The Insiders

by Craig Hickman

  Wilson – Boston, MA

  Just as expected, Wayland Tate, Robert Swatling, Jules Kamin, John Malouf, and Carter Emerson arrived at Fielder & Company first thing Tuesday morning to personally deliver the partnership’s five-page plan for spinning out the corporate restructuring practice. Wilson felt like a robot, having to control his emotions in their presence, but he had no choice.

  Most of the day unfolded in his father’s office with his father’s partners and Leigh Tennyson, going over the details of the plan, the principal points of which were outlined in a brutally succinct document:

  $900 million in cash to Fielder & Company;

  The transfer of Malouf, Tennyson, and over two hundred consultants and staff to the new firm;

  An intensive two-week transition period for physically separating corporate restructuring from all Fielder & Company offices and systems; and

  Establishment of Malouf & Company as the new spin-out entity, a limited liability corporation owned and operated by the group of people currently sitting around the gray stone table, with the exception of Wilson Fielder.

  On the surface the meeting was conducted very professionally, dutifully focused on the spin-out. Beneath the facade, however, everything felt surreal and creepy, like being abducted by aliens. Nevertheless, Wilson kept his cool, suppressing the urge to blow them all to kingdom come.

  Discussion of the final disclosure was limited although well orchestrated. Tate projected it to occur in two year’s time. Fucking liar, Wilson thought. During the few hours they spent together, each of the six new owners of Malouf & Company personally promised Wilson that his father’s vision would be ultimately realized, no matter what, and that Damien Hearst would be convinced to return Emily unharmed. They all seemed so genuine, it was pathetic. Malouf and Tennyson even apologized for not being able to discuss things earlier. They were human manipulators, who could no longer do anything else.

  “It was nothing personal,” Malouf said, during a short break.

  “I understand,” Wilson said, acknowledging that nothing was ever personal with Malouf.

  “We both wanted to tell you what was happening on the trip, but everyone else wanted to wait. I think they were afraid of how you’d react,” Tennyson said.

  “Don’t worry about it, Leigh, the important thing now is to make sure this transition goes smoothly,” Wilson said, repulsed by her two-facedness.

  Swatling and Kamin pretended as if they’d known Wilson for years, patting him on the back and congratulating him. Tate and Carter took turns assuming a fatherly role by giving Wilson counsel on how to proceed. It was all too bizarre and eerie—and almost convincing.

  Carter seemed surprisingly adept at playing both sides. After counseling Wilson that all shared clients should be given ample opportunity to work with both firms, Wilson said, “That works both ways.”

  To which Carter immediately responded, “As long as Fielder & Company avoids the temptation to get into the corporate restructuring business.”

  “Don’t worry,” Wilson said, furrowing his brow. “We’ll refer all our corporate restructuring leads to Malouf & Company during the next two years. After that, there’s no obligation, right?”

  “Right, but make sure that no one jumps the gun. We want to give Malouf & Company ample opportunity to establish itself,” Carter said.

  “No problem,” Wilson returned, looking at Carter with a cynical smirk, but no one seemed to notice. He wanted to yank Carter aside and tell him he was overdoing it, but Carter was playing his own hand. Wilson had no more illusions that Tate or anyone else in the partnership, including Carter, would do anything other than serve their own purposes. What he did trust, however, was Carter’s disclosure obsession. He kept reminding himself of that moment of clarity; Carter was not his enemy.

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, Fielder & Company issued a press release via fax and email, announcing the spin-out of the corporate restructuring practice as a strategic decision to accelerate the development of both Fielder & Company and the newly created Malouf & Company. A three-page summary of the spin-out was also sent to all past, current, and prospective Fielder & Company clients and affiliated firms, explaining how the corporate restructuring practice had grown autonomous over the years. This spin-out would allow the new firm to expand and enhance its unique approach to providing ad hoc staff support services to CEOs and senior executives, while allowing Fielder & Company to do the same with its remaining practice areas.

  Things were moving rapidly, but this time Wilson was ready. He’d played his part perfectly, albeit with a deep resentment in his chest. And even though he hadn’t heard from Emily in almost twenty-four hours, he remained hopeful that Hap’s men would find her and bring her home unharmed.

  Later that evening, when Wilson returned to the Back Bay apartment through a new concealed entrance, Hap was waiting with Philip Johns and Kirsten Kohl. A man in his fifties, Johns was the head of the FBI’s Boston bureau; he was medium height with thinning red hair, a weathered face, and a trim physique. Kohl was a woman in her forties, stocky but fit with sympathetic eyes, and head of the FBI’s corporate crime division.

  Hap had spent the entire day briefing Johns and Kohl by telephone and in person at the Back Bay apartment. Not surprisingly to Wilson, Johns and Kohl had already obtained authorization to launch a full-scale investigation. The only remaining caveat seemed to be a review of national security implications by the U.S. Attorney General, the National Security Advisor, and the President of the United States. But according to Johns and Kohl, FBI Director Bainbridge and Deputy Director Wiseman would have the necessary approvals before tomorrow morning.

  As the four of them sat down together in the living room of the apartment, Wilson asked the most pressing question on his mind. “What about Emily?”

  “Nothing from the first four airports where the highest number of aircraft landed. We’ll move to the second four before dawn,” Hap said.

  Wilson’s heart sank. If they couldn’t find Emily by tomorrow night, the FBI would have to negotiate her release. Would the FBI be willing to negotiate with the secret partnership?

  “First of all, let me assure you that we concur with Hap’s plan to rescue Emily,” Agent Kohl said. “We have dispatched backup teams to be used, as necessary, by Hap’s leads in the field. If we haven’t found her by tomorrow night, we’ll bring the hammer down on Tate, Swatling, Kamin, and Malouf.”

  “Good,” Wilson said, staring at Kohl who was staring back. There was something about her that made him feel comfortable—conviction, resolve, savvy. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he liked the feeling. Maybe it was her concern about Emily. The FBI’s involvement made him feel both relieved and anxious. He prayed they’d do the right thing.

  “Do you think your mother and Carter Emerson will cooperate?” Kohl asked.

  “For immunity, yes,” Wilson said, just as Carter and he had discussed.

  “That can be arranged,” Kohl said, without even a hint of hesitation.

  It had probably been pre-approved, Wilson thought to himself. It was almost as if she’d been working on the case for months. The surprise on his face must have been apparent.

  Kohl continued. “We’ve known about Tate and Kamin for a couple of weeks. David Quinn blew the whistle on them. Arrest warrants and subpoenas had already been issued when Quinn died, and our case along with him. We’re still not sure his death was a suicide. His wife’s death is also in question,” Kohl said. Then she added, “Wasn’t he a client of yours?”

  “Yes,” Wilson said as he sat back on the sofa, reflecting on David Quinn and his resistance to breaking up the J. B. Musselman Company. “He didn’t want to listen to us. He was too sure of himself. I’m not surprised that Tate got to him. Desperation seems to open the door to manipulation.”

  “His disclosures have allowed us to mobilize resources faster than usual,” Kohl returned.

  Wilson nodded at the strange irony before turning his attention
back to his family. “My mother has been out of the loop for several years and I would like to keep it that way,” Wilson said, feeling new empathy for her.

  Kohl and Johns exchanged looks to confirm their agreement. Again, it was Kohl who responded, “We will honor that request as long as Mr. Emerson is willing to cooperate fully.”

  “He will,” Wilson said.

  “How soon can we see him?” Kohl asked.

  “As soon as the immunity guarantees for Carter and my mother are in place,” Wilson said.

  “We can have the necessary assurances in writing by mid-morning tomorrow,” Kohl said.

  “You’re welcome to call Carter from here if you’d like, the phones at both ends are clean,” Wilson said, glancing at Hap to confirm.

  Hap nodded, “All signs of surveillance have disappeared. They appear to have backed off completely, at least for the moment. My guess is it’s an attempt to make Wilson feel more comfortable.”

  “We’d like you to arrange it,” Kohl said, her blue green eyes drilling Wilson.

  “Why?” Wilson asked.

  “We also want assurances,” Kohl said, hesitating for a moment. “It might be good to advise him of that before we make contact.”

  “What sort of assurances?” Hap asked, surprised.

  Kohl sat back on the black sofa and waited a moment. It was clear that this was her turf. She began calmly. “Full cooperation. Names, files, recorded conversations, testimony, and entrapment, if we request it. And of course, an ongoing commitment.”

  “Commitment?” Wilson said, eyebrows raised.

  “Commitment that he will in no way use his knowledge of manipulating capital markets in this country or elsewhere in the world at anytime in the future.”

  Wilson eased back into the sofa, debating whether to probe further or simply agree to call Carter. “Are you more concerned about the cooperation or the abstinence?” Wilson asked.

  This time Johns responded, “Any individual capable of such abuses could do it again, without anyone knowing.”

  “The whole point of their ten-year gambit was to make sure this sort of abuse never happened again,” Wilson said with an unexpected flare of emotion.

  “We only want assurances, Wilson. Sometimes people change when their circumstances change,” Kohl responded.

  Wilson picked up the phone from the table and called Carter, who picked up on the first ring as if he’d been waiting by the phone. Wilson informed him of the FBI’s demands and their plan to deliver immunity guarantees by mid-morning to his office on campus.

  “This is a little earlier than expected, but I’ll be ready for them,” Carter said calmly.

  “Any concerns?” Wilson asked, surprised by Carter’s calm. Was this exactly what Carter expected me to do? Wilson reminded himself that Carter had been preparing for this moment for years.

  “None,” Carter said.

  “Anything else?” Wilson asked, sensing that Carter had something else he wanted to say.

  “So what was it that finally convinced you that the government wouldn’t botch this?”

  “Reading your eight volumes of history,” Wilson said without hesitation.

  “For what it’s worth, they would have convinced me too, had I been in your shoes,” Carter said. “What about Emily?”

  “If we don’t find her by tomorrow afternoon, the FBI will put the stranglehold on Tate, Swatling, Kamin, and Malouf,” Wilson said, glancing at Hap and then at Kohl and Johns. All of them were nodding their agreement.

  After Wilson hung up the phone, the FBI bosses stood up and began walking to the door. Kohl reassured Wilson that he’d done the right thing by bringing them in. “The FBI won’t disappoint you, Wilson,” she said.

  Her eyes communicated more than her words, Wilson thought. Apparently Hap had told them about his earlier misgivings. But now he felt relieved the FBI was involved—Kohl seemed to be signaling that rescuing Emily was her first priority. “I believe you,” Wilson said.

  As Kohl and Johns turned to leave, Hap reiterated his concern about leaks, reminding them of the partnership’s track record of surveillance and manipulation.

  Kohl assured him that the FBI would be taking every precaution possible. Her next statement had the ring of a declaration of war: “The FBI will not allow this sort of financial tyranny to manipulate the American people ever again.” Wilson noted that even Johns seemed surprised by her barely masked passion. Hope does spring eternal, he thought.

  51

  Emily – Teterboro Airport, NJ

  She could smell them before they touched her. Two sweaty men with strong hands and arms quickly removed the bands from Emily’s legs and arms, lifting her from the cot. Her blood ran cold. When they began to slowly rub their hands along her body, she recoiled in disgust. Enraged. Now is not the time to fight, she told herself, although it may come to that, especially if they’re moving me.

  The two men hurriedly escorted Emily into what seemed like the same truck as before. Once again she was forced to lie on the hard bench where she was strapped down.

  “Don’t be frightened. We’re just moving you to another location,” the woman’s automated voice said into her earphones.

  Oh God, Emily said to herself. If I leave Teterboro Airport, Wilson will never find me. She quickly turned her panic to resolve. No more fear. It had been pure luck or providence that she’d found the folded matchbook wedged between the floor and the toilet. She couldn’t let it be for naught. As she racked her brain for a way to let Wilson know, she felt the needle enter her arm.

  The truck began to move. She didn’t have much time before the unconsciousness set it. It’s now or never, she said to herself. Emily began to convulse violently. Using every bit of her strength and determination, she twisted and turned her body like a trapped snake. When she started slamming her head up and down against the metal bench with saliva drooling out of her mouth, the truck finally stopped. Within seconds, she could feel the agitated commotion around her. Then came the crushing blow to her face. Pain surged through her head and neck before she lost consciousness.

  From the moment the two in-flight service trucks stopped on the tarmac access road, three of Hap’s operatives trained their night vision scopes on their every movement. Two men from the cab of the second truck hurried to the back of the lead truck and lifted the roll-up door. Before the door closed, Hap’s men identified the woman struggling on the bench as Emily.

  “It’s her!” one of the operatives whispered urgently into the microphone.

  “Got it,” Driggs said calmly as he studied the monitor receiving video feeds from each man’s scope. “Tag it. Twice,” he said.

  Another operative squeezed the trigger of his Barrett M-82A1, firing a tungsten-tipped microchip into the spare tire attached to the truck’s undercarriage. He squeezed again, firing another round just as the two men lifted the roll-up door from inside and quickly returned to the second truck.

  “Tracking,” Driggs said into his headset as the two inflight service trucks sped away.

  It was five o’clock in the morning when Driggs called Hap. “We found her, but she’s under heavy protection and they’re moving her. We’re in pursuit.”

  “They must have pieced the puzzle together just like we did. Or there’s been a leak at the FBI. Whatever you do, don’t lose her,” Hap said.

  “We were able to tag the truck when it stopped,” Driggs said. “They’re traveling in two Rudy’s In-flight Cabin Services trucks on runway access roads to the other side of the airfield. We began seeing dozens of in-flight trucks about twenty minutes ago. She must have done something to make them stop the truck. If they hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have identified her.”

  “Make sure she hasn’t been seriously harmed and then maintain visual surveillance until we extract her. If she’s in jeopardy, you know what to do,” Hap said, worried about why she was being moved. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.

  Hap strode briskly into Wilson’s bedroo
m to report the news. “They found her,” Hap said, leaning over Wilson who was half asleep.

  “Thank God,” Wilson jumped to his feet.

  “She’s en route at the moment.”

  “What? They’re moving her?”

  “We have a tracking device on the truck. The team will use a thermal imaging camera to verify she’s unharmed. We’ll extract her at the first hint of danger.”

  “Why are they moving her?” Wilson said as emotions welled up inside him.

  “They’re clearly taking precautions. The fact that she hasn’t called again suggests they may have deciphered her clues. Just like we did.”

  “How long does the FBI expect us to wait?”

  Hap looked at his watch. “Simultaneous arrests are set for forty-eight hours from right now.”

  “Have you talked to Kohl?”

  Hap nodded slowly. “Her position is unchanged. If we extract Emily now, every member of the secret partnership will go into hiding. FBI surveillance will stop some, but not all. But she said it’s your decision.”

  “I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

  52

  Wilson – Boston, MA

  Three hours after Hap had awakened him with the news about Emily, Wilson sat in a meeting with Fielder & Company’s six vice presidents to launch the two-week transition period for establishing Malouf & Company as an independent firm. The mood among the vice presidents was somber, yet upbeat. They were finally taking action on a problem that had been tolerated for much too long; the remaining vice presidents seemed relieved that Malouf and Tennyson were leaving.

  But Wilson barely noticed the nuances, his thoughts and emotions consumed by what was happening to Emily. Ever the consummate professional, he managed to go through the motions until all the major transition issues had been addressed and resolved. They agreed to reconvene again tomorrow.