by Roman Klee
“Looks like someone’s idea of fun went wrong,” said Hans.
“What do you think? An accident?” asked Nathan.
“Impossible to know.”
Nathan didn’t want to come across as insensitive, but his visit to Zürich had only one purpose and he was still no closer to achieving it. Within a few minutes the local police would be on the scene.
“Do you mind Hans, I think I better go.”
“Yes, of course, none of this looks good. I’m sorry.”
Nathan did his best to sympathize, while at the same time trying to work out how much this incident complicated his own search for Budd Wright.
He left a contact number and then ran down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t see the shadowy figure of Frau Kesseller darting for cover from behind her half-closed shutters.
Δ = T –26,910,000
Despite what Nathan read in his Lonely Planet travel guide to Switzerland, it obviously harbored many surprises that no editor saw fit to print. It was pointless to guess what some people got up to in the privacy of their own homes.
And here he was deep in Calvinist country! He would never think of the Swiss as dull again.
While the maid was busy cleaning Nathan’s room at the Hotel Storchen, he sat contemplating his next move. He now faced the prospect of returning to New York without knowing whether or not Wright had checked into the Clinique Alpha-Omega. That would be his second failure in Antonio Orofino’s books and Nathan feared the consequences.
Then he got a call from Hans Duttweiler.
He apologized for what had happened to his friend. The entire business was so embarrassing, they hoped to keep the full details from the local press. Especially as Gustav’s father was a member of Zürich’s Chamber of Commerce. Luckily he had influence and could call in a few favors.
Hans kept repeating there had been no foul play. And because he was so insistent, Nathan began to suspect that maybe he was lying. The guy in the closet died from asphyxiation. Gustav panicked (understandable in the circumstances) and together with his two friends, they all fled the scene. It was only later they realized their mistake.
Nathan had already moved on from the weird incident as he called it (though he wondered how well Ursula would react to Gustav’s explanation). He was beginning to suspect that someone was deliberately giving him the run around. He asked Hans, if they could make progress on the real matter in hand—locating Budd Wright. This time Hans said something constructive.
Gustav had important information to share and he wanted to meet Nathan in person. He knew of a nice restaurant overlooking Lake Zürich. It was less than a half hour’s drive south of the city. Hans suggested they meet there at midday for lunch.
Nathan was beginning to tire of this escapade and simply asked Hans if he could share what Gustav intended to say over the phone. It would save a great deal of time and Nathan could then catch the afternoon flight back to New York.
But no sooner had Nathan finished speaking, when the line went dead. He asked the hotel receptionist to redial the number for him. He tried to reach Hans on his cell, but every time he got re-directed to voicemail. He couldn’t make contact.
Nathan only had one option left.
Cunningham had just received the latest progress update from the Trust’s Zürich office. It confirmed some knowns and shed a new light on a few unknowns. But Cunningham feared it also contained many more unknown unknowns.
To begin with, the crash investigation team started to analyze the wreckage. There was still no sign of the plane’s black box, which was continuing to cause him concern.
And there was an additional problem. The pieces of the plane so far assembled formed the body parts of a Learjet 55. They had not found any of the tail sections yet, but they had enough to work out its manufacturer and model.
One of the investigators called Wright’s company to confirm what type of plane he was scheduled to fly on from Zürich. They said he only ever flew on Gulfstreams. According to their records, the last Learjet that formed part of JetSet’s fleet was decommissioned a good five years earlier.
The Swiss investigator reported back to the Trust the strange but logical conclusion—the plane that had crashed between Bern Valais and Flachensteinen, was not the one Budd Wright had boarded in Zürich.
There was one final piece of evidence that would prove this beyond any doubt. Although they still could not find the black box’s memory module, they had the chassis and its special identification code, to pair it with the plane. All they needed now was the code for Budd Wright’s plane; if it failed to match, then they had the final proof. They just needed JetSet to send it.
Wright’s Gulfstream lost radar contact at twenty thousand feet. It was difficult to know where it could have landed, because Zürich was close to the French and Italian borders. There were no obvious airfields in the immediate area. If the plane had performed an emergency landing, maybe someone decided to hide it. They would not be able to fly again without giving away their location.
Rega was conducting an aerial search of structures large enough for housing an executive plane. The task was likely to be relatively straightforward as far as the Swiss side of the operation was concerned. But getting the French and Italians involved would add additional complexity and risk unauthorized leaks to the media.
Cunningham insisted that only some of the details were given to the press. He agreed the line with Jade’s lawyers. They would say that the rescue team had located the site of Wright’s plane and they were close to retrieving the black box. Only after a thorough analysis could they say exactly what had happened.
On the positive side, the chances were high that Budd was alive. But no sooner had Cunningham reached this conclusion than another problem arose.
Had Wright contacted his family yet?
As far as Cunningham was aware, the answer was no. Except he didn’t know for sure. And it exposed the biggest weakness in the Trust’s position—Concoran & Block were acting as a filter between him and the rest of the Wright family. He had to come up with a plan to remove the legal firm from the equation or at least get around it.
The Trust needed to be a lot closer to the Wrights. Because from his experience, when dealing with the families of the super rich, you could never know too much. With money came options, with options came complications—and as the complications multiplied, mistakes were made. And they invariably proved costly on so many levels, many of which were not obvious at the time.
If by now Wright had survived and contacted his wife, without the Trust knowing, then the whole business could be put down as an unfortunate accident, but with a happy ending. That obviously was one interpretation and it meant that the Trust’s role ended.
There was no need to find Liz and bring her back to the United States. No nice fat finders fee, or any other fee for that matter.
On the other hand, the information about the airplane wreckage changed the happy ending scenario in many ways. Cunningham had been working through the possibilities. He hoped he was acting objectively, without giving undue weight to the outcome that best suited the Trust financially.
If only he could already know all the things he didn’t know he didn’t know. Oh yes, surely that way genius lay. But Cunningham was well enough grounded not to have illusions about his own worth.
And at that moment he needed to focus more sharply than ever. He was not exactly desperate, but he was eager to know what Nathan had discovered in Zürich.
Δ = T –26,902,800
Finding the Münsterhof restaurant was not difficult. It was in an idyllic spot, on the left side of Zürich Lake with an uninterrupted view across to the city. The restaurant claimed to serve Italian food. Nathan was prepared to take the chef’s description of spaghetti alle vongole as evidence he knew what he was doing.
But most important of all, the Münsterhof was more or
less parallel with Küsnacht, where the Clinique Alpha-Omega occupied a prime lake side position.
Nathan expected to have to wait for his hosts, but they had made it in good time. Hans stood up as soon as he saw Nathan come in. He introduced the formally elusive Gustav. Sensing that Nathan did not want to engage in a lot of pointless small talk about how beautiful the views were from their window table, they got straight down to business.
“The clinic admitted a patient on the same day as Wright’s plane disappeared. He was American, possibly in his late sixties,” said Gustav.
So far so good, thought Nathan.
“He checked in using the name Bill Bundy. We assume this is an alias to fool the press and to prevent arousing interest among the other clients.”
This made perfect sense—progress at last.
“He insisted on strict dietary requirements. Emphasis on healthy options.”
Finally, the pieces were all falling into place.
“The thing is we need you to do a visual identification,” said Hans.
Nathan already guessed the next question.
“Have you met the man, face to face?”
Nathan, like the majority of people, had only ever seen Budd Wright’s picture in the financial press and on television. He’d never actually shaken hands with the guy.
Then Nathan had a brain wave.
If those in the market for L.A.Y.D.E.E.s knew Budd Wright was alive, but also a client at an assisted suicide clinic, how would that impact their correlation trades? It became a case of would he or wouldn’t he? Was he seriously ill or could he be talked out of taking the final step? That should give the Solomon market makers more than a few sleepless nights.
“Actually, yes,” replied Nathan confidently, “I met him at the annual investor conference at the Yankee Stadium last year. Budd always pitches the first ball of the new season. Jade even sent me a copy of her Christmas letter.”
Ah, that Christmas letter was proving more of a Godsend than Nathan had ever imagined it would be—and to think he came close to deleting it from his email inbox.
“Great,” said Hans, then there’s one thing we should do before we order.”
Nathan hoped they were not going on some pointless escapade. They led him outside to an observation deck, directly behind the restaurant. Nathan checked his pockets for spare coins, but there was no need. Gustav had already paid for the viewfinder.
“I’d like you to take a look at this,” said Hans. He had carefully adjusted the focus so that it zoomed in on his intended target.
Nathan stepped up to the viewfinder and could scarcely believe his eyes. There in plain view, sitting on the terrace of the Clinique Alpha-Omega, was Budd Wright.
He held a glass of orange juice in one hand and in the other, the latest edition of Barron’s. He appeared to show no visible signs of ill health. For someone contemplating the end of his time on planet earth, he certainly looked cheerful enough.
“So, what do you think, is it him?” asked Hans impatiently.
Nathan realized he needed to take his time before answering. His first impression was that it did indeed look like Budd Wright. The age was right, his body shape, his hair and spectacles all seemed in order. The props were right too.
But everyone knew he read a lot of financial stuff and drank freshly squeezed Florida orange juice. Even when taken together, they weren’t proof of very much.
In one sense, it all seemed a little staged. Except that was not the correct line for Nathan to take and he knew it.
“Yep, that’s him alright,” said Nathan, “I mean nothing’s one hundred percent, but I figure that’s gotta be him.”
They returned to the restaurant and enjoyed a meal of spaghetti alla carbonara followed by a version of bistecca alla Fiorentina (which the chef had spoiled by rubbing oil on it before cooking). It was not exactly like the Italian food Nathan often ate at Luigi’s, but what the heck? He had some vital information to take back with him to New York.
By the end of the meal, Nathan had also learned a little more about what went on at the clinic. According to Gustav, the staff expected a hot shot Wall Street trader to turn up any day soon. The story was that the guy had become totally infatuated with a twenty-five-year-old East European escort.
The only problem—she was married to a much older guy. Undeterred, the trader offered her one million dollars to get a divorce. He threatened suicide if she stopped seeing him. By registering at the clinic, he hoped she would change her mind.
Well, if you’re desperate, anything was worth a go, thought Nathan. But he very much doubted the guy would actually follow through with his threats. He sensed his love of money was the greater of his two attachments.
It was only later, on the ride out to the airport that Nathan appreciated his own dilemma. He had conflicting reports to tell Orofino and Cunningham.
He was back to serving two masters—and he sensed the outcome for him would not be a pleasant one.
Δ = T –26,816,400
Cunningham had to decide quickly what he was going to tell Jade Wright. The information from Switzerland did not provide the kind of answers he wanted. He risked an outcome he hated most, because it made his job more difficult. Clients quickly lost faith when presented with too many options and complex solutions. And clients who lacked faith soon took their business to a rival firm.
Even if Jade Wright wasn’t on his client list, it didn’t make his job any easier. Because she talked, and her good or bad mouthing of the Trust would be enough to win or lose business. And if he was honest, they hadn’t started on the best of terms.
So far, they were running with the insurance scam idea. With a surplus of executive planes in the sector and leasing prices plummeting, there had been an increase in the number of accidents and insurance claims. It was one way to limit losses.
Although probably fraudulent, he was sure Budd Wright had no knowledge of who owned the crashed Learjet. But Cunningham’s team in London had traced it to a leasing company registered in Eire, which in turn was owned by a Gibraltar corporation.
They were still trying to uncover the name of the ultimate owners. It was turning into one of those boxes within boxes within boxes type situations. But for now, it didn’t rank as a major priority.
The next issue however was critical; Nathan’s identification of Budd Wright at the Clinique Alpha-Omega.
Not only was it puzzling for a number of reasons, it helped to confuse the message Cunningham intended giving Jade Wright. Based on his previous experience, he concluded they were dealing with a kidnap case. It made sense from so many angles. And it was the easiest to explain. Who didn’t want to capture a famous billionaire investor and demand a massive ransom? Why wouldn’t the family do everything in its power to keep the truth hidden from the media and anyone else involved in the matter?
If on the other hand, Nathan really had discovered Wright at the clinic, then there was no kidnap, no ransom. Everything was settled. They just had to wait for Wright to make up his mind. And no one knew how long that would take.
Maybe there really was another simple explanation. Wright had been injured during the plane crash. This had impacted his way of thinking and he no longer wished to carry on as before. Cunningham would have been happy to accept this line, but he was persuaded against it for two reasons; he had the evidence relating to the two planes, and then there was Jade Wright.
She did not come across as a woman to mess with. Her denial that her husband had suffered any form of illness was defiant to the end. Of course, perhaps she no longer possessed all the facts. She might not have known about a sudden deterioration in her husband’s mental or physical health following the accident.
But since Cunningham knew Budd Wright’s plane had not really crashed, he reasoned it was extremely unlikely anything had happened to affect Budd’s mental state. Checking i
n to an assisted suicide clinic seemed completely out of character. Everyone who had met Wright recently said they had noticed no deterioration in his mind or physical faculties.
Clearly then, the person Nathan had seen near Zürich, was not who he appeared to be.
Once the new junior partner landed back in New York, Cunningham intended to straighten a few things out. Then he had to finish working on the true version of the story to tell Jade.
Δ = T –26,809,200
Nathan had barely any time to turn around. After his plane landed at JFK, he took a cab to the Banderbilt Trust’s Park Avenue address. Cunningham was waiting for him, but they didn’t talk in his top-floor corner office.
“Come with me,” he said, and he led Nathan through a concealed door behind his desk and into a small lobby with a narrow spiral staircase running up the middle. Cunningham went first and Nathan followed. They came out onto a small glazed observation deck, which looked across to the East River.
They could have discussed the view, but Cunningham got straight to the point. “I don’t think the guy you identified in Küsnacht was Budd Wright.”
Nathan was taken aback. He wondered why his judgment was being questioned suddenly. It was as if Cunningham didn’t value his opinions, or perhaps he really didn’t trust him.
“When you were at college, how much did they teach you about the Second World War?”
Nathan had no idea why his boss was asking him about the war. How was that relevant to anything? He replied that he majored in economics. His only knowledge of the war was what he’d seen at the movies and on TV.
“You mean the stories where America always wins.”
“Well we did, we did win.”
There was no arguing that one, but Cunningham wanted Nathan to forget about Hollywood and think about the part played by America’s allies. “I guess you heard of a guy called Winston Churchill?”