by Thomas Waite
“Good.” Dylan paused and then added, “Look, he said the file was for me. Don’t I have some right to see it or try to find it? Not to keep it from you, of course, just—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. That’s not the way it works. If there is a personal communication, you may be able to retrieve it in due course.”
Dylan stared out the window. Not what he wanted to hear. “Okay.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Her deep voice was tinged with sympathy and an ounce of apology. “While I’ve got you on the line—”
“Yes?”
“Have you had a chance to think about Mr. Caruso’s relationships with his co-workers?”
“A little.” The sleep had helped. “He didn’t have any enemies, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Who were Mr. Caruso’s closest friends?”
“Myself. Our other two partners, Heather Carter and Rob Townsend.”
“We spoke to Ms. Carter and verified your statement as well as her being on the plane to Los Angeles. Do you know where Mr. Townsend was yesterday afternoon?”
“Rob was in the New York office. He returned last night.”
“Anyone else Tony might have communicated with?”
Dylan thought for a moment. “There’s Ivan Venko, he’s the head of security. And Sandeep Nigam, he’s Tony’s boss. And Art Williams is the CEO of Mantric. Those are the people he would have interacted with at the company. I would not call them friends, more like business acquaintances.”
“And where would these gentlemen have been found?”
“I think Sandeep may have been in the Boston office. Ivan and Art were in New York.”
“Are you sure?”
“Our company went public yesterday, and they were at the NASDAQ in New York. And I saw Art myself.”
“You saw him?”
“Well, technically I only saw and heard Art on a teleconference call.”
“I see,” she answered. “You saw him sitting in his New York office?”
“Yes, I did,” he answered, but his mind rushed back to the conversation. He saw Art’s face, but not the background. The computer conversation could have occurred from anywhere. He shook his head and removed the question that was forming. Art would have no reason for hurting Tony.
Chapter 11
May 3, Midnight Boston
Dylan, victim of restless dreams, awoke at midnight in a cold sweat. His normally organized mind was mired in a fog of uncertainty. Had he turned on the alarm? He got up to check, then crawled back into bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts assailed him like no-see-ums at the beach. He got up and retrieved his laptop. Propped up in bed, he fired up the computer and watched his home page paint onto the screen: the business front page at Boston.com. He scrolled down to the technology news, where a headline caught his eye:
“Local Technology Wiz Kid Found Dead.
“Brookline native Tony Caruso, 24, was found dead last night in his Beacon Hill apartment due to an apparent accident involving faulty wiring, Boston Police Chief Harlan Bloom announced this morning. The medical examiner is expected to make a final ruling on the cause of death in about a week.”
Dylan scrolled back up the page without reading the rest. He remembered Tony’s dead face. His scorched skin and lifeless eyes were emblazoned in his memory. Dylan closed his eyes. Tears slipped between his eyelids and ran down his cheeks. He did not know how he would get beyond these memories.
“Fuck,” he said, and wiped his tears away. He focused on his computer and went to a web page he frequented: a page that provided links to Internet businesses divided by type and sector. He trolled the Internet, looking for information about his clients’ competitors and checking new ideas. Maybe it was disrespectful of Tony, but concentrating on his work was his coping mechanism.
* * *
May 4, 8:00 a.m. Boston
The spring morning greeted him, cloudless and warm. Dylan drove across the Fort Point Channel to MobiCelus’s office. He had driven this route thousands of times, but today an odd sense of surrealism rode with him. Sounds echoed in the distance, muffled as if wrapped in cotton.
At the old warehouse, heads turned and nodded as he headed for his office. He checked his voice-mail. Twenty-four messages. The first call was from Joe Ferrano. If there was trouble with Hyperfōn. . . .
“Dylan. Joe Ferrano. I just heard the news about Tony. I wanted to call and tell you how sorry I am. What a great guy he was. If you need anything, I’m here. Take care.”
Dylan hung up the phone without listening to any more messages. He was not ready for that yet. He headed for Rich Linderman’s office.
Wrapped up in other thoughts, he came around the corner and thought he was in the wrong place. Other than the phone and computer, the office was empty. He must have been moved, Dylan thought. He backtracked and went to Faith Navitsky’s desk. Faith was the administrative assistant for the financial department and would know where Rich could be found. “Morning, Faith.”
She looked up from her computer. “Dylan! What are you doing here?” She half-stood and leaned on her desk.
“Working.”
“Oh, Dylan. You should take some time. I’m so sorry.” She looked sorry, and worried, too.
“Work is good for me. I’m not staying the whole day. I’ve got to pick up Heather at the airport. Listen, I’m looking for Rich.”
Faith took off her reading glasses. A strange expression came over her face. “So you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Rich doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What?” Dylan said, astonished. “What are you talking about? Since when?”
“They escorted him out of the building yesterday morning.”
“What?” Dylan repeated, louder. “Faith, what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. Dylan, I’m so sorry about this. The timing—I know Rich is a friend of yours. I thought they would have told you.”
Dylan shook his head. “Well, whoever the hell ‘they’ are didn’t. This is unbelievable.” He stormed back to his office and slammed the door, then pulled out his phone and dialed Rich’s cell, where he got a message saying the number was no longer in service. Shit, they’d already shut off his phone! Dylan dialed Rich’s home phone and let it ring.
On the tenth ring, Rich picked up.
“Hello?”
“Rich? It’s me. Dylan.”
“Dylan! I was wondering if anybody was gonna call.”
“I just found out, Rich. I went to your old office. It’s empty. What the hell happened?”
“They didn’t tell you, huh? What a gang. They took my computer, my office phone, even my cell phone. That bitch Christine actually had me escorted out of the building! They disabled everything. I just bought a new house with my pregnant wife and son, for Christ’s sake. Notice how they waited until after the IPO?”
“So what the hell happened? Why did Christine fire you?” Dylan asked.
“I wasn’t fired,” Rich said indignantly. “They eliminated my position. Christine said the division didn’t need a financial director, that the scope of my work simply duplicated what was already being done by the accountants.”
“Is that true?”
“In terms of accounting? Probably.”
“Okay. So what about another job at the firm?”
“I was told there wasn’t one that fit my skills.”
“That doesn’t make sense. We’re growing so fast. Stephanie keeps saying she’s pressed to find good people.”
“I know. But to tell you the truth, I’m happy to be out of there.”
“Why?”
“This running back and forth to New York stinks. And Christine—well, she’s a real piece of work.”
“Why do you say that?” Dylan asked, wanting Rich’s take.
“The finance department’s organization is archaic. She has some people focused on revenue projections, but only for one or two offices. Others look at
expenses, but only for certain categories. There are firewalls all over the place, so that the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing. I don’t think she has a clue how the firm is really performing. My skills were not utilized, and frankly, I felt like I was intentionally being left out of things.”
“Come on, Rich. Mantric’s a big firm and—”
“Excuse me, Dylan, but this isn’t fucking rocket science. Plus she didn’t even know how to account for a reserve properly.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She forgot to include the reserve for the acquisition of MobiCelus in the prospectus, and that’s illegal.”
Dylan was stunned. Improperly recording or classifying an acquisition can be a way to manipulate a company’s financial statements—a very serious and criminal offense. It was one of the factors at the heart of the Tyco scandal. “Are you sure?” Dylan’s thoughts scrambled back to Tony’s mysterious comment about something big happening and heads rolling.
“Yes, Dylan. I’m sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I dunno,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “Everything was happening so fast, and Christine is so intimidating—I guess I just let it pass, thinking she had other things on her mind as well.”
Dylan’s thoughts raced from one scenario to another. If this was true and the SEC found out, they could have cancelled the IPO.
“Anyway, I don’t give a shit. They gave me a nice package, and I’m happy to be the hell out of there.”
“What kind of package?”
“Two years’ pay, plus my bonus, and they’ll let my stock vest for the first year. And they’ll cover the cost of COBRA for my health insurance for the full eighteen months as well.”
Dylan was stunned. No one at Rich’s level got a deal like that. Hell, no one ever got such a deal. The norm was more like one month for every year employed, and if you were let go, you didn’t usually get to keep any unvested stock options. “That’s rather surprising,” he managed to say.
“Yeah, and they said they wouldn’t contest me if I filed for unemployment, either. Said I should represent it as being a lump sum in exchange for signing some stupid release. Guess they thought I might sue or something.”
Dylan said nothing. He kept wondering why Christine would have been so generous.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah. Sorry. So what are you going to do now?”
“Cruise on my severance and unemployment, take a long vacation, and then find another job.”
“All right. I’m sorry it ended like this.”
“Don’t worry about me, Dylan. Worry about yourself. You and Tony.”
Dylan was brought up short. “God. Rich. Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
Dylan closed his eyes and told Rich about Tony’s death. All the while, questions nagged at him. Ten minutes later, as he hung up the phone, Dylan felt a wave of anger. He was supposed to be one of the most senior executives at Mantric, but he was continually made to feel like an outsider. Could these events have something to do with Tony’s death?
He knew Art was in Boston today. He bolted to the guest office he used. “I need to see Art.”
The administrative assistant shook her head. “He’s wrapping up a call right now. Is there something I can help you with?”
“No.” Ignoring her, he burst through the door. Art spun around and looked at him.
“We need to talk.”
“Dylan, can’t you see I’m in the middle of—”
“Now!” he demanded, slamming the door behind him.
Art stared at him for a second. “I’ll call you back,” he said, hanging up the phone. “What’s your problem?” he demanded.
“You’re joking—right? For starters, you can tell me why Christine fired Rich Linderman without talking to me first!”
“Look Dylan, need I remind you, Rich didn’t work for you anymore.”
“So you think it’s fine I heard about it from the goddamn receptionist?”
Art paused. “I suppose she should have notified you first.”
“Ya think?” Dylan said sharply. “And why the hell did she have him hauled out of the building in front of everyone else?”
“Because he had access to confidential information.” Art raised his eyebrows and stared at Dylan, waiting for a response. “In situations like this, we have to protect the company from potentially disgruntled employees.”
“So,” Dylan said, his voice brimming with sarcasm, “I guess that means you both face this sort of situation a lot, huh?”
“Unfortunately.”
Dylan blinked. “And you haven’t learned that waiting a few hours until people have left is a better option?”
Art bit his lip. “That’s a good point,” he admitted. “Maybe we should have done that.”
“And maybe you should have found him another job.”
“That was my call. Based on Christine’s recommendation, I felt Rich didn’t have the right skills for any other opening. Frankly, he lacks the sort of experience and know-how we’re used to seeing in our finance people.”
“Well if he did a bad job, how did he qualify for two years’ severance?”
Art flinched then quickly caught himself. “I would have thought you’d be happy we did that for him.”
“Oh I am. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe that was our way of acknowledging it was a difficult situation.”
Dylan paused for a moment. He didn’t know if what Rich had told him was true. But if it was, Mantric had illegally manipulated its financials in advance of the IPO. He decided to tuck that information in his back pocket.
“As a senior member of this management team, I should have been informed, and I think I should be included in all future financial reviews.”
Art remained silent for a moment, then smiled and said, “I’ll certainly bring that to the board’s attention. We’ll get back to you on it.” He said nothing more but reached for his phone.
“Fine. Please let me know their answer.” It was a weak response, and he knew it. He turned on his heel and left before Art could say anything.
Art waited until Dylan closed the door, then dialed Christine’s number. “Have you made arrangements to get Tony’s computer? I don’t think it should be lying around here. Be sure to send Ivan to get it. Oh, and Dylan was just here demanding to be given access to the company financials. I told him I thought that would be a board decision. I don’t think there will be any problems, but we should meet and discuss this before it goes any further.”
* * *
May 4, 3:50 p.m. Boston
Heather’s four o’clock flight arrived ten minutes early at Terminal C at Logan Airport. Dylan spotted her before she saw him and moved quietly to her side.
“Heather.”
She whirled and reached out to him. Dylan pulled her close and hugged her, feeling her body shake as she sobbed. He stroked the back of her head, trying to comfort her.
“Come on, Heather. Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her bag in one hand and holding her hand in the other.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said, sobbing.
“Neither can I,” he said as he guided them out the door and towards the parking lot.
A warm blast of dry air swept across the road. Heather sat in the passenger’s seat, reached into her purse, and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked straight ahead, staring into the distance. Dylan put his hand on hers, and she turned and looked at him through red, puffy eyes.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be in a public place.”
“Shall I take you home?”
“No. I need to talk. I want to know—”
“My place?”
She nodded. “That’s where we always used to meet and talk, the four of us.”
The four of us. Dylan started up the car. They drove away from the airport and into the tunnels of the Big Dig. “You okay?” he asked as they pulled onto Storrow Drive.
“I’m just glad I’m back.” She turned to him. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” The lie was so palpable he could not look at her. He hurried on, changing the subject. “But something happened at the office today.”
“You went to the office? Dylan!”
“It’s better to keep busy. And it’s a damned good thing I did. I found out Christine fired Rich yesterday.”
“My God,” Heather said, turning to stare at him.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
“What was her reason?”
“Rich said she told him his position was redundant and there wasn’t another role for him at the firm.”
“That’s harsh. Do you believe it?”
Dylan said nothing as he pulled into his parking space. The bright sun shone through the windows. “Maybe he knew too much.”
Heather gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“Rich told me a strange thing about what’s going on in finance.”
“Which was?”
Dylan opened his door. “I’ll tell you inside.”
In the living room, Dylan fixed a vodka tonic for himself and poured a glass of white wine for Heather. He’d wanted a drink all day but hadn’t had anything, knowing he had to drive.
“Rich said Christine forgot to include the reserve for the acquisition of MobiCelus in our prospectus.”
Heather shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“The SEC requires complete transparency, meaning you have to report everything.”
“Then why wouldn’t they include it?”
“I don’t know. I confronted Art about Rich, but decided not to let him know what Rich had told me. And I demanded to have access to the financials.”
Heather looked at him. “Do you think Art and Christine will agree to that?”
Dylan took a sip of his drink. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s my business to know.”