Shadow Account

by Stephen Frey

  Bennett glanced at his watch. “What about the research?”

  “I’ve begun compiling biographies on the five individuals in quest—”

  “Thejewels , dammit! I don’t want to hear you sayindividuals orsubjects one more goddamn time. I want to hear you sayjewels .”

  Lucas nodded anxiously. He’d made the same mistake at each of their first two meetings. “Sorry, sir.” He had to get used to the cloak-and-dagger crap. It seemed to be vitally important to the ex-military types. “I’ve begun my research on thejewels .”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’ll begin ramping up that effort as soon as you give me the order. I’ve made arrangements to get some help.”

  “Good.” Bennett hesitated. “But nothing so far? Nothing that could be used against us, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Very good.”

  “But there is still a tremendous amount of information to go through, sir. I don’t want you thinking I’ve reached any concrete conclusions. I’m not even close to that point yet.”

  “Uh huh. One more thing. I’m going to ask another man to join the operation. I’ve known him for some time.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll know him only by his code name.”

  More mindless military bullshit. “What is that code name, sir?”

  “Cheetah.”

  “Cheetah?”

  “Yes. He has talents that will prove important to us as we move forward. Strong investigative skills. As well as a lot of strong contacts in both the public and private sectors. We’ll pay him well, but he’ll be worth every penny.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “I do say so.”

  “How exactly will we pay him?” Lucas asked. “If you want this cell to be transparent, I wouldn’t think you’d want any money trails.”

  “I’ll give you those details later,” Bennett answered, checking his watch again. “Okay, that’s it,” he said sliding along the seat to the door. “Keep at it, Lucas.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, sir.”

  When Bennett was gone, Lucas relaxed onto the seat. His body was damp with perspiration, his shirt and pants sticking to his skin. He let out a relieved breath when the driver began to turn around in the loading area. Being in Bennett’s presence scared the hell out of him. Just once he wanted to do that to somebody else.

  As the driver accelerated onto the main road in front of the strip mall, Lucas reached beneath the seat and pulled out a marble notebook, opening it to the last entry. He recorded everything of importance in this book: a critical move he’d made in a chess match; a particularly interesting baseball statistic; Brenda Miller’s new telephone number at the law firm in D.C.

  As well as details of each of his meetings with Franklin Bennett.

  These were the minutes of his life.

  4

  Conner hesitated for a moment on the darkened porch, then pressed the doorbell. It wasn’t his fault if he was waking people up. Gavin hadordered him to come out here.

  Gavin’s second call had come while Conner was staring at Liz’s engagement ring. He’d barely said hello, and the old man was barking at him to get his ass down to Penn Station to catch a late train to Easthampton, a wealthy Long Island town where Gavin owned a mansion. They had a great deal of work to do on the Pharmaco presentation before Friday’s meeting, Gavin kept saying. He seemed angry, but wouldn’t say what was wrong.

  If it had been a normal working relationship, Conner would have made up an excuse so he could stay in the city. But Phenix Capital was a small firm, and he’d gotten close to Gavin since joining last year. The old man was the nearest thing to a father he’d had in a long time. Since his real father had died of a heart attack on the kitchen floor twenty years ago.

  And Gavin was paying him $175,000 a year plus bonus. So when the late-night and weekend “jump” calls came, he didn’t bother asking “how high.” Besides, he wasn’t going to stay in his apartment tonight. Not with the guy who’d murdered Liz—and shot him—still lurking.

  The train ride across Long Island had seemed to last forever. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. How Liz’s neck and chest had been covered with blood when he’d found her. How the place had looked as if nothing had happened when he got back there with the cops. And how he should have told them what had happened to her.

  But he was caught in a twilight zone. He’d realized, as he stared into the suspicious eyes of the officers, that if he told them a woman had been murdered in his apartment, they would have taken him down to the precinct for questioning. And he would have become a suspect in the disappearance of every missing woman in New York.

  “Hello there.” Gavin’s voice boomed into the darkness as the mansion’s front door opened. “How you doing, pal?”

  “Okay.” Gavin didn’t seem angry anymore.

  “You sure? You look a little rattled.”

  The old man’s speech still contained faint traces of a lisp he’d been born with. He’d worked all his life to eradicate it, and now it was undetectable to the untrained ear. But Conner had spent a lot of time around Gavin, and he heard it slip out once in a while.

  “Just tired.” Conner nodded over Gavin’s shoulder. “I hope I didn’t wake anyone up.” Gavin’s wife had died a year ago, just before Conner joined Phenix, and he knew the old man fought his loneliness with a constant stream of guests. There always seemed to be voices in the background when Gavin called late at night to talk business. “I know you entertain a lot.”

  “No worries. Everyone’s still awake.” Gavin hesitated. “Were the police any help?”

  “Not really.”

  “I was afraid of that. Did the guy get anything valuable?”

  Conner forced a smile. “There wasn’t much to get.” His smile faded quickly. The guy had gotten Liz.

  “Well, don’t stand there on my porch like a stranger, pal. Come in, come in,” Gavin urged, pulling Conner inside. “Any problems catching a cab at the train station?”

  Conner glanced around the two-story foyer, then at the ornate rooms beyond. He’d been to the mansion several times, but the place never failed to impress him. Chippendale furniture and Persian rugs filled the rooms, Renoirs and Monets decorated the walls, and the rich smell of leather permeated the interior. Wealth seemed to seep from every crevice. But Conner didn’t begrudge Gavin his money the way he did those who’d inherited it. Gavin was from a working-class family. He’d earned every penny.

  “No problem,” Conner answered. “There were five of them waiting.”

  “Good, good. I’ve been riding the town council about that. A friend of mine came out from the city one night last month and there wasn’t a taxi in sight. It was only eleven o’clock. Can you believe that? Not only does it show a total lack of leadership from those poor excuses for politicians, it’s downright dangerous. I was pretty pissed off. I’m glad to hear the problem’s been taken care of.”

  Conner’s eyes flickered from the mansion’s interior back down to Gavin. He was a little man—five seven and small-boned—who combed his thinning gray hair straight back. He had dark eyes and a deep tan after years of weekend sailing, his only passion outside of work. But what he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for with brains and energy. Sometimestoo much energy.

  Gavin was a mercurial man with a fiery temper that had ultimately cost him his career at Harper Manning. Gavin had run Harper’s high-profile mergers and acquisitions group, one of the firm’s most profitable areas, for over a decade. But two years ago, he’d gotten into a shouting match with the head of the firm’s equity research division over access to the confidential file of a large, publicly traded company. Gavin had demanded the file in front of several young analysts, yelling at the top of his lungs for someone to“bring the goddamn thing” to him immediately. Calling the other executive a moron. But the other man wouldn’t turn the file
over to Gavin, citing Chinese Wall concerns. Citing the fact that someone in Gavin’s position—advising large companies on public acquisitions—shouldn’t have access to an equity analyst’s file that was full of confidential, nonpublic data because it might tempt him to illegally use that information to one of his clients’ advantage.

  Gavin had been fired that afternoon. Given fifteen minutes to gather a few personal belongings from his office once the edict had been handed down. Escorted by security guards like some petty thief to Harper Manning’s Water Street entrance. The emotional explosion and the appearance of impropriety the ammunition Harper’s managing executives had been praying for. And they’d pounced on the opportunity. Conner had heard from a friend at Harper that Gavin had infuriated many coworkers during his career; however, his ability to generate hundreds of millions in fees had enabled him to stay in power. But the file incident had been the last straw.

  Rather than try to catch on at another established New York investment bank, Gavin had founded his own firm and named it Phenix. Rise-from-the-ashes and all that, Conner knew, but Gavin had spelled it unconventionally as a reminder of his own inability to spell, a function of his dyslexia. As a reminder to himself—he’d told Conner once—that, even with all his money, there were things he couldn’t conquer.

  Conner gazed down at the old man. “I sure am glad you aren’t a control freak,” he muttered, smiling.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The taxi thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ridingthe town council. That’s probably a massive understatement. What did you do, Gavin, follow them into stores and yell at them in front of registered voters?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or did you take a more subtle approach? Did you paint their cars yellow?”

  “I would have if I’d thought of it.”

  Conner chuckled. “You’re too much.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Listen,” Gavin cut in, his voice rising, “if I were in charge, the world would be a better place. Gunsand butter, pal. And plenty of both.”

  Conner grimaced. These were the first few words of Gavin’s “beneficent dictator” speech. He’d heard it too many times in the last year. “Glad you dressed up for me,” he said, changing the subject. Gavin wore a threadbare, blue Oxford shirt and a ragged pair of khakis that were almost worn through at the knees.

  “Okay, okay,” Gavin said, turning and walking away. “I can take a hint. You don’t want to hear me pontificate. That’s fine. But I’ll remember.”

  Conner tossed his bag on a bench in the foyer and followed Gavin down the hall to the large living room. Paul Stone and his wife, Mandy, sat on a sofa in a far corner of the room, sipping drinks. Stone was a Phenix managing director who’d worked for Gavin in Harper Manning’s M & A group, then followed the old man to the new firm. Conner had reported to Stone when he first joined Phenix, but a few months ago Gavin had done away with that reporting line. Now Conner worked directly with the old man on “special” projects. Which, he knew, irritated the hell out of Stone.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Stone said quietly. He was tall and thin with cherry blond hair and freckles covering his pale face. He wasn’t physically intimidating, but he had a brooding demeanor exaggerated by a permanent scowl.

  “Great to see you, too, Paul.”

  “Now, now,boys .” Gavin gestured toward Stone’s wife. “Conner, you remember Mandy. I believe you two met at the party I had out here last April.”

  The first time they met had actually been at a dinner Gavin had hosted at his Manhattan apartment back in January. Clearly, Gavin didn’t remember that. Which wasn’t surprising. Gavin had an excellent memory when it came to business. Otherwise, it wasn’t very good. “Uh huh.” Conner noticed the distance between the couple as they sat on the couch. He nodded at her. “Hi.”

  Mandy smiled. She had short, light brown hair and a thin face. “Hi.”

  “Gavin, can weplease finish our discussion?” Stone asked, rising off the couch and heading toward the hallway. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Be right there,” Gavin agreed, turning toward Conner. “Paul and I are just wrapping up. We’ll be only a few minutes. Then you and I can get started on Pharmaco. In the meantime, get yourself a drink. The bar’s over there,” he called, pointing as he followed Stone into the hallway. “Keep Mandy company, pal.”

  Conner watched Gavin until he disappeared. The old man never seemed to need sleep. He’d made a pile of money at Harper Manning. Conner had heard rumors that the figure went as high as thirty million, but he was still driven to make more.

  Behind that drive, Conner knew, was Gavin’s love of the game. Themergers and acquisitions game. Buying and selling billion-dollar businesses. Rubbing elbows with captains of industry while he instructed them on how to do the takeover tango. Constantly reading his name in theWall Street Journal and theNew York Times . Behind the drive was also Gavin’s frustration that, after two years in business, Phenix Capital had yet to advise on an M & A transaction either of those newspapers deemed important enough to report on.

  “How are you, surfer boy?”

  Conner’s eyes flashed to Mandy’s. “Okay.” He’d sat next to her during the dinner party at Gavin’s apartment, and she’d quizzed him on his hobbies. So he’d told her about surfing. And, after several glasses of wine, she’d told him that she and Paul were having problems. Stone had been seated at the other end of the long table and hadn’t heard their conversation.

  “You know, you don’t look like a surfer.”

  Conner eased into a chair facing the couch. It was all he could do to make himself concentrate. The brutal image of Liz sprawled on the floor kept flashing back to him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got dark hair,” she explained, smiling over the lipstick-smudged rim of her glass. “Surfer boys are supposed to be blond.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Believe me, I’m not disappointed,” she said, raising one eyebrow. “I never was.” She motioned toward the bar. “Why don’t you get a drink?”

  Conner shifted uncomfortably in the chair. That night at dinner he’d caught Stone staring down the table at them several times. “Nah. I’m sure Gavin will keep me up for a while, and I’m beat. Booze would knock me out.”

  Mandy shrugged, disappointed. “Are you still dating that woman you brought out here to the party last spring?” she asked, taking another swallow of her gin and tonic. “What was her name?”

  “Amy Richards.” A few weeks later he’d met Liz. And broken it off with Amy. As he’d been reminded under the streetlight a few hours ago.

  Mandy snapped her fingers. “That’s right, Amy. Are you still seeing her?”

  Conner shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

  He glanced up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “To put it bluntly, I thought Amy was a wacko.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She cornered me on the terrace during the party to make sure I understood that you and she were seeingonly each other. She said she’d caught me watching you, and that I better not get any ideas.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Ah, no.”

  Conner took a deep breath. Maybe he really did need that new address. “Sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Mandy smiled. “Besides, I kind of liked it.”

  “I wish you’d told me about that. I might have ended it with her sooner.”

  “I figured the lightbulb would go on without my help.” Mandy hesitated. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

  “I was,” he said quietly. “But it didn’t work out.”

  “What happened?”

  Conner grimaced. “I found out she was engaged.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. To some guy at Morgan Sayers.”

  “Morgan Sayers
?”

  Conner looked up. “Uh huh. Why?”

  “I work at Morgan Sayers.”

  “Really.” He’d always figured she didn’t work. That Stone had enough money to let her play. “What area?”

  “Equity sales. I cover Midwest insurance companies and pension funds.”

  “Do you know anyone in corporate finance there?” Liz had never told him that Todd worked in this group. But if Todd really was one of the firm’s top investment bankers, it would be a logical place to start looking.

  “Is that where this woman’s fiancé worked?”

  Conner nodded.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Todd.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “Morgan Sayers has a big corporate finance department. I know of at least four guys in that group named Todd. What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know,” Conner admitted.

  Mandy smiled. “So she didn’t want you doing anything crazy, huh?”

  “It’s not like I would have.”

  “You never know. You might have—”

  “I know he travels a lot internationally,” Conner interrupted.

  Mandy thought for a moment. “It could be Todd Bishop. He’s in the worldwide group. Works mostly on European equity offerings to U.S. investors. If it’s him you’re talking about, he’d be in Europe a lot.”

  “Bishop,” Conner repeated quietly, committing the name to memory. Wondering when the guy would start to suspect that something had happened to Liz.

  “Yeah.” Mandy nodded distractedly, gazing at her fingernails. “So, tell me something, surfer boy. Is there a woman named Rebecca at Phenix Capital?”

  Conner’s eyes moved slowly to Mandy’s. In a way he hoped wouldn’t arouse her suspicion. He was pretty sure Paul Stone and Rebecca, a recent hire, were having an affair. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come on. There are only thirty people in the entire firm,” she pointed out, standing up and walking to the bar. “Just thirty people and you don’t know? That’s hard to believe.”

  Conner watched her pick up the Tanqueray bottle. Last week he’d bumped into Paul and Rebecca in the lobby of the Marriott Marquis at Times Square on his way to a luncheon. Paul had mumbled something about both of them attending a tax seminar on an upper floor of the hotel. Which would have been believable except there was no tax seminar scheduled for that day—Conner had checked the daily event register in the lobby.