by David Lender
“Is that my apology?”
Her throat started to burn and tears welled in her eyes. She took in a deep breath, let it out. She leaned toward him, looked into his eyes and placed her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. And not just for taking the money in the first place, but for screwing up and losing it.”
“Thank you. It’s okay.”
She sat back while he started eating, said, “About nine months ago, after I finished the house and we moved in, I took stock of my situation. Living is cheaper here, and even with my $10 million cut I have more than I’ll ever need, including taking care of Daddy with the best doctors.”
Rudiger nodded without looking up from his eggs.
Katie was aware her pulse was elevated, felt her legs weak from nerves. “I was going to send you the $30 million in bearer bonds in another DHL envelope. I had all these clever ideas for a Post-it note stuck to it.”
Rudiger now looked up at her.
“ ‘Just kidding.’ ‘Oops. Forgot these.’ My favorite was ‘Holy cow! I just found these in the bottom of my suitcase.’ ”
Rudiger said, “I like ‘Just kidding’ the best.”
Katie started to feel her throat burn again. Why does he have to seem so reasonable about it? She said, “It was one of those things you think of and then just never get around to doing. They just sat in my safe deposit box in the bank. I never cashed them in.”
“Until just recently, you mean.”
“Yes. For what it’s worth, my idea was to invest the money and pay you back, and then split the profit with you.”
“I still would have preferred you sending them back and saying, ‘Just kidding.’ ”
She said, “Believe it or not, I actually thought scamming you at your own game was kind of funny.”
“In a way, so did I, at least after you sent me the $10 million. For a while there I thought you’d stiffed me completely.”
She said, “I don’t need much to live on. But I’d like to make sure Daddy’s last days are as pleasant as possible, and that I can give him the best care until . . .”
“I don’t want any of your money, if that’s where you’re going with this. It’s not about that.”
Now she couldn’t keep the tears from falling. She said, “Thank you, by the way, for being such a good friend to Daddy. And I’m so sorry about those ridiculous things I said the other night. You’ve been great to him. You’ve got him walking, laughing, and his energy and spirits have never been better since we’ve been here. I can tell he really likes you. So thank you.”
Rudiger took his napkin and reached over to wipe away Katie’s tears. “I really like him, too. And Styles. They almost make me feel like I’m part of a family.”
Katie was looking at the ground, fighting tears again. “I can’t help going back to it. I’m mortified that I got conned out of your money.”
“You’re a criminal prosecutor, not a corporate deals lawyer. An experienced corporate deals lawyer might have had it jump right out at her, too, like it did at me. But you were out of your element. And if it’s any consolation, even some top-notch corporate lawyers I know have a part of their brains that’s tone-deaf when it comes to numbers. Don’t take it so hard.”
Katie let out a long sigh. “At least that makes me feel a little better.”
“Good,” Rudiger said. “I feel better, too.” He finished his eggs, then leaned back in his chair and said, “I was up early, thinking. We need to figure out a way to get the money back from these guys.”
“How the hell do we do that?”
“Beat them at their own game.”
“How?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ve got a couple of ideas. But our next step should be for me to meet these guys.”
Rudiger watched as Katie’s face went from a blank look of confusion to a smirk.
She said, “Let me guess, you want me to bring you to Ducasse as a friend who’s interested in investing in Fund V, right?”
“Works for me.”
Katie stood up from her chair.
Rudiger figured he’d better tell her. He said, “There’s something you should know before you call him.”
Katie sat back down.
“I found out through some of my sources in Antigua that Charlie Holden knows where you are, knows you own a big house, even knows you spend a lot of money on doctors for your dad.”
Katie’s face went slack, then hardened.
Rudiger said, “Did you use Angela’s passport to fly over here?”
Katie nodded.
“I thought so. Holden must have guessed that because the only way you could’ve gotten into the safe deposit box in New York was as Angela. Then he probably did a computer search of the INS’s records and found you flew here on a passport as Angela.”
“But that means he must’ve even had somebody sniffing around here in Cape Verde to find out the rest.”
“That would be my guess.”
“Wow, I really screwed up that one, too.”
“You won’t be going anyplace ever again as Angela. And not anyplace anyhow for at least 3 to 5 days. In addition to finding a place on this island I can buy a suit, I’ll need to get my documents guy to get you a new identity to travel with.”
“Rudiger, there’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I used Angela’s passport for my trips to Geneva, too.”
“Charlie must’ve been asleep at the switch, then, because if he’d had the INS watching, you’d have been picked up at the airport in Geneva. You dodged a bullet.”
Ducasse sat in his office, realizing he was clutching the edge of his desk so tightly that his fingers were beginning to hurt. He could feel perspiration soaking his forehead.
He kept replaying the conversation he’d just had at a café around the corner with the man he’d been referred to. The man spoke with an American accent and called himself Strasser.
Immediately after Ducasse had sat down, Strasser told him, “The guy and the girl you wanted me to follow, they’re very lovey-dovey.”
“You’re certain it was them?”
“Two nights in a row. Positive ID from the pictures you gave me. I got a good look at them under the cast-iron light above the doorway as they left your building. The guy is maybe in his late 20s, blond, trim and good-looking, well dressed. The girl’s a knockout brunette with a slim body and nice shape beneath that expensive suit.”
Knowing where this was going, and hearing the man’s detailed descriptions, started to make him nauseous.
Strasser leaned forward, locked his dead eyes on him and said, “You realize I don’t take on jobs like this just to perform surveillance, don’t you?”
Ducasse wondered if Strasser expected a response.
When Ducasse remained silent, Strasser said, “The only reason I did this surveillance work is if it’s a means to get to a job, a real job, for me at the end of it. A job in my real line of business. This will be easy and clean if you want me to do them. Tell me now or I’m out of here. Is that what you want?”
Ducasse couldn’t bring himself to answer. He stalled. “How would you go about it?”
“They have dinner after they leave work. It’s fully dark by the time they finish. They’ll undoubtedly head back to his apartment again. Lots of dark alleys, narrow streets. I’ll make it look like a robbery gone bad.”
“Will you attract any attention?”
“You hired a professional. I use a silencer on my gun.”
Ducasse had to clear his throat before saying, “Do it.”
Strasser said, “Cash in an envelope with the concierge at my hotel again. Don’t try to cross me up, because I know who you are.”
Ducasse didn’t know how long he’d sat, staring at the door to his office, when he was startled
by a knock.
Father walked in. He closed the door, stopped and widened his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I was just thinking about something.”
“You look like you’re about to faint.”
Ducasse forced himself to smile. “I’m quite all right, I assure you.” He motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“I’ll stand. I just stopped by to tell you that Mrs. Stoltz has definitively backed out.”
“Yes, I’ve already heard.”
Father stepped back, put his hand on the doorknob and smiled. “Ah, well, not the end of the world.”
Ducasse just looked at him.
Father’s smile faded. He took his hand off the doorknob and said, “Maybe I should sit down after all.” He walked over and sat. “Suppose you tell me what’s going on.”
Ducasse leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “It’s not as simple as that.” He averted his eyes. “Remember the young man in accounting I told you had gotten close to Mrs. Stoltz’s niece?”
Father said, “Look at me. What’s going on?”
Ducasse cleared his throat, leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “Mrs. Stoltz called Wolfe in accounting to say she was declining to invest.”
“She called our controller to decline?”
“Yes. And Wolfe told me her tone was strained, her voice shaking. After he got off the phone with her, he came directly to see me. He was perspiring, nervous as a hen.”
“Get to the point,” Father said.
“Wolfe says Stroheim, the young man in accounting close to the niece, has come to him repeatedly asking about some of the financial results on various deals in our funds. Wolfe thinks Stroheim has figured it out.”
“My God,” Father whispered. His words hung in the air for a few moments before he said, “And undoubtedly Stroheim told the niece, who told her aunt, and that’s why she backed out and didn’t have the nerve to call either of us to say so.” He paused. “What are you going to do?”
Ducasse averted his eyes again.
Father said, “I said, what are you going to do?”
Ducasse made eye contact with him again. “I’ve just spoken with someone about it. He’s going to check into it for us, see how far it’s gone.”
Father looked at him for a long moment before saying, “I hope this young man Stroheim has the good sense to keep his mouth shut in the future.”
Ducasse felt pressure in his chest as he nodded in response.
Strasser was hiding in the shadows of the recessed entrance to a town house across the street when he saw the two kids step out of their office door at 4 Rue Beauregard. It was early evening, just dusk.
Working late again.
Strasser followed them up the narrow street to Rue Etienne-Dumont, where they turned left. After they made the turn they started holding hands, walking close, their bodies touching.
Young love.
They were oblivious to anything but themselves, so he picked up his pace and closed to within ten yards of them.
They continued down Rue Etienne-Dumont to Place du Bourg-de-Four and spoke to the maître d’ at a restaurant on the square. Strasser stopped, pretending to check his cell phone, and saw them being seated at one of the tables outside on the sidewalk.
He found an outdoor table at a café across the square from which he could observe them, sat down and ordered a tea. After his tea arrived he glanced back at the table where the kids were looking at menus. He’d have time to order dinner himself before he got to work.
Two days later at 7:00 a.m. Ducasse sat in his office, feeling relieved, drinking a cup of excellent espresso from his favorite café on Place du Bourg-de-Four, taking in the calming effect of his possessions and mementos surrounding him. The office was quiet, none of the staff in yet. His door was open.
Father strode in, a newspaper in hand, his face grim. He closed the door and threw the paper on Ducasse’s desk.
“Even if you haven’t seen this I presume you know all about it.”
Ducasse felt his blood rise but kept his demeanor calm. He glanced down at an article in the paper about the murder of two young Banque d’affaires Ducasse employees on the streets of Geneva. Ducasse said, “I’ve read it. An apparent robbery in which they resisted and were both shot dead.”
Father slammed his hands onto Ducasse’s desk and shouted, “My God, you said you were having someone check into the situation for us, not commit some atrocity!”
Ducasse sat back in his chair and regarded Father. He waited a moment before saying evenly, “What would you have had me do?”
“I thought you were going to pay them off.”
Ducasse chuckled. “For how long? Forever? And what if they wouldn’t have taken the money, then what?”
Father slumped into a chair. “You’ve crossed the line.”
Ducasse leveled his eyes at him. “We’ve way too much at risk.”
“This isn’t how we operate.”
“It is now. We raised the stakes years ago. You can’t expect the benefits without some costs.”
Father hung his head.
Ducasse said, “You’ll get used to the idea, as did I.” He stood and walked around his desk to stand over Father.
Father appeared dazed but stood and looked him in the eye. He turned, walked to the door, opened it and left without another word.
Ducasse’s hands were shaking as he walked over to close the door. Father was right: he’d crossed the line, but there was no turning back now.
It took four days for Rudiger to get Katie’s documents. They left for Geneva the next day. When they checked into the Hotel d’Angleterre, the receptionist said, “Ms. Elizabeth Davenport. Mr. James Scott Rockford, correct?”
They both nodded.
“Traveling on one reservation, two single adjacent rooms.” Katie pondered that. Rudiger had booked the reservations, and she figured he didn’t want to seem presumptuous by reserving a single room. But adjacent rooms showed he was at least thinking about her. She went to sleep remembering his kiss back at her house. She got her wake-up call at 6:30 a.m., alone in bed.
Katie was in the lobby at 7:30 a.m., ready for breakfast, when the elevator opened on a demigod in a midnight-blue chalk-striped suit inside it, a simple blue pin-dot tie against a white shirt, silver cufflinks glistening on French cuffs. She felt a tremble between her thighs. She’d never seen Rudiger in a suit before. God, he’s beautiful.
He smiled at her as he stepped out of the elevator. She saw him look her up and down. He’d probably never seen her in a suit, either. This was one of her best, a Ralph Lauren Collection navy pinstripe. They walked into the restaurant. All throughout breakfast, she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. They were tanned, manly, perfect. Now she remembered how they felt on her body. She had trouble putting thoughts in a line until in the cab to Ducasse’s offices he said, “We should assume when we get over there that they’re videotaping everything, or at least recording it.”
Katie nodded.
“So let’s not say a thing or even indicate anything with our body language that’s anything other than the way we’re representing ourselves. Me, John Rudiger, a friend of yours interested in investing in Ducasse Fund V, and you, Angela Conklin, in character. Okay?”
“Got it,” Katie said, feeling Rudiger’s hip and thigh against hers in the back of the cab, wanting to rest her hand on his leg.
At Ducasse’s office the receptionist showed them to a first-floor conference room. It smelled like fresh paint and new leather. Katie saw Rudiger walking around and eyeing the oil paintings of the Ducasse ancestors. At one point he stepped so close to one that she could swear he was sniffing the old man.
What’s he doing?
The door opened and Philippe Ducasse entered, followed by two young associates carrying bo
und books and papers. Ducasse said to Rudiger, “My great-great-uncle Nathaniel. Painted in the 1700s. One of our oldest.” He turned and walked to Katie and smiled, his business smile. “Angela, how nice to see you again.” He kissed her on each cheek. Then he walked to Rudiger and extended his hand, Katie guessing that Rudiger was assessing the firmness of his handshake. “You must be Mr. Rudiger.”
They sat, exchanged pleasantries, poured tea. After about five minutes Ducasse said, “Please forgive the smell of fresh paint. We recently renovated this conference room, and we’re christening it today.” He pushed a button under the conference room table that opened a panel displaying an LCD screen. He took Rudiger through the presentation that Katie had seen on her first visit.
Afterward he said to Rudiger, “Any questions?”
Rudiger said, “I already read Angela’s copy of your Private Placement Memorandum, so I’m up to speed. I’d put in $10 million in a month or two, then another $30 to $50 million in 60 to 90 days when some of my other illiquid investments pay out. But the only way I’d do it is if you’d give me the same deal as Angela—a 5% cut of your 20% carried interest.”
Ducasse arched his head back as if he was surprised by Rudiger’s bluntness. He said, “I don’t really see how I could do that. Our current investors in Fund V haven’t been offered those terms for only a $10 million investment.”
Rudiger said, “Hear me out. I know your other investors probably don’t make proposals like this, but we Americans can be a little brash.” He smiled. “But there’s more to my pitch. I have a few deals that I’m really interested in myself that I might lose if I can’t fund them today, and I don’t have the cash on hand to do them myself. But if we invest together, you can fund the portion I can’t. So here’s the back end of my pitch. If I invest $10 million in a month or two and you give me Angela’s terms, I’ll give you an exclusive on any deal I see for the next 60 to 90 days, including the deals I’m currently working on. The first deal I’m thinking of is probably going to take $100 million of equity, backed by $900 million of debt, but it’s a home run based on a deal I did in the States about five years ago. That deal’s paid out with IRRs over 70%.” Rudiger folded his hands on the table. Those hands. “Interested?”