Once a Killer (8 page)

“How did you find your first meeting?” Jenks asked Michael over the stand-up buffet lunch that followed the meeting.

“It was interesting to get an insight into the full financials for the first time.” Michael tried to contain his real thoughts. In truth, he’d never expected the profitability of the firm to be as high as he had just discovered, but he had to act as though making three million a year was something that was perfectly normal.

“I don’t want you to feel too much pressure to reel in the Spar deal.” Jenks dunked a jumbo shrimp into some bright red dipping sauce before devouring it in one mouthful.

“You know I’ll do my best to get it over the line, but if the client withdraws from the deal…”

“It would really help the firm’s profile if we could make it into the top five this year. I can’t tell you what that would mean to me. It’s always been an ambition of mine to see the firm up there.”

Michael smiled. “Don’t worry, Art. I get it. No pressure, but don’t drop the ball on this one.”

“That pretty much sums it up.” Jenks tapped Michael on the shoulder before moving on to chat with some of the other partners.

Michael stayed for another fifteen minutes before giving in to the pressure of work waiting for him back in his office. Rachel brought him a coffee, and he started reviewing some of the legal due diligence work his team had already done on the Spar deal. He asked Rachel to close his door as she left so he could block out the noise coming from the open-plan area just outside his room. When the associates hit the phones at the same time, their raised voices could be distracting.

Minutes later, there was a slight tap on his door, and Glen Towers popped his head around. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I wondered if you had a moment to go over the research on Grannis.”

“Sure.” Michael pointed to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Grab a seat. I’d like to hear how it went.”

Michael shifted his weight and cleared his throat. While Towers was an inexperienced lawyer, he was a bright young man, not long out of Harvard Law School. Although he hoped Towers had found some interesting general background on Rondell’s hedge fund, he had a nagging concern as to what else he might have uncovered in the process.

Towers handed over a small stack of papers. “It seems they keep a pretty low profile.”

Michael didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. “Talk me through what you have anyway.”

“There’s not a great deal to be learned from their filings. They have about three hundred and fifty million dollars under management, two directors, and two offices—one off Wall Street, the other in San Francisco. They appear to have a strong record of returns, but these have come off quite a bit recently. Unfortunately, I’ve learned very little about their individual stock trades. I suspect they don’t buy much in their own name.”

“You think they use nominee accounts?”

“I suspect so. I can try digging around that a little more if you want.”

“I don’t need it that badly. It would have been interesting to learn what they’d bought, but it’s not essential.”

“Okay.”

“Who are the directors?” Michael asked, feigning ignorance.

Towers placed his copy of the papers on the desk and tucked his hands under his thighs. “This is where it gets a little tricky.”

What had Towers discovered? Michael sat forward. “Go on.”

“The one on the West Coast is a guy called Andrew Rubin. Seems he’s worked for a few second-rate investment management firms out there. From what I can tell, he has a clean enough record. It’s his name that appears on most of their filings, and I suspect that’s so they can present a decent public image.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are…” Towers hesitated, searching for the right words. “There are issues with the other director, the one here in New York.”

Had Michael screwed up by getting Towers involved? What was he about to blurt out? “What kind of issues?”

“James Grannis has a criminal record.” Towers paused, waiting for permission to carry on.

“Criminal? For what?”

“Assault and a bunch of other violent crimes. Seems he’s been in and out of prison for much of his adult life. Well, at least back to his early twenties. Interestingly, I can’t find anything on him before the age of twenty-three, though—no college history, nothing. It’s as though he came out of nowhere.”

Thank God for small mercies. At least Towers had made no connection between Rondell and Chicago. And that meant he would know nothing about Michael’s links with Rondell. “Jeez. He sounds a nasty piece of work. You’ve done well to find all this out, Glen.”

“There’s more.”

Michael sat upright. “Okay. What else do you have?”

Towers sighed. “I took a look at whatever press coverage there was on Grannis and dug around on the web a little.” He fidgeted on his chair. “It’s no more than rumor, so health warning on this next bit.”

Michael’s mouth felt dry. What was he about to hear?

Towers looked as though he was struggling to find the right words again. “There is,” he said, before stopping and cupping his hands together, “some speculation of a mob connection with Grannis.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. He needed to bring this to a halt as soon as he could without appearing to ignore what Towers had uncovered. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“It would certainly explain the lack of information on their investors.”

“Did you find the names of any?”

“No, nothing. Their fund appears to be all their own money rather than from the usual investor types. Could it be they’re bankrolled by—?”

Michael made a chopping motion across his neck. “I don’t need to hear any more. It’s clear we can’t take these guys on as a client. That’s all we need to know. You’ve done a great job. This is precisely why we need to investigate potential new clients, so we can avoid any embarrassment for the firm.”

Towers appeared disappointed to be halted in mid-flow. “Is there anything else you need me to do on them? I’ve got quite a lot of data on—”

“No. Just leave the papers with me. Let’s not waste any more time on Grannis. They’re history. I want you to focus on the Spar deal now. We have to get that one over the line.”

After Towers left, Michael swiveled his chair away from his desk and toward his window. The rumors that Rondell had mob connections made absolute sense. Where else could his money have come from? No legitimate investor in his right mind would deal with a crook like him. Besides Michael, who else was Rondell leaning on, or paying off, for inside information on public company deals? That had to be where his hedge fund’s strong returns were coming from: illegal trades based on confidential information. The man wouldn’t know a good investment if it was staring him in the face.

In only three days, Michael was expected to start handing over details of one of his deals—the Spar transaction. It was a sickening thought. And now he’d discovered Rondell was backed by organized criminals, there was no way this would stop at Cedar Street. Rondell was bound to pass details of the Spar deal to his backers. And what would stop them trading in the stock? That would massively increase the risk of being caught. A wall of money traded ahead of a public announcement was bound to attract the attention of the authorities. And once they started asking questions, they’d look to the advisers involved in the deal. It wouldn’t be too long before they came searching for the source of the leak at Dudek’s.

Michael closed his eyes. What had previously been a dangerous, but manageable, risk now appeared an almost certain road to incarceration. In light of what he’d just learned, there was no way he could go through with it. Meeting Rondell on Friday would be madness.

There had to be another way out of this mess.

Chapter 9

M
ICHAEL
S
PENT
F
RIDAY
L
UNCHTIME
away from his own office and with his team in one of Dudek’s meeting rooms going over the draft acquisition papers on the Spar deal. In case Rondell tried to contact him, he’d told Rachel not to disturb the meeting, no matter who called. Throughout the two-hour session, he kept thinking about Rondell and how he was likely to react when he failed to show up. When he returned to his room, Michael expected to be met by a raft of messages to contact a Mr. Grannis, but there were none. Then, as he spent the rest of the afternoon at his desk, hunched over yet more Spar legal documents, he kept anticipating the call, but it never came. That didn’t feel right. What was the man up to?

One thing had become clearer over the past three days: there was no way Michael could ever share the Spar deal with Rondell and his criminal network. Not only did it break every ethic he believed in, but the risk of being discovered on such a high-profile transaction was simply too high.

Later that day, Michael’s regular train pulled into Westport’s Saugatuck station at five to eight. Friday night was pizza night and, as usual, he’d telephoned ahead with the order moments earlier. After swinging by to collect the pizzas, he figured he’d be home with his girls by eight twenty, eight thirty at the outside. Walking toward the Lexus in the dark car park, the ground appeared slippery and there was a thick layer of ice on most of the vehicles. As he prepared to scrape it off his windshield, Michael began slipping on his leather gloves.

The wheezing sound caught his attention a split second before the hand on his shoulder. When Michael swung around, standing right in front of him was Glass Eye, his breathing as labored as it had been when he’d first met him at the college. A couple of steps behind stood Bull Neck, his slightly open coat revealing a pistol in his right hand.

“Over there,” said Glass Eye, pointing with his chin to a silver Escalade parked in a daily parking space a few rows behind Michael’s car.

Unlike the Lexus, the Escalade had no frost on it, and the windows were steamed up. These two heavies must have been waiting in it, anticipating his arrival.

When Michael saw the Imperial Avenue shuttle bus approaching, he thought about making a run for it, but there was a risk they’d come straight to his home looking for him. The idea of two strangers turning up with a weapon in front of his family was more frightening than dealing with them now. He knew what they wanted, so he said nothing and walked with them to the SUV, climbing into the back next to Glass Eye, while Bull Neck sat in the driver seat. There was a strong smell of coffee and a sickly sweet scent in the air. Down by Glass Eye’s feet was a crumpled Dunkin Donuts paper bag. They must have been waiting for him for quite some time.

Bull Neck spun the wheels on black ice as they drove out of the car park, heading west on Park Street and then south on Saugatuck Avenue.

Michael dropped his briefcase next to his feet. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Glass Eye, rolling back his jacket to reveal a pistol holstered just above his waist.

Michael was unable to see where they were heading through the misted-up back windows, but he felt the car pull off the tarmac road a few minutes later, drive over rough terrain and, eventually, come to a halt. There were no lights nearby to orient him, but he could make out the sound of the ocean some distance away. Where were they? Panic gripped him. Maybe they weren’t here just to find out why he’d missed his meeting with Rondell. Maybe these men were the same animals that had beaten and murdered his mother. After all, they were in Chicago. Was he about to be killed in this remote spot?

“Mr. Grannis is not happy with you at all,” Glass Eye said, sneering at Michael. “You’ve offended him.”

Michael looked at Glass Eye. “How did I do that?”

“By failing to turn up today.”

Michael struggled to find a credible reason to explain his absence. “I tried to make it, but it was really difficult to get away from the office. Every time I tried, something came up.”

Bull Neck rolled his body around to face him. “Yeah, sure.” He still had sugar granules from the donuts stuck to his top lip.

“So you were planning to come?” Glass Eye had a quizzical look on his face.

“That’s right. Maybe we can arrange another time.”

Glass Eye looked down at Michael’s briefcase. “Why don’t you hand over what you have for us right now, and we’ll forget all about lunch today?”

Michael swallowed. “I don’t have anything for you yet.”

Glass Eye shook his head. “So you lied to us just now?”

“No. Even if I’d been able to make the meeting today, I was going to say I had nothing for you. I’m still working on it.”

Bull Neck laughed. “This guy’s good. I can see now why he’s a lawyer. The lying’s second nature to him.”

“Mr. Grannis won’t like that,” Glass Eye said. “He won’t like that at all.”

“Look, it’s not that easy. I don’t see deals every day. I just need more time. You can’t force the pace of these things.”

Michael’s cell phone rang in his suit pocket. It was bound to be Caroline, worrying why he hadn’t yet turned up at home with the pizzas. He moved his hand toward his jacket.

Bull Neck pointed his pistol at Michael. “Don’t even think about it.”