The Chairman

by Stephen Frey

  “Come on, Senator. You must have someone inside Everest, too. That’s the only way Strazzi would have been able to convince a senior person inside Dominion to cooperate, to run those reports for Allen.”

  Stockman looked around the office like a caged animal. “Marcie Reed.”

  Gillette made certain not to react, despite being elated to have nailed the rat. He’d deal with her later. “A few more—” His cell phone rang and he pulled it out quickly. Isabelle. He’d bought her a cell phone yesterday and, like a child, she couldn’t stop using it. He shut off the ring and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He was going to see her in a few hours anyway. “Is this Dominion scam something Strazzi’s been planning for a long time?” he asked.

  Stockman drew a measured breath. “No. Strazzi was just being opportunistic,” he answered deliberately. “I know he’s been trying to figure out a way to take Bill Donovan down for a long time. But, like I said, in terms of Dominion, he just took advantage of the situation.”

  “You mean you don’t think he had Donovan killed,” Gillette said bluntly.

  “That thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Bullshit, Senator. That’s exactly what you were thinking. Because it makes so much sense. Without Donovan around, Marcie Reed can pin the bad loans on him, claim he was the one who knew and didn’t tell anyone. Am I right?”

  Stockman stared at Gillette, a blank expression on his face.

  “You really only have to convince one person there are problems at Dominion,” Gillette pointed out. “And that’s Ann Donovan. So she’ll sell her Everest stake to Strazzi for a rock-bottom price. Then he can throw me out with that huge voting bloc of hers. Right?” he asked again, boring in on the truth. “Once Strazzi has her stake, you don’t care if the world finds out that the story about the bad loans isn’t true. It doesn’t matter then. I mean, Allen will be hot as hell, but what do you care? You’ve probably got something on him that’s ten times worse than the fraudulent report you provided him. So, what’s he going to say? Nothing,” Gillette answered his own question. “I would have come after him with everything I had for screwing our reputation. But if the plan had worked, I wouldn’t have been around to do that. Strazzi would have been chairman. After Strazzi takes over, you tell Allen he has nothing to worry about, that you’ll protect him. He’s pissed, and he loses a little credibility, but the public has a short memory.” Gillette stared hard at Stockman. “That’s how it was supposed to go down, right?”

  “Yes,” Stockman agreed.

  “You provided access to Allen. In return, you got Strazzi’s support, including his multibillion-dollar money bag, I’m assuming. That’s why you weren’t concerned about being able to raise campaign money when we had lunch. You knew you had whatever you needed.”

  “Nice work, Detective.”

  “How long has Marcie Reed been working with Strazzi?” Gillette asked.

  The senator shrugged.

  “Come on.”

  “Six months.”

  “How long have you been working with him?”

  “Longer than Marcie Reed.”

  “Did Donovan know about you and Strazzi working together to take him down?” Gillette asked, thinking about what McGuire had told him, how Donovan had found out something nasty about Stockman.

  “Yeah,” Stockman admitted. “He found out about it three months ago. He had someone on the payroll in my office here in New York who reported back to him. I fired the fucker when I found out what was going on.”

  “So why did you approach me at the funeral reception about supporting you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You already had Strazzi with you,” Gillette pointed out. “If I’d agreed to help you, I’m assuming you wouldn’t have given Allen the fraudulent Dominion loan reports. But then you would have lost Strazzi and all his money.”

  “I wasn’t convinced Strazzi’s plan to fleece the widow was going to work,” Stockman answered. “Besides, what I wanted most was your TV and radio networks. I can always raise money when the media endorses me.”

  Gillette stood up. Marcie and Kyle were meeting him at Everest, and there was something he needed to do before they arrived. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, reaching the door.

  “Well?” Stockman asked, standing up, too.

  “Well, what?”

  “I answered your questions. Give me the other set of photos.”

  Gillette stopped and turned around. “Let me ask you one more time. Did Strazzi have Bill Donovan killed?”

  Stockman shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “Paul’s a tough son-of-a-bitch, but he wouldn’t take it that far.”

  Gillette gazed at Stockman for a few moments, then motioned to Stiles. “Let’s go.”

  “Hey!” Stockman roared. “What about the photographs?”

  Gillette glanced back again. “Senator, I’m not sure I’m done with you yet.”

  As they waited for the elevator in the hallway outside Stockman’s office, Gillette and Stiles were silent. But after they’d gotten into the car and the door had closed, Gillette spoke up. “Send the photographs to The Daily News Monday afternoon. We’ll claim we don’t know anyone at The News, and we have no idea how they got them. Okay?”

  “Yup.”

  Gillette checked his watch as he sat in front of Marcie’s computer: 3:30. Marcie and Kyle were supposed to be here at 4:00 so he could go over the companies each of them would be taking charge of as chairperson. They’d grumbled about it being short notice—and Saturday—but both had agreed to come.

  He flipped on the computer, drumming his fingers on her desk as the CPU hummed to life. While the virus program scanned the hard drive, he picked up her phone and dialed the lobby.

  “Yes?” Stiles was sitting at the front desk.

  “Quentin, don’t let anyone past you until I say so.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “I’m in Marcie Reed’s office.”

  “I know.”

  Gillette was about to hang up, then brought the phone back to his ear. “You know, if this security thing doesn’t work out, you always have a job as the Everest receptionist.”

  “You’re a helluva guy, Christian.”

  Gillette grinned as he hung up and inputted Marcie’s password. He kept everyone’s password in a file on his computer, which updated automatically if anyone changed theirs. Early last week, he’d brought in a technology specialist from the outside to set up the program. The guy had promised him that the internal technology people at Everest would never detect what he’d done.

  Gillette hit the Enter key, then went quickly to Marcie’s e-mail, searching her messages for any correspondence related to Dominion. He wanted to have something other than Stockman’s claim that she was Strazzi’s rat, some tangible piece of evidence, because Marcie was tough. He assumed she wouldn’t roll over at just an accusation.

  Of course, she was probably going to join Apex as soon as Strazzi bought the widow’s stake. She’d certainly inked that deal before agreeing to help Strazzi, so it wasn’t as if threatening to fire her was going to get him anything. But if he had evidence that she’d helped Strazzi manipulate Dominion’s share price, she’d have to answer to the SEC for securities fraud. The public had lost billions, and she’d be facing a long prison sentence. Under those circumstances, she’d talk.

  He searched her incoming messages first, then the deleted ones. There were hundreds, and it would take time to do this thoroughly. He checked his watch again: 3:45. If he couldn’t find anything now, he’d come in tomorrow and go through the files with a fine-tooth comb. He’d have plenty of privacy then.

  Finally, Gillette searched the sent items folder, reading certain ones based on the subject line. Scanning quickly. As he scrolled down, one message caught his eye. He raced back up to it, having flashed past it in his haste. The subject was “Payments” and it had been sent to a KHays@MPBrands.com. MP Brands was one of Everest’s portfol
io companies, the one Kathy Hays worked for. His eyes narrowed. KHays had to stand for Kathy Hays—the woman he’d caught Mason with in the basement of Donovan’s mansion, the woman Lefors had told him about as he’d come out of Donovan’s study.

  Gillette clicked on the message.

  “Christian.” Stiles’s voice blared through the intercom.

  “What?”

  “Marcie Reed just got off the elevator.”

  “Stall her,” Gillette urged, his eyes flashing over the e-mail. It said:

  You’ll be paid $250,000 when it happens, and $25,000 a month for six months after that. At the end of six months, you’ll be on your own. You’ll resign from MP Brands as soon as it happens.

  Gillette checked the date and time of the e-mail—two weeks ago yesterday, at 1:45 in the afternoon. He glanced down and reread it.

  So Strazzi had made certain Mason would be fired from Everest. He’d paid off Kathy Hays to set Mason up. Then Marcie had told Lefors at the reception that Kathy Hays was down in the basement with Mason, knowing Lefors would run to Gillette with the information, knowing Lefors would instantly see an opportunity to have Mason fired and be promoted to managing partner.

  Strazzi wanted Mason because he knew all about Everest, and he wanted Mason bitter so he’d give up that information readily. It had all worked perfectly until Jose had shown up at Mason’s apartment and gotten the files. But, in the end, the widow had still agreed to sell out just because of Dominion.

  Hopefully, there was still time to stop the transaction between Strazzi and the widow. Gillette was confident that if the widow understood what was really going on, she wouldn’t sell—if for no other reason than because she’d realize her stake was worth much more than what Strazzi was offering, and that, when the real story came out, Dominion’s stock price would climb back to where it had been before and the feds wouldn’t go after Everest.

  As Gillette quickly printed out a copy of the e-mail, he heard a commotion outside, growing louder and louder from down the corridor. He recognized Marcie’s voice. She was yelling at someone.

  He snatched the copy of the e-mail from the printer and headed through the doorway, remembering as he moved past the executive assistant’s desk outside Marcie’s office that he’d left her computer on. As he turned around to shut it off, she and Stiles appeared around the corner. Stiles was trying to restrain her gently, but it wasn’t working.

  “Get your hands off of me,” Marcie demanded. “I mean it.”

  “Ma’am, I—”

  “I’m going to my office!” she yelled at him. “I’m a goddamn managing partner here and you better not try to—” She stopped short when she saw Gillette by her executive assistant’s desk. “Hello, Christian.”

  “Hello, Marcie,” he said calmly, folding the e-mail copy and sliding it into his pocket. “What’s the problem?”

  “Your personal goon tried to keep me from coming in even after he searched me. He put his damn hands all over me.”

  Gillette motioned for Stiles to move off. “When Lefors gets here, let him come in,” he called.

  “Right.”

  “Quentin was following my orders, Marcie,” Gillette explained when Stiles was gone. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “What’s going on around here?” she demanded, pushing her hair back over one ear. “Why all the CIA-headquarters-level security?”

  Gillette hesitated. “There’ve been two more attempts on my life since the limousine explosion,” he answered.

  Her eyes widened and she brought her hands to her mouth. “Oh, my God. What’s going on?”

  She could have won an Oscar for the performance, but he wasn’t buying it. It was looking more and more like Cohen had been right. Strazzi was behind everything: the murder of Bill Donovan and the limousine explosion. Probably the other two attempts to kill him as well. And Marcie was working with Strazzi. As far as he was concerned, she was guilty by association. “I think someone’s trying to take over Everest.”

  “Who?”

  “I—”

  “Hi, Christian,” Lefors called, appearing around the corner. He was holding a half-eaten Three Musketeers bar. “Hi, Marcie.”

  Gillette nodded. Marcie looked away.

  “Let’s go to the small conference room outside my office,” Gillette suggested, trying to understand what was going on between them. Was it petty rivalry—or something deeper? “We’ll talk there.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Marcie said, heading toward her office. “I’ve got to get something.”

  Gillette watched her disappear through the doorway, wondering how he was going to explain her computer being on. He gestured to Lefors and they moved down the corridor to the conference room. “How do you feel about Coyote Oil?”

  “Good,” Lefors answered. “I went through the information they sent and they look real.”

  Gillette hadn’t had a chance to scan what Coyote had sent over. “Are you and Cohen going to call Switzerland?” he asked as they moved into the conference room.

  “Yeah. Late tomorrow night, I think.”

  “Ask the tough questions, Kyle.”

  “I will.”

  Marcie entered the conference room a few moments later. Gillette saw she was upset right away. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were drawn tightly together. As she sat down, she crossed her arms over her chest. She’d seen the e-mail to Kathy Hays on the screen and knew someone had been spying on her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she snapped, staring at the tabletop.

  “Come on,” Gillette urged. This wasn’t going to end well for her, so they might as well get on with it. “Tell me.”

  “I think you know.”

  Gillette glanced at Lefors, who was studying Marcie intently. “Know what?”

  “You turned on my computer and went through my e-mails. Or he did,” she hissed, jabbing an outstretched finger at Lefors.

  Lefors held up his hands. “Moi?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  “Why would I do something like that?” Lefors asked innocently.

  “Because you don’t want me to get promoted. You’re trying to find something to hurt me with, something bad to show Christian so that he won’t make me a managing partner, too.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I think every private equity firm should have a token female partner.”

  “You asshole!” she yelled, springing up from her chair.

  “Enough,” Gillette ordered, silencing both of them. “I need a few minutes alone with Marcie,” he said to Lefors. “Wait for me in your office.”

  “Okay,” Lefors replied, standing up and moving to the door, giving her a triumphant look as he headed out.

  When Lefors was gone, Gillette motioned for Marcie to sit back down. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked. She was twirling her hair.

  Her eyes moved slowly to his. “That sounds ominous.”

  “Take it however you want. Just answer me.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  Just like her, Gillette thought to himself. Deny, deny, deny. He was going to have to drag it out of her. “Have you been working with Paul Strazzi?”

  “Paul Strazzi?” she asked, putting a hand on her chest. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “Then why would you think I was?”

  “Because Senator Stockman says you have.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I was in Stockman’s office two hours ago, and he told me you were Strazzi’s hookup on this Dominion thing, the one here at Everest who directed someone at Dominion to cook the books and make it appear that there were billions in bad loans. So the stock price would tank when Congressman Allen made his announcement yesterday. Which it did.”

  Marcie’s eyes widened and she stopped tw
irling her hair.

  “Strazzi’s trying to take over Everest,” Gillette continued. “He’s convinced Ann Donovan to sell her stake in Everest to him. That stake has a 25 percent voting bloc that goes along with it, which would give him enough votes to kick me out and get himself elected chairman.” Gillette paused. “But I’m sure you already knew all that.”

  Marcie shook her head. “No, I didn’t—”

  “Marcie, don’t insult me.”

  She gazed at him for a long time, then her shoulders sagged slightly.

  “Tell me the truth,” Gillette pushed.

  Still she didn’t answer. “If you were involved, you’ve got big problems with the feds,” he pointed out. “Criminal problems. If you come clean with me, I’ll do what I can to protect you.”

  Her eyes darted to his.

  “Who’s the person at Dominion you worked with?” he asked.

  She hesitated.

  “Don’t aggravate me, Marcie. I can—”

  “Okay, okay. It’s a guy named Marty Reisner. He’s the chief information officer at Dominion. He knows everything about Dominion’s software systems. He’s a magician with data.”

  Gillette nodded. “Why’d you do it, Marcie? Why’d you help Strazzi?”

  “Come on, Christian. Donovan was never going to promote me, and Strazzi offered me a lot to join Apex. It wasn’t much of a decision.”

  “But the bad loan reports were run after Donovan was killed. You must have known that I’d promote you, or at least thought I might. Why risk getting caught up in a scandal without finding out what I was offering?”

  “Strazzi’s giving me a much better deal than you ever would. A lot of independence, too. I invest in whatever I want, and I get a huge chunk of the ups. That’s the bottom line. And I’m not worried about the feds. They won’t be able to link me to any of this Dominion stuff. In the end, it’s Reisner’s word against mine.”

  “And Stockman and Strazzi’s word,” Gillette reminded her. “No, you’ve got a big problem. Did you know Strazzi was going to kill Bill Donovan,” he asked bluntly.

  “What? No. Bill drowned.”

  “He was murdered, and Strazzi was behind it. You must have known what was going on.”