Due Diligence: A Thriller

by Jonathan Rush

  Outside, Rob and Emmy were running.

  * * *

  They had left the hotel at ten to three, nervous as hell, but with plenty of time, to judge from their trial run the previous afternoon, to get to the Royal Gloucester, get up to the Raleigh Room, and take a seat as the conference started. He didn’t want to get there too early. They turned down into Chesterfield, just as they had done the previous time, went over Hays and over Charles. But there was some kind of blockage on Queen. Some kind of cordon. Police. No one was going through.

  They turned around, back up Queen. There’d be another way. Rob still had the map he’d printed. Quickly, he tried to orient himself on it. Right and left again. Or was it left and right? He spun the map. Right and left. “This way,” he said to Emmy. They started walking. Right. Left. Then there was a dogleg, wasn’t there? They did the dogleg. They reached a cross street. Wait. This wasn’t Curzon. Suddenly he was confused. Wasn’t this meant to be Curzon?

  He pulled out the map again.

  “Where do we go?” said Emmy.

  “I’m looking!” He could feel time ticking. He was starting to sweat. He looked around for a street sign. Shepherd Street. Where was Shepherd Street? He checked the map. They were way past Curzon! He looked at his watch. Almost three. Did they let you into press conferences if you were late? He focused on the map again, trying to figure out the quickest way. They had to go right, left, then they’d be in a big street, then left again. Right, left, left, he said to himself. “Okay.” They started walking quickly. Right left left, right left left. They turned right. Rob checked his watch. Three. He threw a glance at Emmy and started running. The big street. Left. Okay. Should be the next left. He weaved around people, trying to get past them, glancing at Emmy to make sure she was with him. Here was the left. “Come on!” he said and swung into it. There was a sign up ahead of him. Royal Gloucester. Not the entrance he knew from yesterday. Must be another one. Didn’t matter. They ran for it.

  The two men stationed in the car at the side entrance were watching the corner of Curzon Street up ahead. They hardly glimpsed the two figures running from the other direction before they were past them and turning into the hotel.

  They looked at each other in alarm.

  “Christ … was that?” One of them pulled the lapel of his jacket up to his mouth. “This is Mick. I’m not sure, but—”

  There was a tapping on the window. Mick looked around with a start.

  “Can’t park here, sir,” said the traffic warden, shaking his head and wagging a finger like a schoolteacher. “No, no, no.”

  Rob and Emmy ran into the lobby. “There,” said Rob. The stairs to the mezzanine were directly opposite.

  They raced past a startled Japanese couple waiting for the elevators. Then onto the stairs. Emmy looked up. A man glanced down from the balcony of the mezzanine.

  She knew that face. For an hour, she had sat opposite it at the point of a gun.

  “Rob!” she yelled.

  He looked up. There were two of them, running across the mezzanine toward the stairs.

  The door of the Drake Room opened. For the hundred and fifty people who were inside, it was time for afternoon coffee.

  Suddenly the mezzanine flooded with people.

  Rob reached for Emmy’s hand and grabbed it as they got to the top of the stairs. They charged into the crowd, pushing people out of the way.

  Prinzi’s men plunged in from the other side. People were falling, shouting. Rob pushed Emmy ahead of him, looked around, and shoved someone back into the path of one of the men. He felt a hand grab for him on the other side and he struck back hard with his elbow. There was a scream of pain. Emmy was through the crowd. “The third door!” he yelled. She ran. He looked around. One of the men was almost at him again. He felt a hand grabbing at his jacket and he chopped at it, tried to accelerate away. He could see Emmy at the door. She was opening it. The hand grabbed again, clutched him at the shoulder for a second, and then came away as the man behind him fell, throwing himself at Rob’s feet. He clipped his heel. Rob stumbled, tried to keep going, tumbling. He lunged for the door that Emmy had opened and fell into the room.

  A woman standing by the door looked around angrily as Rob got to his feet. Outside, two men had pulled up at the room, panting.

  “Are you coming in?” demanded Sophie Greene, the Hill Bellinger associate, in a forced whisper.

  They looked at each other helplessly.

  “All right,” she snapped, and closed the door.

  She looked at Rob and Emmy disapprovingly, put her finger sternly to her lips, and turned away. People at the back of the room, who had been staring at them, turned their attention once more to the front. Andrew Bassett was speaking on a podium.

  Finally, thought Rob, Bassett would have to listen. He took a couple of steps forward and opened his mouth to speak.

  He felt something slam into his chest. It knocked him back against the door, taking the wind right out of him.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” growled a man in a suit and gray turtleneck. “Don’t be alarmed. Security.” With his free arm he grabbed Emmy around the neck and pulled her against him.

  “Get off her!” cried Rob.

  Emmy yelled.

  The man slammed his weight into Rob again, pulling Emmy down and muffling her shouts. “No problem, ladies and gentlemen. It’s all under control.”

  Faces turned. Sophie Greene stared at what was happening.

  “Andrew Bassett!” Rob tried to shout. “Andrew Bass—”

  The man in the gray turtleneck short-jabbed him in the face. “Shut the fuck up!” he hissed, teeth clenched.

  “Andrew Bass— Ahhh!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Prinzi jabbed him again, then drove his elbow into his windpipe to choke off his voice. Prinzi was a massive man and he had all his weight leveraged against him, holding onto Emmy with an ever-tighter arm around her neck as she kicked and twisted to get loose. He had Rob against the door, and at the same time he was reaching for the handle, but the door opened inward and he couldn’t get it open. “It’s all right, folks, I’m security,” he said as he struggled to do it.

  “Andrew—”

  Prinzi drove his elbow in again.

  “Excuse me,” said one of the journalists, a big, lanky guy with unruly hair, “is that really called for?”

  “If you help get this door open I’ll remove these people and you can get on with your press conference.”

  “Bloggers,” muttered another journalist. “They’re probably bloggers.”

  “Still, that’s fucking rough,” said the lanky journalist. “One of them’s a woman.”

  Prinzi hauled them both back from the door. “Now, if you’ll just open it for me—”

  Rob managed to get an arm up and hit at his face. Prinzi knocked him back, but in the process his grip on Emmy loosened. She twisted free and ran down the room. “Andrew Bassett!” she yelled, hair disheveled, jacket half ripped off her shoulders and her eyes blazing. She stopped and pointed at the back of the room. “That’s Robert Holding from Dyson Whitney. You refused to talk to him! Andrew Bassett!”

  Bassett looked at her in confusion. He had stopped speaking. There was silence. Emmy realized that every eye in the room was on her.

  Suddenly Emmy saw that she was standing beside a television camera. She grabbed the end of it and swung it around. “Film him! Film that man!” she yelled at the startled CNN cameraman.

  At the back of the room, Nick Prinzi still held Rob with an elbow to his neck. Now he found himself looking straight down the barrel of a television camera. Flashes started to go off from photographers in the room. He took his hands off Rob and backed away.

  Rob came forward. The journalists watched him. The only interruption to the silence came from the click of cameras.

  “I’m Robert Holding from Dyson Whitney,” he said loudly. Then he repeated it. “Andrew Bassett, I’m Robert Holding from Dyson Whitney.”

 
“Dyson Whitney,” said one of the journalists. “Isn’t that the bank that’s acting for the acquirer?”

  Rob went farther toward the front. The television camera swung to follow him. At the back of the room, Nick Prinzi cut his losses and slipped quickly out the door.

  On the podium, Andrew Bassett wondered what he should do. He could see the journalists glancing through the text of the announcement that he was making, which they had been given at the start of the conference and which was embargoed for another half hour.

  “Andrew Bassett,” yelled Rob. “I’m here to tell you the truth.”

  “Get out!” said Bassett. “This is unauthorized! I’m telling all of you here, this press conference goes no further until this man leaves.”

  “Don’t you want to know the truth?” said Rob.

  “What is the truth?” demanded one of the journalists. “Let’s hear it!”

  Rob was at the very front now, standing right below the podium. “Do you want to know the truth or not, Mr. Bassett? I have names. I have proof. Do you want to know the truth or do you want to end up like Enron?”

  “Enron?” said a journalist. “Did he say Enron?”

  “What names?” demanded another journalist.

  Andrew Bassett glanced at Oliver Trewin, who was on the platform with him. Trewin came closer and murmured something to him. Bassett frowned.

  “I’m going to give you two names, Mr. Bassett,” Rob was saying loudly. “You investigate those two names, and then decide whether you want to—”

  “That’s enough!” said Trewin. He took the microphone out of Bassett’s hand. His voice boomed. “Don’t say another word! Ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to have a slight delay.” He tugged on Bassett’s arm and virtually dragged him off the platform.

  There was silence for a moment as Bassett and Trewin came off the podium. Trewin grabbed one of Rob’s arms and began to take him with them. They went past Emmy and headed for the door.

  “What about the names?” shouted one of the journalists. Then others shouted it as well, or something similar, all demanding the names that Rob had promised.

  “What about you?” one of them shouted at Emmy. “Can you tell us?”

  Sophie Greene came forward. “Please stay in your seats, ladies and gentlemen. Stay in your seats!”

  That was the last thing they were going to do. The journalists were on their feet, shouting, gesticulating. A couple tried to intercept Bassett as he headed for the door. Oliver Trewin fended them off.

  “Please stay … please stay…” Sophie Greene gave up saying that. Suddenly she saw there was a greater danger. “Turn off your cell phones!” she yelled. “Turn them off!”

  “Make us!” growled one of the journalists.

  “Turn them off!” she shrieked. And then, as Bassett and Trewin left the room with Rob, she ran to the back and locked the door behind them.

  “You can’t do that!” shouted the lanky journalist. “You’re fucking imprisoning us!”

  By way of reply, Sophie Greene stretched out her arms and pinned herself against the door. Bassett and Trewin and Robert Holding, whoever he was, were gone, and martyrdom would come to her before any of those hacks got out to follow them.

  62

  The only place they could think of to go in a hurry was the men’s room. There was no one there. Andrew Bassett turned on Rob.

  “Now, you tell me what this is about! And let me tell you, if you don’t want to be arrested for creating a public nuisance, it had better be good.”

  “I told you in there,” said Rob. “I’ve got details. I’ve got names. Louisiana Light is an Enron waiting to happen and if you let them buy you, they’ll take you down with them.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not stable! They told me about you. You’re disturbed.”

  “Just listen!” said Rob.

  Bassett glanced impatiently at Oliver Trewin, who was stationed at the door to keep people out.

  “Louisiana Light is in debt up to its neck,” began Rob.

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” retorted Bassett.

  “Off the balance sheet, Mr. Bassett. And another thing, Lousiana Light has been booking revenues ahead as fast as it can.”

  Bassett scoffed. “How can it do that?”

  “That’s something you ought to ask Lyall Gelb. There are two main vehicles it uses to do things. I’m going to tell you their names. Grogon and ExPar. Grogon’s a subsidiary registered in Hungary. ExPar’s a JV in Delaware. If you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, just go look at its list of directors. Lyall Gelb’s wife is one of them.”

  “And?” said Bassett.

  “Just go look at those companies and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  Bassett stared at him incredulously. “You’ve come here to tell us to look somewhere? They were right about you. Get out of my way! We’re announcing this deal. We’re going back right now and—”

  “A man is dead,” said Rob.

  Bassett stopped.

  “One man is dead already over this. I’ve had thugs chasing me for the past week. My girlfriend was held hostage with a gun at her head. Now you listen to me. If you just do the due diligence about these companies, you’ll find out the truth. It’s as simple as that. Just do the due diligence.”

  “We’ve done the due diligence.”

  Rob looked knowingly at Trewin. “How much time did they give you, Mr. Trewin? How much information did they supply?”

  “Plenty!” said Bassett. “You’ve never had more information, have you, Oliver? Isn’t that what the team said?”

  “Exactly,” said Rob. “Mr. Trewin? Can you honestly swear that you know, to the best of your ability, that these two companies are aboveboard? Grogon and ExPar, Mr. Trewin. Those are the entities I’m talking about. Tell me you’ve looked at the financials on those companies and you’re satisfied with them, and I’ll go back in there and make an apology and walk away. Huh? Can you honestly tell me you’re satisfied with them?”

  Trewin shook his head slightly. “Never heard of them,” he murmured.

  “Oliver!” said Bassett. “What do you mean—”

  “Come on, Andrew!” retorted Trewin sharply. “Let’s stop pretending, shall we? They have two hundred entities, the likes of some of which I’ve never even seen. You know just as well as I there wasn’t time for us to do the due diligence properly. Heavens above, Andrew! You never expected us to. You as much as told me not to.”

  “I never did!”

  “Oh, grow up, Andrew,” muttered Trewin.

  Someone opened the door of the men’s room.

  “Out of order!” said Trewin brusquely, and bundled him out.

  “Look,” said Rob. “It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t done. You still have the opportunity to do the due diligence now. Just tell Wilson you need to look at the books on those two companies. See what he says. You know what? Just see what he says. It’s as simple as that. My bet is his response will tell you everything you need to know.”

  Andrew Bassett backed up against a wall between a pair of hand dryers. He crossed his arms. Then he began to shake his head. “I can’t do it. It’s too late. It’d be an insult. It’d be an insult to Mike. To Louisiana Light. That’d be the end of the whole thing. And how could I go back to the board? What would they think?”

  “What would they think?” said Rob incredulously. “What would they think? What about your shareholders, Mr. Bassett?”

  “The deal’s good,” said Bassett quietly. He repeated it again, as if it were some kind of mantra that was his only hope of security. “The deal’s good.”

  “The deal is not good!”

  “The deal’s good.”

  Rob came closer to Bassett. He was shaking with rage. “You listen to me. My best friend is dead because of this deal that you think is so good. You understand that? My best friend’s dead and my girlfriend’s almost been killed and I’ve been chased over two co
ntinents.… And if you think you’re just going to ignore what I’ve got to say … if you fucking think you’re just gonna shake your head—”

  “What if I do?” demanded Bassett. Suddenly he regained his belligerency. “What if I do, Mr. Holding? You come here with your ungrounded suspicion, disrupt a press conference, publicly humiliate me and your client, I might add. And you bet I’d get a certain response? You bet? I need more than your bets, Mr. Holding. Maybe one day, a long time from now, when you’ve grown up a bit, you’ll understand something about responsibility.”

  Rob stared at him. “Responsibility?” He shook his head. “Screw you, Andrew Bassett! I came here to give you a chance. But you know what? I’m done with you. You do what you want. I’ve just said, in front of the cameras of the world’s press, that you’re doing a deal with the next Enron. And you know what I’m going to do next? I’m going to go right back in there and give them every last detail I know. But yeah, you go ahead. Ignore it. And when it’s all shown to be true, you can just tell everyone you never knew. You never had a clue. And you know what? If they all get a case of amnesia, they might even believe you.”

  Rob turned and headed for the door. Trewin stopped him from leaving.

  “Get out of my way! I’m done here.”

  Trewin continued to block him. “Just wait a minute,” he said to Rob. Then he turned his gaze on Bassett.

  Bassett snorted. Trewin continued to stare at him. If Oliver Trewin had to make a choice between believing Mike Wilson or the young man who stood in front of him, he’d take this young man every single time. Nothing about Wilson or his deal smelled right. Trewin had known it since the moment Mike Wilson upped the cash without even being asked to. And Andrew Bassett knew it as well.

  Reluctantly, Bassett looked Rob in the eye. “What if it’s not true?” he said. “What if you’re lying?”

  “Why would I lie?” said Rob. “Do you think I’ve got a job after this? What can I possibly have to gain?”

  “What if you’re misinformed, then?”

  “Sue me.”