by Andrew Gross
Basically, he tried to stay out of sight, at his desk doing paperwork, fielding a few calls. He asked Brooke to shield him from the press. But as the day went on, his mind couldn’t put aside the possible connection between the interests of his own firm, people here, and the investigation into Dani Thibault. Hauck had crossed the line by continuing to look into him. Had someone here tried to stop it by planting that pen? Setting him up.
Around eleven, his cell phone rang. When he checked the display, “United States Government” came on the screen.
Naomi Blum.
“You got my gift?” Hauck answered without saying hello.
“I got your gift. Thanks. And I’m about to give you one in return. But first, I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
“My arm feels like it’s gone through a chopper, but I’ll mend. Make any progress on the glass?”
“I want you to know,” she said, “we’re starting an investigation into Thibault and his connections. Thanks to you. One of the ways is to follow up on the person who attacked you. Assuming, of course, we’re not just dealing with some kind of sick perv.”
“I think we both know that’s a pretty safe bet. Besides, he knew who I was; he called me an ex-cop. You still have lingering doubts on whether there’s any connection between James Donovan’s and Marc Glassman’s deaths?”
“I didn’t have any after I met you,” Naomi Blum said. “I just put my career on the line.”
There was something about her that Hauck couldn’t help but like. That was winning him over. She hadn’t fallen for the setup with the Talon pen. She thought Campbell was a dipshit. She’d done her homework on his background. And now she had run with what he’d shared. Put her career on the line. There was a lot of heart and energy in that little body.
Not to mention a not-half-bad set of bright, gray eyes. “You ready yet to tell me what you think this is all about?”
“How’s the boy?” she asked, dodging him.
“A little rattled. But he’s fine. He’s back at school. The local police have agreed to beef up the security…How does it sit with you that someone would try to get me to back off by harming an innocent kid like that?”
“I warned you, didn’t I, what you could expect for trouble.” She paused a moment and Hauck sensed some genuine concern. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re both okay.”
“So am I in or out?” Hauck asked. He figured he might as well throw all his cards on the table now.
Naomi chortled. “Didn’t you just get yourself a pretty good lesson in what being ‘in’ means?”
“Yeah, and I thought I kinda passed. I can help. Seems to me it’s a little late to pretend I’m on the sidelines.”
She paused. Hauck thought he might have her. She finally said, “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Thanks. Why don’t you let me know if there’s anything short of getting myself killed that can aid you in the decision.”
That made her laugh. “You were worried what it was going to be like for you back at work. Feeling any more comfortable?”
There was a knock at his door. Hauck wheeled around as it opened.
Tom Foley stepped in.
“How about I get back to you on that one.” He clicked off the phone, surprised to see his boss. “Tom.” He stood up. “C’mon in.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Hauck came around his desk. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Everybody’s buzzing about what happened.” Foley was in a three-piece pinstripe suit and yellow tie. He came up to him. “Horrible thing.” He shook his head. “Horrible to have to go through. I heard you were in, and I had some things I could get done up here today. How are you doing, Ty?” His boss’s handshake was strong and concerned. He placed his arm around Hauck’s shoulder. “There’s no point saying just how glad we all are that you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Tom. It was a bit of a close call.”
“I heard you were hurt.” Foley released his grip and took a glance at his arm.
“Just a cut.” Hauck waved it off. “Lucky.”
“We’re all lucky,” he said. “Everyone in this organization knows what kind of person you are.” He shook his head with empathy and gritted his teeth. “What kind of a sick fuck would even do something like that?”
Hauck had spent twenty years gauging reactions. People who had something to hide. Foley never once blinked. His outrage seemed genuine and concerned. But there was always something held a little in reserve. A measured quality in his tone Hauck could never quite figure out. He just shook his head in agreement. “I don’t know, Tom.”
Were they both playing the same game?
Hauck had defied his boss’s warning about stepping up the investigation on Thibault. Did Foley know? Hauck hadn’t been forthcoming about the New York police finding the Talon pen at James Donovan’s suicide scene. Had Campbell spoken to him? Had someone planted it there?
Worse, Hauck had shared all he knew about Thibault with the U.S. government. Things learned in the process of a confidential search. Technically, Talon’s information. He saw his boss’s steely gaze. The directness in his eyes. The twitch in his smile. Was he holding back?
“You know, as long as I’m up here, we should talk,” Foley said, guiding Hauck back to his desk, dropping himself familiarly into the chair in front. He crossed his legs.
“Okay.” Not sure what he meant, Hauck eased himself behind his desk.
“First, how’s Annie’s son?” Foley locked his hands behind his head and slumped back.
“Fine. Just a bit rattled.” Foley had met Annie once or twice. Hauck had brought her along to a company dinner when the Greenwich office opened. He seemed to genuinely like her. Her easy laugh and natural charm seemed to cut through Foley’s polished New England manners. “We thought it best to get him away from everything…”
Something made Hauck hold back the exact location.
“That’s wise. I’d do the same. Maybe we can help with that.”
“Thanks,” Hauck said. “Annie doesn’t want to attract any attention.”
Foley grimaced, shaking his head. “Just thinking about someone trying to do that to a kid…You know what I mean, Ty?” He was looking right at Hauck, his tone somehow direct, suggestive.
Then, without waiting for an answer, he suddenly shifted. “You dropped that little matter we spoke on the other day as I asked? On that guy you’d come up with?”
“What guy, Tom?” Hauck tried to read the guy’s eyes.
“You know, the one Merrill had us looking into.” Foley snapped his finger. “What was his name…?”
“Thibault.”
“Yeah, Thibault.” Foley jabbed the air. “That’s the one.”
An uneasiness wormed its way through Hauck. Foley’s measuring gaze seemed to bore right through him. Hauck wasn’t sure how he should reply.
“You asked me to, Tom.”
“Good.” His boss winked and took off his glasses, blew on them to clean them. “Thattaboy…”
Suddenly Hauck had this exposed, pulse-stopping feeling, like he was working undercover and his identity had just been blown. Like Foley was about to lay something on him, and at any moment everything could fall apart. He shuffled a couple of papers on his desk. “So how’s that Reynolds Reid matter shaping up?”
“Sorry?” Foley put back on his glasses. His stare said he had no idea what Hauck was talking about.
“The Wertheimer thing they were looking to pick up. Why we were holding everything back. From Merrill.”
“Right!” He smiled, clear eyed. “Moving along just fine, Ty, or so I’m told. In fact, the company and the government panel of overseers are meeting on it today. Some conflict-of-interest details, mostly in Europe, I hear. May have to divest that part. Should be brought to a head soon.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Foley looked at him a little funny. “For Talon, it’s a frigging bonanza.”
“I meant good that we can finally share what
we have with Merrill,” Hauck said.
“Got ya.” Foley nodded. He gave Hauck a lingering look that ended up in a tight smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, Ty. There’s a couple of things I’d like to run by you…” He pushed himself up. “But that can wait for another day. Big doings out there today, in case you haven’t heard.”
“I haven’t, Tom. What?”
“One of the top overseers of Freddie Mac blew his brains out in his study. Imagine, his own children found him when they were getting ready for school.” He shook his head. “Only ratchets up all the worry that there’s more shit to come. Citi. AIG. The whole world’s crumbling, Ty. Shit, even my wife’s starting to break a sweat. Asks me for the first time in twenty years about our stock portfolio. Tells me she and all her girlfriends haven’t bought a pair of shoes in weeks. Not a single new spring outfit. Everyone bleeds in their own way. Still…” He headed toward the door and chuckled. “Doesn’t mind hopping the company jet down to Naples. That’s why we have to be one of the winners. Know what I mean?”
Hauck followed him to the door.
Foley turned. “You know, that old job, Ty, what you were doing before…That was sort of like splashing around in the kiddie pool, if you know what I mean. You get yourself wet, everyone has a good time. But try and work up a stroke.”
Hauck nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to.
“But here”—his boss’s smile was gone—“here, it’s all kinda part of the big mosaic. One hand washes the government. The other some of the largest companies in the world. Everyone splashing around.”
Hauck met his eyes. “Just what is it we’re talking about, Tom?”
“The Wertheimer thing, of course!” Foley flashed an innocent smile. “That’s what you meant, wasn’t it, Ty?” He gave Hauck a gentle pat. “I’m glad you’re okay. I really am. It’s our job to keep tabs on what’s going on. With our key employees. In all our clients’ firms. Even at Treasury. Comprende?”
Hauck stared.
“Dumbass effing traders…Who knew what hell they wrought, huh?” He cocked both hands at him like two loaded pistols. “In case you don’t know it, son, you’re swimming in the grown-up pool now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
News of the impending collapse of the American banking system was met with a grin of amusement and even pride by Dani Thibault, who watched it in his midtown Manhattan office.
Pacific-West, the largest bank in California, had just failed.
His pride stemmed from the fact that behind the scenes, he had helped put it all in motion. And he was amused because with all the world’s eyes focused on the causes—the housing bubble, CDOs, credit-default swaps, overleverage, regulators looking the other way—no one had any idea what was really happening.
The treasury secretary was appearing before Congress, stammering like a first-year loan officer trying to explain a risky loan.
The Dow had just hit a six-year low.
Yes, the system had already been weakened, the banks leveraging up their balance sheets with tiers of worthless assets and debt. Sure, the two desperate traders he had lured with the promise of millions, millions they would no longer be able to receive from their firms, had simply been the final, artfully conceived nudge of the rotted carcass off the ledge.
Ultimately, Thibault knew, there was some larger purpose to the small but profitable role he played in this. His was just to put the plan in motion. The whole system, already foundering, was just waiting for the right flick of an invisible finger to send it off the edge. And he had found them! Borrowed up to their dicks against their own company’s tumbling stock. A margin call away from extinction. Yet still controlling billions of their company’s assets. Traders who with one push of the button could sway the fortunes of a large bank.
And who had put it all in play? A simple hog farmer’s son. Who had shoveled shit out of the pens until he was seventeen. Yes, he definitely took some pride in that. And at the same time he had carried his deception right into the bed of one of the most wealthy and desirable women in the world. He had used her to reach his ends, like he had used everyone and everything he had encountered along the way.
Now he was known in the most elite circles. The press referred to him as an “international financier.” It was just like that royal Belgian slut had done for him. Only better! Merrill had opened more doors for him than the head of a multinational corporation. Soon, he’d be moving on anyway. He had gotten about all he could out of her. And there were younger, fresher fields for him to sow.
Dani put his feet up on his desk. He couldn’t help but admire how it all had worked since, on the run, his path had crossed with that faggot Belgian banker in a bar in Lyon. How he’d driven out into the country on the pretense of finding a secluded spot to fuck him. Stopped the car along a lake, then smashed his head with a rock, with the guy’s pants down and his dick out and ready. Threw the body into a leechy pond. Driven in his own car back to his town in Belgium, copied his birth documents, falsified his history. Applied for a job at RezionsBank.
A new man.
Thibault watched as some hayseed congressmen who didn’t even know how to add raked the treasury secretary over the coals over monetary policy. Trying to assure the world it would hold together.
He laughed. They had no idea the disaster that lay ahead.
Thibault’s cell phone chimed, his private one. The one he used for only this purpose. He took it out, noticed the scrambled number from Dubai that was completely secure.
Dani answered. “I’m just watching the proceedings now. Have you checked out the markets? The Dow is down over seven hundred points…” He leaned back, looking over the view of Manhattan with satisfaction. He’d done so well, his employers might well double what they had paid him.
“Yes, an excellent job, my friend,” the caller acknowledged in heavily accented English. “You can be assured we won’t forget.” The man was one of the most powerful people on the planet. His backers controlled those who influenced the purse strings of billions. Behind the shadowy curtain that divided the highest levels of finance and those who had their own agenda to bring that same world down, his influence was unequaled. “But now there is something important that you should know.”
“And what is that?” Dani Thibault asked, barely noticing the shift in tone.
“You are presently under investigation, Dani. By the United States government. The Department of the Treasury.”
“What?” Thibault sat up. What he was saying was impossible, of course, a joke. But he also knew the caller was not the kind to trifle with idle rumor or speculation. He turned down the TV. “Just what are you talking about?”
“They know your name,” the caller said. “They know you had dealings with both deceased traders.”
“That’s impossible!” Dani jumped to his feet. In that instant, he retraced every contact he had made on all his assignments. There was just no chance. Who would have connected him? He had covered every trail perfectly. He had left no link to himself. “How?” he asked, stammering in disbelief. “How could anyone possibly know that?”
“How doesn’t matter, Dani. What does is that you must become invisible to the world. And now.”
“You’re sure of this?” A tremor of concern pounded in his chest. “This information is one hundred percent reliable?”
“More reliable than even you, my friend,” the caller said, his tone unmistakable. “I warned you your prick was your Achilles heel. Apparently, the connection was revealed through your girlfriend.”
“Merrill?” Thibault almost choked. How could Merrill know? She had never even met Glassman or Donovan. Their names had never surfaced. All the bitch cared about was passing herself off as ten years younger than she was or going to her silly garden club gatherings in Greenwich and Palm Beach. She was too busy combing Saks with her personal shoppers for Prada shoes. How could Merrill know shit?
“You know how this has to be handled now, Dani?”
Thibault
realized the man on the other end of the line was not someone to be fucked with. He had the network to do anything. He would already be dead if that was the man’s wish. “Yes, you’re right,” he acknowledged—what else could he do? “It’s time to disappear.”
“I can have one of my associates pick you up. I’ve already taken the precaution of having a jet at Teterboro that can take you out of the country, no questions asked.”
“To where?” Suddenly the concern beating in Thibault’s chest became full-out panic. It occurred to him that he was the one go-between among all the connected parties. He had recruited Glassman and Donovan. He had paid them. The funds, however well hidden, originated from his accounts, where, through the maze of partnerships, counterparties, and countries, it would simply appear to be an investment in one of Thibault’s many deals. Out of the country? Thibault swallowed nervously.
There was no way he would ever make it through the Lincoln Tunnel alive.
“A stretch here in Dubai might do you some good about now, don’t you think, Dani? No worry over extradition. And I assure you, we have our own pleasures here too.”
“Yes,” Thibault said, his mind flashing forward. “I think so…”
They arranged for a car to pick him up at five that afternoon. At Dani’s apartment on Central Park South. In three hours. Dani knew he was one dead Serb if he ever got in that car.
As soon as he hung up, he ran over to his safe, hidden behind a false shelf in the bookcase. Fingers barely cooperating, he feverishly spun the lock open and reached for the thick folder of documents he kept inside for just this purpose. Passports. Each with an identity and destination he had worked out. He leafed through the stack and chose the one he wanted. And into the altered bottom of his alligator Hermès briefcase he stuffed several wads of cash, each more than ten thousand dollars in dollars and euros.
Most of what he had stored away was perfectly safe in various banks in Geneva and the Cayman Islands. The rest he would leave where it was, in his accounts in London and New York, so as not to attract attention.
