t do the whole boyfriend thing, I was telling the truth. I’m a mid-thirties self-involved, intelligent, good-looking, hard working loner. My sexual tastes border on the voracious. No woman has ever been able to keep up.
Except Alicia.
She seems to find it amusing in tempting me and then resisting just long enough to make it exciting for both of us.
Like the other day. It was a weekend so she was spending the night at my place. I was in the living room reading some reports when she walked by toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. Normally, this isn’t something that can cause me to lose focus, but she walked by in black stockings, a black lace thong, and a matching bra. She walked slowly, swaying her hips. I noticed. My cock began to twitch and I pretended to busy myself in my reports until she began to head back.
But here is where her innocence and naïveté show through.
Instead of walking by nonchalantly, she peeked around the wall dividing the kitchen and living room.
Directly into my gaze.
“What are you doing peeking out here?” I asked her sternly.
She literally squeaked. I can’t lie. My cock instantly turned to granite and I could almost feel my fucking boxer briefs rip as my 12 inches began to poke out.
“Noooothiiing…” Alicia said, pretending to be normal. “Just thought I heard a noise.”
This was too much to bear and I got up, my cock tenting toward her. Despite the fact that there have been numerous times prior to that where she touched it, held it, tasted it, and fucked it, her eyes still went wide.
“Is this what you want to see?” I asked her. “You wanted to tease me?”
That’s when she found an inner boldness that first drew me to her. When she nestled her ass against me.
She walked out completely from the kitchen.
“Is this what you want to see?” she asked me.
Gone was the innocent look. In its place was a slattern look in her eyes, as she let her desires consume her.
I don’t think we put clothes on the rest of the day.
Five.
That’s how many more times Alicia has asked me questions or pointedly made references to myself being connected to unorthodox banking.
“So you don’t know any bankers in North Korea?” Alicia asked me the other day as we were making a stir-fry.
It’s a pretty fucking strange question.
“No,” I said to her. “I know bankers in all countries, but none in North Korea.”
“And you don’t do any business in Iran?” she asked, her questions becoming more and more brazen, no longer poking around surgically.
“No one from the US is allowed to do business there,” I said to her.
“And it’s not one of those wink and nod kinda things, right?” she asked.
“No, it’s not, and what is this about?” I asked her. “Is this about work? These are the investment strategies you’re going to recommend? Invest in North Korea?”
But Alicia just stuck her tongue out at me. “Can’t a girl ask her guy a few questions so she can answer her mom when she calls and asks oh who is this guy you’re dating?”
“Is your mother going to ask if I’m an international terrorist with money laundering operations in countries that are sanctioned by the US?” I ask back.
But Alicia has a trump card that she uses to shut me up.
She takes off her shirt and presses herself against me.
Sometimes it’s wise to just pick your battles and know when to give up.
Three.
That’s how many days ago I finally told Alicia how I felt about her.
“Do you like Brussels sprouts?” she asked me as we walked through Central Park toward One57 where I live.
“I li
ke Broccoli,” I replied as we navigated the joggers and bikers. We had gone out to play tennis in the Central Park courts and decided to casually stroll back.
“I don’t think I can be with a guy who doesn't like vegetables as healthy as Brussels sprouts,” Alicia teased, sticking her tongue out at me.
“I like them just fine,” I replied, not sure where her banter was going. “I really don't spend time thinking about them.”
We walked in silence for a while before she asked again. “What about brown rice?”
I looked at her.
“Do you like brown rice or does it have to be white rice?” she asked me. I raised my eyebrows at her. “Just answer me, babe. Please.”
“I’m indifferent,” I replied, entirely confused.
“It’s important,” she continued.
I stopped walking and turned to her.
“Why?” I asked.
There was a moment of silence on her part. She was hesitating.
I pulled her close to me, and her head came to nestle on my chest. “Tell me why it matters,” I asked her.
She looked up at me. “I’m just thinking about all the things I like, and seeing if you like them, because if you don’t then I need to figure out how to still enjoy them in case … you know,” she said and it finally dawned on me.
Alicia was envisioning a future. With me.
The cold, successful loner had not just gotten himself a girlfriend.
I now felt happy thinking of this girl thinking about me in the long term.
But there was something that needed to be said on my part.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Alicia,” I said to her gravely. “And it’s more important than brown rice. I think we need to sit down.”
I guided her to a bench as her face began to grow fearful for a second. This was New York City. Stories abound every weekend of women who believe they have a future with their significant other only to realize he has a wife and family in Kansas City.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I need to tell you something important,” I said, looking down.
“Please tell me,” she said, anxious and breathless.
Almost too much fun.
“I guess, I mean,” I began and I could see the look of impatience on Alicia’s face as she probably waited for me to tell her I was married and my wife lived in Vail. “It’s just that if we’re going to talk about brown rice and Brussels sprouts then I should tell you that … I love you, Alicia Sullivan.”
For a moment, Alicia looked at me with puzzlement. Then delight. And then happiness, satisfaction, and love.
The weather was perfect and it was only 11 am in the morning. A perfect day in a perfect park in the perfect city with the perfect girl.
“Oh my God Derek Lowell,” Alicia said, a broad smile lighting up her face. “I love you so much!”
She brought herself forward and wrapped her arms around me as we kissed for a long moment on the park bench.
When we finally disengaged she looked at me and wrinkled her nose. “And if you ever do something like that again to scare me, I’ll … break both your arms!”
I laughed. We had talked earlier of going to Paris and she had told me she really wanted to see the Venus de Milo more than anything else.
Eventually we began to walk back to my apartment.
“So, do you like your oysters raw or fried?” I found myself asking her.
Yes. I was really in love.
Let's hope she stayed in love with me after this was all over.
14
Alicia
You know, whoever said balancing a career and a love life was easy never probably went up against discovering that the guy they had fallen in love with was involved in an international money laundering conspiracy.
I mean, I'm just saying that if those career women who have time for kids and a love life with their husband every night like they write about in all the magazines ever had the mental worry and anguish I'm going through, they'd either be career-oriented spinsters, or happily married and unemployed.
I mean, I'm sitting here, looking at these trades.
There is no doubt about it. No hiding from the fact.
There is someone at Carter Jeffries or acting for Carter Jeffries that is executing orders from Derek's account moving vast sums of money around the globe to countries and entities that violate so many different laws that it's not even funny.
It's no wonder that whoever has done this hasn't been caught. Derek is a high net worth private client, and the bank has a strict policy on confidentiality. I had to basically get promoted to get special access to see his account.
And had this been in the normal database, what would've happened?
Oh, I dunno ... like 18 different law enforcement agencies would have gotten red flags most likely. They probably would have swarmed our offices with SWAT teams and taken all of our computers.
I need to figure this shit out. I need to tell someone. I'm too pretty for jail. I'm still an ass virgin. I was thinking maybe giving it up to Derek on our wedding night. You know, like a wedding present because obviously I'm not a virgin or anything. That ship sailed a while ago.
But then, what do I do?
I could lose my job, my license, and be forever barred from working on Wall Street if I get tagged as an accessory to this. I mean, you read about it in the Journal every day nowadays. Conspiracy to commit fraud and launder money. And I'm sorry babe, but just knowing about it and not saying anything is enough to make you part of the conspiracy.
But who do I go tell? Nadia?
She'll probably let our Legal and Compliance folks know. They'll investigate and then they'll alert the FBI, Homeland Security, the SEC, the Department of the Treasury, the IRS, and who knows who else.
Jesus Christ, it's not like there's a witness protection program for whistleblowers. I mean, what do I even say to qualify? Please hide my identity because he's my boyfriend?
Derek will probably never talk to me again much less have sex with me.
And look at what he's done to me! I'm thinking about his fat cock inside of me when I should be thinking about my career.
I'm thinking about how his arms feel wrapped around me as we lie in his bed and look over at the city.
Yeah, girl you best check yourself before you wreck yourself, huh?
I need to stop.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
So, I can't tell Derek anything because I would be violating the rules of the Firm by disclosing proprietary technology and secrets. And I can't tell Nadia anything because I'd be betraying the man I love.
So there's only one thing to do.
I'm actually surprised I didn't think of it sooner.
I mean, what can you do when you can't tell each side what you found out separately?
You tell them together.
That's right.
I'll go through my findings and let both Derek and Nadia connect the dots together.
And then whoever has the questions will ask them. And whoever has something to hide will have to explain all this illegal shit or basically, I dunno, go to jail?
I get to work, quickly shooting off an email. I've never written with such authority before, but I go ahead and state that I request the presence of Derek Lowell and Nadia Moore this coming Friday to go over an analysis of the Lowell Private Client Account. The reason for this walk through is due to the fact that after a thorough analysis I have some questions that need to be clarified and answered.
Right. This should be good. I send out a calendar invite to both Nadia and to Derek.
Let me just take a moment to explain the culture of Wall Street to you if you're not familiar.
It's totally a hierarchical structure. Shit comes from the top and it always flows downhill.
I think that's why Nadia made me an Associate.
And normally, at an Analyst level, I would have never been taken seriously enough if I called a meet
ing. At the Associate level I probably have a bit more weight and gravitas to my title.
Because in the world of money management, people still care about things like this.
And, who knows, maybe Nadia won't even respond. Maybe Derek's personal assistant will see my email and toss it right into the junk pile.
But somehow, within minutes of my sending the email and invitation for Friday, I get responses back from both accepting and signifying that they're going to attend.
I'm sitting there in awe at my first high-level meeting that I set up and wondering at all the things I need to do.
I need to get my presentation materials ready.
I need to let the receptionist know to let security know so Derek can enter the building.
I need to order coffee and sandwiches.
That's when Nadia walks out of her office. I wouldn't even notice but she's wearing a really tight black skirt and blouse today and I have the feeling that she's going out after work.
A part of me is jealous that she gets to leave early to probably go to the gym and then look pretty for whatever her plans are while I sit here and work, but that's just the dues I'm paying.
Only this time, Nadia looks at me and I try not to wither under her stare.
She smiles at me and I give her like half a wave. You know, where you feel kinda awkward and raise your hand to wave but don't want to go all out?
And geez, that's one cryptic looking smile. It's like she's looking at me before I go in front of the firing squad or something.
Before long, she's out the door.
And I'm wondering how lil' old me is going to manage a meeting between a billionaire titan of Wall Street who just happens to be my boyfriend, and my Managing Director boss about illegal activity on a Private Client account.
Yeah, it's going to be a late night at work tonight.
Sigh. So much for the single life.
15
Alicia
