His staff knew from harsh experience he was best avoided at times like this, opting to give his desk a wide berth as he screamed down the phone.
“Goddamn mother fucker!” Griffen hollered. “Can’t you sue this shithead, get an injunction or something? He’s calling me a fucking criminal and saying the company’s voodoo. You’re my attorney. Do something!”
“It’s not that straightforward,” Vesper told him. “He’s clever. He never actually says you’re breaking the law or acting criminally; he just documents your holdings, shows your connection to the media outlets who’ve been supportive, lists other companies the positive analysts hyped in the past, and then hypothesizes that your massive stake in the company makes you extremely interested in the stock skyrocketing at all costs. It’s all opinion.” Glen Vesper knew the law cold. “He’s suggesting that if you were engaging in a scheme to pump and then dump Allied’s value, that would be criminal, but he doesn’t come out and say you’re breaking the law. That’s a critical legal distinction.”
“So what’s your suggestion?”
“Just don’t say anything at all,” Vesper advised. “Ignore it. The flip side of the site is that it doesn’t prove anything. It’s all conjecture. I’d regard it as a conspiracy kook’s hobby and pretend it doesn’t exist. If you go after him with an injunction you’ll only increase the exposure and publicity; if we could even get an injunction in the first place.”
“So I let the cocksucker call me a liar and a thief in front of the whole planet and just smile and ask him if he’d like to fuck me in the ass when he’s done?” Griffen asked. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Nicholas, we don’t even know who’s behind this – it could be anybody. At this stage we know nothing about them…or their motives.” He paused, collected his thoughts, sighed. “I pulled the registration info on the site and it places it in New Orleans, owned by a guy named Stanley Jorgenson with a Hotmail account; probably a dead end. That’s all we have. I’m looking into the address and the ID, but it smells fake. For now, just let it go. That’s my advice.”
“Thanks for absolutely fucking nothing,” Griffen hissed, frothing with seething indignation. He slammed down the handset. Lawyers. Blood-sucking parasites.
Still, Glen had a point.
~ ~ ~
Steven spent the whole morning at the computer, monitoring the trading action, the stock not doing much. Eventually the increasingly strident growling of his stomach tore him away from it to make a sandwich, which he wolfed down in just a few minutes. Following his hurried lunch, he switched to polishing his new site, trying to improve the user interface and make it more presentable. Why did everything usually take longer than it should, with nothing ever as easy as it initially looked? Websites were apparently no different.
After a full day of staring at screens he decided he needed to depart cyber-reality and work the tension out of his system. He drove to the dojo where he practiced his skills, and donned his white gee. Steven was an eighth degree black belt in Karate, a gold sash adept in Wing Chun Kung Fu, and at master level in Jeet Kune Do.
He began with Karate, always, starting with the Geri Waza and Uchi Waza form, then through the Tsuki, Uke and Hiji. Switching disciplines, he practiced the various nerve strikes and hand forms for Kung Fu, and finally wound down with stretching and isometric exercises.
His fascination with the disciplines stemmed from watching Bruce Lee films when he was ten years old, and from the first days when he began learning the initial stances and kicks he’d been mesmerized by the sense of self-possession they instilled. His interest had continued unabated throughout his adult life and he’d now evolved to the point where the requirement to practice the forms was more out of homage to the skills than from necessity.
That lifelong involvement in martial arts, along with four years in the military, had instilled a quiet confidence and self-reliance in him, even if it had also made him a loner. Perhaps that solitary streak explained why he’d never gotten married and settled down – had a family – it always seemed like stuff of the future, but right now he wasn’t in a big hurry to get to that future. He was comfortable with things as they stood.
Back at the house, he rinsed off and checked his e-mail. His new mailbox had thirty-eight messages congratulating him on the new site. Jennifer was spending the night at her place, while Avalon was chasing rabbits in his sleep in the den, so Steven was free to begin slogging through his inbox.
Once done, he logged into what he thought of as his ‘paranoia group’, an invitation-only collection of cyber friends with ‘unusual’ interests in fringe topics and esoteric conspiracy theories. He’d been invited to join years ago, when his company had developed software for a longtime friend who structured privacy solutions for clients concerned with cyber-snooping. Steven had always been interested in clandestine and off-the-beaten-path knowledge, probably a kickback from his military days, or perhaps just a function of his somewhat conspiratorial personality – so the invitation had been readily accepted. When Steven’s friend had moved to Ireland, he’d remained in ‘The Group’, as it was called by its participants, and Steven was still an active poster.
If you could sit through the sometimes contentious sparring over the best mechanism for creating a Trojan horse to invade a server, or the ongoing debate over the level of Big Brother’s encroachment into everyone’s privacy, he found the repartee and information exchanged was often riveting. Everyone was anonymous in the group, and used aliases. Steven’s was ‘Bowman’.
He hadn’t shared with The Group that he’d created the site yet. All the participants would have strong opinions on everything from the font style to the background color. He figured he’d work out any bugs before letting the gang have at it.
Still, he couldn’t resist a tickler post:
[Fellas, this is Bowman. I've got a little surprise for you. I’m a webmaster now - been working on a hobby site that’s live and kicking.]
Immediately several responses came back.
[What’s the URL?]
[Since when do you know how to work anything more than a mouse?]
[What program did you use to write it?]
[Is it porn?]
Ahh, you could always rely on the lads to be inquisitive.
[Sorry gang, not porn, though if it was I’m sure you’d know how to route it through Kabul. Just a little project that will be ready for your shredding in a day or two.]
A few seconds, and the predictable:
[If it’s not porn, I’m not interested.]
[Just what the world needs, another site hosted by a sad geek who wants to whine about how misunderstood he is.]
[You mean he ripped off your site?]
And so on. Fun banter, but these guys were some of the sharpest he’d ever encountered.
After spending a few hours catching up on the latest scuttlebutt he decided to log off, scarf down a sandwich, read a little and tuck in early. He was beat from weeks of focused activity developing the site, and needed some rest.
One last look confirmed the site had already gotten 2,861 hits; my, but word spread quickly on the web.
Chapter 5
Steven had never registered the slightest interest in stocks or financial markets until he’d sold his company. Once retired he’d gone stir crazy, so as a pastime had indulged a lifelong fascination with fine timepieces by collecting high value watches; favoring Patek Philippes and Rolexes. That had gotten old quickly and he’d switched his focus to cryptography, which still engaged him as an ongoing fascination; he'd gone so far as to acquire a few medieval parchments encrypted with the popular ciphers of the time and had begun building a modest collection. But that didn’t pay well so he began dabbling in the market as an avocation – a fun way to make a few bucks and follow trends in industries that interested him. It started out more as a hobby than the borderline obsession it had evolved into over the last year.
He’d lucked out and inked his company’s sale when a
competitor had wanted to consolidate, and his cut of the proceeds had come to a little over five million bucks. Thanks to his attorney, Stan Caldwell, he’d been able to structure the deal so that virtually no tax was paid, leaving him set for the rest of his life. Timing was everything; one year later, he’d have been lucky to get the value of the furniture.
Steven would have been set for life if he hadn’t subsequently gambled $2 million on a friend’s ‘can’t miss’ real estate play – which crashed and burned in the ensuing economic crisis and had consumed the entire bankroll. After that experience, his investment philosophy became all about minimizing losses while positioning for outsized gains, and thus he gravitated to biotech – with a lot of research carried out before any real money got invested. He’d gotten more involved over the last eighteen months as his comfort with the market grew, and had begun actively trading his holdings; making a decent chunk of change by playing the dips. He was hooked…but only enough to keep him occupied during his days.
So far so good.
And then he discovered Allied.
Steven’s former partner and technical half of the setup, Jason Mallory, now ran a consulting firm specializing in designing computer networks; when he’d gotten back from Milwaukee last year he’d been talking about his new client, Allied. He’d built a scalable network for them capable of growing ten-fold over the next five years; which Jason had been highly skeptical they’d ever need, given his assessment of the operations and the cynicism of the employees.
Steven did a slug of due diligence on the company and discovered several things he found surprising. First, Allied was mainly involved in vaccine development, which was not the typical small company play – it was usually the big boys who were involved in that sort of thing. Second, the internet message boards on Allied were abuzz with rumors about Griffen Ventures, which had apparently been instrumental in funding the last investment round and taking the company public. Griffen was one of the more controversial investors one could have because many of his past ‘triumphs’ ultimately blew up – to the detriment of most smaller stockholders. And one of the board regulars had discovered Griffen was a sponsor of several online business sites that had been writing puff pieces on Allied since February; about the time daily volume of the stock had quadrupled, and the price had gone parabolic for no apparent reason.
It looked to Steven like a classic stock manipulation from the 1920s; he couldn’t believe it still happened in this day and age, but if he was right it could mean huge returns – and then some. Manipulation was usually a short-term game to create volatility and control the price. It could be effective for a while, but fundamentals and performance ultimately carried the day. A savvy investor could ride the upside wave with the big boys and make a killing – and if it came out the company was a dud, and that investor was short, he could be set for life.
Jason’s insights told him the market had gotten it badly wrong so far, and that Allied had the stink of rat all over it.
Peter Valentine was one of Steven’s longtime friends. Originally his father’s buddy, he’d become Steven’s mentor when Steven’s dad had passed away 28 years earlier. They’d developed a lifelong bond and Steven duly respected Peter’s perspective and opinions.
Years of working for the FBI had left Peter with a substantial network of contacts, and when he cashed in his chips and retired he became a part-time private investigator to supplement his pension. As a concession to retirement he moved to a place where the weather was warm and he could fish every day: Sarasota, Florida. Peter was an amazingly resourceful guy, and his wife, Penny, was among the nicest and most patient women Steven had ever met.
Steven had phoned on a weekend, figuring he’d be able to get them at home. The phone had rung and Penny had picked up. Her distinctive, chirpy voice never failed to raise his spirits.
“Why, hello, Steven. To what do we owe the honor of this call, mister rich guy?”
This was Penny’s customary greeting – never failed. They’d dubbed him ‘rich guy’ ever since he’d sold his company. In their universe it was unheard of to retire in your late thirties.
“I was trying to make an obscene phone call and hit speed dial by mistake. How’s everything at geriatric country safari?” Steven asked.
“Oh, pretty wild. We had a shopping cart get away from a neighbor last Saturday at the market, and it almost hit a car door. You probably got it on the satellite news.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. I hope you’re all okay, I was going to call...”
“You want Peter? I’ll get him. He’s out wrestling a crocodile or something. Hang on a sec.”
He heard her yelling in the distance, a door slamming.
“Hey, Steve.” Peter was the only person who called him Steve.
“Hey, Peter. How goes the war?”
“Bloodied but not bowed, my friend. What’s up on your coast?” Peter asked him. “How’s the beach bunny action? Still with Nadine?”
“Uh, no, actually I’ve been seeing a girl named Jennifer for a couple of years.” (Peter knew this full well, but liked to make mischief with Nadine; a spectacular brunette Peter had sworn he’d leave his wife for had he been twenty years younger). “Peter, I need a favor, professionally-speaking.”
“All right, Steve, what’s up?”
Steven had laid out the whole Allied story for Peter, giving him a breakdown of Griffen’s involvement, backed up with a summary of the trading irregularities. Peter had listened carefully, stopping occasionally to write down a name or ask about spelling. At the end of the discussion they’d agreed Peter would look into Griffen and Steven would e-mail him all the info he’d accumulated.
Steven took his time before investing in Allied, preferring caution over being foolhardy. All his inquiries confirmed his negative impression, and experience with other biotech bombs had taught him the stock could easily fall ninety or more percent within eighteen months; it was perfectly positioned to drop off a cliff if the science turned out to be bogus. If he was right, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
He decided to get involved. Big-time.
Over the course of the next few weeks he violated every investing rule he knew and went short seven hundred thousand dollars worth of stock. In his view, the collapse wasn’t a matter of if, but rather a matter of when.
The problem was that short positions required he pay to borrow the stock he’d sold short, and if the stock kept going up he could get badly hurt – if not wiped out – so once he’d established his position, he’d taken to following the stock minute by minute, real time, every day.
The trading chicanery and implausibly glowing press kept coming and hardly a week went by where some pundit didn’t opine that the company was on the brink of greatness, or at least of being acquired at a substantial premium. So even as the company sucked money and generated nothing of apparent value the positive rhetoric was undiminished, and there were days where it rose five percent for no reason. It was disheartening, although he could see why many shareholders got sucked into the feeding frenzy. He remembered vividly one man from the message boards who claimed to have made millions from his position. It was heady stuff. Steven couldn’t believe a company with such obvious question marks surrounding its investors and technology could rate such optimistic coverage in the modern, supposedly safe markets, and his anger at the manipulation mounted even as his determination strengthened.
One morning, after watching in frustration as the price jumped for the fifth straight day on little or no volume, he had an epiphany. The idea was so simple.
Griffen had his captive media buddies to inflate the Allied bubble. Why not create a website that laid out the case for manipulation, and which skeptically evaluated the company’s supposed innovations and scientific ‘breakthroughs’?
It seemed straightforward. Just a matter of creating a few pages – finding a place to host it – and uploading it. A snap.
What could be easier?
Chapter 6
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br /> Another morning, and Nicholas Griffen was furious again. He’d gotten calls from several of his investors who’d seen the new site and wanted to know if his involvement in Allied, and the precariousness of the technology, were true.
One in particular had indicated that any publicity could endanger their ‘special’ relationship, and Griffen was no idiot. He understood the stakes involved, and further understood that while he was an important part of that particular investor’s strategy, he could rapidly lose value as his machinations were exposed. And he didn’t ever want to have his currency devalued with that player.
The problem was, word spread faster than the speed of sound nowadays as a result of the internet, and that was hurting him. His first stage pumping of Allied had worked like a charm, luring the dumb money speculators in droves. But he still had a long way to go before they’d hit his target of a market top for the stock, and he was long in a massive way. Now, with this new website, he recognized he had a problem brewing; the longer the speculations about manipulation and the doubts about the technology were out there, the greater the likelihood a predatory player would come in and take the other side of the bet, which could be a killer given the current size of his position. The last thing he needed was a few big short funds to sense blood in the water and go to work tunneling the stock.
He couldn’t afford that because he’d over-invested on the way up without bothering to hedge his bets, meaning the Allied shares and options were now a considerable chunk of his fund’s position; and given that he’d continued buying for months to keep upward momentum going, he was very, very pregnant with the stock.
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