“You know we’ve had some great years before this one.”
Liquorish cocked his head. “The past is the past.”
“Look, I accept that this year’s been disappointing, but we’ll get things back on track.”
Liquorish placed his cup back onto the table and sat forward on the edge of the sofa. “We need to get back there pretty bloody quickly. I’m beginning to get some heat from our friends in Prague and, frankly, I don’t like it.”
“What exactly have they been saying?”
“They’re worried you might be losing your touch. They’re asking some awkward questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Ought we to be moving the money you manage elsewhere?”
“Is that necessary? We’ve never let them down in the past.”
“All they are concerned with is the future and they’re nervous about the direction of your returns. And that makes me nervous.”
“I’m confident things are on the turn. We’ve got plans.”
Liquorish raised one of his eyebrows. “Go on.”
“We’ve had a couple of interesting breaks recently. One source, in particular, should be a real earner for all of us.”
“You hinted at that last time. In fact, I shared it with Prague. I felt I had to give them some good news. What else can I tell them now?”
“Well, the new source is starting to come through. We’re about to complete our first deal based on his information. You can tell them this one’s a winner, and I’m certain there’ll be many more from the same contact.”
“They will be pleased to hear that, not least because they have some more capital to be managed and right now, they’re looking for a safe home for it.”
“Are they thinking they might give it to us to take on?”
“It has been discussed, but only if I judge that you chaps have turned the corner.”
“You have my word, Anthony. There is no reason why our new contact can’t keep us fed with deals for many years to come. Let’s just say he’s very well-placed and I know him well. We have a history. He’ll be good for us.”
“You do sound confident.”
Rondell nodded. “I am.”
“Almost as confident as Nicholas Walker was before…” Liquorish poured another tea. “You did hear what happened to Mayfair Alpha?”
“No. I know you have a chunk of money tied up with them, but I don’t know any details.”
“We did have.” Liquorish sipped his tea. “Until their results continued to drift south.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“A few months ago, Walker was sitting right where you are now, telling me all sorts of reasons why his fund’s performance was about to start improving.” Another sip. “I told him Prague would hold him to it. Then he dropped the ball. He took a couple of very large punts on deals he said were sure to deliver. Within weeks, he’d blown a third of his fund. Turns out his source got it all wrong.”
Rondell chewed on the inside of his lower lip. “What did Prague say?”
“It’s not what they said so much as what they did.”
“I assume they withdrew their money?”
“Yes, what was left of it.” Liquorish narrowed his eyes. “But Walker didn’t live to see that. He was shot at his office a fortnight ago.”
Rondell forced down some more tea to ease his dry throat. “I hadn’t heard that.”
Liquorish leaned back into the sofa. “Of course, there is a silver lining in all this.”
“What’s that?”
“That extra capital I mentioned. It’s what’s left of the Mayfair Alpha fund. It’s coming over to you, as long as you’re still certain you’re not going to lose it.”
Rondell swallowed. He could hardly back down now. As long as he made sure Danny Boy kept delivering, then certainly he could raise the performance of the Grannis Hedge Fund. “I’m very confident of my new source. We’ll find a good home for that money.”
“I’ll inform our Czech friends of your positive outlook. They will be pleased.”
Chapter 19
MICHAEL LEFT THE CONNECTICUT TURNPIKE at the Darien exit and drove north. The Sat Nav instructed him to take a right off Mansfield Avenue, where, a couple of miles farther on, he saw the parking area for the aging strip mall. As he parked, he spotted the shop, recognizing the red logo on its peeling fascia-board from the website. It looked older and tackier than he’d expected; certainly, the website photos weren’t taken in the last decade.
It was ten to nine according to the digital display in the Lexus, and the shop was due to open at nine. He had to be the first one in—get in before it became busy and out again before anyone noticed him.
Minutes later, a man with a shaven head and goatee beard drove by and pulled up in front of the store about twenty yards away from Michael’s car. The man was in a Toyota pickup truck with loud rock music blaring from its cab.
Don’t tell me he’s another customer. Michael tried not to make it look obvious he was staring at the man.
Goatee man glanced at Michael before stepping out and bleeping the pickup’s alarm on his key fob. He had an athletic build and what looked like tattoos peeking above the collar of his short-sleeved shirt. Using one of the keys on the chain hanging from his leather belt, he opened the store and walked inside. Moments later, the metal shutters that had been hiding the windows rolled up. Michael looked at his watch—exactly nine o’clock. If he moved quickly, he could get this over with before anyone else turned up.
“Welcome to Forstmann Firearms,” said goatee man from behind the raised wooden counter facing the door as Michael walked in.
Michael scanned the shop. Leading from each side of the central counter were lower level glass cabinets full of pistols. Behind the man, and lining three walls, were hundreds of rifles of different shapes and sizes, all standing upright in open wooden display units.
“How can I help you today?”
Michael could tell he was being sized up as he thought about what to say. He’d never owned a weapon in his life. He didn’t agree with them and hated the fact that they were available to any member of the public in the same way groceries were. But now, for the first time in his life, he felt the need to have some protection for him and his family.
Michael’s eyes continued working around the wall to wall armory. “I need a weapon.”
“You’re in the right place. We have forty different brands here: Colts, Winchesters, Remingtons and Rugers to name a few.” Goatee man puffed out his chest. “We’re a family business. Been here thirty years. My father—”
Michael raised his right hand. The last thing he needed right now was a long-winded sales pitch. All he wanted was to buy a gun and get out of here.
“Look, I just want a pistol,” he said, barely disguising his impatience. “I don’t mind which.”
The man angled his head, revealing more of the tattoos around his neck. It was clear from his reaction that most of his clientele preferred to stand around and debate the pros and cons of the different brands and weapon types, but here was a customer who simply wanted a pistol. That didn’t compute.
“Depends on what you need it for.” He examined Michael a little more closely. “Our aim at Forstmann Firearms is to find you a weapon that fits your needs. We have a great inventory here. No one else in the state comes close to matching us. We’ll even custom order you a weapon if what we have here doesn’t work for you.”
Michael had to interrupt the sales pitch again. Otherwise, this was going to go on forever. “Look, we’ve had a couple of break-ins at home recently, and all I want is something to protect my family should I need it.”
“Okay. Personal protection. I got it. For that, I’d recommend a powerful full-size pistol. We carry some of the top manufacturers in the business: Glock, Beretta, Walther, Springfield. We can supply them all.”
Michael must have appeared confused by the menu of choices, as the man stopped, reached into one o
f the glass displays, and placed a pistol on the counter in front of him.
“Something, perhaps, like this baby.”
Michael picked up the gun and held it in his hand, pointing it to the ground.
“How’s she feel? She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” The salesman’s face was full of pride.
“It feels like a piece of plastic.”
“Advanced synthetic polymer. That there’s the most popular pistol we sell.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Don’t you want to try a few more first? Get the feel of them before you commit?”
“No, this one will do.”
The vendor shook his head. “You’ll need some ammunition. Now this is where it gets real interesting. We have a whole range of ammo choices.” He reached behind him and retrieved a few boxes from a drawer. “I’d start by considering these and then—”
“Listen, just give me some bullets that will fit in this gun, and I’ll settle up.”
Shrugging his shoulders, goatee man accepted defeat. “Do you have your certificate of eligibility?”
“What on earth is that?”
The man looked confused. “We can’t sell you a firearm without it.”
“Are you serious?”
“You don’t think we sell these things to anyone who walks in here?”
“I had no idea what was needed. How do I get one of these certificates?”
“You’ll need to attend an approved handgun safety course.”
“What?”
“But don’t worry. We look after our new customers. We can set it all up for you. Let me get the paperwork.”
“You mean I’ll have to come back again for the gun?”
“That’s right. Once you have the certificate, we give you the weapon.”
Michael couldn’t believe he’d have to come back again in a couple of weeks. As the man dealt with the paperwork, he looked around the shop. This was, indeed, an alien world. Propped up at different spots on top of the glass displays were framed photos of what must have been regular customers, proudly perched over a variety of dead animals and holding rifles. What was it that gave these men and women such pleasure in killing? Michael would never understand it. If these people could get a certificate, then he certainly shouldn’t have a problem.
He paid the deposit in cash and hurried to his car before anyone else came in. When he placed the paperwork on the passenger seat of the Lexus, he prayed he’d never have to use the weapon once he had it. Even more important, Caroline could never be allowed to know what he’d bought this morning. Like him, she had never agreed with people owning guns. He’d have to find somewhere safe to keep the pistol at home, somewhere she’d never look. At least now he had a few days to think about where that might be.
Chapter 20
IF IT HAPPENED TO NICK WALKER, it could happen to him, too.
Rondell was under no illusion about his relationship with the Czechs; they supplied the funds, and he delivered the returns. While he was making good money for them, he would be looked after, and they could be generous—very generous. In addition to a monthly management fee, out of which he paid the salaries of his trading team, Rondell’s firm received fifteen percent of all profits made by the Grannis Hedge Fund. So the prospect of taking on more of Prague’s funds to manage was an attractive one because he’d have a bigger pot with which to make profits. On the money he’d been given to manage up to now, already he’d earned almost twenty million personally—not bad for a poor black kid from Chicago’s south side. But the moment he ever lost money, he’d become an enemy, and if he blew too much, the Czechs would have no hesitation in wiping him out, as they had with Walker. For a fund whose trading was built entirely upon inside information, there were no excuses for making a loss; that should never happen.
To continue making money for his paymasters, and to keep them off his back, he’d have to make sure Danny Boy kept coming up with new deals like the Spar transaction they were about to complete. Indeed, the acquisition of Collar Telecom looked like a good one, just the sort of opportunity he’d anticipated Danny would uncover for him. While the temptation to trade heavily on a good deal like this was immense, Rondell understood the benefit of restraint. Play the long game: trade little and often, spread across many different accounts, was the way to go. For years, this steady approach had kept his firm below the SEC’s radar, thus avoiding the attention of the authorities.
Returning to his Cedar Street offices after the Guernsey trip, Rondell called his six top traders together for a briefing. All of them were bright young men, well-educated, and with a track record of making money on the market. They also shared one other common trait: each of them had something to hide on their resume, which meant the big firms wouldn’t touch them—a spell inside, a gambling or drug problem or, maybe, a previous bankruptcy. How else could a seedy firm like Rondell’s attract such trading talent?
The conference room was humming with testosterone and hair gel.
Rondell scanned around the oval table before setting the scene. “We’ve got our next one lined up. The deal’s due to be announced Tuesday of next week, so that gives us only four business days to get it done.”
“What do you have?” asked Steve Lupo, the perma-tanned head trader, leaning onto the table. He was in his late twenties, with slicked-back hair that curled up as it hit the collar of his starched white shirt. A gold bracelet jangled on his left wrist whenever he moved.
“The target is called Collar Telecom.”
Lupo whistled. “They don’t come much bigger.”
“That’s right. We can go a little heavier on this one.”
“How heavy do you want us to go?”
“Up to eighty-five mil. Tops.”
“Man, that’s some exposure.” Lupo looked at his colleagues. “Have we ever gone that high?”
The others shook their heads no.
Rondell grinned. “This one comes from a very special source,” he said. “I’m not worried about the exposure for the fund. This one’s a banker.”
“What about the SEC?” asked Lupo. “It’s a chunk of money to shift in four days.”
“Providing you guys stick to your individual trading limits with each broker, there’ll be no trouble. But you’ll need to widen the broker net to spread the load. Whatever happens, do not exceed your individual broker limits. Is that understood?” Rondell looked at each of the traders and collected the nods. “And always make sure you use nominee accounts. I want nothing directly linking this to Grannis—not a single stock.”
Lupo flashed an arrogant smirk as he reclined in his chair, tapping at his iPad. “The price right now is a little under twenty-one bucks a share. What’s the bid price? Something approaching twenty-eight?”
Rondell puffed out his chest. “Better than that. The deal will be announced at thirty.”
“Dope.” Lupo licked his lips and then looked at the others. “Have you guys worked out the bonus on this?”
Rondell raised his right hand. “Let’s get the deal done first.”
“We could do with a few more like this. Who’s the source for this one?”
Rondell tilted his head toward Lupo. “You know I can’t tell you that. All I will say is the information is solid and there’s going to be plenty more just like this. Don’t worry about that. I just need you guys to do your job.”
“Cool.” Lupo leaned his hands onto the table top and prepared to stand. “Are we done here? Because I’d like us to get started.”
“We’re done. Get to work.”
In the days that followed, Rondell checked his Bloomberg screen several times an hour, looking for any evidence of a rising price for Collar’s stock. Thankfully, it hovered around twenty-one dollars per share, never varying by much. His people were obviously doing a good job of acquiring the stock without disturbing the market. They were professionals, just how he liked it.
The day before the deal was due to be announced, Lupo swaggered into Rondell’s off
ice with the daily trading report.
“We’re there,” Lupo said, taking the seat facing Rondell’s desk. “Eighty-five mil committed to Collar Telecom. The deal’s in the bag.”
Rondell looked up from his screen. “What’s our average in price?”
Lupo shuffled with the papers he’d brought with him. “The exact answer is $20.88.”
“Good work.”
“Spread across nineteen different broker nominee accounts.”
“That should avoid any unnecessary attention.”
“I can’t see us getting any heat. The stock price hasn’t really moved.”
“So I see. I’ve been keeping an eye on it.”
“When the deal gets announced at thirty bucks tomorrow morning, our profit will be a little over thirty-seven mil for the fund.”
“Not too shabby for a few days’ work.”
While Rondell appeared casual, he’d already calculated the profit on what was their largest insider deal so far. His firm’s fifteen percent would be worth five point six million and, after paying his team their bonus, he’d still be left with a little under four million for himself. Even Prague ought to be satisfied with this one.
Danny Boy had served them well. Now all he needed to do was line up the next one.
Chapter 21
THE MORNING THE SPAR DEAL was due to be announced, Michael arrived at his office early so he could watch it live on his PC and follow the market’s reaction. He had no idea how much Rondell was going to put into the deal but, so far, there hadn’t been any unusual price movements ahead of the public statement. At least that was something. Right now, there would nothing to prompt an investigation by the SEC. While he’d dodged this first bullet, the guilt of betraying his friend and client, Amanda Etling, was still eating away at him.
“Big day,” said Glen Towers, putting his head into Michael’s doorway as he passed on his way to his workstation.
Michael looked up from the screen. “Sure is.” He tried to force a smile. “Always nice to see another deal reach the finish line. Congratulations on your first transaction. You did some good work on this one, Glen.”
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