Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  “Bad idea?”

  “Look, I turned the company in immediately. It was a bad idea on a lot of levels. Not only are you looking at me for treason, but by turning the company in, I lost billions, and I do mean billions of dollars in future income.”

  “You were a partner. Explain how you didn’t know what was going on.”

  “Yes, I was a partner, and I regularly saw a list of investors. But my focus was to bring in technology companies, not secure investors.”

  Agent Baron interrupts, “But don’t people circle the block for you to invest in?”

  “They would if we let them, but just because we have money doesn’t mean we give it to just anyone. We were known throughout the Bay Area as the company to go to if you had government implications to your invention or software. But we had dozens of competitors, and any of us would invest in a good idea. My job was to find ones that were good enough to invest in early, either angel funding or at least first round. Ethan’s job was to secure the funds. He was funneling information to an investor. It only took a few minutes for me to pull what I could to confirm that Dimitri Kuznetsov wasn’t just an investor but someone who was a highly placed Russian spy embedded deeply in our organization.”

  “How did you find out who Dimitri Kuznetsov was?” Agent Woods inquires.

  “Google told me he was former KGB.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  With his elbow on the table, Woods runs his hand over his forehead and sighs loudly. “You googled your largest investor and deduced that he was a Russian spy?”

  “That’s not what his bio says, but I put a few things together,” I reply defensively.

  The two agents exchange a look and then excuse themselves, leaving Marci and me in the room together.

  She leans in and says, “Nothing we say in this room is private, but you’re doing a fantastic job.”

  “Thank you.”

  We sit in silence while we wait for them to return. Eventually both men walk in with some box lunches from a local deli and drinks. They know the exact order I would’ve placed, down to how I like my turkey sandwich. It freaks me out for a minute, and Marci puts her hand on my leg and gives me a nod. Her affirmation tells me that this is a passive way of informing me that they know everything about me.

  Agent Woods asks, “What was the consensus among the employees when BrightStar was closed?

  “It was a complete surprise, even for me. We had no idea that you guys came in and closed our business. I was one of the last to leave the night before, and I’d seen our numbers and accounts and knew we were healthy. Arriving to find a sign on the door the next morning telling us the business was closed shocked everyone. Several of us met at the Starbucks and talked. Many were upset, some were panicked. San Francisco’s expensive, but we’d been paid the night before, so that made it a little easier. I couldn’t answer many of their questions, and I took the day to rest and plan before I went looking for a new job.”

  “How long did it take for you to find a new job?” Agent Baron asks.

  “I was lucky. I found one within a few months.”

  “Your finances didn’t take much of a hit, did they?”

  “I didn’t get severance, so I dipped into my savings, but I own my condo outright, and I don’t have a lot of expenses. However, you’ve frozen my investment accounts, which is where the bulk of my money sits.”

  Agent Woods pushes, “How did you find your job at Sullivan Healy Newhouse?”

  “My job in business development was to network, and I used those resources to reach out to better than a dozen people. With BrightStar closing, some saw me as a pariah, but others were happy to help. I contacted an old friend of mine, Caroline Arnault, and she put me in touch with the founding partners at SHN.”

  “What kind of work are you doing there?” Agent Woods questions.

  “The same work I did at Brightstar, although SHN focuses on technology and they have a different approach, so we’re looking at applications that apply to multiple markets across all arenas.”

  I need to use the bathroom. I lean over and tell Marci, and she asks for a break.

  We’ve been going for almost four hours nonstop. The coffee is wearing off, and I’m getting really tired. Everything hinges on what I say, and once I answer, it can never be undone. I can't think straight this morning. I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. Today could be the difference between walking away and a haunting shallow grave.

  Chapter SIX

  Cynthia

  I stretched the break into a solid thirty minutes. Not having to answer any questions and standing to stretch was well needed.

  When I return, we take our seats again and begin.

  “Miss Hathaway, tell us about your personal life,” Agent Baron presses.

  Marci had warned me that they would push into my personal life, and we discussed what I had to say when they asked. “As I already shared, I own a small condo on Telegraph Hill on Lombard Street. I grew up in Dallas. My father was an executive with a beverage company, my mother was socially active in multiple charitable organizations. I have a younger brother. He lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado and is an engineer. I went to the University of Texas, where I studied software engineering. I went to business school at Stanford—”

  “Your personal life?” Agent Woods interrupts.

  Marci interjects, “Agent, if you want to get her phone number for a date, I assure you, she’s not interested. Move it along.”

  Marci’s comment makes Agent Woods blush a bit, which I find rather funny, but he’s quick to point out, “No, we need to understand who she spends her time with outside of work.”

  “Typically, I don’t have a lot of time outside of work. I get up each morning, work out, and go to work. Afterward, I tend to have some sort of networking event for work, and occasionally I go out with friends. My closest friend these days is Caroline Arnault, though I also go out with people from my office, including Mason Sullivan, Dillon and Emerson Healy, Cameron Newhouse and his fiancée, Hadlee Fisher, Greer Ford, and our company attorney, Sara, and her husband, Trey Arnault.”

  Obviously frustrated by my answers, Agent Baron loudly sighs again. “How often do you date?”

  Marci puts her hand on my arm, the signal to be quiet. “Is that question necessary?”

  Agent Woods looks at her with a flash of anger. “Yes, we want to know who she dates.”

  Marci’s hand leaves my arm, telling me I can answer.

  “Well, nobody seriously. I’ve been on a few matchme.com dates, but those have been disasters. Very few second dates.”

  “Are you sleeping with anyone?”

  I’m so taken aback by the intrusive question that, before I even think about it, I spew, “Who I’m sleeping with is none of your business.”

  “Just answer the question, Miss Hathaway,” Agent Woods growls.

  Trying to hold my dignity together, I take a couple deep breaths before responding. “I’m not sleeping with anybody. My last sexual encounter was over a year ago. Happy? Did I need another reminder of how fun it is to be single in this city?”

  Not missing a beat, he continues his assault. “Who was the gentleman you spent last night with?”

  Marci jumps up. “Are you spying on my client? I want to see the FISA warrants before we continue.”

  “Calm down, Miss Peterson. We can share it all with you. We want to get an idea of who she might be spending her time with.”

  Trying to hold my fear in check, I explain, “His name’s Todd Wellington. He recently moved upstairs in my building. We met through Caroline a few weeks ago at a celebration. I had no idea he moved into my building until I ran into him yesterday on the elevator. We did not have sex last night. We listened to vinyl.”

  “Listened to vinyl?”

  “Well, vinyl records actually. We’re both fans of 90’s music, and he had a Nirvana first pressing.”

  “I don’t underst
and.”

  “When we met the first time, we determined a mutual love for 90’s grunge bands. When we were in the elevator, he mentioned he owned a first pressing of a Nirvana album. Nirvana came out in the 90s, when most music was released as CDs, so there weren’t many records made—less than a thousand, actually. So it’s worth a few million dollars, particularly if it’s in pristine shape, which it is. We sat, drank a couple glasses of bourbon, and listened to the album.”

  “He would put a record that valuable on your stereo?”

  “I have a Thalos Slim turntable.” They look at me with a “Yeah, so?” expression, so I try patiently to explain. “It’s one of the best turntables in the world. I let him use it with a U2 album I had on it already before he put Nirvana on. He also had a Stone Temple Pilots record, but it was too late to listen to it, so he went back to his apartment.”

  “This Mr. Wellington, tell us again how you met him?”

  “I’m not sure how he came to know Caroline exactly, but I do know he spent time with her and another one of my coworkers, Greer Ford. Someone Greer knows introduced them during a recent trip to New York for Fashion Week. He’s an investment banker for a company called Morgan Wealth Management in New York City, and he came to San Francisco to open a new office for them and manage their West Coast investments.”

  “Does he speak Chinese?”

  “It’s never come up. We’ve only talked about Nirvana, U2, the Stone Temple Pilots, and where we’re from. It wasn’t until he left last night, when I suggested he bring Caroline and I find a date so the four of us could go out, that he shared he wasn’t dating my friend.”

  “Why did you think he was dating your friend?”

  “Because she introduced him to me at an event, and I was told he’d moved out here for her.”

  “At what event?”

  “Jennifer Chang’s victory party. Caroline was instrumental in fundraising for the campaign.”

  “You have political affiliations?”

  “No, I don’t have any political affiliations. My friends were getting together at a party, and I joined them. I thought it would be an opportunity to meet single, straight men. I had no expectations when I met Todd. I assumed the way he looked at Caroline that they were dating. Like I said, it wasn’t until last night that I found out they weren’t seeing each other romantically.”

  Questions continue like this for a few more hours, talking about BrightStar, SHN, who my friends are, who I’m involved with, do I know many Russians, etc. They went on and on, and I’m exhausted when Marci stands up at five o’clock and says, “It’s been seven hours. We’re done. If you need to see us again for further follow-up with my client, you can contact me at my office. Know that next time we meet, I’d like to see a list of questions prior to the meeting.”

  Standing to leave, Agent Baron shares, “Miss Hathaway, please be careful. Pay attention to your surroundings. This Dimitri Kuznetsov’s not someone to be taken lightly. He’s not only a former KGB agent, but also has strong connections with the Russian government and Russian mob here in San Francisco. He’s a dangerous man, and you shut down a major source of income for him. You’re on their radar. Watch your back.”

  “Are you threatening my client?” Marci steams.

  “No, ma’am, just making sure she’s aware of the risk,” Agent Woods states.

  “If it’s that risky, then I suggest you put a detail on her.”

  “We’ve offered witness protection,” Agent Baron reminds her. “She’s had a small detail for several months, once we ascertained she was the person who confirmed our suspicions with BrightStar.”

  “You’re just telling us this now?”

  “We believe BrightStar had tracking software on all employee computers. From what we learned today, when she searched Dimitri’s name, he learned she was on to him. Recently she was mentioned in a conversation, and we increased her detail yesterday. Part of today’s conversation was designed to tell you.”

  “You guys are fucking idiots,” Marci fumes. “You wait until you’ve questioned her for seven hours to tell us this important information?”

  Agent Barron holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get hostile, Marci. It was your client who wished to remain anonymous. We were just trying to do our jobs, figure out who was involved and what’s going on.”

  “Next time we meet, in addition to the questions in advance, I want the federal prosecutor on this case involved,” Marci snarls.

  “Understood. Thank you for coming in. If you have anything further you’d like to say, you can call us, or we’ll be in touch. Please don’t share anything we’ve talked about today,” Agent Woods says patronizingly.

  I’m so angry. Through gritted teeth, I tell him, “I plan on telling my current company, so they understand why my life and possibly their company will be turned upside down over the next few months.”

  “Only general information. We ask that you not share any specifics,” Agent Baron attempts to smooth over our anger.

  I don’t know any specifics. My head hurts following all of those questions, my lack of sleep, and everything else going on. I text Mason and let him know I finished my conversation with the FBI today and I’ll be in tomorrow morning. With this behind me, I feel as if I can finally breathe. The people who are after me now will know I don’t know anything and they’ll leave me alone.

  I call for a Lyft from the app and take it home. Since I talked all day, I’m exhausted. There’s so much to process, but I don’t even think I’ll be able to stay awake and read my book.

  When my ride drops me at my building, and before heading inside, I look around and can’t see the FBI detail, nor do I think there are any Russian spies. I start to consider that they were just trying to scare me.

  I didn’t eat much of my box lunch, and now I’m hungry. I pull up the app for a pizza place that delivers, and while I wait, I walk to my room to put something more casual on, leaving a trail of clothes behind me.

  My cell phone pings, indicating a text message. I see it’s Todd and smile.

  Todd: How was your day?

  Me: I have to admit, not one of my better days.

  Todd: Are you tired?

  Me: Tired is the least of it.

  Todd: You up for grabbing a bite?

  Me: Just ordered a pizza. Want to come share?

  Todd: Depends what kind of pizza.

  Me: New York-style meat-lovers. Probably not as good as you’re used to, but it’s close, and they deliver.

  Todd: Are you sure?

  Me: I’m tired, but I’d love the company. Big day today, but I’ll only be able to eat maybe a slice or two. Please join me and save the pizza.

  Todd: I’m still at the office. I’ll be home in 15 minutes.

  Me: Dress casually.

  Todd: Thanks. Can I bring anything? Beer?

  Me: I have plenty of beer. Bring the STP album.

  Todd: See you soon.

  I’m so tired, but my excitement to see him outweighs my exhaustion. I haven’t had a guy friend, other than my brother, in a very long time, so this is a nice, welcome change.

  I close my eyes and draw in a lungful of air, letting the sounds of the city fill my ears. In my quiet contemplation, I can think about everything that’s right in my life.

  Chapter SEVEN

  Todd

  I thought about Cynthia all day. CeCe has been great about making sure I meet people, but I find the locals are a little wary of new arrivals to San Francisco. Most people don’t stay in the city; it’s transient, expensive, and a place to make money before going back to where you’re from or moving on to your next adventure.

  Sure, I’m attracted to Cynthia. Maybe a blind guy wouldn’t be, but she’s more than beautiful. She’s also smart, honest, funny and sexy. It’s nice to hang out with somebody for a change. Hanging out with her is good for me.

  Besides, fucking her would come with several drawbacks. She’s flirted but never seemed to take it beyond that,
and she didn’t make any inappropriate suggestions, which tell me she isn’t the casual sex type—and that’s my preference.

  We share a group of friends, and I have no doubt that they would dump my ass in a heartbeat if they had to choose between the two of us. And the biggest reason she’s off-limits is that she lives three floors down from me.

  There have been a few perks to running the local office, but tonight I love the on-call car service. It gets me home fast, and I do as instructed and quickly change into jeans and a Nirvana concert T-shirt. She should enjoy that.

  I can smell the pizza as I step off on her floor. My stomach growls and my mouth waters at the thought of tossed dough, a tomato sauce with a hint of spice, pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and prosciutto, all in an ooey-gooey mix of melted mozzarella cheese. It’s a meat-lover’s dream.

  Her door’s cracked, and I push it open slightly and yell, “Hello? I’m here.”

  “Come on in.”

  Cynthia has set the table. I hear the stereo playing softly as she walks toward me holding a couple of beers. Handing me one, she explains, “This is an IPA from a local brewery that recently opened here in Noe Valley.”

  Taking a nice long pull, I savor the taste, the right combination of sweet and hops. “It’s pretty good.”

  “We can go check it out sometime. They have some seasonal flavors, but this is their main drink. I like it. It isn’t as hoppy as a straight pale ale.”

  “Where’s Noe Valley?”

  She lets out this cute little giggle that makes my heart beat a bit faster. “It’s a neighborhood before the Haight.”

  “The Haight?”

  “Yes, Haight-Ashbury.” She pushes my shoulder and mocks me. “Where the hippie movement’s known to have started in the 60s.”

  “Well, I haven’t had much time to explore San Francisco. At least that’s my excuse.”

  Cynthia smiles wide. “We’ll have to change that. I love exploring San Francisco. There’s so much to do here in the city. Heading north is Napa, east is Yosemite, and south is Silicon Valley, and along the coast are Carmel and Monterey. If you’re up for it, we can do a tour of the various neighborhoods to start with and then branch out. Of course, I don’t want to steal all your time.”