Shell Game Read online

  Chapter 1

  Thursday, October 16

  The woman woke when the cold that was seeping into her bones made her shiver. Consciousness came slowly, pushing back the thick cobwebs that clouded her mind. She didn’t want to give up on the pleasant dream she’d been having, but the tremble running through her body made it impossible to stay asleep. She opened one eye first, then the second. Dim light penetrated the space through a crack above her head, illuminating the rough, dirty mat that she was lying on. She couldn’t feel her hands, and wondered why. She finally realized she was lying on them. They felt like rubber – no circulation in them whatsoever. Her wrists were bound behind her back, probably with the same zip-lock ties that she saw around her ankles. An old rag that smelled like a wet dog was stuffed in her mouth. Her back ached, something cold and hard was pushing against it, causing her to shift her position in order to relieve the pressure.

  It was then that she recognized a bag containing a pair of boots that she had meant to return to the mall. Panic flooded her.

  I’m in the trunk of my car, she realized.

  She tried to remember what had happened. She’d left work around three in the afternoon because she wasn’t feeling well—the doctor had told her nausea was common in the first trimester—and headed to her car, which she had parked in the garage under her office building. She was hurrying because she just wanted to get home and into bed. That’s when she’d dropped her car keys. Bending down to retrieve them, she sensed someone behind her. Then something hit her hard just below her left ear. That was all she remembered.

  Fetid smells of low tide and rotting fish permeated the trunk. She could hear the muffled bark of a dog in the distance. Her head throbbed where she’d been struck, and strands of her hair were plastered to her cheek by something sticky.

  Blood, she thought.

  She heard seagulls cawing, and the faint sound of waves slapping against a dock. The roar of a jet passing overhead sounded so close she thought she’d be able to see passenger faces if she were outside.

  The tight plastic ties bit into her wrists, leaving the skin raw and bruised. She tried to separate her hands a bit, but that caused more pain. A thread from the rag in her mouth was tickling her throat, making her gag. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the events of the last two months. At first she thought it was an exciting thing to be part of, nefarious and dangerous. The money she could make would equal six months of her salary, and it would help make up for her husband’s gambling losses. But she had started to feel guilty. The firm had been good to her, and valued her contributions. She felt like a traitor. But when she tried to back out, he said no way. It was too late. That’s when the midnight phone calls started, no one speaking but someone breathing. She believed a threat was being communicated through the silence. Scratches appeared on her car door that she knew weren’t there the day before. The broken glass in the driver’s side mirror made her fractured reflection look like a picture in one of those kaleidoscope viewfinders she used to play with when she was a kid. Finally, last week, the disappearance of her orange calico, Pumpkin. The cat hadn’t returned home after being let out one night and she’d been so upset. The stress at work had become unbearable. She’d always thought of herself as an honest person, but that was no longer true. She’d done things she never imagined possible, things she was now ashamed of.

  Suddenly the car door opened. She heard the seat springs squeak as someone fell heavily onto the front seat. She inhaled to yell but that only forced the rag deeper into her mouth. She banged her feet against the side wall of the trunk, trying to make the person understand she was there. Then her heart sank with growing dismay.

  He already knows I’m here.

  Julie heard the car start up and felt it shift into gear just before the door creaked open again and then banged shut. The car started to move forward, slowly at first but then with more speed. She didn’t understand what was happening until she felt the rumble of the dock’s wooden planks vibrate through the floor of the trunk. Vibrating, faster and faster. She felt a bump and then nothing until the car slammed into the water.

  “Help!” she tried to scream. The ocean seeped in from all sides, and the car began to slowly sink. The numbing cold shocked her. “No, no, no!” she cried through the gag in her mouth. Tears streamed down her face. She gazed at the faint swell of her belly. She had waited so long to be a mother.

  My baby, she thought.

  Chapter 2

  Friday, October 17

  Kaspar Jordano pounded his mahogany desk with such force that paper clips, pens, and a small crystal paperweight jumped into the air as if in celebration. “Goddamn it! How come no one knew this fucking disaster had happened?”

  This question was directed towards the men seated around his desk—Harry Wainwright and his fellow mutual fund managers. None of them could meet Kaspar’s glare; they kept their eyes downcast like school children being berated for misbehaving during recess. No one wanted to be the first to speak, for that meant becoming the target of their boss’s vitriolic temper.

  Kasper was an icon in the mutual fund industry. Twenty years earlier he’d started Jordano Funds with fifty-thousand dollars cobbled together from family and friends. That meager start had grown spectacularly. Today the company boasted twenty funds with almost one-hundred-billion dollars in assets. But the problem facing the company today was a new one, and Kaspar was royally pissed.

  “Wainwright,” barked Kasper, “have you spoken to Jacobs yet?”

  Harry was worried because he knew a serious mistake had been made—a 240 million dollar mistake. And someone was going to pay for it. He and the other managers were responsible for handling customer transactions. The staff needed to be accurate because big money was at stake. Even though Harry had the longest tenure at the firm, he realized that he could still end up with his ass in a sling. He just hoped to be in one piece at the end of the day.

  “Jacobs told me that he was still getting the details, but it appears that Julie Monroe, the administrator responsible for the Sierra Health transaction, went home sick yesterday,” Harry said. “The transaction was correctly routed to Julie’s team leader, Hannah Kincaid. That’s when the system broke down. Hannah did the original transaction, but no one finished the approval. So the purchase didn’t post to the system last night as it should have. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Wrong, Harry!” yelled Kaspar. “It’s not simple. Let me explain it to you.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It was a 240 million dollar transaction that now has to be processed a day late. We had an agreement with Sierra that the transaction would be executed on the sixteenth. That was yesterday. They wired the money to us in good faith. We failed to execute the trade, goddammit! And in case you don’t know it, Harry, the market is up big today. That means we will have to reimburse Sierra for the price difference when the shares are purchased. It may take three or four million dollars to make the client whole.” Kaspar’s icy glare bore into Harry. He pointed his finger. “I can assure you one thing. That money will not be coming out of my pocket. So this is not a simple problem. And it will not have a simple solution.” Kaspar banged his fist again for final emphasis.

  Harry groaned inwardly, realizing his mistake. Of course he understood the implications of the failed trade. But Kaspar didn’t want to hear about the problem; he only wanted to hear that the issue had gone away. It was typical senior executive aversion: duck and run. At Kaspar’s lofty level, it was all about perception. Harry decided to try a different tactic.

  “Kaspar,” he began in his best Dr. Phil imitation, “I believe we can fix this. It’ll require teamwork, and it may take a little time, but I think we can adjust some numbers that will greatly reduce our liability. I’ve already spoken to
Tom Stern in Finance. He understands the problem and appears willing to help. I’m meeting with him at four today to review the details.” Harry looked around the office, seeking support to bolster his comments. “Jack, what do you think?”

  Jack Walsh sat to Harry’s right. Normally, Jack was low-key with a laid back demeanor, but now he appeared as tense as a coiled cobra. His left hand was in a tight fist, the knuckles red and raw. It looked like he had punched a brick wall several times already, and seemed ready to pummel something again. His black hair, usually slicked back and held in place with gel, was askew, as if he had run his fingers through it a dozen times. He was the rebel on the management team, and was most likely to be the one to butt heads with Kaspar. But he had one advantage: Jack’s father and Kasper had been close friends since their college days at Yale. Their relationship granted Jack a level of immunity that no one else in the office felt.

  After several moments, Jack looked up. He appeared stunned at first, but then his eyes focused. He turned to Kaspar. “Harry’s right. We need to stay calm, figure out our best options, and then move decisively. If we act out of panic now, Kaspar, we won’t accomplish anything. In fact, it’ll probably make things worse.”

  “Shit,” Kaspar grunted. He leaned back in his chair, causing a slight squeak. “Fine. But I want each of you to review current procedures with your teams to ensure there’ll be no repeats of yesterday’s fiasco. There’ll be hell to pay if it happens again. I want a report on my desk in one week that outlines the steps each of you will implement to reduce our risks in the future. Now get the fuck outta here.”

  The managers quickly fled the office and scattered. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the door slammed closed behind them.

  Jack patted him on the back as they headed towards the elevator. “This is why Kaspar pays you the big bucks. I don’t know how you’ve put up with that bullshit for fifteen years.”

  Harry wasn’t sure himself. He’d been at Jordano since college, right out of Princeton. He used to love coming to work, but not so much in the last few years. “The grind is getting to me. Sometimes it doesn’t seem to be worth it. Especially on days like this.” Harry looked at his watch. “Are we still on for drinks later? I could really use a couple tonight.”

  “Sure thing, buddy. See you around 6:30 at the Shamrock?”

  “Yeah, 6:30 is fine,” Harry replied. He was already thinking about his meeting with the Finance guys. He hoped they had a plan.

  *****

  Jerry Haskins paced across the small conference room at Jordano headquarters, waiting for his partner. He wiped the beads of sweat that slid down his temples. His furrowed forehead reflected the tension churning in his gut. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

  Muffled footsteps sounded in the hall. Jerry heard a hearty laugh from his partner after he commented on someone’s splashy tie. The door opened as the man said “And remember that!” to whomever he had been talking to. He shut the door with a thud, and as he turned to Jerry the humor fled from his face.

  “What the hell is your issue, Haskins?” he snarled. “I told you that we should limit the time we spend together in the office. We don’t want tongues to wag, now do we?”

  His menacing glare made Jerry tremble and his knees buckle. Jerry licked his lips as foam gathered at the corners of his mouth like an epileptic having a seizure. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand so that he wouldn’t spit when he talked. Everyone in the office knew to take cover when Jerry was close. They tried not to make fun of him because that wouldn’t be professional, but everyone wondered: how could one person generate so much saliva?

  “Where is Julie?” Jerry asked, his voice shaky. “Did you hurt her? She wouldn’t have told anyone!”

  The larger man shrugged nonchalantly. “She was becoming a liability. She told me she wanted to back out. I couldn’t allow that. We’re at a critical point, and everyone needs to play their part. She was well paid, just like you.” The implication was clear.

  “What happened to her? I did what you asked. I put the stuff in Julie’s tea when she wasn’t looking. She got sick and went home early. But she hasn’t shown up for work today. Is she okay?”

  Jerry’s partner moved swiftly across the small room. He towered over the smaller man, his face inches away. His finger jabbed into Jerry’s chest. “It’s none of your fucking business. Listen to me, you sniveling little weasel. We are going to finish this. The plan’s in motion, and no one’s going to derail it. You understand?”

  All the oxygen seemed to have been sucked from the room. Jerry was worried for Julie, but he feared for himself even more. His mouth worked overtime, spit foaming at the edges like the froth at the base of a waterfall. He could only nod. His partner stepped away, moving toward the door. He turned before leaving. “Remember what I said, Haskins. You don’t want to end up like Julie.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Jerry sank into the nearest chair and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He was doing this for the money, that’s all he wanted. But was it worth it? The payoff would let him retire in about two years. He rubbed his chin, the stubble rough under his hand. He wiped his mouth dry again.

  Shit, he thought. What if I’m not around to enjoy it? Where the hell is Julie?

  Chapter 3

  Friday, October 17

  Nick Doyle slid into the elevator just as the doors were closing. His hair was still dripping from the rain that pelted him as he dashed across the parking lot that ran alongside his building. He pushed the button for the fifth floor. The New England office of the Securities and Exchange Commission was located at the edge of Boston’s North End neighborhood, right next to the Boston Garden—or whatever it was being called these days.

  He stepped off the elevator and walked through the glass doors, heading to his six-by-eight foot cube. The rain pounded hard against the window that usually provided Nick a fine view of Boston’s financial district. He dropped his briefcase on the desk, grabbed a pen and paper, picked up his Dunkin Donuts coffee, and hurried towards the conference room at the opposite end of the floor. Early morning meetings usually meant a new investigation, and he felt a rush of excitement.

  He walked by Sam Winston, the top analyst on his team. Sam, as usual, was busy chatting up the office’s cutest admin. “Let’s go Sam. Mitchell is probably waiting.” Nick knew it was almost impossible to beat his boss into the office. Federal employees get such a bad rap, Nick often thought. In his office, forty hours was a short week. Nick put in a lot of overtime, but his boss put him to shame.

  Nick reached for the door and opened it. Pete Mitchell was settling into his seat at the head of the table. The rest of Nick’s team was already present.

  “OK, let’s get started,” Mitchell began, pointing to empty chairs for Nick and Sam. “I’ve called this meeting to discuss a new investigation that’s being opened by this office today. We’ve received information concerning one of the biggest mutual fund firms headquartered in Boston. The data that’s been supplied suggests that unethical and illegal activity has taken place.”

  “Which firm?” asked Devon O’Shea. Devon was the only female investigator on Nick’s team. She’d impressed him during the past year, even though she came to the SEC as an inexperienced analyst, straight out of Bowdoin. Her direct style was a little brash, but Nick considered it a welcome change from the bureaucratic softballs that usually were tossed between the SEC and other government agencies.

  “Jordano Funds,” Mitchell replied.

  Several low whistles broke out in the room. Jordano Funds had always been squeaky clean, and was known as Boston’s premier firm. Its reputation was unassailable.

  “How reliable is the source?” asked Nick.

  “Don’t know. We’re still in negotiation with the informant, trying to get a bead on him. Given what he’s provided so far, we believe he’s one of the company’s senior execs.” Mitchell strummed his thumbs along the edge of the table. This was the work he enjoyed. Reti
rement was on the horizon, less than a year away, and he wanted to finish his career with a bang. This case might do it.

  “Has a formal complaint been filed yet?” Nick asked.

  “No, but one’ll be issued soon. We should have confirmation by early next week. We’re going to operate as if the complaint has already been made official.”

  Mitchell paused to stick a breath mint into his mouth. “Nick, get your team moving on this. We need background material on the firm. Key financial data, balance sheets and income statements. Biographies of the corporate officers. Get every regulatory filing and audit that’s been issued in the past three years.”

  “Will do,” Nick replied. His mind was already spinning with a dozen different steps that his staff could take.

  Mitchell added, “One final thing – this is to remain strictly confidential. We don’t want to spook our source. All clear on that?” Mitchell met the eyes of everyone in the room.

  All heads around the table nodded in silent response.

  “Good. That’s all for now. Nick, I’d like a status of the items discussed on my desk by end of day Monday.” Mitchell stood and strode from the room.

  Everyone started talking at once. “Calm down people,” Nick called, raising his hands. “We’ll approach this like any other investigation.”

  “Yeah, but Jordano Funds, man. That’s big time,” Sam exclaimed. He rubbed his hand across his black, bald head. “This case could boost you right into Mitchell’s office.”

  “Enough of that talk,” Nick scolded. But the thought was a pleasant one. The pay grade of a deputy director would be a nice boost.

  “Let’s get started. Sam will coordinate the team’s efforts on this. Divvy up the assignments so we can get as much done as possible by noon on Monday. I want each person to provide their status to Sam. He’ll summarize and deliver to me. I realize this may disrupt plans for the weekend, but please understand the urgency.” Nick looked around the room and got nods of consent from his staff. “Any questions?”