Today was almost a twenty-hour day. I’m exhausted and was going to fall into bed, but I couldn’t resist when she offered a drink. I’m not sure if she has a boyfriend, but I’ll enjoy spending time with a beautiful woman regardless.
We enjoyed our music conversation the other night, so it seemed logical that it would make our hanging out less awkward. I can’t believe I admitted to having these pressings. They’re worth a lot of money, and I don’t usually confess to owning them, let alone play them on a strange turntable. I like that she enjoys much of the same music I do, but she indicated that she was pretty young during the grunge rock era, so it’s nice to know she recognizes two of the best in the business.
When I arrive at my new apartment, it doesn’t take me any time to dump my stuff and find my albums. I’ll have her up here when things are a bit more organized, and then we can listen to several albums together.
She opens her door in yoga pants and a burnt-orange University of Texas T-shirt. I’m sure she must think I’m an ass for not changing out of my suit.
“Should I go change?”
“Only if you want to.” She leaves me standing at the door, and I follow her in like a lost puppy. “Do you like your bourbon neat or on the rocks?” she asks over her shoulder.
“One ice cube. The bigger, the better.” She shows me the ice she plans on using; it’s perfectly round and bigger than a golf ball. “Perfect.”
She points me to her stereo system. “I’m surprised you’re willing to spin a first pressing on an unknown turntable. If you want to use the album there to check out how it works, it’s a U2 early album. Not a first pressing, probably not even the thousandth, but a favorite of mine.”
I think I’m falling in love! “It’s great that you understand. We’ll start with U2 and work our way into Nirvana, maybe save STP for another night.”
She hands me my drink and we sit down.
Her apartment’s neat and not overcrowded. She has some quality furniture—I put myself through college delivering furniture in Manhattan, so I can tell when it’s top of the line or not. Her stereo system’s bigger than most music lover’s. Looking over her system, I note that it’s high-end, and she’d qualify as an audiophile. I have a hard-on just looking at it. I need to concentrate on other things before it’s obvious.
“I detect a slight southern drawl. Where are you from?”
She blushes a brilliant shade of pink. “I try hard to hide it. I grew up in Dallas.”
“Of course. The T-shirt should’ve been my first clue that you were from Texas. But why hide it? A southern drawl is beautiful.”
“Unfortunately, when you have a southern drawl, people take about twenty-five points off your IQ as if you’re stupid. Then in my case, take off another twenty-five points for my big boobs, leaving them thinking I’m as dumb as a brick, and then they don’t take me seriously. I’m not dumb, and working for a venture capital fund where it’s my job to convince really smart people to let us invest solely in their idea while not leaving them with the impression that they’ll get laid means lose the drawl. Where are you from?”
“The boob comment, I’m not going to touch that. You might kick me out.” She giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound. “There’s a lot in what you’ve said that I want to circle back on, but I’ll answer the easiest question—New York, in the bad side of the Bronx. I work hard to not sound like I’m from the Bronx and don’t want people to think I’m a thug, so I understand. But why do you have to convince people to take your money? That sounds completely backward.”
“We have plenty of people who would circle the block to take our money, but we’re selective about who we choose to invest in and vet companies carefully. Each member of our team plays an important role in who we invest in. There are a lot of people who touch a prospective technology company that we’re considering investing in. Once they pass all the hurdles, we want to invest in them exclusively. For example, we were the sole investors in PeopleMover. Exclusivity allows us to have a stronger influence by providing more resources for them to be successful. If we were one of many investors, we’d have to hope that they’re successful. Our approach is different, but if we invest in a start-up, they tend to be extremely successful. But we also have a lot of competition for those types of investments, so my job’s to bring them into our firm.”
I’m impressed. She isn’t only beautiful—with big boobs, as she says—but she’s definitely smart. It makes my cock stir a bit.
“In a way, that’s similar to what I do. But my job is to find investors to contribute money, and we use that money to invest in certain—typically—publicly traded companies that are looking for money to grow or develop a particular product. For example, one of our clients here is looking to buy a factory in the Midwest to bring their manufacturing back domestically. It’ll take them about eighteen million dollars to get it done and people hired. They originally thought it would take about eight million dollars, but I showed them what the salary costs would be and how long it would take them to be profitable, so we more than doubled our ask.”
“I feel silly. I forgot you were an investment banker. I swear I’m not typically this much of an airhead.”
“Being an investment banker is one of my more compelling traits with the female population.”
She laughs hard. “I suppose, if you were trying to attract someone who’s looking for a sugar daddy.”
“Sugar daddy? Wow. Just because we’re listening to 90’s music doesn’t mean we talk like we’re in the 90s.”
She throws her head back and giggles. “What term would you prefer?”
“We usually call them gold diggers, money whores, sponges, bloodsuckers, succubi—shall I go on?”
“No. That’s a lot of visuals.”
We both laugh, and it takes all my energy to not want to run my fingers through her hair.
The U2 album ends, and I put the Nirvana album on the turntable without a second thought. It plays beautifully. The conversation transitions away from our work to music, and we spend the evening talking about how it’s impacted our lives.
“Music was always a place to hide for me. I liked the loud and aggressive music to rebel against my mother, who was—and still is—pearls and classical music. It had its desired effect and irritated her to no end. I was a teenager. What can I say?” she shares.
“Music was also expression for me. I like everything. A girl broke up with me in high school, and I listened to country heartbreak songs for months.”
“Ouch!”
When the album’s over, I pack up while she picks up our glasses. “We should do this again,” she says.
“This was a lot of fun. Thanks.”
“Next time bring CeCe. I’ll find a date, and we can do a couples thing.”
She thinks CeCe and I are dating? Wait a minute, she said she needed to find a date.
Shit. She lives in my building. Sleeping with her could become problematic if things don’t work out. “CeCe and I aren’t dating. She’s introducing me around so I can meet a few people.”
She seems visibly surprised, and I’m thrilled she isn’t dating anyone. She’s shy all of a sudden, which is intriguing but also a bit disconcerting. “Great. Well, you know where I live.”
“Hand me your phone.” If nothing else, I’ll have my neighbor’s phone number in case of an emergency.
She picks it up off the kitchen table, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I call my phone so I have her number, and then I put my name in her contacts. “Now we have each other’s numbers.”
“Thanks.”
“Next time let’s get together at my place.” I wave and head out of her apartment to the elevator. Tonight was unexpected and actually fun, sending a jolt to my cock. She’s funny, hot, and thankfully single.
Lying in my bed, I think about why I moved to San Francisco. I was born and grew up in New York. My parents were dirt poor and worked several jobs. My dad had what they call PTSD today and had a difficult time
holding down a job. My mom worked for a bakery, baking breads and pastries beginning each morning at three until lunchtime. She would go home and sleep for a few hours, and then by five o’clock, she’d be working a dinner shift as a waitress until midnight six days a week. She did that almost my entire life.
When I made my first million, I bought them a house. When I made my first billion, it took a lot of convincing that it was safe for her to quit, but she finally did. These days they live down in Boca and are relaxing. Since they moved south, there’s nothing left for me in New York, and San Francisco is shaping up nicely.
I think I’m going to like living here.
Chapter FIVE
Cynthia
Tonight was a lot of fun. I enjoyed spending time with Todd. It was a first for me. Usually I’m more reserved around men; I make a good living and don’t want to intimidate them. I’ve never been with a man who’s so relaxed with himself and has the same love of music I have. It was nice to take my mind off my troubles regarding tomorrow’s meeting with the FBI. It’s sure to be a challenging and draining day.
Lying in bed, I can’t fall asleep. I keep thinking about what tomorrow will bring. I hope I don’t see jail in my future. I didn’t do anything wrong, and as soon as I saw something out of the ordinary, I reported it to the authorities. Hopefully that’ll be enough.
I try to read my book, but nothing seems to be able to grab my attention. I have over five hundred television channels, and not one has something that can hold my interest longer than a few minutes. Not wanting to wake my neighbors by being too loud, I give my bathroom a good scrub down and run a Swiffer on my wood floors. I have some frozen chocolate cookie dough, and I make a dozen cookies and eat them all. Oh well. I worked out cleaning anyway; it must’ve been worth at least a thousand calories. Okay, maybe a hundred, but I have a stressful day ahead of me.
Nothing seems to clear my mind, and I’m soon back to lying in the dark. I look at the time, seeing it’s almost 4:00 a.m. My alarm will sound in two hours.
I roll away from the clock and try to concentrate on Todd and the fun we had tonight. Before I realize it, I’m being awoken by my alarm. I maybe got two hours of sleep, if I’m lucky.
Ugh, what a day it’s going to be.
All I want to do is roll over and go back to sleep. Would anybody miss me if I didn’t show up and just stayed home? Probably.
I walk into my spare bedroom where my recumbent bicycle sits and begin the process of working out. I don’t have the energy to do the elliptical, so I set a great hill program to push myself, hoping maybe it’ll give me energy for the day.
In the end, I’m not sure it helped, so before heading to my attorney’s office, I make a quick stop for the largest and strongest cup of coffee I can buy. I usually doctor it with lots of sugar and lots of cream, but today I’m going black. I need every ounce of caffeine I can get to make it through today, without adding any sugar crashes to the mix.
When I arrive at Marci’s office, I’m offered more coffee, which I eagerly accept.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” she asks.
“Is it that obvious? I was up all night and fell asleep around four, so I got about two hours. I should be nice and prime for these guys today.”
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. There’s nothing they can hang you on. Answer the questions honestly as we practiced and remember, it’s only a matter of keeping your story straight—which is easy because your story’s the truth.”
“I can’t help but worry that they could think I had something to do with this. No way they could believe that my being anonymous when I contacted them was hiding my guilt. I really don’t want to go to jail.”
“I don’t see any federal penitentiaries in your future. Whistleblowers come to them all the time. This is a big case for them that could reach all the way to DC and Moscow. You’re going to be fine.” She pats me on the arm to assure me. “They need to vet your theory and walk you through everything, that’s all.”
Standing up, I adjust my suit. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I have a car meeting us downstairs in ten minutes. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and freshen up? I’ll meet you at our reception desk.”
After emptying my bladder of my two cups of coffee and applying what I call my “gettin’ serious” red lipstick, I meet Marci and we take the elevator down to the main lobby, walking right to our waiting car. It drives us across town to the financial district and drops us at a nondescript building that stands out among the neighboring ones. There’s no signage on, nor is there any extravagant foliage, doormen, or people in high-end suits racing in and out of the building, showing off their financial prowess and success like so many of the buildings around it.
There’re armed guards inside the door. The receptionist doesn’t greet us cheerfully, but rather gives the aura that we’re interrupting her day. She collects our driver’s licenses and clicks a few things in her computer before handing us back our ID’s and two bright yellow visitor badges and gives us directions to our meeting. She points us to the metal detectors and X-ray machines at a bank of elevators, and we’re dismissed.
After being thoroughly searched, we’re directed to the ninth floor. As we exit the elevator, Agents Baron and Woods are there waiting to escort us to our conference room.
I look around the sparsely furnished offices. It screams government with chairs from the 70s and worn carpet. Not welcoming at all.
We take our assigned seats. There’s a stenographer, plus the two agents, but I’m positive there’re people behind a large mirror on the wall.
The questions start off easy. “What’s your name?” “Where did you grow up?” “Where did you attend college?” and “How did you end up in San Francisco?” It’s late morning before they finally work their way to the questions I’d been expecting. “What did Ethan say when he said he was sharing information with your biggest investors?” “How did he tell you BrightStar’s biggest investor is a Russian—albeit only a Russian oligarch?”
Then we started talking about how I joined the firm. I explained, “I was recruited out of grad school in Palo Alto, where I got my MBA. BrightStar Investments worked hard to recruit me to come work for them. I have my undergraduate degree in software engineering from the University of Texas and an MBA from Stanford focused on finance. The job seemed like a good opportunity with an up-and-coming venture capital firm.”
“How much money did you earn?”
“When? That first year, or each year?”
“Both.”
“I was offered $250,000 as my base the first year, with a bonus that was equal to my pay. Then each year, as our investments matured, I received an annual bonus of 2 percent of our net profit.”
“What did that amount to?”
“I don’t have the exact figures, but I made over one million dollars in year two and hit over 6.5 million last year.”
Their eyes bug out. “Are those numbers normal? Didn’t that seem a bit extreme?”
“They’re normal if you work for a good venture capital fund. If you work for a bad one, they close their doors. We give early money for stock options. When they sell or go public, you begin to divest your options for cash, and we did that so we could invest in other companies. BrightStar averaged two companies going public and or purchased each month. They seemed on the up-and-up. I worked for them for over eight years before this happened and never suspected a thing. We talked to investors consistently, looking for additional money to invest, and we talked to emerging start-ups working in various areas, but our specialty was always in government contracting-related companies. We invested in drone companies, technology for rockets, and jets. Most of our investments had a government-oriented application.”
“How did you feel about the companies you invested in?” Agent Woods questions.
I don’t even have to think about it. “I always felt very patriotic about all the work we were doing, buying and selling to la
rge government contractors or taking companies public.”
“What happened to make you suspicious?”
“Ethan Sommers was the managing partner and a friend. We’d often go out for drinks to celebrate taking a company public. What raised my suspicions was when Ethan got quite drunk one afternoon and described to me the Russian oligarch who was our largest investor. Much later, he mentioned our largest investor collected information on a lot of the technology our companies gave to us under strict nondisclosures. It frightened me, quite honestly. We invested in several companies that made engines for military airplanes and drone companies that have the capability to carry heavy ammunition. I didn’t have a security clearance, but I believe that by sharing the information, BrightStar and all its partners were committing espionage and treason against the United States.”
“That’s a pretty big leap. How long did you know this was going on?” Agent Baron interjects.
I stress, “I didn’t ever know until Ethan got drunk and told me pieces of the puzzle. Once he informed me, I began to carefully track what he might’ve shared with our investor. We had a share drive that we used to access and store client information. We had access to each other’s email, and I downloaded some of his, which included the plans that were shared with you that he had on a strange cloud server. It took me four days of research. I met with my attorney, and you were notified the next day.”
“How did Ethan tell you he was committing treason?”
Marci had warned me they would ask questions multiple ways to make sure I was consistent in my statement. “Well, he certainly didn’t come out and say, ‘Hey, come have a drink with me. I want to tell you all about the treason I’m committing.’ Quite the opposite. He got drunk, and he thought it was cool that our largest investor was a Russian oligarch. And later he shared that our largest investor looked at the technology we invested in. None of our investors ever asked for that level of detail in their investments, and they wouldn’t be covered under the NDAs we sign. At the time, I’d only worked for BrightStar, but an investor wanting to see software designs and pieces of technology seemed like a bad idea.”
Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance Page 3