Will you catch some rich bastard criminal today? Ellie used to ask, loving to hear about Nick’s success stories. He was a senior investigator in the Boston office of the Security and Exchange Commission, and sometimes they did catch the bad guys. It fulfilled her need to believe that the good guys would occasionally win.
“Not likely,” Nick would usually reply, “but I can never be sure. Maybe this will be a special day.” That usually satisfied her immediate need for justice, because she would ask again tomorrow. “But I will be busy, paperwork mostly. Pete has been on my back to get the monthly investigation summaries completed on time.”
Ellie never liked it when she thought her man was being put down. You tell that Pete Mitchell to back off. Tell him I said so. You’re better than you give yourself credit for.
He would always nod, although he didn’t believe it.
Nick turned onto his street and sprinted the last hundred yards. He collapsed, gasping, on his front steps.
*****
“I thought I was going to die.” Nick paused, trying to keep his voice from breaking.
“Tell me.”
“I could feel the heat from the fire through the bedroom door. Smoke was slipping across the threshold, curling around my feet. I thought if I opened the bedroom door, the back draft would consume me.” Nick crossed his arms, hugging himself.
“It was then that I heard the cry. It was a small child’s cry, just a whimper really. It sounded like Emma, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to get to her, to rescue her. I was frantic. I called to her, to let her hear my voice. I grabbed the doorknob but it was red-hot. The baby’s cries got louder, deep sobs that sounded like she couldn’t catch her breath. I grabbed a heavy blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my hand, grabbed the knob again and flung the door open. Black smoke billowed into the room but there was no explosion. I could see flames licking the doorframe of Emma’s room. I moved slowly along the wall, feeling my way like a blind man, but I just couldn’t seem to get closer. The heat from the flames was so intense—I felt my face getting singed by sparks and hot embers fell on my shoulders and smoldered. Suddenly I realized that the cries had stopped. I fell to my knees to avoid the thickest smoke and crawled down the hall. The blackness was only pierced by the red glow that framed Emma’s bedroom door. I have to rescue her, I thought. But with each push forward, I felt weaker and weaker.”
“What happened next?”
“That’s when the phone rang, and I woke up.”
Jeff Stone sat back in his chair. “That’s a powerful dream, Nick. The psychologist tapped his pen against the arm of his chair. He and Nick had known each other since their sophomore year at Princeton, and had roomed together their junior and senior years. “Tell me what you think it means.”
“I’m not sure. I still feel shaky. Besides, isn’t that your job?”
Dr. Stone nodded. “You’re right, it is. But it will help more if you can express your feelings about it. Dreams can often be the mind’s way to assist the healing process. It’s important to try to understand what they mean. And it’s natural to feel shaky. You gave yourself quite a scare. Now, what do you think the dream meant?”
Nick thought for a moment. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Emma, but she didn’t die in a fire. How does that make sense?”
“What does the fire mean, Nick?” Stone leaned forward to emphasize his point.
He thought a moment. “In the dream, I didn’t have control. I couldn’t stop the fire. I couldn’t reach Emma. I wasn’t there when she needed me. I will never forgive myself.” Nick felt close to tears.
“It’s not your fault. You were away. You didn’t know the heating system would malfunction and cause carbon monoxide to flood through the house. You couldn’t know. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t stop. There was nothing you could have done.”
“But I should have been there.”
“If you were there you would have died too.”
Nick took a deep breath. “I haven’t dreamed like this for weeks. I really thought they had stopped.”
“The dreams will stop. You just need to give it time. Keep yourself busy. Occupy your mind with things that you can look forward to. Okay?”
Nick looked down at his hands. “I’ll try.”
*****
Nick had a 1pm meeting scheduled with Sam to review the team’s findings. He finished his ham and cheese sandwich and washed it down with an Arizona Iced Tea before he headed to the conference room. There he found Sam standing by the large plate glass window, waiting for him.
“Hey Sam, let’s get started.”
“Okay, boss.”
Nick hated being called that. He wanted a positive relationship with his staff. Being called the “boss” put a barrier between himself and his team.
“We discussed three areas on Friday—financials, background material on the senior managers, and regulatory filings issued by this office or other agencies. Let’s cover each of these in detail.”
“Right,” Sam replied, opening his first folder. “The financials. Last year Jordano Funds made $72 million in profits, with a twenty-nine percent return on investment. That was up about ten percent from the prior year. Kaspar Jordano received a six million dollar bonus in addition to his base pay of one million dollars. The management team each earned between $600,000 and 1.5 million dollars, with bonus and base pay. Pretty good money, if you can take the pressure.” Sam stretched his arms and rolled his neck. A loud crack resonated across the room. He sighed. “That feels better.”
“Wow,” Nick made a wry expression. “We should have gone into finance instead of law enforcement. A few years with that kind of salary would be enough to last a lifetime. Tell me about the senior managers.”
“Okay. I’ll save Kaspar Jordano for last. Harry Wainwright has been with the firm for about fifteen years, straight out of Princeton. He moved up the ladder quickly. He started as a portfolio analyst on one of their mid-cap funds. After four years doing company analysis, he was promoted to be the portfolio manager of their small cap fund. His timing was perfect; performance in the small cap market exploded over the next five years. Harry’s fund averaged an eighteen percent return during that period. He was then promoted to his current position as managing director of all domestic equity funds. He’s the golden boy at the firm, and is seen as the likely successor for CEO if Jordano steps down.”
Nick finished taking a few notes. “Wainwright seems like a company man. That means he’s not a likely candidate for providing dirt on the company’s internal workings. Who’s next?”
“Jack Walsh. He’s been with the company for nine years, and is also a managing director. Walsh oversees their international fund portfolio. This guy was hired away from Mellon Bank, and instantly assumed considerable responsibility at Jordano. His father is an old friend of Kaspar’s – they met at Yale. That connection may have helped Jack get his foot in the door at a senior level. Walsh is a lightning rod for controversy. He doesn’t have the smooth edges that Wainright has. He’s also seen as someone you don’t want to cross.” Sam cracked his knuckles.
“Let’s put him in the ‘possible’ pile. Someone that we’ll look at more closely,” Nick mused.
Sam continued. “Then there’s Sinead Johnson and Sreekanth Prabhala. Both are senior vice presidents. Each has been with the firm for a shorter time, Sinead about five years, and the Indian guy just over a year. Both seem to be pretty non-controversial. They don’t strike me as the informant type.”
“Okay, let’s move onto the head honcho.”
Sam smacked his gums. “Kaspar Jordano is a legend unto himself. He started the firm when mutual funds were just gaining popularity with the general investing public. He’s a smart guy, but he’s also known for being abrasive, nasty, and mercenary. He might be the kind of leader that someone would want to take down. The company has been profitable for twelve straight years. Their margins are among the highest in the industry, due primaril
y to the superior performance their funds have been able to generate. Since the company’s income is largely based on fund asset levels, the growth of those assets has been a key performance goal for the management team. They have succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.”
Nick looked beyond Sam to the view outside the window. He could see Storrow Drive wind its way toward the western edge of the city. Traffic was already heavy even though it was still mid-afternoon. “Okay, so maybe Kaspar isn’t the most popular guy. Do you think that’s enough of a reason for someone to become a whistle blower?”
“Everyone has their own agenda,” Sam replied. “There could be any number of reasons for someone to squeal. Maybe they want to hurt the firm, or it could be a personal attack against Kaspar.”
“Or maybe someone wants justice. I suppose the reason doesn’t matter. Our job is to figure out what’s going on. I spoke to Mitchell this morning – he’s expecting another call from the informant this week. He hopes to set up a meeting.”
Sam opened his last folder. “We also looked at regulatory filings involving Jordano. Nothing much out of the ordinary. The typical 10k filings. One audit comment from last year did highlight a deficiency in their Control and Reconcilement Department – inadequate controls over transaction processing. That issue was supposed to be addressed this year.”
“Good work Sam. I’ll summarize this for Mitchell this afternoon. Send me your written summary so I can use it as a starting point.”
“Will do, boss.” Sam grinned. He knew Nick hated being called that.
Chapter 7
Tuesday, October 21
There was no news about Julie Monroe. The police visited again to interview Harry and the other fund managers, but they were at a loss to explain her disappearance. The police were baffled as well. They had questioned her husband extensively, and had learned about his gambling debt. But it was their general consensus that he hadn’t been involved. Julie had simply vanished. Her car hadn’t been found, she hadn’t contacted any family, and no one had called with a ransom demand. Her disappearance was the sole topic at the lunch table.
“I don’t understand this,” Jerry Haskins was saying as Harry sat down. He popped open his diet soda and took a gulp. “Julie has always been so reliable. Something must have happened to her.” His dark eyes moved from person to person as if seeking confirmation of his comments.
“I agree,” replied Hannah Kincaid, Julie’s team leader. She poured a package of French dressing over her salad. “Julie told me that she wasn’t feeling well that morning, and she wasn’t sure she would last the whole day. But she also seemed anxious. That wasn’t like Julie at all.”
“I talked to her just before she left,” added Marcy Phillips, Julie’s closest friend in the office. “I was the last one to speak to her. And I agree with Hannah. Something was bothering her.”
“Julie was excited about becoming a mother. Were there any concerns with the baby’s health?” Harry asked. He opened his bun to add some salt to his cheeseburger.
“I talked to her husband over the weekend,” said Marcy. “Bob said Julie had just been to a doctor’s appointment. The baby was doing fine, Julie was gaining weight on schedule, and her blood pressure was good. There were no surprises or concerns.”
“Maybe Julie has a secret life that no one here knows about,” Jerry remarked snidely. Harry looked at him.
Jerry’s enjoying this discussion a little too much, he thought.
Harry remembered that there’d been a couple of complaints recently about Jerry—off-hand comments from people whose opinions he respected. Frankly, Harry was beginning to question Jerry’s value to the firm. If the Sierra Health issue hadn’t occurred last week, Harry had been planning to initiate an investigation into one of the recent accusations.
I need to follow up on that when things settle down a bit, he thought.
“Let’s not be casting aspersions, Jerry,” Harry scolded. “Julie is well respected here, and she’s a very dedicated employee. I don’t want people in the office gossiping. There’s probably a good explanation for her disappearance. I’m sure this will be resolved soon enough.”
“Fine, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Jerry said meekly. He stood and picked up his tray. “I need to get back upstairs.” Haskins turned and left the table.
Harry watched him go.
I don’t like that guy, he thought.
Chapter 8
Wednesday, October 22
Nora was laughing at Harry’s discomfort. She had convinced him to try a California roll, made from bits of cooked crab and avocado rolled up in a seaweed wrap.
“My god, you should see your face,” she laughed. “You’d think you were eating food someone had tossed into the garbage. It’s not even a raw roll!”
The restaurant that Nora had picked wasn’t much more than a hole in the wall near Commonwealth Pier, but it supposedly had the freshest sushi in town. Harry swallowed quickly and took a gulp from his Heineken. “Not far from it.” He looked down at the food that remained on his plate. “They should keep these things in California.”
“Sushi is an acquired taste. Maybe after a few more visits, you’ll begin to appreciate the food as much as the beer,” Nora teased. “We should make this a weekly event.”
That sounded good to Harry. The past hour had flown by. He had learned much about Nora’s past. The death of her father from a heart attack at the age of forty-four had happened when she was just fourteen. That tragedy had convinced Nora of one thing: she needed to be healthy. She had joined the soccer team at school, and became a vegetarian. She’d maintained that discipline for the past twenty years, and it showed. The years had been kind to the thirty-four-year-old.
“I think the next lunch spot should be my choice,” Harry said seriously. “There’s a great steak place called Darby’s near the office. Twenty-ounce T-bones with huge baked potatoes, and fresh asparagus. Now that’ll put some hair on your chest.”
“Really?” Nora glanced quickly down at her chest. Harry’s eyes followed hers. “I didn’t think I needed more there.” She covered her mouth and blushed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I think that third beer is starting to take effect.”
Harry laughed. “That’s okay. We can recover on the walk back to the office. I wouldn’t want to have to write you up for inappropriate behavior.”
“Time to get the check,” Nora said. “Since I picked the place, I’ll pay today. You get the next one.”
Harry started to protest. “No, today is on me.”
“Tell you what,” Nora said with a gleam, “let’s arm wrestle for the check. Loser pays.”
“Arm wrestle for it? You’re on.”
They cleared a spot in the center of the table, and placed their elbows there. Nora’s hand folded neatly into his own. Her skin was soft, but her grasp was strong. Harry started to think this might become embarrassing very quickly.
“One, two, three, go!” Nora said suddenly. Her arm tensed immediately and she caught Harry by surprise. She pushed his arm down a couple of inches before he recovered and held it there for a few moments. Harry watched her face. It was clear she was trying hard to win.
Harry began to straighten his arm, and started to push Nora’s arm back to a vertical position. He saw some doubt creep into her eyes. Then all of a sudden it was over. Harry pushed her arm to the table, hitting her knuckles on the table cloth a little harder than he intended to.
“Wow, you’re stronger than you look,” she said with a straight face, before bursting out in laughter. Harry wasn’t sure how to take that, but decided no harm, no foul.
“I eat my Wheaties every morning,” he bragged. “Right before I have my sushi.”
The walk back to the office went by much too quickly. It was one of those Indian summer afternoons that lingered in New England during the late autumn before harsh winter weather descended upon the region. Neither of them seemed to be in a rush to have the lunch hour end. Their pace slowed as they g
ot closer to the office building. At one point Harry held Nora’s arm as they crossed Congress Street. He could smell her perfume when she leaned in close. It was intoxicating.
Nora suggested they stop at the little store in the lobby to buy some mints. “We don’t want anyone to be offended by our beer breath.” They bought the Altoids and headed toward the elevator bank. One was waiting and they got on just before the doors closed. They were alone.
Harry started to open the wrapper to the mint can but had trouble tearing the plastic. Nora said, “Here, let me help.” She put her hand on top of Harry’s but he didn’t let go.
Nora was standing very close, her head tilted slightly to the right. Her eyes were watching Harry closely. With a swiftness that even surprised him, Harry leaned in and kissed her. Nora’s lips parted slightly and her tongue slid into his mouth. Harry held onto her head with his left hand, pressing her slightly towards him. Nora sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry pushed her back against the wall and leaned into her. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest.
The elevator ding brought Harry back to reality. He separated from Nora and put appropriate space between them.
“What a nice finish to a terrific lunch,” Nora said softly. “I hope we can do it again.” The elevator doors opened on her floor and she put her hand lightly on Harry’s arm as she walked past him. He watched her walk away. Just before the doors shut she turned towards him and smiled.
Oh boy, Harry thought again to himself.
Chapter 9
Wednesday, October 22
“Nick, come over for a few minutes,” Pete Mitchell called over the cubicle walls.
Nick tossed his gum into the wastebasket, grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from his desk and headed towards Mitchell’s office.
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