“You know what they say. You pay for location.”
“Exactly. So why would he pay so much for this particular location just so he could call…” Her words trailed off as she chased down an elusive thought. She smiled. “He needed a place he could get to in a hurry when Logan needed to talk to him. Specifically, to FaceTime with him.”
“So he needed someplace close to where he lived—”
“Or where he worked.”
One hundred and sixty-four minutes post-event.
There had to be a hundred brokerages within a ten-minute walk from here. She’d break into each and every one of them if that was what it took. She was going to find this guy and she was going to bury him for the suffering he’d caused.
“I want security footage from the lobby and I want the damn leasing agent down here right—”
“I can do better than that.”
Badgett had his back to her, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She stepped up beside him and followed his gaze to the roof of the building across the street, to an enclosed area where trees and shrubs had been planted around a hot tub and a small outdoor dining area. There was an elliptical machine and a stationary bike beneath the overhang behind them, flanking an elevator door. Above which was a black half-dome.
“Well, what do you know,” she said.
Ten
Global Capital Management
300 Park Avenue
12th Floor
New York, New York
September 30th
One Year Ago
Lawton was waiting behind the door to Lloyd’s office when he arrived. She heard his voice in the anteroom, followed by his footsteps, and then he was through the door and past her. It closed slowly…softly behind him. He whistled tunelessly as he crossed his office, hung his jacket over the back of his chair, and turned to stare out upon his domain through the wall of glass. Far below him, hundreds of heart attacks-waiting-to-happen filed down the sidewalks of Wall Street toward Broad, where traders were already assuming their stations and mentally prepping themselves for the moves they would make as soon as the opening bell rang. Sometime during the coming hour, an element of uncertainty would be thrust upon the market, even if she was the only one who could see it.
She’d learned everything she could about the market since she was last in this office, when she’d promised its occupant that she would be back for him. She’d learned that in an era of fiscal disaster, when the country was plummeting into the depths of recession, there were two constants one could always count on to rack up the big bucks for their investors: healthcare and energy.
More specifically, health insurance and natural gas and oil.
Insurance companies not only controlled their own earnings when it came to establishing premiums, they dictated their profit margins by setting their own disbursements. It was a scam unparalleled in the history of mankind, and even the government was getting in on the racket by setting regulations that not only demanded that every American capable of paying for private healthcare do so, but that they also contribute to the kitty to pay for those who couldn’t. Obamacare was the insurance companies’ golden egg, and already prime movers like Aetna and Humana were posting record profits, as were the beneficiaries of their generosity, pharmaceutical companies like Idec and Roche.
And then there were the gas and oil companies who set their own prices in response to an ever-growing demand. If there was one thing the American consumer was unwilling to compromise, even in the throes of what could easily be called a depression of historic proportions, it was his creature comforts. He wasn’t about to trade in his vehicle for a bus pass or part with his furnace or air conditioner. Those were his God-given, inalienable rights. So as demand rose, so too did prices. Not coincidentally, so did profits for giants like El Paso Corp and Cabot Oil and Gas in the dawn of the age of fracking.
And none of those stocks showed any indication of weakening in the slightest during the foreseeable future, especially not while there were politicians firmly in their pockets to augment their profiteering with taxpayer funds. So anyone bailing out of a large number of shares at a point like this would be viewed as a total and complete moron. Which was why she watched the market closely right now. They were on the brink of exploding. She’d seen such idiotic moves in times like this before, and in each case they’d proven to be strokes of genius thanks to catastrophic events presumably outside of their control. Not for several lucky companies, but for one. Only one. One that bailed out of nearly half of its amassed shares of the very companies she’d been watching right under the closing bell yesterday afternoon, which was why she’d enacted a plan she formulated in the fallout of the subway bombing they’d managed to sell to the public as an accidental derailment caused by the combustion of sewer gasses and a cracked gas main. She’d watched and waited, and the moment anyone made a move on any of those stocks, she made hers.
She was waiting by the elevator when one of Global’s secretaries arrived and rode up with her. By the time they reached the twelfth floor, the woman no longer had tax problems with the IRS and Lawton had an hour’s alone time in Lloyd’s office before he arrived, which she used to contemplate the situation as she stared out upon Lower Manhattan. She was taking a gamble making this play, but she was certain she was right and it made her sick to her stomach. The last two times this scenario played out, seventeen people died on the New Brunswick Campus and another forty-three in the tunnels under Queens. How many were going to die this morning while she sat back helplessly and watched? Even if she found a way to appeal to Lloyd’s humanity, was there any possible way to stop the machination he’d already set into motion? More importantly, she needed to figure out how far she was willing to go to stop him.
She locked the door behind her and advanced into the office.
Lloyd turned at the sound. She caught the flash of indignation on his face before it metamorphosed into one of surprise, then alarm. He quickly recovered and composed himself with a tug on his tie.
He looked older than she remembered, although the words that sprung to mind were worn down. The majority of his hair was now silver and thinning and his prominent cheek bones and jaw line no longer made him look handsome, but rather, coupled with his sallow skin, gaunt. And just like that the smirk appeared and she wanted nothing more than to knock it right off his smug face.
“Well, good morning, Special Agent Lawton. I can’t say I’m overly surprised, but I feel obligated to inform you that I’m a happily married man.”
“Sit down, Mr. Lloyd.”
“Right to it, then. I must admit that I’m more than a little intrigued by the locking of the door. What do you intend to do that you worry about being interrupted?”
“You and I are going to have an open and honest conversation. I’m going to ask you a series of questions and you are going to answer them. If I feel for any reason that you are being less than forthright, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what? Shoot me? Break my fingers? Last time I checked, that kind of thing was frowned upon by the federal government. At least on American soil.”
“You’ve left me no alternative. I can’t sit idly by and let innocent people die. I’ll take my chances with the consequences.”
“Let me save you a lot of time and stress, Renee. You don’t mind if I call you Renee, do you? I’m merely a figurehead here anymore. While I once found our tête-à-têtes amusing, I no longer have the time or the patience for them. I know what you think, and, quite honestly, I can understand how you came to that conclusion. Even I didn’t see it at first, though. The amount of creativity it took to see that connection? I really think you missed your calling, Renee. You could have owned the market.”
“Right now it’s exactly 8:35. Our conversation will be officially over by ten minutes to nine. I suggest you don’t waste a minute of that time, especially on self-indulgent words of no real consequence.”
“Time is a concept of which I suddenly find myse
lf acutely aware.”
“Then tell me, Mr. Lloyd, what is going to happen this morning?”
“I was thinking about settling in and calling down for a cappuccino. Maybe a bran muffin. I’ve got to tell you, I’m starting to feel like I’ve got a stack of bricks backing up—”
“This is your only warning. There are people out there right now, going about their daily routines without any idea of what’s about to happen to them. In a matter of minutes, their lives are going to change irrevocably, if they manage to survive at all. And I will hold you personally accountable—”
“Me? All right, fine. Answer me this, Renee, if anything you’ve said is true, why are you sitting here with me all by yourself? Making threats like you have any way of following through on them. Where’s your backup? Hmm? Where’s the rest of the FBI? The FTC? Oh, yeah. That’s right. They aren’t here because you don’t have a shred of proof to support your accusations. Not one iota.”
“I don’t care about prosecuting you. Not today. Today I just want to save the lives of people who’ve done nothing to you.”
“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. I had my people look into you and guess what? Your own agency thinks you’re every bit as batshit crazy as I do. That’s right. You know why they indulge these fantastic theories of yours? Because they feel bad for you. For having to watch your partner get his face shot off. And they fear you, too. Want to know why? Because that girl your partner shot—my poor, innocent secretary—could have called you as a witness against your partner, whose atrocious aim could have led to a wrongful injury suit that would have embarrassed the FBI and cost the federal government millions of dollars. Good thing—for both of us—she wasn’t smart enough to get herself a lawyer or she’d probably have her own key to the mint, right? Not to mention my vacation home in the Hamptons. But even if she had, they wouldn’t have been able to call you to testify in open court as long as you were still working an open, unsolved case peripherally related to that one, could they? I feel for you, Renee. I really do. But you can’t make me into your straw man. Sometimes, bad things just happen, and smart people take advantage of the opportunity presented to them. It’s human nature. And I’ll freely confess my guilt in that regard. That’s just the nature of the beast.”
“You’ve washed all the blood off of your hands, is that it?”
“Don’t push me, Renee. Even I have my limits. You cross that line again and I’ll have you hauled in before a disciplinary board for harassment. Don’t think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I have the power to do that, you know.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s done his homework? How have those radiation treatments been working for you, Mr. Lloyd?”
His eyes filled with fire.
“My personal affairs are off limits to you.”
“All of that money and there’s not a damn thing you can do to keep from dying a slow, agonizing death, is there?”
“If that’s the best ammunition you brought, you’re wasting time neither of us has.”
“How long do you have? What’s the prognosis for stage IV colon cancer? Three months? Six? How many of those have you used already? Do you hear the clock ticking in your head every minute of every day? Tick-tock. Tick-tock.”
“Go to hell.”
“You have the chance to do something right here, Mr. Lloyd. Call off whatever’s about to happen. Don’t let more innocent people die. You don’t need any more money. And by the time any of this goes to trial, you’ll be long past the point of caring anyway. You’ll get to die in the comfort of your own home without ever seeing the inside of a courtroom. Please—please—do the right thing. Help me save these people.”
He looked down at his hands for a long moment, then let out a sigh. He seemed to deflate of the bravado that animated him and she saw just how near his end he was. All of the money in the world, earned at the cost of sixty innocent lives, and he could do nothing to stop the course of the disease that was eating him alive from the inside out. It was an old man who looked up at her, a man who knew full well the limits of his mortality, a man whose humanity showed through the cracks in his polished veneer.
“You don’t have to believe me, Special Agent. Truth be told, I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you do or not. My conscience is clear. I’ve made mistakes in this life, mistakes for which I’ll face judgment, I’m sure. I’ve reveled in obliterating my professional adversaries and capitalized on the misfortunes of others. I made a fortune from those events, as you and everyone else seem to know, but I had nothing to do with instigating them. Nor was I the one to pull the trigger on any of those trades.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then you’re letting whoever is really responsible run free. You’re like a dog with a bone and you just can’t seem to let go no matter the evidence staring you right in the face. Ask yourself this, Special Agent: Who made the trades on the eve of those disasters? Hmm? Who physically placed the orders for those trades?”
“Are you really attempting to lay the blame at the feet of your subordinates, Mr. Lloyd?”
“Anthony Hargrove made his move independent of any oversight by me or my then-partner Walter Webster. All I knew was the commission from that one day alone was enough to make it a banner year for the firm. Throw in the fact that I allowed his enthusiasm for his penny stock package to sway me enough to toss down some personal funds—call it an investment in my own amusement, if you will—and suddenly I was an extraordinarily rich man. I believed the timing was entirely coincidental clear up until his meltdown. And even afterward. Maybe later on it was more of a matter of having to convince myself, but that’s neither here nor there now. Perhaps you could rightly accuse me of profiteering from the subway crash, but only because I didn’t give back any of the money I made that day. Why should I? I earned it fair and square, just like everyone else. I had an employee who played a hunch, and that hunch paid out better than anyone could have dreamed.”
“And which employee was that? Who deserves the blame for making you a billionaire? You’re the victim in all of this right?”
Lloyd leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He bit his lip in an effort to compose himself.
“Fine. You win.” He spoke in a voice so low she could barely hear it. Undoubtedly, this was the point where he threw one of his employees to the wolves on his way to riding off into the sunset. “You want to know who pulled the trigger on that deal?”
Lawton had to look away from him. She had never hated another human being as much as she hated this man. Were it not for the consequences of doing so, she would happily take him by the neck, wring the life out of him, and hurl his body out the wind—
“No.”
A column of smoke rose over the rooftops behind Lloyd. Thick and black. She heard the distant wail of sirens. Saw their red and blue lights reflected from the windows of the surrounding buildings.
“No, no, no!”
She bolted out the door and sprinted for the elevator, but she knew—deep down—that it was already too late. She’d failed and now innocent people were going to pay for her inability to save them.
And when she returned, so would Lloyd.
Damn the consequences.
Eleven
Bowery
Lower Manhattan
New York, New York
September 29th
11:57 a.m.
One hundred and seventy-seven minutes post-event.
They narrowed their search to a three-block radius, and even then they were dealing with a possible eighty-six investment firms of varying size. Considering the average street block in this area was roughly a quarter-mile long and the sidewalks were ordinarily so congested with pedestrian traffic there would be no way to run without bodily shoving people aside and drawing undue attention, they were looking at a minimum fifteen minute walk from the perimeter. Any amount of time over that would cause undue angst in an unstable kid like Logan. In fact, less than two blocks made
more sense, especially if you factored in any kind of elevator ride from an upper level. And one block was just too close. The last thing someone would want is for a coworker to see them repeatedly going into a building where they didn’t work or live. The rumor mill alone would destroy any kind of secrecy in no time at all.
The greatest problem in this scenario was that no mass quantities of stocks had changed hands before the closing bell yesterday, at least not like they had before. No large transactions stood out from any of the others that they could begin to run down. There wasn’t even a single culprit that stood apart from the others. This event had caught them all off guard. More to the point, this one had caught her off guard. She’d honestly believed that the death of Daniel Lloyd and the dissolution of Global Capital Management had put an end to this nightmare once and for all.
Now the words of a dead man haunted her—I made a fortune from those events, as you and everyone else seem to know, but I had nothing to do with instigating them—and she had no choice but to believe them, which left her with the truth as Lloyd saw it. Someone inside of his organization had been acting independently, someone who had picked up right where Hargrove left off, but where was that person now?
“Badgett.” He looked up from his laptop at the sound of her voice. He was sitting in the passenger seat with the door closed and the window down while she turned in circles in the middle of the street, hoping to see something that might give her the spark of inspiration she needed. “Have your guys run every employee who worked for Webster & Lloyd or Global Capital Management and get me a list of anyone who lives or works within our three-block radius.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That our guy either moved on to a larger firm where he could blend in by cashing out of fewer shares of a larger portfolio so as not to draw attention to himself or found a smaller exclusive boutique brokerage where he would have greater control over much larger and more diverse portfolios.”
The Event Page 7