“Oh, Heather…”
“I was kidding about dessert. I mostly eat rabbit food to look like this.” She paused and gave Leah a look that was bleak as a prisoner’s. “Maybe I should get two. And more wine. Why not?” She offered Leah a brittle smile. “Please, Leah. I’m asking for your help. I don’t know who else to turn to. I’d lawyer up, but I know at that point Richard would close the trap and there would be no trail to follow. He’s a shit, but he’s freakishly smart at some things.”
“That’s just not what I do, Heather,” Leah protested.
“I can get you all our accounts. All the records. Can’t you at least look at them and figure out where the money went or something? Don’t you have researchers and supercomputers?”
“I’m not the IRS, Heather, or a forensic accountant. I mean, I can follow a lead down a rabbit hole, but there’s no guarantee I would find anything. And I wouldn’t want your future to depend on my being able to figure it out.”
Heather pursed her lips and reached for her wine again. “Leah, you’re the only person I know with any kind of investigative background. I don’t expect miracles. I…I’m embarrassed I even have to ask, frankly. If I had anyone else I could turn to, believe me, I’d do it.” Heather took a large swallow and frowned. “I could pay you.”
Leah shook her head, her expression showing that she’d wished she’d taken Heather up on the drink. “It’s not that. It’s just that I’d have no idea where to start.”
“I’ll help. But, Leah…last two times I checked the accounts, they had way less in them. You were always the smart one in school while I was the partier, but even I can see where this is going. I have to do something without triggering his alarms, or I’m…I don’t know what will happen.”
“Don’t you have any money of your own?”
“That’s not how life out here works. You drive a car that’s more than you can afford, buying the payments or leasing. You buy a house that’s five times bigger than you need, only worrying about the payments, not the overall cost. You go on dream vacations and put them on your card. You buy jewelry retail, on terms. You spend thousands on meals, on maids, on vets and doctors and nips and tucks and lifts, and finance everything. If he leaves me…I don’t have much more than I came in with. It’s all built on our future ability to pay. Like a magic trick, only with an ugly side if we get divorced.” She finished her wine. “I’ll hit him for everything I can, of course, but in the end, if he claims he lost all the money and is in hock up to his eyeballs, what do I get?”
“He can’t hide everything,” Leah said. “There has to be a trail.”
“That’s my hope,” Heather said. “And together, we’ll follow it.”
Leah appeared unconvinced, but the tears brimming in her friend’s eyes wore down her resolve, and in the end she couldn’t refuse. She sighed and sat forward, her voice so low her words were barely audible.
“As long as you don’t expect too much. I may not be able to find anything, Heather. It really isn’t my area of expertise.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
Leah sighed. “I suppose so. But do me a favor – give me your car keys. We have to make it to Monday for me to help you, and after this much wine…”
Heather grinned. “I’ll be ready for some tasting after a nap. I don’t mind you driving. It’ll be like having a chauffeur,” she said, and placed the keys on the table. “I’m so glad you came, Leah. I’ve been at my wits’ end. It’s great to see you. Really, it is.”
Leah managed a smile, but inside was thinking that Heather had choreographed the supposedly innocuous “girls’ trip” so that Leah had no choice but to give her what she wanted. The sad part being that Leah probably couldn’t do anything for her but pity the sham of a life she had, all gilding and appearances with no substance.
Perhaps being single wasn’t so bad after all, she reasoned. Better than a prison sentence with someone you resented and wound up despising. Sleeping with the enemy had to be worse than sleeping alone. At least, that was how it looked from her vantage point, as Heather put the tab on a platinum card, her gaze hollow and dull, for all her outward trappings of success.
Chapter 9
Mountain View, California
Rayansh waved to the security guard at the entrance of Ravstar’s headquarters and emerged into the midday sunlight, blinking like a night animal. He slipped a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses from his shirt pocket and donned them on the way to his car, a midsize Volvo sedan that appealed to his engineering instinct for order and efficiency.
He’d agonized all weekend over how to proceed after confronting Patrick with his concerns over the technology and the promises that were being made on the company’s behalf, and had decided that if the company’s CEO wasn’t interested in a major problem, perhaps his largest investor might be. Rayansh had met Richard Davenport a year and a half earlier during a presentation to the board. The moneyman had sat at the back of the room, listening quietly while he and Patrick had made their presentations, and then asked lucid, penetrating questions that had cut to the core of the issues the company was facing, and which seemed unaffected by Patrick’s bluster and assurances.
After the meeting, Richard had pulled Rayansh aside and thanked him for his contribution – something that had never happened to the engineer before, not even from Patrick. He’d been thrown by the venture capitalist’s penetrating, direct stare and the clarity of his comments, in which he’d accurately summarized the market, the hurdles they were facing, and the possible changes in scanning technology that could obviate theirs. His grasp of every facet of the company’s operations had impressed Rayansh, and they’d parted with promises to stay in touch, which Rayansh had, giving him reassurances until he’d been prevented from doing so by market regulations.
Rayansh had too much invested in Ravstar to allow Patrick to steer it onto the rocks by rushing the debut scanner to market with nontrivial, known bugs, some of which would prove catastrophic in real-world operations. Patrick was expecting Rayansh to pull a rabbit out of a hat, but there was no solution that wouldn’t add six months to the production cycle – six months the company didn’t have.
That left optimizing the test unit so it would mask the deficiencies and hoping that nothing showed up with the first field units, while he worked behind the scenes to come up with a solution. But with the thermal issue and the subsequent radiation levels, countless security personnel could be dosed unsafe amounts, as well as those most harmed by radiation: infant travelers. As a father, Rayansh couldn’t conscience being a part of that, even if it meant going over Patrick’s head. Which, after three sleepless nights, he’d decided to do.
He started the car and negotiated the crowded streets until he was in Mountain View and then in the quiet of Sand Hill Road, surrounded by verdant hills and blue skies that seemed a continent away. Rayansh parked in front of the VC’s building and took deep breaths; his natural shyness made him a poor candidate for what was to come, confrontation something he’d largely avoided most of his adult life.
He took the stairs to Richard’s office slowly and, when he arrived at the office door, hesitated outside, momentary panic threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes and squared his shoulders, and then forced himself forward to do the unthinkable.
The receptionist was young, pretty, and clearly surprised to see him. “Yes,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Is Richard in?”
“Um, I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment?” she asked, running a finger down her ledger.
“No. I was just in the area and wanted to say hello.”
“You’re a friend?”
“That’s right. I’m the technical director at one of his portfolio companies.”
“Which one?”
He debated inventing something, but decided against it. “Ravstar. I should have called. I’m sorry. Is he in a meeting?”
“I’m afraid you just missed him. But if this is social…”
�
�It is,” Rayansh lied. And at least technically it was, he supposed. He wasn’t looking for funding, and Richard hadn’t summoned him to his office.
“He’s over at the Palo Alto Hills Country Club and probably won’t be back until four or so.”
Rayansh had heard of the golf course, but never been there. He thanked providence for the receptionist’s naiveté – she must have been new on the job to let slip her boss was playing instead of working, although he supposed in this business, it was possible it was both.
“Ah, well, then, maybe this time will be a miss.”
“Should I let him know you stopped by?”
“No need. It was nothing important. More a hello than anything.”
She smiled, and he realized that she wasn’t particularly bright. Possibly a temp, he thought, or a trophy to brighten the front office. “Okay, then.”
“Have a good day, and thank you,” Rayansh said, and retraced his steps, anxious to get to the course while he still had time. If he was right behind Richard, it would be possible to arrive there before he’d teed off; Richard might be at the clubhouse. Worst case, Rayansh could call his office and tell them an emergency had come up and he would be away for a few hours. With the eighty-hour work weeks he put in, nobody would question his absence. He could always wait in the parking lot for Richard to emerge. He was sure he would recognize the man, even in casual attire.
He drove faster than usual, allowing his nav system to direct him straight to the course. When he arrived, the small parking lot was only half full, and he parked in the closest available spot to the clubhouse and shut off the car. Taking a deep breath, he stepped from the Volvo with a file in hand and made for the clubhouse, his pulse thudding in his ears. Inside, he spotted Richard on the far side of the building, outside a glass wall, talking to a swarthy, dark-haired man.
Rayansh walked to an exit under the watchful eye of a security guard, whom he smiled at as though he knew him, and pushed through a door. He neared Richard and cleared his throat, but neither of the men glanced his way. When there was a lull in the conversation, Rayansh worked up his courage and approached him. “Richard. Richard Davenport, is that you?”
Richard turned toward him and recognition flashed in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, and paused. “I’m sorry. I can’t quite recall…”
“It’s Rayansh. From–”
“Ravstar,” Richard finished. “Of course. I’m sorry for forgetting your name…”
Rayansh made an apologetic gesture to the other man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem,” the other man said. “You playing dressed like that?” he asked, eyeing Rayansh’s Dockers and button-up, short-sleeved shirt.
“Um, no. I had a meeting that just finished up,” Rayansh said. “But, Richard, if you have a moment, there’s something I wanted to run by you…”
Richard looked to his companion, who shrugged. “I got all the time in the world, buddy. Nice to meet you. I’m Marco, by the way.”
“A pleasure,” Rayansh said, and stepped away, hoping Richard would follow him. He did, leaving Marco to watch the pair walk to a quiet area at the edge of the green, the only sound the chirping of birds in the surrounding trees.
Marco felt for his cell phone and retrieved it from his pocket. He tapped in Rayansh and Ravstar’s name and read various links until he found the one he wanted. He skimmed the biography and then looked down the course. Few were playing in the middle of a workday; this round had been Richard’s promise from the prior week when they’d never made it to the links.
Richard returned after five minutes, his expression unreadable. Marco watched the little engineer leave and grinned at Richard. “What did he want?”
Richard shrugged. “Money. What else? For a friend’s company.”
Marco studied Richard. “Interesting?”
“Everyone thinks because they met me at a party or a meeting, they have access. You know the game: his buddy can’t raise money from anyone, and when he saw me, this guy thought he’d cut into my day by doing a soft pitch.”
“So a nonstarter?”
Richard laughed. “To put it mildly. I told him I’d look at the business plan, but I have no interest. Nothing sexy, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing related to Ravstar? He’s not leaving or anything?”
“No. This was a pitch, not a bitch.” Richard checked his watch with annoyance. “I’ll be right back.”
Marco’s eyebrows rose.
Richard shrugged. “I want to toss this in my car.”
“You can bring it. Some light reading between rounds.”
Richard laughed again. “Yeah. That’s exactly how I plan to spend my day,” he said, and strode back into the clubhouse.
He returned two minutes later and grinned at his friend. “We going to do this?”
“Twenty bucks says I bury you,” Marco said.
“Lunch says you don’t.”
Marco held out his hand. “You’re on.”
Richard walked over to the cart, and Marco followed a few steps behind, a troubled expression on his face. It had vanished by the time Richard was climbing behind the wheel, replaced by Marco’s usual smirk, his sunglasses concealing the concern in his eyes.
“Beautiful day to get your ass beat,” he said.
“Big talk.”
“You sure your friend’s idea wouldn’t be something I’d want a piece of? You wouldn’t hold out on a buddy, would you?”
“An automated lubricant dispenser at self-serve gas stations. Are you kidding me? You want that, you need your head examined.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.”
Chapter 10
San Francisco, California
Jean Reynolds sat at a rectangular conference table in the main conference room, her staff gathered around her, yellow legal tablets and laptop computers scattered around the tabletop. As special agent in charge of the peninsula cases in the FBI Bay Area field office, the weekly meeting was a mandatory part of managing the work flow and ensuring that the cases were proceeding apace. When the teams had developed sufficient evidence, Reynolds would take the cases to the federal prosecutor, who in turn would go to the grand jury for indictment. Much of her time was spent with gang murders in East Palo Alto, where low-income housing served as a breeding ground for drug trafficking, but the current matter under discussion was more challenging, and she’d been looking forward to a summary from her people all week.
“As I’m sure you heard,” Michael Sands, the lead investigator in the case, said, “we obtained a wire tap on the subject’s offices, which extended to data communications. Upon review of what we collected, it appears we have an ironclad case for insider trading to refer to the SEC, as well as at least one felony count of fraud, maybe more. And we’re working another angle – one of his employees got caught in a drug bust and is wired up. We’re hoping he lets something slip around him. But as it is, we have the insider trading and fraud. It’s solid.”
Reynolds nodded. “Then the idea is to squeeze him until he rolls, correct?”
Sands grinned. “Just like we always do. He’ll sing like a bird. These types are smug until it dawns on them that they’re facing jail time, and then they bawl like babies and throw everyone they need to under the bus.”
“It concerns me that we didn’t get anything relating to the case we’re investigating, though. A skillful defense attorney might be able to get all of this tossed on the basis that our warrants weren’t obtained for these specific charges. The entire basis was money laundering for organized crime. This could look like a fishing expedition.”
Sands shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But it would have to get far beyond where he’ll want it to in order for that argument to be heard. The reputational damage alone would ruin him, regardless of how it turned out.”
“What about the locals?”
“We’re planning to notify them after this meeting. It’s on their turf, and you know h
ow they get if we don’t let them in on something big.”
“As long as we stay in control of the case.” Reynolds shook her head. “Guy’s got everything, and he’s pulling stunts like this? He deserves what’s coming to him.”
“What’s the old expression about lying down with dogs and waking up with fleas?”
“Is the consensus that he’ll play ball?”
Everyone nodded except one, a wiry man with steel-rimmed glasses and a perennial frown. Reynolds fixed him with an annoyed stare. “What is it, Sam?”
“It’s slightly troubling that he hasn’t let anything slip about our target. I mean, given the lack of concern he’s shown in his communications, you’d think that if he knew anything, we would have picked up on it by now.”
“Could be that he only discusses it in person,” she fired back. “We both know the bad guys have gotten hipper to technology than they were in the good old days.” Reynolds frowned. “The odds are good that he knows enough to be dangerous. We’ve got him dead to rights on the insider trading and the fraud charges – and we’re still investigating the insurance scam. The cumulative effect is going to be devastating. There’s no way he’s going to try to tough that out.”
“But what if he does?”
Reynolds sighed. “Then we caught a scumbag red-handed, and he goes down. I have no sympathy for his kind. It’s not like he has to do this to feed the baby. This is all about greed and thinking that the rules don’t apply to him.” She paused. “I want to look in his eyes when he learns he’s not exempt from the same laws everyone else has to obey.”
Sam spread his hands. “Fair enough. I just wanted to get it on the record that he might be collateral damage that doesn’t move us any further down the field. That’s my take, after reviewing all the data.”
Reynolds sat back and steepled her fingers. “Do we have any other options? So far the target’s proven to be as slippery as a greased eel.”
A Girl Betrayed (A Leah Mason suspense thriller Book 2) Page 6