“Well, we started by creating a database for each of them with all of their known contacts and cross referenced them,” Kyle said.
“I’m sure that created a pretty significant overlap.”
“Yes, it did. There were 252 overlapping contacts between John and Tommy, 157 between John and Mark, and 193 between Tommy and Mark along with 50 that were in all three files,” Kyle said.
“How did you narrow that down?”
“Of course we checked how they came in contact looking for outliers,” Kyle said.
“Why, of course,” Doug stated.
“There are a lot of sources that we are talking about here. We used facial recognition software from pictures on social media sites and internet searches to find any overlaps. We also used more mundane sources like conference attendee lists, newspaper articles, internet searches, and collected information anytime they were in touch with another person.
There were thousands of entries for each guy,” Kyle explained.
“We?” is all that Doug said, trying not to look impressed with the speed, thoroughness, or intrusiveness of the process.
“I had some help. I mentioned previously my little network of guys that help each other out with this kind of thing. They have been working on this since I first brought it up the other day. Of course, some sources—okay, most—were things where a warrant would have been in order. You did say that fast was important, right?” Kyle asked.
“So, great. All very impressive, but let’s get back to the guys who John grew up with. Isn’t that the critical overlap here?” Doug asked.
“Probably, but Deb, Susan, Sam Meyers and Mark’s boss, Barbara came up as common contacts across all three guys. Does that seem strange to you?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know, maybe, but I could think of reasons for all of them. If you pushed me I’d say Deb being in contact with Mark and this Barbara person being in contact with George seem the most distant, but they are all in the same business, so what the fuck do I know?” Doug wasn’t that interested in his own question.
Kyle sensed he needed to move on and started to push pictures across the table toward Doug, saying “Yeah. So, these two brothers . . . one of them ended up in a car in Whitefish with Mark, as I mentioned. They were caught on a traffic camera running a red light. You can only see his legs, but my guess is the other brother is in the back seat.”
“Nice work!” Doug said with as much inflection as Kyle had ever heard from Doug.
“There’s more. One of the brothers talked to John on his cell two weeks before the murder, and the two brothers were on the ski hill the day George died. Well, at least their season passes were scanned that day,” Kyle said.
“No offense, but it would have been nice to have all of this information a lot sooner. We wouldn’t have gone after Tommy so hard about what happened to George and spent it looking at these other guys for the murder,” Doug said.
“Sure, but remember we didn’t have enough to even get a warrant for anyone other than Tommy. Plus, all you really have is a bunch of information that will get thrown out in court. There is no way that this goes anywhere without a confession,” Kyle said.
“True enough.”
“So, are you going to go after the brothers or Mark first on this?” Kyle asked.
“Well, actually it will be the Whitefish PD’s call. As much as I want to confront Mark, because he’s here and looks guilty as hell, my guess is that the brothers might be easier because we can work one against the other.
Mark can’t possibly have a logical explanation for this, but he probably will anyway, and he’ll figure out that the information wasn’t obtained legally,” Doug said.
“So, you flying to Montana?”
“Not sure my bosses will be too comfortable with another trip. I’ll try to talk the Whitefish cops into interrogating the brothers first. Hopefully they let us participate online,” Doug said.
As they were wrapping up, Kyle’s cell phone rang, and he answered.
Kyle’s side of the conversation amounted to a series of yes and no answers.
“What was that?” Doug asked.
“It appears you and I have plans at eleven this morning. We’ll be issuing a joint statement, followed by questions from any media people who care,” Kyle said.
“I get to be on TV?” Doug said, feigning interest. “Maybe we should make sure Tommy finds out. He should really get nervous.”
“Sounds like you need to write something up for us to read.”
“Why me?” Kyle objected.
“Because we both know you’ll do it better and I care less than you if it gets done well, or at all, for that matter.”
“I’ll email you the draft in an hour so we can each get our boss’s approval.”
“I’ll change into my best suit.”
Although exhausted, the words came quickly to Kyle as did the approvals, and they were ready to go at eleven. Kyle was excited about his first chance on a big case. Doug and Kyle were flanked by PR specialists from each of their departments. Their big stage was a table and a microphone in a conference room off the lobby in the federal courthouse. Kyle started to speak to the five or so newspaper and local TV people who had nothing better to do this day than to show up. His voice was steady and self-assured.
“Mr. Thomas Gardner has been arrested on charges related to commodity market tampering. He has not been charged, but is also a person of interest regarding an ongoing murder investigation revolving around the death of George Shannon. We believe these cases to be related. Mr. Gardner has a commodity market history that led to his lifetime ban from those markets. We believe the people’s case will be strong, and the CFTC, Cook County and the City of Chicago intend to prosecute these cases to the fullest extent of the law. Are there any questions?”
Kyle and Doug sat stoically, trying not to look guilty of exaggerating the truth, as both knew the chances that Tommy had anything to do with George’s death were remote and the reference to the City of Chicago wasn’t relevant given the issue of jurisdiction.
An attractive female reporter with a Channel 7 microphone asked the first question. “Are there any other firms involved with Mr. Gardner in the alleged market tampering?”
Kyle answered. “We have our suspicions, and they are focusing on one firm.”
A handsome but surprisingly thin looking male reporter with a Channel 32 microphone asked the next question. “Our research indicates Mr. Shannon, the alleged murder victim, died in Montana. Why is this a Chicago case?”
Doug gathered himself and cleared his throat. “Well, jurisdiction in this case is complicated. There was a death a few years back, before Mr. Shannon’s, in Chicago that may be related, so we are working closely with Montana authorities and sharing information. There is also the potential that the alleged murder, which took place on federal land, could become a federal case instead of a Montana case. Regardless, local Chicago involvement made sense.”
Suddenly a voice from the back of the room burst through rather forcefully. “Good morning. Jennifer from the, ahh People’s Free Press. So, you’re saying that you are going to arrest Mr. Gardner on a charge where you don’t have jurisdiction?”
Doug stumbled. “Well, no. It’s complicated. We didn’t arrest him on a murder charge. He is a person of interest in that case.”
Jenny interrupted. “Well, let me ask a simple question of the young gentleman with you. Do you have evidence of a trading tie between Mr. Gardner and the firm you mentioned?”
Everyone turned to Kyle. “We have a known personal association and phone conversations that . . .”
Jenny again interrupted. “Do you have known associations between Mr. Gardner and let’s say, oh, a hundred or more other marketers, brokers, and people working in the commodities market?”
Kyle said, “Yes, but not with the history . . .”
At this point, both of the PR handlers for Kyle and Doug were ready to jump in simultaneously. After sharing a quick
glance, the Chicago Police Department spokesperson took control. “Clearly, we aren’t here to try our case in the media. There is substantial evidence to proceed on the securities fraud charges and we will share more information when the time is right. Thank you for your time today.”
Jenny was proud of herself for interjecting and expected the real reporters would want to speak to her, but instead, they all packed up their things and moved passed her without even making eye contact.
Jenny left, disappointed that her questions hadn’t created more of a stir.
46
Jenny stopped by Pat’s office and relayed her actions and the reactions to him. She then asked him, “The market is just about to reopened, right? What are we going to do?”
“I still don’t know, but I’m about to get on the phone with brokers and bankers. I may have to flip a coin.”
“Okay, then.” Jenny sounded startled.
Pat continued. “You realize that with John behind this, if I walk away, actually probably even if I don’t, John will make tens, or even hundreds of millions of dollars if the market tanks.”
“Oh,” is all Jenny said.
“Yeah. If I walk away, John will make millions and beat Tommy.”
Jenny went for a walk to try and clear her head. It seemed like there was nothing she could do anymore for Tommy or Pat. She rubbed the back of her neck as she walked and took long deep breaths. That didn’t stop the anguish and frustration from welling up into tears.
When trading reopened, it wasn’t like people started running around in colored vests yelling to each other like the old days of trading. Instead, magically, the trading websites awoke, on time. Trading data started scrolling across computer screens. Pat finally decided to commit brokers to keep buying, and then he watched nervously from his office.
John watched on a laptop from his apartment. Mark was in his office at McKinstry. Tommy sat in jail, wondering what was happening. He considered asking for Kyle or Doug and admitting to anything they wanted, to everything he did or didn’t do, just to get out to see what was happening.
Each computer screen showed the same trend as the previous day: carbon credits down $0.62, then, $0.78, then, $1.08. Each trade was lower. By midafternoon the market was down nearly fifteen percent. There didn’t appear to be any support. Pat couldn’t buy any more. There was no money to be invested and no more to be borrowed.
Pat had barely borrowed the money to make the trades and his bankers were already calling to let him know that if the market ended down fifteen percent or more for the day that they would need to talk.
The banks would want to start discussing the timing of a margin call. If that happened, Pat would need to start selling into what, by then, could be a freefall market. He had borrowed as much as he used in cash and was further leveraged by futures contracts. It wouldn’t take much more of a downturn to bury him. If he reversed course and started selling now, it wouldn’t help. It was already too late unless the market rebounded, but there was no sign that would happen.
The office was quiet. It was mid-afternoon and Pat hadn’t seen or heard from Jenny since she went for a walk. Pat sat back like the granite Abe Lincoln on his monument, paralyzed by fear. Jenny pounded on the glass door to his office, startling him. He opened it, and she smiled.
“How’s it going?” Jenny asked.
“It’s a nightmare,” Pat answered. He looked shrunken, defeated.
“How bad?”
“If the market falls twenty percent again today and they shut down trading, who knows where it will stop? It won’t matter because I’ll be wiped out,” Pat offered.
“Maybe financially out, but you’ll bounce back.” Jenny could feel that her words rang hollow.
“Well, you want to spend the next hour with me watching a computer screen?” Pat offered. They sat down and watched as the market inched closer to another automatic shutdown. Pat hoped that time on the trading day would run out fast. Finally, however, there was a blip, or more accurately, things stopped going down. For thirty minutes, the price didn’t move. Then, finally up twenty cents, then a little more. The market closed down ten percent for the day.
Pat blurted out, “Hey, I’m not dead yet!”
“So, I’m pretty new to this,” Jenny said, “but someone must have been buying, right?”
“Someone’s always buying and selling, but you’re right. There were finally enough buyers to stop the fall.”
“Say, we should probably get down to the courthouse. Someone needs to pay Tommy’s bail,” Jenny said.
“Funny. I don’t have a penny to help post bail. You?” Pat asked.
“No,” Jenny said.
“Well, even if I had money, I couldn’t help. That wouldn’t have looked too good,” Pat said.
Jenny smirked at her own absent-mindedness. “Oh, yeah. Good point,” then added, “Well, what should we do?”
“Head down there, and see what happens, I guess. Maybe they will release him on his own recognizance or he can pay his own bail,” Pat said.
They left quickly for the federal court release office, walking as fast as the midweek rush hour traffic would have allowed by cab. As they hustled, sweaty and puffing, towards the entrance, Tommy and Susan were walking out.
Glaring at Jenny, Susan spoke in a matter of fact and emotionless tone, like she was too tired to care. “Well, give me one minute and then you can have him.” She turned and guided Tommy a couple of steps away from where Jenny and Pat waited so that they couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
Once separated, Susan’s tone sharpened and the urgency and fire in her voice rose with each word. “Look here Tommy. Look into my eyes as I say this to you. The only reason that I posted your bail is that you finally didn’t ask for my help. I helped Pat because you asked for something for someone else not yourself. That's progress, but this needs to be it as I warned you before. Stay away from me. Even if you just see me from across the street, walk away like your life depended on it. I can’t see you anymore. Do you hear me?”
Tommy was stunned by the intensity in her eyes and said, “Yes, I hear you, and thank you for everything you did to get me out of this mess alive, so far.”
“Goodbye, Tommy.” Susan gracefully walked down the steps and hailed a cab. Tommy was shaken by her intensity and thinking that would be the last time he would ever see her.
Tommy realized there wasn't much good that could come from being seen with Pat, but there were bigger negatives coming if he didn’t find out what was going on. The three agreed to split up and meet near the softball fields. It was a spot in Grant Park that each knew from past visits with Tommy. Even if Kyle or Doug were watching, he hoped they wouldn’t know what they talked about.
Soon thereafter, they found their way to the meeting spot. They stood near a small berm and talked with Pat explaining where the market was and all that had transpired over three days, including the interaction with John. “So, things are good then,” Tommy said, holding a magazine over his mouth like an NFL coach, looking to avoid lip readers.
Pat followed suit, rubbing his nose as he spoke. “What? Going good? If the market goes down even five or ten percent tomorrow, it all falls apart.”
“But you said it went up at the end of the day, right?” Tommy said.
“Yeah, like four percent in the last hour. That doesn’t mean shit,” Pat argued.
“Well, maybe McKinstry is out there saying enough is enough. They don’t want to see this market tank further, or with another black eye. My guess is they are buyers,” Tommy said.
Jenny jumped in. “You’re guessing?”
“Yes, but it’s an educated guess,” Tommy said. “Mark did this before to save the market when John, George and I fucked it up. He needs this market to succeed. They are making too much money to let it go down further. You’ll be fine . . . if it’s them, and if they keep buying.”
“Multiple ‘ifs’ don’t make me feel better,” Pat said.
“Well,
you don’t have any choice now,” Tommy offered.
“Sure I do. Start selling if the market keeps going up. Then, I still might be able to get some money out,” Pat said. “Or get back to zero. I’d like to avoid bankruptcy if you wouldn’t mind.”
Tommy looked at his friend and realized the last three days were harder on Pat than on him. Pat’s eyes were sunken with bluish-hued bags under each eye. His face looked puffy, and his right hand was trembling.
Tommy proceeded more cautiously. “Please, Pat, no. If it’s McKinstry supporting the market and they see you selling, that will put more downward price pressure on the market and they will have to buy even more units to stabilize prices. Eventually, Mark might say, ‘Fuck it, let them rot. It’s too expensive.’ The way I look at it, he knows we have way too many long positions and John has way too many short positions to cover. He can probably squeeze one of the two of us into oblivion if he wants. Burying us costs him the market he needs to protect, and burying John doesn’t. This is just a business decision for him as long as we don’t make it personal.”
“So, you have this all figured out from your jail cell?” Pat said.
“Well, I did have lots of time to think about it, and the two of you. Please stick with it just a day or two longer.”
“You’re right about one thing. I really don’t have much choice,” Pat said.
Jenny continued to look on, kicking occasionally at the ground, not wanting to choose a side. As Tommy and Pat were ready to go their separate ways, Jenny realized that they were both probably expecting her to leave with them. Pat turned to go west and Tommy north, and they both looked back at her. She plopped herself down and said, “Don’t make me choose.”
Her words lingered for a moment, but before either could speak, the tension was suspended by a loud “hey” from just to their south. It was John, looking smug even from fifty yards away. He had on a baseball hat, sunglasses, a T-shirt, and cargo shorts. Unfortunately for the trio of friends, the tourist clothing ensemble was completed by a long lens and camera. John yelled, “I’ll copy you on the pictures that I’m sending to Kyle and Doug!”
The Squeeze Page 24