Green Kills

by Avi Domoshevizki

  When he’d woken from his thoughts, he found Jim standing in front of him, looking at him curiously.

  “The painkillers are making me fuzzy,” Ronnie justified himself. “What were we talking about?”

  “The acquisition, the low price…”

  “Yes, the price,” said Ronnie. “If not for those two deaths, we’d be on top of the world right now.”

  Jim nodded in agreement. “As I’ve said more than once, I think it’s a case of sabotage that was performed outside the factory premises.”

  “Exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. Two days ago, you sent me the company’s security measures. I’ve read them carefully, and I tend to agree with you that if someone sabotaged the medication, it was done only after it had left the company premises. On the other hand, the medicine was sent in a sealed container, and any attempt to open it would’ve instantly been revealed. Which leaves us with the question — Is it possible the medication was indeed defective in the first place, and all the events which followed, including the ones we’ve been undergoing in the last few days, were merely a coincidence?”

  “That’s a possibility, but I don’t think it’s a particularly reasonable one. As I’ve explained to you, and as the records clearly demonstrate, this is the same medicine we used in the previous operations.” An expression of uncertainty settled on Jim’s face.

  “And…?” Ronnie encouraged him.

  “Brian is in charge of the medicine from the moment it arrives at the hospital. Like I’ve told you, I don’t trust him. He’s slippery and unreliable, and also—”

  “Even if everything you say about Brian is true, this doesn’t explain the second death case, as it took place in another hospital. Do you really think both crimes were committed simultaneously by Brian and an unknown partner in Philadelphia?”

  “As I tried to say before you cut me off,” Jim’s voice became impatient, almost hostile, making it clear to Ronnie his respect for someone who would no longer be the company chairman in just a few days was diminishing by the moment, “I’ve discovered that from time to time, Christian would give Brian the keys to the safe and ask him to take the medicine to the hospital himself. We have at least two such cases on record. Who knows how many more are not even recorded?”

  Ronnie was surprised by Jim’s consistent and determined dislike of Brian but held off that thought to ponder something else: He couldn’t ignore this newest piece of information Jim had given him, nor the fact he hadn’t told him anything about it until now. He needed to make a quick decision. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

  “Brian, please come to my office, immediately. I need your help again.” Ronnie listened to the answer, then turned to Jim. “Brian is at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital in Philadelphia for two days.”

  “That’s where the second death took place. He’s stirring the pot again?” Jim turned red. “You still think I’m harassing Brian for no good reason?”

  Chapter 38

  New York, October 28, 2013, 5:08 PM

  Ronnie spread out the marked contracts he’d received from the attorneys and read the remarks. He was surprised at how few there were. For a moment, he felt as if the errors had been purposely inserted to allow the seller’s attorneys the illusion the contract needed some minor work. The buyer even took it upon himself to handle any possible future prosecutions. It was all too good to be legal, he thought, but at the same time realized he couldn’t possible use that as an acceptable excuse to stop the acquisition process. He felt defeated, without really knowing why. The contract was good, he’d been cleared of all suspicions in the patient deaths, the company would sell that very week at a profit, he’d be able to spend some time with Liah… The door opened and David came in and sat down in front of him.

  “I understand you’ve been looking for me this morning. I was in the middle of a series of appointments regarding the next fund. How can I help you?”

  “I was worried about you. When we spoke on the phone, you sounded more stressed than usual. I guess I was wrong. I’m happy to see life goes on and you’re already head over heels busy with fund-raising.”

  David lowered his head. “Thanks for your concern, Ronnie. You’re right. I’m under a lot of pressure as well. Your assault really shook me up.”

  Ronnie found it hard to believe the event had indeed influenced David that much and preferred to get the conversation back on a more formal track. “I received the TDO lawyers’ legal opinion, and I’m about to send it to the investment bankers. I believe we’ll be able to sign the acquisition forms tomorrow or the following day. By the end of the week, this will all be behind us.”

  “Wonderful” — David leaned over the table and patted Ronnie’s shoulder affectionately — “wonderful. There are deals you should just grab right away, even if you think there’s theoretically more to be gained. Some companies just have ‘bad luck’ written all over them. I’m so happy we insisted you continue to lead the deal.” David rose to leave. When he was by the door, he turned around and said enthusiastically, “Thank you, Ronnie. Thank you,” and left.

  Twenty minutes later, Ronnie finished writing the email to the investment bankers, lingered for a brief moment, and then, before he could change his mind, clicked the send button. The mail was on its way. The acquisition process had started to roll.

  He reached out and grabbed one of the leftover sandwiches from his lunch with Jim. Then he opened an Israeli news site and began to read. He didn’t see anything too interesting. He moved on to the gossip section and read: “Bill Gates Celebrating 57th Birthday, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Celebrating 56th Birthday, Hemi Rudner Celebrating 49th Birthday, Julia Roberts Also Celebrating Today, but Nobody’s asking how old she is…”

  What is Roselyn D’Angelo doing today? The question suddenly struck him.

  He logged in to his Facebook account and typed Roselyn’s name in the search box. To his surprise, he discovered there were only a few women with that name in the social network. From there, it was very easy to recognize her. He leaned back and began to read all the posts she’d published for the past year. If there was such a thing as “an average person” then Roselyn fit the definition exactly. Most of the posts she’d published were about cake recipes, photos from social get-togethers with friends or with her grandmother. A boring and bored girl, the thought passed through his mind, not one to just leave everything and run off to Central America following a spontaneous, last-minute decision. Definitely not someone who’d be able to cover her tracks so well the FBI couldn’t trace her.

  Then, about a week ago, her Facebook page had drastically changed. Magnificent landscape photos from Guatemala were posted daily, along with detailed and joy-filled descriptions of all the experiences she’d been enjoying. From the reactions of her girlfriends, one could see how envious they were of the courage that’d driven Roselyn to simply leave everything and go on her dream trip. Perhaps I need to take Liah on such a trip. Ronnie smiled sadly while gazing appreciatively at sunset photos taken from the heights of the Tikal Pyramids. The photos were remarkable, and the stories that accompanied them were no less impressive. It seemed as if Roselyn had dedicated a lot of time to their writing. The style was different from the posts she’d written before her disappearance. Was it possible she wasn’t the one who’d been writing them? Ronnie grew suspicious — could someone be posting for her, just so the world would think she’s still alive? He moved on to the New York White Pages website, and searched for Roselyn’s number. He got lucky this time as well, and there were few listings. After ruling out addresses in expensive areas, he was left with only three numbers. He dialed the first.

  “Hello, may I speak with Roselyn?”

  “Who wants her?” an angry man’s voice barked at him.

  “Is this Roselyn Romero’s house?” he asked. The call was hung up abruptly. He dialed the second number and repeated his request.

  “Roselyn’s in Guatemala, on a trip,” explained a tired voice. “Who’s ask
ing for her?”

  “My mother was admitted in the orthopedics department. I went there today to thank Roselyn on her behalf, for the wonderful treatment, and I was disappointed to find out she’s no longer working there. Could you give her my thanks next time you talk to her?”

  “She doesn’t call much. Yesterday she suddenly called, but only for a minute or so. You know, calls from abroad cost a lot of money,” the old woman answered with a sad voice.

  “I understand. Have a good night.”

  “What’s your name? Just in case she calls.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want you to waste one of the rare telephone conversations you have in talking about me.”

  “It was nice talking to you, sir. Good night.”

  At least I know she’s alive, he thought while flipping through the pictures again. Suddenly, he stopped, returned to the beginning of the Guatemala album and went over all the photos one more time. Roselyn didn’t appear in any of them.

  Ronnie rubbed his face with his hands, trying to maintain his concentration. How come I didn’t notice that before? The photos are amazing. So amazing, they look like Guatemala tourist office brochures. And the descriptions? It seemed Roselyn had plenty of time for writing — too much time for someone who’s travelling… He opened a Google search page and typed “Tikal.” The screen was flooded with links to dozens of websites describing the ruins. Ronnie began to go through the various websites, when suddenly a photo of a beautiful sunset caught his eye. The same photo that appeared on Roselyn’s Facebook page. Ronnie felt the adrenaline level in his blood rising. He dialed the young woman who sat at the building’s reception area in the evening.

  “Do you have a Facebook account?” he surprised her by asking.

  “Yeeess, why?” wondered the young woman.

  “How can I communicate with someone on Facebook without anyone else seeing it?” He sounded old and out of touch to his own ears.

  “In a message,” she sounded confused. “If you send someone a private message, she or he would be the only one who could see it.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.” He disconnected the call and began to write a message to Roselyn:

  “My name is Ronnie Saar. I know you’re hiding. I also know you switched the dates of the operations because you were threatened and perhaps also because you received some money. You can’t continue to hide. They’ll find you in the end. Your life is in danger. I can help you. Open a new Gmail account under a random name and send me an email at RSDtogether@gmail.com. Please do that quickly and make sure you’re not being followed. If you Google me, you’ll find out I can be a wonderful ally. Awaiting your reply, Ronnie. P.S. Please delete this message the moment you read it. You can never be too careful.”

  Ronnie sent the message, created the Gmail account to receive her email and turned off the computer.

  Now all that was left was to hope she made the right decision.

  Chapter 39

  New York, October 29, 2013, 1:32 AM

  It was way past midnight, but Ronnie was unable to sleep. He stared at the list he’d just finished writing. I’m missing something, he thought, but what exactly? During the late evening hours, he’d spoken with the TDO lawyers. “Tell me again what were your findings regarding the Luxembourg company,” he opened with a determined tone that was the exact opposite of the helplessness he felt.

  “Like we told Jim, we didn’t have enough time to—”

  “No need to cover your ass with legal niceties. Just tell me what you think,” Ronnie snapped.

  “O-K,” the lawyer said, drawing out the word slowly. “OK, let’s see now. The company is beyond reproach. It has never been prosecuted, its articles of association seem organized and legit, and in a conversation I had with a man I know and trust who works with tax authorities, I’ve been told its managers file their reports regularly, pay their taxes on time…in short, everything’s flawless.”

  “But?”

  “Who said there’s a ‘but’?”

  “Don’t…” Ronnie restrained himself from bursting out again. “Sorry, but I feel there’s a ‘but.’ I’m certain there must be a ‘but.’ All I ask you to do is share your gut feeling about this one. Off the record, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

  The silence that followed stretched Ronnie’s nerves to the edge of pain.

  “Off the record?” The lawyer made sure.

  “Off the record.”

  “Even though everything’s legal, the ownership structure is very complicated for a company whose sole purpose, to sum up its definition in the articles of association, is ‘the buying and selling of promising hi-tech companies.’ The ownership structure of the company is more complex than the NSA org chart. I tried to dig all the way to the bottom, but each time I managed to scratch one layer, it only revealed another layer of ownership. After three layers, I just stopped digging. It’s completely legal, but at the same time, very strange.” The lawyer stopped talking.

  “So what you’re saying is that someone put a lot of effort into hiding the real identity of the owners?”

  “Yes, that’s the idea.”

  “The investment bankers we met with claimed the purpose of the acquiring company is to serve as a buffer that will prevent the final buyer’s name from getting into the deal, in order to protect the purchasing company’s stock value. This could explain the secrecy, couldn’t it?” Ronnie spurred on the lawyer.

  “Maybe, although I can’t really see the logic. The moment the buyer is not holding, if I’m not mistaken, more than fifteen percent of the Luxembourg company stock capital, it is not financially connected to it and does not need to report it to the authorities. On the other hand, if it holds more, no matter how many levels separate them it has to report it. Even if we assume the real buyers want to be extra careful, the number of ownership layers is bordering on paranoia.” The lawyer chuckled.

  “Thanks,” said Ronnie, then promised, “Don’t worry. This conversation will remain between the two of us.”

  The lawyer’s words strengthened Ronnie’s suspicions, but he also recalled David’s and Liah’s pleading that he drop the subject. He knew they were right, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to stop digging before he fully understood what had happened in the last two weeks. He took a blank piece of paper from the printer and wrote down all the subjects that bothered him. Then he stared at the list and read it again and again.

  Who is the mysterious buyer and why is he hiding?

  Why did he present us with such a generous offer?

  Why did they physically intimidate me and not rely only on the generous offer?

  Who helped Roselyn disappear and will I be able to make her come out of her hiding place? Am I risking her life just to satisfy my curiosity?

  Is my curiosity endangering Liah as well?

  Can I trust David? Henry? Jim? Brian?

  Why is Evelyn so concerned/angry?

  What is Brian doing in Philadelphia?

  How could a medicine that underwent so many test trials be the cause of the death of two patients?

  Why did Mentor rescind their offer?

  Why is everyone who has invested in TDO — and should understand the potential inherent in it — so determined to sell it at any cost?

  What happened to Christian? Was it truly a simple case of suicide? Was someone really following him in Waltham?

  Why doesn’t the Bedford electric company have records verifying Christian’s wife’s call?

  Why does Jim loathe Brian so much? Perhaps he’s right and I refuse to see the uncomfortable truth only because Brian helped me?

  Are Henry’s gambling habits related to the subject? Were the problems caused by his financial difficulties? Perhaps they even got confused and meant to break Henry’s knee?

  Where did Gadi disappear to for three days?

  Who is the Chinese guy with the Phi Beta Kappa ring who attacked me? Was it the same man I saw at the hotel where Christ
ian was found dead? Was it the same man who followed us in Waltham?

  How did my name appear in the directors registry before I’d signed the paperwork? Over-efficiency of someone in the fund? Who? Why? Does it have anything to do with this entire disaster?

  Can I trust Archibald Bukowski? Is it possible that the moment I expose my suspicions to him, he’ll drag me right back into the swamp as the main suspect?

  Why did the investment bankers give us such a tight deadline? What or who are they afraid of?

  Who is sending me text messages? Are his intentions positive? Or is he merely trying to prevent me from seeing the real picture? Where is he drawing his information from? Why does the tone of the messages keep changing?

  Was the process of safeguarding the medicine properly followed, as it was explained to me? Perhaps someone found a breach in the process and was able to use it? What was that breach?”

  Finally, why is all this happening to me? Bad luck? A conspiracy?

  Ronnie was too tired to think clearly, and the pain in his leg didn’t help any, either.

  He swallowed another pill and slowly returned to bed, careful not to wake Liah.

  So many unanswered questions, he thought, and I haven’t even touched the biggest one of all: What’s bothering you, Liah?

  Chapter 40

  New York, October 29, 2013, 7:55 AM

  An uncomfortable silence lay in the kitchen. Ronnie stole a glance beyond the coffee mug he held in front of his mouth. Liah aimlessly dug at the bottom of her fruit bowl, her eyes lowered, avoiding his gaze. He stretched his hand toward her and shuddered when she recoiled from his touch. Her eyes didn’t leave the bowl in front of her, and her movements became even more nervous.

  “If you’re angry about—” Ronnie tried to break the aching silence.