1 To Catch a Bad Guy

by Marie Astor

  What did a COO do, anyway? Paul had no idea, and his father was not that keen on educating him, leaving the task to Jon, who was anything but helpful. So Paul fumbled along, doing his best to appear competent and constantly terrified of his pretense being exposed. Not that his father would notice. Ever since Paul’s mother had passed away, Hank just was not himself: he was distracted and aloof, his presence in the office being a mere formality while Jon took over the reins. And Jon certainly did not have any interest in Paul becoming a competent COO, as he had no regard for his younger brother’s input when it came to business or any other subject, for that matter. Things might have continued this way had it not been for Lisa. At the thought of his tantalizing fiancée, Paul felt his spirits lift. Lisa was one of the most exciting women he had ever met. She was so driven, so determined: a refreshing change from his own attitude; a spirit he could look up to. For as ashamed as he was to admit it, Paul knew that while he worked hard, his work was generated by the sense of duty and expectation of the others rather than his own ambition. Lisa, on the other hand, was different: she had real hunger for things, an urge for success that Paul had never managed to arouse in himself. From the very start, Lisa had become interested in Paul’s position in the company and advised him to persevere in growing into a fully-fledged partner in the business: to become Jon’s equal.

  Paul sighed. He had worked hard to live up to Lisa’s expectations. Staying up late at night, he pored over Bostoff’s revenues and expenses, trying to come up with ways to cut costs and increase profits, but when he tried to contribute by expanding the internal Legal department in order to stop outsourcing all the legal work to that Tom Wyman slickster who charged the company an arm and a leg, Jon blew a lid. Just what was it that upset his brother so, Paul could not understand.

  Well, this meeting was bound to clear things up. There were several questions that Paul had for Jon as well. Over the past months, he had noticed an increased volume of orders coming in from several hedge funds, Emperial being at the forefront of the group. Interested in the identity of the high revenue-generating client, Paul did some digging and found that Emperial’s reputation was notorious to say the least. Paul remembered Hank Bostoff’s long-standing reluctance to go after hedge fund business, but Jon, on the other hand, was eager to open the doors to just about any client that paid good commissions: a notion that did not sit well with Paul at all. This week brought another curious development. A large chunk of commission had come in from Impala Group: a new client that Paul was unable to find any paperwork on.

  Paul checked his watch; he would have to hurry. With all his brooding, he had lost track of time, and he knew only too well how much Jon despised tardiness.

  At the sight of his brother, Jon Bostoff upped the rest of his scotch. Normally, he never drank during the work day, but today he had a good excuse. The first tranche of orders for the Impala Group had come in this week, generating a nearly seven-figure commission in just one day. The prospect of the money that was to come made Jon giddy with anticipation. Finally, he was getting to the station in life he had been destined to occupy. Now, all he had to do was make sure that his buffoon of a brother did not mess things up by poking his nose where it did not belong, and in order to do that, Jon would have to make Paul feel like he was part of the game. He needed to come up with a project to keep his brother busy and make him feel useful.

  “Paul, there you are.” Deciding that a handshake would be too formal and an embrace too filial, Jon patted his brother heartily on the shoulder.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Paul stiffened. “I was just finishing up some reports and lost track of time.”

  “No worries.” Jon smiled. “I think our table is ready.”

  As the pretty hostess led them to Jon’s usual booth, Jon eyed her perky behind undulating pleasantly on her long, slim legs. Jon Bostoff liked pretty women just as much as he liked money, and he strove to possess top tier in both categories. He had managed to do so in the first category: to his mind, all women paled in comparison next to his wife, and he was finally well on his way to realizing his ambition on the business front of things.

  Jon took a seat. “Would you like a drink?” he offered Paul.

  Paul lifted his eyes from the menu. “I don’t usually drink at work.”

  “Neither do I,” Jon retorted, “but this week calls for a celebration.” Without waiting for Paul’s response, Jon ordered two gin martinis.

  Paul took a sip of his water. “Speaking of which, I have noticed an increase in the commission numbers this week.”

  The sneaky bugger is not as dumb as he looks, Jon thought, conscious of keeping a hearty grin all the while. “That’s exactly it, brother – we’re finally breaking into the big leagues.”

  “By taking orders from hedge funds with questionable reputations?”

  Somebody is getting feisty. Jon resisted the urge of reaching across the table and smacking his brother for old times’ sake. Unfortunately, they were no longer kids. The smacking around would have to be confined to verbal parries.

  “What do you mean by questionable reputations?”

  “Do you want me to make a list? Emperial for one, and just this week, some entity called Impala Group of which I’ve never heard before.”

  Jon gulped. He had not expected such business dexterity from his younger brother. Clearly, the louse could be quite tenacious when he wanted to. “Would you call a hedge fund paying its investors eight percent per year questionable?”

  “If the return is generated by nefarious means, yes.” Paul fixed his eyes on Jon. “Dad always stood away from the hedge fund business. You are completely ignoring his wishes.”

  “Dad has been out of the business reality for some time,” Jon snapped. “Have you looked at the company finances recently? The agency business is not what it used to be. High spreads are the thing of the past. The only way to generate commissions these days is through volume. Going after hedge funds is the way to do that. And as far as Emperial goes, nothing has been hung on them yet, and as long as that’s the case, they are a good client to me.”

  “Well, I suppose you have a point. Nothing has been proven against them,” Paul trailed off.

  Mercifully, the waitress arrived with their drinks.

  Jon took a long swig of his martini and placed his order: cheeseburger with American cheese and French fries. He had to take another swallow of his drink when he heard Paul’s order: a salad for Christ’s sake! What a pansy his brother was.

  “Lisa and I are trying a new diet,” Paul added almost apologetically. “It’s based on the fact that meats and poultry are highly acidic foods and vegetables are alkaline. Consuming alkaline foods boosts your metabolism and flushes out the toxins.”

  Jon nodded. “I applaud your self-control, brother, but I’m too much of a carnivore to give up meat. I figure hitting the gym every morning ought to do it.”

  “It’s more of a solidarity gesture for Lisa on my part, really.”

  How lame, Jon thought, but nodded approvingly. “I like that; that’s the key to a strong marriage. Getting back to our conversation... I understand your concerns, Paul, but even the U.S. justice system says that one is innocent until proven guilty. And I might add that these days you’d be hard-pressed to find a financial institution that did not have a run-in with a regulator at some point of its existence.”

  “I suppose so.” Paul lowered his eyes, taking a drink. “I don’t want to fight with you, Jon. I just don’t want Dad’s legacy to be tarnished, that’s all. Heck, truth be told, I went into the business because Dad wanted me to: he’s got this idea that we should be working together, and I can clearly see that you don’t want that.”

  Damn straight, I don’t, Jon thought, but out loud he purred, “That’s not true, brother. I want us to be a team, but in order for that to happen, you have to trust me. I know you’re anxious to contribute to the business, and you have already done a great deal, but you have to give it time to acquire an understan
ding of the company before jumping to conclusions. Let me be your mentor. I promise I will guide you through this maze called finance, and then, we can really be a team.”

  Paul nodded. “I’d like that. To be honest, I was quite happy to be on the marketing side of things, but Dad wanted me to be involved in the business more.”

  “And who said that marketing is not important?”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “Of course, I do!” Jon almost burst from the effort of containing his smirk. “It’s one of the most important functions in the company. It presents our face to the outside world.”

  “I had no idea you thought so.”

  “I’m sorry if I was unclear about it. In fact, that’s one of the topics I wanted to talk to you about today. Now that Bostoff Securities is going to become a more prominent financial player, we need to up our publicity profile. I was thinking something along the lines of a charity event. What are your thoughts?”

  “We could organize a charity sports tournament.”

  “A splendid idea! That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Paul. We are a team. What kind of tournament?”

  “It could be golf or tennis.”

  “Tennis – I like that – more original than golf. How long do you think it would take to put one together? How does two weeks’ time sound?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Jon. That’s pushing it real tight. We might not get anyone from outside to participate on two weeks’ notice.”

  “Who says we need to get anyone from the outside? We can make it an employee only function. We’ll have several rounds, with the firm making a donation to the charity choice of the final winning employee. Can you get it started?”

  “Well, sure, Jon. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Great, I’m looking forward to it, Paul. And don’t forget about your engagement party tonight.” Jon winked and wiped the grease off his mouth. The burger had been superb.

  Chapter 21

  Janet perched on a bar stool at BLT and twirled the olive-studded toothpick in her martini glass. There were few things she would describe as being torturous, but sitting alone by the bar at a corporate function definitely rated in the category. Janet caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bar mirror: her hair covered her shoulders in loose, soft curls: she had snuck out at lunch to get it styled at the nearby hair salon, and she had to admit that it was a welcome change from her usual French twist. She wore a fitted black sheath with a matching jacket, which she had taken off and hung over the back of her chair, leaving her arms and neck exposed and flatteringly offset by the black material of her dress. All in all, she looked good, even if she did say so herself. Of course, she had hoped that Dean Snider would be there to take notice of this fact, but so far, he was not in attendance.

  Janet checked her watch: it was only five-thirty, and people were just starting to arrive. She wished Dean would hurry up already. But then she was the one to blame for her current predicament: Dean had asked her to be his date for the corporate party several times, and not wanting to make a big deal out of the whole thing, she had evaded a reply. Truth be told, she had been tempted to accept Dean’s invitation all week. Ever since their accidental outing on Monday night, Janet had become intensely conscious of Dean’s presence at Bostoff Securities. Suddenly, he was in the hallways, in the kitchen, in the cafeteria; wherever Janet went, Dean seemed to materialize out of the thin air. These coincidental encounters were more than welcome on Janet’s part, as the two of them joked, laughed, and flirted, filling the grayness of the workdays with sparks of excitement from each other’s company. Well, at least that was true in Janet’s case, and she hoped that Dean felt the same way. She had been looking forward to tonight all week, imagining herself cozying up to Dean by the bar, her face being tilted at a seductive angle and her smile playing on her lips just so as she looked into his eyes, listening to his deep voice recounting yet another anecdote about some dim-witted trader being unable to turn on his computer. There was no denying it: despite her determination not to get involved with coworkers, Janet was ready to break her own rules for Dean Snider. The only question that remained was whether Dean was interested in turning flirtatious banter into something more: a question that was difficult to answer since Janet herself had difficulty defining just what she meant by ‘more’.

  Janet stole a glance at her watch: a quarter to six and still no sign of Dean. Irked, she took another sip of her drink. That was the law of things: the minute one started wanting something, it was bound to become unattainable. All week long, Dean kept popping up before her with his uninvited banter, and now, when she finally decided to give the bugger a chance, he was nowhere to be found. But then perhaps it was all for the best. It was not as though she could afford the luxury of wasting her brain cells on flirting. If she was ever going to figure out what exactly was going on at Bostoff Securities, she had to keep her head cool.

  And something was definitely going on at Bostoff. Janet was sure of it. This week the commission numbers at Bostoff had almost quadrupled; however, the source of the commissions was not Emperial, but a new client - an offshore hedge fund, the Impala Group. Janet had tried to do some reconnaissance on the company, but her search came up empty. Strangely enough, commissions from Emperial had dwindled to almost nothing, and Janet wondered whether Impala Group was somehow connected to Emperial. From her analysis of Bostoff’s trading blotter reports, Janet noticed high concentration of orders in several stocks. The trades were all short sales or sales, driving the price of the stocks down by several dollars. The matter that troubled her most was the extent of Bostoff Securities’ involvement in all of this. However slim, there was still hope that Bostoff Securities was merely taking the orders from its clients without being privy to the intent behind the trading activity. If this indeed were the case, things were bad, but not horrible. As a broker dealer, Bostoff Securities had the obligation of supervising its clients’ orders for legitimacy and reporting any suspicious activity to regulators. While still a grave violation, failing to fulfill this very important duty was a far lesser offense that consciously participating in market manipulation.

  “Is this seat taken?” A male voice woke Janet up from her reverie.

  Janet turned around and saw Tom Wyman leaning against the chair next to hers. As always, he looked impeccable. His tailored suit did not have a crease out of place, and his tie immaculately matched his shirt: an intricate ensemble that he no doubt had spent some time putting together. Perhaps Janet imagined it, but is seemed to her that Wyman’s entire demeanor brimmed with self-satisfaction. He looked like a cat that had just swallowed a canary.

  Wyman took the seat next to her.

  “So you’re a martini girl,” Wyman observed Janet’s choice of drink. “That’s my kind of girl.” He winked.

  “I’m glad to know that.” Janet took a sip of her drink. She was not particularly happy to see Wyman at this very moment, but Wyman was at the heart of Bostoff’s business. If she was ever to get to the bottom of Bostoff’s operations, Wyman was the key.

  The rail-thin brunette who was tending the bar zoomed over to Wyman, batting her eyelashes at him.

  How was it that fashionable restaurants always had rail-thin women hosting, serving, and tending the bar? Were these stunning, but undoubtedly famished representatives of the female sex not tempted by the food that surrounded them at their places of work? Janet pondered while Wyman ordered himself a dirty martini.

  “What can I get you, sir?” The bartendress’s misty gaze made it clear that she would be more than happy to oblige Wyman’s needs beyond the cocktail menu.

  After a much deliberated measuring, stirring and pouring, the bartendress finally placed Wyman’s drink before him, and after casting one last longing look at Wyman and a fleeting look of menace at Janet, departed to address the needs of other customers.

  “Cheers.” Wyman raised his glass.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Lisa’s and Paul�
��s engagement, of course.” Wyman smiled with an open look of a man who had nothing to hide.

  “Yes, of course.” Janet returned his smile. She knew that Wyman would be a tough nut to crack, but it never hurt to try.

  “Do you have any other reasons in mind?” Wyman made a barely perceptible shift in his seat, sliding closer to Janet.

  “It looks like business is picking up,” she observed nonchalantly just as Wyman’s hand brushed against her bare arm.

  Wyman stiffened. “Yes, indeed. From what I hear, the revenues are up. Of course, I’m not involved in the day to day operations, so you would probably know more than me. What have you seen on your end?”

  “Oh, I just overheard the traders talking in the hallway. They sounded really excited about the business picking up,” Janet replied. She was not about to admit to the fact that she had been combing through the firm’s trading and commission records.

  “Another drink?” Wyman offered.

  “I don’t see why not.” Janet pushed away her empty glass.

  “Janet, Tom - there you are!” Janet had been so intent on observing Wyman that she had failed to notice Lisa Foley and Paul Bostoff walking toward them.

  “Hello.” Janet slid off her chair to reciprocate Lisa’s embrace-outstretched arms. The gesture was surprising given the fact that aside from exchanging a few terse phrases, Janet had barely seen her boss all week. Lisa was still sore at Janet’s refusal of her matchmaking.

  “I see you found Tom. Isn’t he great?” Lisa whispered, planting an air kiss on Janet’s cheek.

  “You look wonderful, Lisa. Congratulations to both of you.” Wyman smiled officiously.

  “Why, thank you, Tom!” Lisa leaned on Paul’s arm. “Don’t you think it’s time you tied the knot?” Lisa’s glance alternated between Janet and Wyman.