by Nele Neuhaus
“Is she on your side?”
“I don’t know.” Sergio shrugged his shoulders. “She does her job, and she does it well. I don’t talk about my business with her.”
Nelson breathed a sigh of relief. He had secretly feared that Sergio had given in to weakness and let her in on his secret business deals.
“Are you worried that I would risk everything because of a woman?” Sergio laughed out loud.
“Well,” Nelson replied, “after all, you toyed with the idea of confiding in her.”
“But I decided against it. It was a sentimental moment. It passed.”
He sat down at his desk again, but the smile had vanished from his face and made way for a grim expression.
“Get me McIntyre on the phone,” he said to Nelson. “I’d better talk to him before he flips out.”
“Sergio!” Paul McIntyre exclaimed in a low voice that had the sound of sheer panic. “Have you read the paper?”
He didn’t hear the typical arrogance in McIntyre’s voice.
“Yes,” Sergio replied, “I have. Is there something in it that should interest me?”
“Jesus.” McIntyre lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. “Zuckerman is dead! No more investigation committee! Kostidis is mad as hell, and now they’ll certainly come after me.”
“Nonsense. Who would come after you?”
“The US attorney, Kostidis—who knows!”
“Nobody will come, Paul, I can promise you that. Now calm down. I’d like to discuss something with you.”
“Calm down!” McIntyre laughed desperately. “The entire city is standing on its head, and you tell me to calm down!”
“How was your vacation?” Sergio leaned back into a comfortable position in his chair; he put his feet up on the reflective top of his mahogany desk. “Was everything arranged to your liking?”
McIntyre instantly got the hint. He hesitated for a moment; then his voice sounded calmer.
“Of course. It was perfect, as usual. My wife even went diving.”
“I’m glad. I hope that she spent a lot of money.”
“Hmm…yes…”
“I heard that another little tidy sum has been transferred to your account in Georgetown.”
“Great.” McIntyre was still tense, but he had himself under control again.
“Paul,” Sergio said, “I need a favor. A friend of mine has a small problem.”
The buildings commissioner was silent. These words coming from Vitali were familiar and were meant as anything but a request. However, Vitali rewarded those who did him favors royally. McIntyre was aware of that. He’d complied for the first time with one of Vitali’s requests about fifteen years ago, when he was a clerk at the Department of Buildings, and he had never regretted it. He was able to send his kids to private schools instead of the run-down public schools, and his family vacationed at hotels Vitali owned throughout the world. In addition, they were always treated as if they were Vitali’s close relatives. McIntyre had by now added a respectable chunk to his retirement savings. Although he still needed to be careful not to live beyond his means, he would retire in luxury.
“So what can I do for you?”
“Charlie Rosenbaum is having problems with his new skyscraper on Fifty-Second Street,” Sergio began.
“For heaven’s sake! God knows that I can’t do anything about that! The mayor himself just asked last week whether Rosenbaum had applied for a retroactive permit.”
Sergio felt the hot anger rise up in him whenever he heard of this man. Kostidis! Didn’t he have enough work on his hands without assuming the jobs of the attorney general and the buildings commissioner?
“And?” He forced himself to remain calm. “Did he?”
“No.”
“See? Go ahead and issue a permit for him now. Kostidis has other things on his mind at the moment and won’t ask again for a while.”
“Impossible!”
“I’m not familiar with that word, Paul.”
“This could cost me my job.”
“I’ve promised my friend I’d put a good word in for him.”
Rosenbaum had offered Sergio two magnificently run-down apartment buildings in Morrisania and Hunts Point at a truly special price in return for his help as an intermediary with the Department of Buildings. Of course, Rosenbaum couldn’t possibly know that these areas of the South Bronx were earmarked as priority redevelopment projects in city hall. In a few years, perhaps even sooner, these properties would be worth hundreds or even thousands of times more after the decrepit apartment buildings were demolished. Sergio owed this information to his absolute favorite informer sitting right in Kostidis’s office. This informer made up for all the trouble Sergio had with the mayor. A strange twist of fate had made Zachary St. John’s old college friend a member of Nick Kostidis’s inner circle. It was easy enough for Sergio to recruit the unhappy man with St. John’s help. In addition to regular payments, Sergio promised he would support his ambitious political aspirations. Thinking about this made Sergio smile in satisfaction. He had an eye and an ear directly in the mayor’s office. He’d never before had a mole that far up the ladder in city hall. Whatever Kostidis did, Sergio was immediately informed about everything and able to take countermeasures, if necessary. Without a doubt, the 107th mayor of New York City would go down in history as the least successful of them all.
“So, Paul, how about it?” Sergio asked. McIntyre sighed, and Sergio knew that he had won. The buildings commissioner argued a little for appearance’s sake.
“By the way,” Sergio said, playing his trump card, “I found that house your wife has been dreaming about for years. Right on the coast of Long Beach with an ocean view. It’s a real beauty, with its own dock and private beach.”
This eliminated any remaining doubts.
“Okay,” Paul McIntyre said, giving up his resistance, “tell Rosenbaum to call me.”
“You’re my friend, Paul.” Sergio tapped the miniature bronze Statue of Liberty on his desk with the toe of his shoe. “And you know that I never forget my friends.”
Alex also read the article in the paper. The hint at a connection between Sergio and the Mafia was anything but speculation; it was the absolute truth. The ugly man whom she’d encountered at Sergio’s house was David Zuckerman’s killer. Sergio had no doubt lied to her. She had believed his reassurances because she had wanted to believe him.
On Saturday night, she had managed to escape from his house unnoticed. Driving back to the city, she briefly contemplated calling Oliver, but she didn’t. The memory of his contempt was still too vivid, and she wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he slammed the door in her face. She had been wide awake all night as she sat in her dark apartment, trembling with fear and trying to gather her thoughts. Sergio didn’t suspect that she’d found out the truth about him, and he must never find out. Once again, the fear crept up inside of her. Were all the guests at Sergio’s party really as clueless as she assumed? Or was she the only one in the dark? It seemed impossible to her that the governor, the publisher of Time magazine, even LMI’s board members, could turn a blind eye.
Alex got to the office early the next morning. She was biting her lower lip, contemplating how she could cool off her relationship with Sergio without raising suspicion, when she heard a knock on her glass office door. Her nerves were so tense, she jumped up as if someone had just shot her.
“Hi, Alex.” It was Mark. He was surprised by her frightened expression. “Here are the documents about Xiao-Ling Industries and Midway Porter.”
“Okay, thanks.” Alex nodded absentmindedly. Fortunately, she was going to be able to get away from Sergio for eight days. She had to take a business trip to Asia and Europe with John Kwai, and this would give her time to develop a strategy.
“How are you?” Mark asked in a concerned voice. “You look sick.”
“I’m feeling great,” she replied and forced a smile. It occurred to her that Mark was friends with Oliver. Had Oliv
er told him about the embarrassing episode in his apartment?
“Is there anything else?” she asked Mark, who was still holding the files in his hands and looked like he had something else on his mind.
“There’s something that I’d like to talk to you about,” he said.
“Is it urgent? I have another meeting, then I need to leave for the airport.”
“Maybe it’s important,” Mark answered in a serious tone. “I’ve compiled some information that you should read. There are inconsistencies that I stumbled upon during the last few weeks. I know that you don’t want to hear about it, but I’m sure that this will interest you.”
He placed a large envelope on her desk.
“What kind of information is this?” Alex eyed her employee suspiciously. She saw Zack strolling around the trading floor. Mark also spotted him. It was still relatively quiet because the stock exchange had not yet opened, and Zack was talking with some of the traders.
“It would be better if St. John doesn’t get a hold of this envelope,” Mark said. An uneasy feeling suddenly overcame her.
“Why are you giving me this now, of all times?” she asked. Mark threw a quick glance at the trading floor.
“I want you to know that you can trust me,” he said, lowering his voice, “but probably not many others in here. Please, Alex, take a look, but don’t speak about it to anyone.”
At that moment, Zack stepped into Alex’s office, whereupon Mark excused himself and left. Alex put the envelope into her briefcase together with other documents she needed for the trip.
“You left so quickly Saturday.” Zack sat down on one of the visitor’s chairs unasked, and his eyes curiously glanced over her desk. “You missed the fireworks. It was phenomenal.”
“I’m sure,” Alex said, trying to act relaxed, “but I was dead tired all of a sudden. And I need to fly to Hong Kong today.”
While Zack made small talk about the fireworks and the party, Alex had the feeling that there was a ticking bomb in her briefcase, and Zack’s warning suddenly entered her mind: Be careful with Vitali. She wished she could ask him what he’d meant by that. Did he know about Sergio? She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
Alex had no idea how she would act toward Sergio when she returned to New York. As expected, the press jumped on the scandal that the Zuckerman murder ignited during the summer slump. Regardless of the respectability of the newspaper or television station, the topic of the Mafia in New York was gleefully exploited. Alex bought every American newspaper she could get her hands on and vigilantly followed the reports while she was abroad. Sergio was publicly accused of involvement in the murder at the Milford Plaza, and his father’s criminal past was once again covered extensively. Although every accusation raised against Sergio was dug up out of the archives, none of the journalists dared to call him a gangster. But the intense speculation was enough to portray him in an unfavorable light.
Alex had opened the envelope the moment she reached her Hong Kong hotel room. It contained a neatly bound stack of copied newspaper clippings about Gilbert Shanahan. Alex broke out in goose bumps as she read them. She also found a list of all the deals she had completed in recent months: Camexco, Hanson, American Road Map, National Concrete, Sherman Industries, Seattle Pacific Woods, Inc., Diamond Crown, Redwood Lumber, Storer, Hale-Newport, A&R, and Micromax. Mark had researched meticulously and discovered that either the Panamanian holding company of SeViCo or a company called Sunset Properties was behind every client. Sunset Properties had been incorporated in the British Virgin Islands since 1985. He had created a diagram of arrows that all converged into one point.
Alex was perplexed and shook her head. What was this supposed to mean? Additionally, there was a list of investment funds launched by LMI in recent months. Many of these funds were issued as a way to finance their deals. One of the funds—Private Equity Technology Partners—was highlighted in yellow marker; with five hundred million dollars in capital, it was larger than the average fund. It was highly speculative and invested in new technology-oriented start-ups. This included another fund called Venture Capital SeaStarFriends Limited Partnership.
Alex lit a cigarette and stared at the area highlighted in yellow. She didn’t understand the connections and turned the page. Then she suddenly froze. Are you kidding me, or are you really that naive? SeViCo. Sergio Vitali Corporation. The hand holding her cigarette started to tremble. Some of my companies also do business with LMI…This is what Sergio told her when she asked him whether he was involved with LMI. Here it was in black-and-white. SeViCo was behind every single deal that she’d worked on and closed over the last few months. Alex flipped back a few pages. Venture Capital SeaStarFriends Limited Partnership. Sea Star—Stella Maris. Was all of this a coincidence? She turned to the last page of Mark’s summary, holding her breath. On the top of the page it said in handwriting:
NBC Broadcast Satellite Corp. acquired 100 percent of the shares of the Tallahassee News Group in April 1997. The buyer in this deal was represented by LMI. TNG’s stock price rose to an all-time high of 235/16 in March 1997 and subsequently fell to 715/16. Simultaneously, an IBC called Magnolia Limited Partnership was incorporated in the British Virgin Islands with $320,000 in capital. These strong price fluctuations in TNG’s stock were then investigated by the SEC. Gilbert Shanahan was summoned and run over by a truck the day of the hearing. As it turned out, the legal department at LMI had prepared the articles of incorporation for Magnolia, whose sole shareholder was Gilbert Shanahan. LMI claimed in front of the SEC that they knew nothing about it, and by doing so passed the buck to Shanahan, who was—quite conveniently—already dead at that point in time.
Alex skimmed over the next page. Mark had listed the stock prices and the corresponding dates of her deals. She felt a chill come over her. The stock prices rose slightly every single time before the acquisition or merger was made public. At the bottom, Mark had written: Who knew about these deals before their announcement? Alex broke out into a cold sweat. She knew who it was, and this someone knew it solely and exclusively from her. It was Zack, and it looked like he was taking advantage of this knowledge. There was only one question left unanswered: For whom was he doing these insider trades—for himself, or Vincent Levy?
She stared at the wall of her hotel room, and slowly the confusion in her mind cleared. The pieces of the puzzle started coming together, and she suddenly saw things clearly. Sergio had been at Zack’s party. That’s where she’d met him. She’d never asked herself what he was doing there. Besides, he had also invited Zack to his birthday party. Why? Because they were close business partners? Did Zack also supply Sergio with information, which she gave him on Levy’s order? If Sergio, through SeViCo, was behind these deals, then he already profited handsomely through Zack—and illegally and tax-free at that! This was incredible! Her bewilderment turned into rage as she realized how naive and blind she had been. Was Sergio even responsible for her being hired at LMI? Possibly. Levy had tested to what degree she would be willing to participate in these dirty business deals, and she had let herself be bribed with his dubious bonus. If Mark was right and she had interpreted the findings of his research correctly, then she was nothing but a willing puppet. This was fraud of epic proportions. Alex sat motionless on her hotel bed for a long time. It would be quite simple to find out. She would set a trap for Zack. If he fell into it, then she’d know.
Alex threw her keys on the table, slipped her sandals from her feet, and took off her blazer. Without turning on the light, she walked straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. She took out a bottle of milk and allowed herself a big gulp. The evening with Madeleine and Trevor had been very entertaining, but she had downed more red wine than she could handle. The Downeys had invited her to their house on Long Island for the weekend, and Alex had been happy to escape the humid city. She had a great time in Amangansett, horseback riding on the beach with Madeleine and sharing meals with her and Trevor.
Alex walke
d barefoot into the living room and pressed the light switch as she passed it. She froze and nearly dropped the bottle of milk in shock. Sergio was sitting on the couch.
“Jesus!” she exclaimed. “Why did you scare me like that? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“Hello, cara.” He smiled, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. “I’ve been waiting for you for three hours. Your cell phone was turned off.”
“Did we have a date?” Alex put the milk bottle on the floor and noticed that she was trembling. This was the first time she had seen him since that terrible evening at his house. Although she was horrified by him now that she knew the truth, she had to keep her composure.
“You haven’t called me since you got back from Asia, and I was simply longing for you. How are you?”
“Good.” She remained standing next to the light switch, watching him. “And how are you?”
“Excellent.”
“It’s unbelievable what they write in the newspapers,” she said coolly.
“Newspaper scribbling,” Sergio said and laughed. “I’ve never cared about that.”
“They say that you’re somehow connected with the murder of this real-estate guy.” Alex was trembling inside. She could hardly resist the urge to throw everything she had found out about him into his face.
“I’m sure that they’d love to put the blame on me.”
Sergio crossed his legs and grinned. Although he’d never admit it, this vicious press campaign was really getting to him. Being defenseless made him angry. And on top of that, he could hardly endure how self-righteous Mayor Kostidis appeared on television. On Monday, the IRS criminal tax investigation unit showed up once again at Ficchiavelli and turned the entire place upside down. Massimo had attacked one of the agents in one of his temper tantrums. That had cost Sergio endless phone calls with all kinds of influential people on his bribery payroll to keep this situation from leaking to the press. He also realized that some of his “friends” were avoiding him, which was a clear indication that Kostidis’s smear campaign was having an impact. There were problems in every direction, and he also couldn’t reach Alex. Sergio was tense beyond all measure and irritated. He wanted to have sex with Alex and release the pressure.