by Layla Reyne
“I didn’t send that message.” The voice was deep, drawn, the Texas accent Aidan had learned well last fall. Only one broker matched that description. The same broker who’d had a bad handshake yesterday. “Why would I crater my own client’s account?” Spencer exclaimed.
“Don’t know, Spence,” Nate replied. “But the message came from your encrypted ID.”
“I didn’t do it!”
Aidan bowed his head slightly and Lauren eased the door shut again. “You hear that?” he asked Jamie.
“I’m checking the directory now.” One of the highlighted entries on Lauren’s screen turned red. “That one’s Spencer’s. His ID was reset.”
Meaning if Spencer was telling the truth, Pearl had been hacked. Any of the reset IDs were suspect.
Including his.
* * *
Jamie perched on the edge of an overpriced chair, at an overpriced conference table, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the most overpriced commercial real estate in the country. Past the morning rush hour, not even lunch yet, tree-lined Sand Hill Road was still congested. The midmorning sun reflected off a particularly offensive chromed-out monstrosity, and Jamie looked away, only to be blinded by rays bouncing off the abundance of glass and chrome in the conference room.
“It’s so bright here,” Mel said, mirroring his thoughts. “I like the City. The layer of grime tones down the shiny underbelly.”
It was a too apt description, though Jamie wondered if the City grime was merely a veneer over grime of a different sort.
Today, he’d much rather ignore all the possibilities and hole up in the windowless cave, monitoring the situation at Pearl. But Lauren had that covered and Aidan had his hands full. He’d be their inside man there, in a position to know exactly what was going on, eyes peeled for Renaud’s inevitable involvement. Jamie had to focus on the VC connection, which was why he’d driven down to Menlo Park with Mel.
The glass door swung outward, drawing Jamie’s attention. Danny held it open for a petite woman, smartly dressed in the business casual attire Silicon Valley elites effortlessly pulled off.
“Mel, Jamie,” Danny said, “this is Tori Morita. Tori, SAC Melissa Cruz and Agent Jameson Walker.”
Tori pushed salt-and-pepper bangs out of her eyes and held out a delicate manicured hand. The grip was surprisingly strong. “Agents, I understand from Daniel that I have you to thank for saving our lives last fall.”
Owing to Danny’s shipping connections, they’d learned Seven Oaks Capital had sponsored a conference of the Valley’s top VCs aboard one of the incoming cruise liners Renaud had targeted. Tori, a business acquaintance of Danny’s, was Seven Oaks’s CEO.
“Just doing our jobs,” Jamie said, while Danny and Mel shared a tense stare-down.
Tori gestured for them to sit. “Daniel said you had some follow-up questions.”
“Ms. Morita,” Mel started.
“Tori, please.”
“Tori, we have reason to believe your conference, or a company or person in attendance, was the target of the attack.”
The CEO didn’t flinch, much less blink.
“You don’t seem alarmed,” Jamie said, surprised.
“Ask Daniel how many times a year Talley Enterprises is threatened.”
Mel glared daggers across the table at Danny. Said threats were clearly not something Danny nor Aidan had ever disclosed to her.
“I couldn’t give a number,” Danny replied. “We rarely report it. Ninety-nine percent of the time the threats aren’t credible.”
Mel braced her forearms on the beveled edge of the table. “You don’t think law enforcement should make that call?”
Jamie could see the escalation of hostilities unfolding, as it had at the Tavern last night. He needed to redirect. “Did you receive any threats in advance of the cruise?” he asked Tori.
She crossed one leg over the other, designer heel hanging off her foot. “No, that’s the only thing surprising about this.”
“You expected to receive threats?
“Honestly, yes. With that many of us in one place...”
“Can you get us a list of attendees?” Mel said.
“Daniel mentioned you might need that. My assistant is pulling it together now.”
Jamie reflected back on his conversation that morning with Aidan and Lauren, about how everything might tie together. “Are you familiar with the Aurora messaging system?”
“Yes, of course. If it proves effective, it could revolutionize the way i-bankers communicate, maybe even professionals in other protected-data fields. Hospitals, law firms, insurance, the list goes on. The application is wide.”
“It’s also controversial,” Jamie said. He’d read up on the system in the wee hours of the morning. It had been a target of politicians and consumer protections groups worried about lack of transparency, the potential for insider training, and the effect a precursor system had had in triggering the last financial crisis.
“That’s why I expected threats,” Tori said. “The Aurora management team was the keynote panel of the event.”
“Did Seven Oaks provide Aurora funding?” Danny asked.
“We did, along with half a dozen other Valley firms. Pearl, down in the South Bay, was the lead bundler.”
All three of them shifted in their chairs, realizing Aidan was sitting right in the middle of this brewing mess. Aurora, Pearl, Seven Oaks, the high-profile cruise—Renaud. If the terrorist was employed at Pearl, he would have heard about Aurora, maybe have even seen an early stage beta. But given AD Weiss’s confession, Jamie contemplated a more personal connection, a more personal stake Renaud had for triggering a market crash.
“Are you using Aurora?” Mel asked.
“Yes, a beta version. All the investors are.”
“Do Pearl and Aurora have investors in common?” Jamie asked.
A knock on the door forestalled her answer. A young man stepped inside and handed her a piece of paper. “The list you asked for.”
He slipped back out, and Tori, after a quick glance down, passed the list to Jamie and Mel. “Lennox Capital. They provided financing to Pearl and Aurora.”
Definitely a potential target. But how was Renaud connected?
“Are you familiar with a Peter Wald or Pierre Renaud?” Jamie asked.
Tori shook her head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Jamie reached into his bag and pulled out two photos—of Renaud in Morocco, and of Peter Wald’s DMV photo. He slid them across the table to Tori.
Peering down at the pictures, her fair skin blanched impossibly paler. Her fingers shook as she dragged the picture of Renaud closer, whispering “Ben.”
Danny laid a hand on her shoulder. “Tori, are you okay?”
“The hair’s lighter, his skin more weathered...” She ran a finger over Renaud’s face, lost in the past somewhere, then blinked a few times, coming back to them. “But I’d recognize those eyes anywhere, even eighteen years later. I knew him as Benjamin Connors.”
“Did he work here?” Jamie asked.
“You could say that. He was our founder.”
Chapter Nine
Aidan adjusted his Windsor knot, buttoned his suit coat, and opened the door to the conference room where Spencer was being held.
Spencer’s face and that of Pearl’s CFO, Gregory Lane, couldn’t have been more different. Eyes wide, sweat dappling his forehead, Spencer was the picture of confused fear. Greg on the other hand exuded confidence, in his power, his anger and his determination that Spencer was guilty. Because he believed Aurora un-hackable or because he knew who’d hacked it?
Aidan closed the door. “Someone want to bring me up to speed?” He rubbed his jaw, in front of his ear, activating the comm device there.
&nb
sp; “Hear you,” Lauren said.
Greg handed him an Aurora activity log. “We have an encrypted message from Spencer to another trader authorizing a sell of shares for a company that we have a do-not-sell order on.” Greg next passed him a copy of the do-not-sell order. “They’re in the middle of an acquisition. All trading is suspended.”
“No shit,” Spencer said. “That’s my client. I brought them to Pearl. The founder’s my frat brother. No way would I crater his company or his deal.”
“The sell went through?” Aidan asked.
“The client just called,” Greg said. “Our trade triggered a sell-off. They’re in free fall. Needless to say, their acquisition deal is dead too.”
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and laced his fingers behind his neck. He was scared, upset, remorseful for his friend. Unless he was a trained actor, Aidan didn’t read it as fake.
“This is malpractice,” Greg ranted on. “They’re going to sue us, and we’re talking treble damages.” He turned his dark glare on Aidan. “You’re Legal Compliance, Talbott. Do you understand what’s going on?”
Aidan met Greg’s stare. “I’ve got a JD and MBA from Stanford. I understand perfectly what’s going on. Could you give us the room?” Aidan added a “please” for good manners, though by Greg’s narrowed glare, the CFO understood it wasn’t a request.
He stood, grumbling, “I’ll be back.”
Once the door closed, Aidan relaxed in his chair, hoping it would ease Spencer’s nerves as well. “You can have your attorney present if you want.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
Aidan raised his hands, palms out. “I believe you, Spence.”
“You do?”
“Let’s back up and talk about your whereabouts this morning.” He doubted anyone had approached this like a real investigation. Greg, Nate and the others had assumed the log was proof positive. He drew the Aurora log toward him. “According to this, the sell message was sent at ten-thirteen this morning. Do you remember what you were doing then or where you were?”
The junior trader shrugged. “Probably on the phone. You know how this place works. We’re always on the phone.”
“Who were you speaking with? We can verify—”
Spencer suddenly slapped the table. “No, wait, I went to the coffee shop.” He yanked his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen, and handed it to Aidan. “Square receipt for five after ten.”
“You could have made it back in time, or authorized the sell from your phone.”
“I didn’t. Ask the barista, Rebecca.”
“Checking,” Lauren said, while Spencer carried on.
“I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me, and we talked for a good ten minutes after I got my drink. She finally agreed. This was the best day ever.” His mood swung from remembered elation to utter dejection. “And now this.”
“I’ll check with Rebecca,” Aidan said. “Is it possible anyone else had access to your computer or to your Aurora log-in?”
He shook his head. “No, I logged out of my computer when I left for coffee, like we’re supposed to do. No one could have accessed it. As for the Aurora log-in, I haven’t given that to anyone. When would I have had time? It was reset yesterday.”
“Confirmed with the barista,” Lauren chimed in.
Aidan stood. “Okay, Spence, I need you to sit tight a few more minutes while we sort this out.” He stepped outside and met Greg in the hallway.
“Spencer didn’t send that message,” Aidan said. “He was at the coffee shop a building over when the trade happened. He’s got the receipt and witness to prove it.”
The CFO’s demeanor shifted, seemingly invested in getting to the bottom of this too. “Let me check again with Nate.” He turned, phone to his ear, and Aidan hurried back to his office where Lauren waited.
He closed the door and pointed at his tablet. “Call Jamie, now.”
“Already here.” Jamie’s voice echoed from the tablet propped open on the desk. Sans picture, traffic noise rumbled in the background.
“You in a car?” Aidan asked.
“You’ve got me too,” Mel said. “We’re on our way back to the City.”
Tires squealed and horns blew in the background, and Aidan didn’t have to ask who was driving.
“Lauren tell you what’s going on?”
“I’ll track down the transaction source as soon as I get back in front of a computer,” Jamie said.
“Did you make the VC connection?” Aidan asked.
“You could say that,” Mel replied, tone strident. “Renaud is the founder of Seven Oaks Capital.”
He staggered back a step. “How did his name not register in any search?”
“Because he went by Benjamin Connors.”
Not one of the names on Interpol’s list. “How many aliases does he have?”
“We don’t think this one’s an alias,” Jamie said. “Renaud is Benjamin Connors.”
Home.
The Cuban assassin’s warning. AD Weiss’s confession. It all made sense now. Renaud, or Connors, was coming home for the grand finale.
“How does Galveston fit in?”
“Seven Oaks hosted a VC conference on one of those cruise ships.”
“Shit,” Aidan cursed. “He tried to take them out then.”
“And us,” Jamie said. “There’s more.”
“There’s always fucking more.”
“Pearl and Seven Oaks both funded Aurora. They’re both beta testers.”
“Renaud’s here,” Lauren cut in. “Wald’s badge was just scanned. Stairwell door. One floor down.”
How the fuck had he gotten past security? Aidan glanced up, searching the floor outside his glass walls for Renaud, and landed instead on Greg marching his direction. He wore the same angry, determined look he’d earlier aimed at Spencer.
“I think we’ve got another problem,” Aidan said.
“What now?” Mel asked.
Greg was closing in fast, and Aidan needed to get his team on board with the plan coming together in his head. “Lauren,” he said. “Go to the door, and when Greg barges in, you slip out. You see Renaud, hide until you can get past him and outside. Go straight to your detail and get to Mel.”
“What’s going on?” Mel called, worry lacing her voice.
“Pretty sure I’m being set up.”
“Get out,” Jamie all but growled.
“No.” And there was the growl from the other end. Aidan took his life in his hands and ignored it. “At best, we get a better idea what’s going on here at Aurora. They’ll think they’re interrogating me, when I’m really interrogating them. At worst, I get a face-to-face with the devil.”
“Christ, Aidan.” Jamie sounded like he was ready to leap out of the car, or through the phone if he could find a way. “This is too risky.”
And they were too close now not to risk it. “Lauren’s got ears on me, and I’ve got one of your special business cards in my pocket, so you’ll have eyes on my location.”
“Aidan, be careful,” Mel cautioned, and Aidan heard it click off speaker. “Irish,” Jamie said, low and gruff. “Don’t get dead. We made a promise.”
Partners, always. “And I intend to keep it. You do the same. I love you, Whiskey.”
“I love you too.”
Aidan hung up just as Lauren opened the door. Bag over her shoulder, laptop clutched to her chest, she snuck out, unnoticed, as Greg blustered in.
“I was coming to find you,” Aidan said. “We need to talk about Pearl funding Aurora and whether that’s a conflict of interest.”
“That’s the least of your worries,” Greg said. “We need to talk about why you, not Spencer, were the one who sent that sell message.”
* * *
The doors of the parking garage elevator had barely opened when Jamie shot through them, hauling ass across the Federal Building lobby toward the main elevators. He needed to get up to the cave and track what was going on at Pearl. The click-clack of Mel’s heels echoed his every step, his boss just as concerned for Aidan.
And then Nic stepped into their path.
“Not now, Dominic.” Jamie juked right, like he would on the court, and pain shot up his leg.
All for naught, as Nic matched the move. “Where’s the fire?”
Jamie spun, a reverse pivot. More disorienting than a juke, especially in the middle of an office building lobby. He managed to skirt around Nic’s opposite side. “Aidan’s in trouble.”
“When is he not?”
Ignoring the prosecutor, Jamie palmed his access badge, prepared to barrel through the security checkpoint to the elevator bank.
“What’ve you got?” Mel asked behind him.
“Martin Westley.”
Jamie slammed on the brakes and made a U-turn, grimacing as another stab of pain radiated up his entire right side.
“I traced the tags and VIN on the trailing vehicle,” Nic said. “Caught Westley checking the car in at one of the local rental offices.”
“Caught him?” Jamie said.
Nic’s eyes flickered up. “He’s in our offices.”
“He should be in FBI custody.”
Mel laid a hand on his arm. “We still don’t know if our office is infected. DOJ’s got him, one way or the other.”
“I haven’t questioned him yet,” Nic said to Jamie. “I was waiting on you.”
Jamie was torn. They’d been after Westley for months, and Nic finally had him, in a room where Jamie could get some answers. But Aidan was in trouble and Jamie needed to have his partner’s back.
Fuck!
“Go with Nic,” Mel said. “Lauren will be here soon, and she’s monitoring Aidan. She’ll tell us if anything goes sideways.”
“Things are already sideways.”
“More sideways,” she conceded. “Either way, we need answers from Westley. Go.”