by Marie Astor
Perhaps sticking your nose into his menu had something to do with it, Janet thought, but bit her tongue: she herself was not exactly bursting with ideas on the topic.
“You go after Muller and I’ll go after his date. She looks bored, so I’ll play the sympathy card, and you can flatter Muller with admiration.”
“Good idea. Let’s switch seats when we go back to the table. That way I’ll be sitting closer to Muller.”
“I’ve got an even better idea. Here’s our opening.”
Before Janet could blink, Laskin’s hand tightened on her waist and she felt herself being literally swept off her feet as Laskin galloped across the floor in a surprisingly nimble quickstep. Janet held on to Laskin for dear life as they leapt across the floor, followed by admiring glances. “Ready? Here we go.”
“Ready for what?” Janet asked.
Just then, Laskin’s nimbleness deserted him, and the two of them nearly tumbled into Muller and Aileen who were slow dancing in the far corner of the floor. “Oops, my apologies,” Laskin panted. “I misjudged the distance.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Aileen smiled. “You are a wonderful dancer.”
“Wonderful dancers don’t smash into people,” remarked Muller.
“My apologies,” said Laskin.
“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Aileen came to Laskin’s defense. “They didn’t smash into us, honey. It was more of a tap, really.”
The music ended, leaving the couples on the dance floor frozen in indecision. “Shall we go back to our table?” offered Muller.
“And now on with our next selection,” announced the deejay. The bold notes of “New York, New York” rang in the air.
“May I?” Laskin offered his hand to Aileen.
“I would be delighted,” Aileen beamed.
Janet hesitated. She knew that the thing to do was to mimic Laskin and ask Muller to dance, but the man looked so glum that her tongue stuck to the back of her throat.
“Shall we?” Muller surprised her.
“I’d be delighted,” Janet replied.
“You are a pleasure to dance with,” Muller remarked after several moments.
“Thank you.” In spite of herself, Janet was flattered. He might be a scoundrel without principles, but it was impossible to deny that David Muller was a very handsome scoundrel. Janet could certainly see how Muller was such a successful crook: he had an aura of effortless charm about him that made his victims fall under his spell in a matter of seconds.
“And of course this is a beautiful song to dance to. I adore Frank Sinatra. “New York, New York” is my favorite.”
“His songs are wonderful,” Janet agreed.
“And so are you,” replied Muller, tilting Janet back. The motion took her by surprise, and Janet nearly lost her balance.
“Careful there.” Muller pressed his hand against her back, pulling her close to him, a little too close for Janet’s taste. “So what’s a girl like you doing with a guy like Carry?”
“What’s a man like you doing with a girl like Aileen?” Janet countered.
“I asked you first.”
“John is a good guy, and good guys are hard to find.”
Muller’s gaze travelled from Janet’s lips to her neck, to her breasts, to her hips, and then, with noticeable reluctance, back up to her eyes. “I don’t see how you would have difficulties finding a man.”
“I don’t want just any man. I want a man who is right for me. So what brings you to this wedding? Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?” Janet changed the subject before her conversation with Muller got too heated.
Muller’s face tensed for a moment. “Just an acquaintance of the groom. We used to do business together, but I am no longer involved in that.”
“Oh? What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I used to run a hedge fund but I closed that down. My interest in the financial markets now is purely academic. I run a charity dedicated to sponsoring scholarships for young men and women who are interested in pursuing careers in finance. It’s called the Phoenix Fund.”
“That sounds very noble.”
Muller smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that, but I do enjoy it, and I hope to be able to help. I know that I would have welcomed a helping hand when I was starting out in my career. The charity is less than a year old. This year we plan to offer scholarships to ten students to the colleges of their choice, and we hope to increase the number of scholarships each year.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
The last notes of “New York, New York” faded away, and was followed by “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”
Janet spotted Laskin and Aileen gliding toward them. “I think it’s time that I returned you to your date.”
“If you insist.”
“David!” Aileen exclaimed, putting her hand on Muller’s shoulder. She turned towards Laskin, adding, “John, thank you for a wonderful dance.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Aileen.” Laskin bowed. He returned his attention to Janet. “Shall we?”
Before she could respond, Laskin whisked her away. “So, what did you find out?” he asked.
“Muller is not in trading anymore. He runs a charity now.”
Laskin’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “What?”
“I know. I don’t believe it either. Something is not right. Either Muller lied to me, or he really did decide to become a law-abiding citizen, but I just don’t believe the latter. What did you find out from Aileen?”
“Aileen is quite a remarkable woman,” Laskin replied. “She owns her own public relations company, and she happens to be a very good dancer.”
Janet eyed him dubiously. “Anything else?”
“Of course,” Laskin replied. “I can mix business with pleasure, you know.”
“At least that makes one of us.”
“And very effective at that, I might add. Do you know Aileen’s last name?”
“No, why?”
“Finnegan. Sound familiar?”
“Do you mean that Finnegan, the New York State attorney general?”
“Yep.” Laskin beamed. “She and Muller have been dating about six months, and she is head over heels for the worm, although for the life of me I can’t understand what she sees in him.”
Janet decided not to comment. Despite his lack of moral character, Muller possessed a number of attributes that women would find attractive. “Did she know anything about Muller’s charity?”
Laskin shook his head. “No, it sounds like Muller keeps his business affairs to himself. I’m surprised he told you so much. Could it be because he wanted you to know?”
“I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to show off, but it does sound strange that he keeps it a secret from his girlfriend.”
“When I get back to the office on Monday, I’m going to do a background check on Muller’s charity. What’s the name of it?”
“Phoenix Fund.”
“He sure has a flare for names. First Emperial, and now Phoenix.”
“He certainly does.” Janet frowned. “Something is not adding up. I find it hard to believe that Muller has a charitable bone in his body.”
“Whatever his new scheme is, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
***
Jon Bostoff took a sip of scotch and checked his watch. The toasts would start soon, and he had to put his happy face on. His little brother was getting married. After the deluge of misfortunes that had assailed the Bostoff family over the past year, they were due for a little happiness in their lives.
Jon had worked hard to make up for all the wrongs he had done, but some things could never be corrected: the pain he had caused his father, the disappointment of his younger brother, and the shame Jon had brought on the Bostoff name. He had wanted to turn his father’s company into a financial empire; instead, Jon’s reckless actions had resulted in the collapse of Bostoff Securities. The past year had been a veritable hell as Jon was dragged t
hrough countless depositions, forced to disclose the details of a market manipulation scheme he had worked so hard to construct. He admitted his guilt, but in all fairness he had not been the mastermind behind the scheme. True, he had constructed the highway that subverted speed limits that the rest of the industry was expected to follow, but he was not the one driving the cars that raced on its smooth runway—the steering was done by his clients. David Muller, the owner of Emperial hedge fund, had been one of Jon’s biggest clients. Jon’s lawyer had assured him that Jon would get credit with the investigators for his cooperation in providing evidence, and that Muller was the main target of the case.
Jon’s shock was impossible to put into words when he learned the investigation’s verdict. Bostoff Securities was fined in the amount of one million dollars, and Jon was barred from the financial industry for three years. With the legal fees piling up and the fine hanging over his head, there was no other option but to liquidate Bostoff Securities. Jon’s shock had been even greater when he learned that the case against Emperial and David Muller had been dismissed due to lack of evidence.
The hardest part was breaking the news to his father, Hank Bostoff, who had put his life into building the company. Jon had expected chastisement and banishment; instead, his father had surprised Jon with mercy and understanding. “Anyone can slip, son,” Hank had said. “What sets the man apart from the rest is how he gets back on his feet. I know that you have it in you to get back on track.”
From that moment on, Jon dedicated his entire existence to repairing his credibility. With the ban hanging over him, the financial industry was closed to him. He had to find a new way to make a living. He would have to start over. The answer surprised him most of all. One night, as he was contemplating his options, Jon received a call from his lawyer asking him if he would be interested in providing consulting services to a financial company that had caught a rogue trader among its staff and was looking to strengthen internal controls. “I have not given your name or anything like that, Jon, but I thought that you could provide valuable input to this company from your recent experience.”
Thus began Jon’s consulting career. He was surprised by how quickly his client list grew. His clients consisted of companies that had already experienced problems with nefarious employees and were looking for ways to avoid a repeat experience, and those that were being proactive and were looking for preventive measures to avoid having such experiences firsthand. Jon understood the needs of his clients, and, most importantly, he understood the motivation of the culprits. Finance was a game of high risk and high reward, and the temptation to seize the reward often surpassed the fear of risk. Emboldened by profits made in a good year, traders often lived beyond their means, certain that each year would be better than the previous one. A trader who had made a wrong bet and was losing money on a stock position could turn into a desperate man, willing to go to great lengths to conceal the loss so that he could get that coveted bonus to pay for the lavish condo or vacation home he could barely afford in the first place.
Lies and cover-ups were a slippery slope: once one started, it was almost impossible to stop. Just recently, Jon had helped a client catch a rogue trader who was forging profit and loss reports. The trader had a programming background, which made it easy for him to break into the firm’s systems and manipulate the data, making his losses look like profits. The management began to suspect things, but could not quite make heads or tails of things, and they wanted an independent party to investigate, which was where Jon’s expertise came in. Still, the job was no picnic, for as much as he enjoyed the idea of helping his clients, Jon could not help feeling compassion for the culprits. After all, not so long ago he had been one of them. He just hoped that the bad guys he now helped to catch would have the will and decency to transform their lives, as he had done. It had been a long road, with an even steeper road lying ahead of him. To cover his legal fees and settle the regulatory fine, he had to sell his recently acquired beach house in the Hamptons and his mansion in Westbury, Long Island and move his family to a modest three bedroom house in Connecticut. Had it not been for his wife’s help, Jon doubted that he would have survived this mortification.
Candace Bostoff, née Covington, had been standing by Jon’s side ever since he planted a wet one on her at a party at Duke University over twenty years ago. Candace came from a wealthy family. There were many young men with far more impressive pedigrees than Jon’s who were vying for her attention, but Candace chose Jon. They got married right after graduation, by which time Candace was already pregnant with their firstborn, Tyler. The Covingtons had not approved of Candace’s choice of husband and had made it clear that the Bostoffs would not partake in the Covington fortune. It had been just as well with Jon who intended to make his own way in the world. Granted, Jon did not exactly come from nothing himself. His father’s boutique investment firm generated a steady stream of revenue, which Jon hoped to take to new heights. As a young man, Jon was eager to share his business ideas with his father, but Hank Bostoff liked doing business the tried and true way. So Jon bid his time, waiting until his father was ready to retire and hand over the business to him. By the time Hank Bostoff was ready to hand over the reins to Jon, time had passed, and the business opportunities that Jon had wanted to take advantage of were already taken. Still, he was eager to make up the lost ground and transform Bostoff Securities into a money making machine, so that he could finally provide Candace with the lifestyle she was born to have. Not that Candace had ever made a comment about their comfortable middle-class lifestyle: she had been perfectly content. It was Jon who had wanted more. How reckless he had been! Pride and ambition were valuable qualities, but when left unchecked they often drove men to do unthinkable things. If there were one thing that Jon Bostoff was certain of, it was that he would never let his pride or ambition get the better of him again.
“Are you ready to give your speech, honey?” Candace Bostoff squeezed her husband’s hand.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Jon smiled, pressing Candace’s hand to his lips. Jon glanced at the bustling reception hall. It was reassuring to see that even after the Bostoff name had been dragged through the mud, true friends remained by their side. Jon was about to turn his attention back to Candace when he felt blood flow to his face. There, among the guests who were supposed to be the closest of family and friends, sat David Muller, the man whom Jon held personally responsible for all of his misfortunes.
“Jon, what’s wrong?” Candace whispered.
He frowned, debating whether he should mention Muller’s presence at the wedding to Candace. He was not sure if Candace had seen him, and he did not want to ruin the mood. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just nerves I guess.”
“Nerves? When have you ever been shy about public speaking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired. How about a kiss to give me some courage?”
Jon attempted to steer Candace’s attention away from the guest tables, but was too late. “Is that David Muller?” Candace asked, her face turning pale.
“That’s the bastard in the flesh,” Jon hissed. “I have no idea who invited him. He’s got some nerve showing up here.” Jon saw the pained expression on Candace’s face. This was the last straw. “That’s it. I’m going to go over there and throw him out.”
“Wait.” Candace grabbed his hand. “Who’s that woman sitting next to him?”
“The redhead? I have no idea, but I’ve got to say that Muller has certainly come down in his standards. He used to date supermodels. I guess life’s not treating him as well as it used to.”
“Jon, I think I know who she is. Her face looks familiar; I remember seeing her in one of those society magazines. I’m pretty sure that’s the daughter of the state attorney general.”
“You mean Cornelius Finnegan’s daughter?”
“I’ve never been good with names, but I never forget a face when I see one, and I swear I saw her picture in one of the newspapers. She was photo
graphed next to her father, who is this hefty, bulky guy, and her mother who is actually quite pretty, and I remember thinking what a shame it was that the girl took after her father.”
“Candace, you are brilliant.” Jon pulled his wife close to him and planted a long, passionate kiss on her lips.
Candace blushed. “Jon, what’s gotten into you? You are the brother of the groom. There are people watching us.”
“What’s wrong with a man kissing his wife?” Jon beamed. “Baby, I think you just figured out a way to make Muller pay his due.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that he got away with a slap on his wrist, and I was put through the mill?”
“Jon, do you mean to say that Muller got off the hook because he had the attorney general to protect him?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ve been made a scapegoat, and I don’t like being anyone’s cat’s-paw. I’ll show that bastard.”
“Jon, please don’t make a scene.”
“Oh, I won’t. In fact, I’ll go over there and say hello, being my most cordial self. Sooner or later the bastard will slip, and even his friends in high places won’t be able to protect him.”
Chapter 17
“Baby, I missed you.” David tightened his arms around Mila’s lanky body. To say that he missed her was the understatement of a lifetime. His attraction to the woman had reached the level of addiction. When he was not with Mila he was thinking of making love to Mila, and when he was with Mila he was anxiously counting the hours until their separation, already longing for the next time he would see her.
“I missed you too, honey.” Mila pressed herself against him, making every muscle of his body ache with desire.
“Oh, yeah? I bet that I missed you more,” David whispered, reaching for the zipper on the back of Mila’s dress.
“Hold on a minute, honey. I want to show you what I’ve done with the place.”
