“Mom! Stay on topic. His name?”
“Yes, right. It’s Robert Williams—well, he said to call him Rob. Tall, dark hair, neat goatee, looks like a runner or fitness expert with that nice body of his.”
“What’s the name of his production company?” Sandy asked.
“Um … let me think. Something adventurous. That’s because the film is an action picture. He told me George Clooney and Brad Pitt were being considered for the lead roles—two men who go after the same treasure, but one’s a—”
“Mom. Focus. The company name?”
“Intrepid Dog Pictures. That’s it.”
“Never heard of them,” Mary said.
“I hadn’t either, but the website gave a list of their film credits. Plus, he’s also been associated with several other companies.”
Amber was tapping busily on her phone’s browser.
“He told me the project was open to a very limited number of investors. Patty was going to get in on the ground floor, and we would get a higher return for our money by signing on early. Later investors would have to settle for a smaller percentage. We had walked out to the terrace, and he pulled out this little tablet device and played the advertisement … whatever they call it … a trailer, I think? Anyway, oh my gosh, it sounded fantastic. Well, in fact, he had some review quote on there saying it was going to be the best film of the year. There was George, there was Brad—how could I resist those two?”
“Did you receive a copy of that movie trailer?” Pen asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ve watched it a lot of times. Hannah and the kids loved it too. She’s so excited that I’m an investor. We’re getting red-carpet treatment and tickets to the premier. It’s where everyone who’s anyone in this town will be, come next April.”
Amber was looking at something on her phone screen, shaking her head.
Gracie spoke up. “Mom, what other information did he give you? Surely you didn’t send money based on a two-minute video.”
“Of course not, Grace Ann Nelson. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Janice cleared her throat for the third time and went on. “There was all kind of investor information on the website, including charts with the returns on his previous films. People are making profits of forty and fifty percent. Try getting that at a bank these days. This is the investment of a lifetime.”
“I found the movie trailer,” Amber said quietly, holding up her phone.
“Did you actually speak with some of these other investors, the ones who collected their returns?”
“Yes—Patty. She’s very pleased.”
Pen remembered Janice’s previous words; Patty’s investment returns were due to come in soon. She raised an eyebrow toward Sandy, who mirrored the skeptical look.
“Janice, did you get anything in writing?” Sandy asked. “Do you have a contract? Were there printed brochures or a prospectus describing the investment, his commitment to pay, a payment schedule—anything that would help us form a complete picture?”
“Well, yes, I’m sure I have the information here somewhere.”
“Mail it to me, Mom, please.” Gracie sounded harried. “I’ll talk to you later, once we have a chance to look it over.”
She ended the call and the women sat there a full minute, silent, as each dealt with her thoughts. Amber was the first to speak. “I smell scam all over this thing,” she said.
Chapter 4
Amber held up her phone and played the video, but it was hard for everyone to see.
“We need a bigger screen,” Grace said. “We’ll bring it up on my computer.”
Snagging a cupcake and napkin for each of them, Sandy and the others followed her inside. They stood around the large desktop screen and watched as the canned voice, familiar to every moviegoer in America, began the spiel: “In the high-stakes world of antiquities, one artifact stands out …”
An actor who might have been George Clooney stood in the shadows as ominous music rolled. A beam of light caught the gleam from an object on a pedestal across the room. The scene flashed forward to the Brad Pitt character in a sleek car, racing away from pursuers on a rain-slick road. The music reached a crescendo as the narrator finished with the clincher question: “This time … will the forces of darkness win?”
The women watched the short film twice.
“Okay, it does look pretty exciting,” Sandy admitted.
“That’s because it’s a mishmash of actual movie clips, movies that were exciting,” Amber said. “The shadowy opening scene—that’s not Clooney, but that scene came from one of the older Indiana Jones films and the guy in the shadows was one of the bad guys. The car racing in the rain? That came out of James Bond. It can’t be Brad Pitt. The guy built this trailer from clips he found elsewhere and pasted together.”
“You’re so right.” Gracie said, her hand to her throat. “The beam of light on the object—I remember that from somewhere, not sure which picture.”
“They’re calling this movie Fraction.”
“Which means what—the numbers we had to learn in elementary school?”
“It’s just a word. But a familiar word people can picture in their minds, a concept we’re all familiar with, and presumably something that relates to the plot.”
A message appeared in the corner of the screen.
“Email from Hannah,” Gracie said. “Let’s see if she’s already sent something.”
When she opened the message, it contained nothing but a link to a website: fractionthemovie.com. She clicked the link and a glamorous set of graphics appeared. The same fast car, the same shadowy villain, and the same unidentified object on a pedestal, along with some explosion effects, starbursts, and a matrix of numbers to put the viewer in mind of complex computer formulas.
It was all there: the cast list claiming A-List actors, the racy buzzwords from the plot, and a huge “Coming Next Spring” banner.
“When did your mother give this guy her money?” Mary asked.
“Three years, or more. Scott and I got into this whole bailout thing with her more than two years ago.”
“So, ‘next spring’ could really mean anytime, couldn’t it?” Mary said.
The five exchanged glances. “It really could,” said Pen.
Amber had taken over at the computer. She scrolled to the bottom of the page, where very small letters formed a link that said “Investor Inquiries.” She gave an evil little chuckle and clicked.
“Let’s just see what the pitch really says,” she said.
The next page opened with three paragraphs of tightly packed small print. Amber leaned forward and read aloud. “In connection with an equity financing of at least ten million dollars, the Company may convert the investment into shares of non-voting preferred stock (Conversion Shares) at a price based on the lower of (A) a 20% discount to the price paid per share for Preferred Stock by the investors in the Qualified Equity Financing or (B) the price per share based on a $30 million valuation cap …” She turned to Sandy. “Do you have any idea what that means?”
Sandy blinked, moved in closer and read the paragraph for herself. “Vaguely. An investor might or might not own non-voting stock in the company when all is said and done.”
“And what does that mean?” Gracie asked.
“I suppose if the movie became wildly successful and showed a profit, investors would get a share, although without the ability to vote, any distributions would be entirely left up to the directors of the company.”
“Does this tell us anything about the actual company?” Pen asked.
Sandy asked Amber to scroll the screen down a bit more. “Let’s see … goals seem to be along the lines of ‘creating elaborate sensory experiences in the expectation of capturing an audience's attention’ and ‘engaging with customers by using branded campaigns.’ There’s more but it’s really couched in a lot of marketing-speak.”
“Made to sound important in such a way the average person has no clue,” Mary said. “Well, in my opinion.”
>
“Yeah, pretty much.”
The women exchanged glances.
Sandy went on. “All companies that need to raise capital for their projects and for expansion create business prospectuses, and I’m sure many very legitimate ones use similar language. Gracie, did your mother have any of the materials reviewed by an attorney before she signed up?”
Gracie sighed. “I doubt it. Mom tends to flit from one shiny bauble to the next. It’s how she ran through all the money she got from the divorce. And, trust me, a project that might link her name to George Clooney’s—that would be a shiny bauble to her.”
“So even if she did have an attorney review the contract, she might have signed over the money anyway?” Mary asked.
Gracie nodded.
“Okay, so then what can be done about it? I have a feeling the law wouldn’t prosecute in a case where a person of legal age signed a contract. There must have been wording to inform investors there were no guaranteed returns,” Mary said.
“No doubt.” Sandy rubbed her back where it had cramped from bending near the computer screen.
The group had become quiet, each with her own thoughts about what to do next, when Gracie’s phone rang.
“Hannah—hi. What did you find?” Silence at Gracie’s end while her sister talked. “Nothing? What about contacting Mr. Williams’s office and getting a duplicate? Really? Well, shit.”
She hung up and looked around the room. “They can’t find the contract. Mom remembers it as a couple of pages with a blue cover sheet, but she’s been through all her papers. They even thought of asking the producer’s company to send a duplicate, but Hannah was told Mr. Williams is the only one who can provide it. He’s filming on location, but they didn’t say where.”
“That sounds like a handy answer when you don’t want to be found,” Mary commented.
Amber had continued clicking various links on the website. “Hey, this might be a lead.”
The others gathered closer again.
“I’m still in the investment section, and it’s talking about an investor event. It’s this weekend, in Rhode Island.”
“Hmm?” Gracie’s surprise was evident. “What on earth would Rhode Island have to do with anything?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Pen said. She scanned the page Amber had brought up. “I think I should go.”
“Seriously?”
“Why not? I have the credentials, if they want to check my background. I can always say I have a secret desire that Mr. Williams turn my latest book into a movie, and I’m willing to invest the cash to make it happen.”
“Well, it would sound plausible,” Sandy said.
“I should take an assistant—two sets of eyes and all that.”
Amber almost jabbed Pen in the eye, in her haste to raise her hand. “Pick me, pick me! I’d love to go … and it’s my birthday.” She was bouncing in her seat at the computer desk.
Pen laughed and glanced around at the others. Mary and Sandy had business obligations at home. Gracie was in too emotional a state; she was likely to punch Rob Williams in the face if she met him. Amber truly was the logical choice for the trip.
“All right, all right. You shall go.”
Their youngest member beamed. “I’ll make a great assistant, Pen, and I won’t let you down.”
Pen squeezed her hand. “Now, we must look at this logically. A one-line mention of this investor meeting on the website is not exactly an invitation. We’ll need a way in. Plus, we need to be a bit more specific about the location, other than just Rhode Island. Granted, it’s a small state, but really.”
Amber already had her phone out. She pointed to a number on the screen then began tapping the digits.
“Is this the office of Intrepid Dog Pictures? I’m calling on behalf of the bestselling novelist Penelope Fitzpatrick. Yes? I see. Ms. Fitzpatrick received word about an investment opportunity—something about raising venture capital for films—and she is most interested in speaking with Mr. Robert Williams about participating. I’ve located information on your website about an upcoming investor meeting?”
She listened, nodding now and then.
“We’re in Arizona but we can be on a plane in the morning,” she said to whomever was on the line, raising a questioning glance toward Pen at the same time. A smile spread across her face but she kept her voice neutral when she spoke again. “Yes, thank you. That will be very satisfactory.”
When she ended the call, a huge grin broke out. “We’re in! The presentation is being held at someplace called The Breakers in Newport, Saturday evening. Our invitations will be held at the door for us.”
“The Breakers,” Pen said. “We must plan to dress.”
“Oh, definitely,” Sandy said. “I’ve heard of that place. One of the Vanderbilt family’s ‘cottages.’ The Gilded Age, when summer homes were enormous mansions. By which I mean, my entire house could probably fit into the kitchen of the place.”
“That’s the one,” Pen confirmed. “I’ve been there once, on a public tour, when I needed background for one of my historical novels. Evidently, the property can be rented for special occasions, and I must admit I’m faintly impressed. The fact Intrepid Dog Pictures has the money and clout to use The Breakers says something.”
“Don’t become too impressed,” Sandy cautioned. “Keep in mind, it’s likely Janice’s money and other investors who are footing the bill. And don’t let the man talk you into giving him any more.”
“I’ll keep her purse under control,” Amber said. Her dark eyes sparkled.
Chapter 5
“You look amazing,” Amber said when Pen emerged from the bedroom of their suite wearing a pale lavender sheath dress and gold accessories. Her blonde page curved neatly to her chin, held above one ear with an understated gold clip.
“Thank you. And I must say I wholeheartedly approve of your outfit, as well.”
Amber, who normally stayed in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt all day, had found a cute dress that reflected her personality but was also appropriate for an assistant to a wealthy woman. The eggplant chiffon flattered her dark skin tone, and her choice of bright pink bangle bracelets and dangling earrings added the right touch of fun.
“I even got a leather portfolio so it can look like I’m carrying all your important papers,” she told Pen. “What they won’t know is that I ran a little remote-cam device through the spine of the notebook and it’s recording to my phone which is here.” She lifted a triangular flounce at the waist of her dress, to reveal her phone in a trim little case. “Everyone’s got a phone on them nowadays, so even if it’s spotted, it won’t be out of place.”
“Well, dear, I must say you’ve thought of everything.”
“I may only end up with pictures of that fabulous mansion,” Amber admitted, “but you never know. If I hear any juicy tidbits of conversation I might grab those as well. And, if Brad Pitt is there, I’m definitely whipping out the phone and getting a selfie with him.”
Pen laughed. She’d been very fortunate in her writing career, having met a number of celebrities and nearly all the authors from the New York Times list. She’d forgotten how easily star-struck she’d been at Amber’s age.
They had arrived the day before, settled in at a nice hotel, got to bed early, after Amber checked in by email with Gracie, Sandy, and Mary. This morning they’d driven around Newport. Amber had found a narrated audio tour, which she played from her phone, so they could learn a bit about the area. She was astonished at the number of mansions along the southern and eastern shores.
The audio spoke of the area history, which included rum-running, a slave trade, British and French military troops, and onward to the gilded age when fortunes were made on everything from railroads and oil to canned soup and the paperclip. Along came the likes of Doris Duke, the Kennedys, and the notorious Von Bulows. In more recent times, mansions and exclusive properties were being bought up by television, film, and sports celebrities. Concepts such as ‘old mon
ey’ and ‘new money’ were still quite important here when it came to admission to the exclusive clubs. Amber just smiled and shook her head.
Pen put on her poshest British accent and said, “Good to know all this. I must drop a mention of my grandfather’s ties to the tsar.”
They drove past the entrance to The Breakers, where at midday tourists flocked through the gates to obtain tickets for the tour.
“Just think,” Amber had said, “we’ll be back this evening, eating off the fine china and hobnobbing with the rich.”
Now, dressed in their finery, they stepped out of the hotel to the limousine Pen had hired for the evening. “One, in case we can’t find our way back in the dark,” she’d said, “and two, to make an impression. To get the real nitty-gritty, as they say, we want these people to believe I’m able to make a substantial investment.”
“Remember what Gracie said. Do not actually sign anything.”
Pen patted Amber’s hand as the car pulled onto the long gravel driveway. After tour hours, the huge home had been transformed. Soft lighting illuminated the landscaping and stone walls of the house, and uniformed attendants indicated the way. The limo pulled up to the impressive entry, and the ladies stepped out.
White-gloved attendants accepted their wraps, while others showed them to an elegant great hall with carved pillars, red carpets, gold rococo embellishments, and massive chandeliers hanging from chains twenty feet above. Tables sparkled with crystal and cutlery, and roving waiters offered glasses of champagne.
Taking a glass, Pen scanned the room. She did some quick math and calculated the number of expected investors to be at least eighty. If half actually invested—she expected it would be more—and with an average investment of two-hundred thousand, Williams’s company easily stood to receive eight million dollars. With high-pressure sales techniques and generous investors, that amount could potentially double.
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