“We’ll see.”
“It would be good, Victor. For us, I mean.”
“For us?”
“It would give us a chance.”
“A chance to stay out of jail, maybe.”
“More,” she said. “If we can send the police off chasing after this Miles Cave, that might give us the time we need to undo all the regrets. He could be our last best chance.”
“Just so long as he can take the fall.”
“Yes,” she said, her chin rising at the flat tone of my voice. “Just so long.” She looked at me, reached a hand to my cheek, and then let her eyes drift up again. “What’s wrong with your hair?”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s like an oil well vomited on your head.”
“I bought some gel. When we meet this Mr. Nettles in your husband’s office, I want to look just right. Today, in order to find out what I can about our boy Miles Cave, I’m playing the part of your slick, amoral lawyer, out to grab for you everything he can, including the wallpaper and the desks.”
“Don’t you think you overdid it a bit?”
“Absolutely. A little gel looks like you’re trying. A lot of gel looks like you’re trying way too hard. And way too much gel makes you look like a demented grave robber, which, for today’s purposes, I think, is perfect.”
Inner Circle Investments was housed in an old brownstone with a series of metal plaques bolted into the stone by the door. There were lawyers’ offices, there was a psychiatrist, and there was Inner Circle, taking up the whole of the third floor. An almost perfect combination, I figured. First you give your money to a broker, then you get your head examined, then you sue.
“Mrs. Denniston, hello,” said Ernest T. Nettles as he bounded out in shirtsleeves and suspenders to greet us in the deserted outer office. “We are all so sorry for your loss. I’ve only recently come aboard and so didn’t know your husband very well, but I’ve heard much about him.”
“Thank you,” said Julia softly, as if fighting back tears. Nice job on her part, I thought.
“Mr. Carl, it’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” said Nettles. “I’m sorry the secretary isn’t here, she would have wanted to greet you both personally. She is at the courthouse, doing some filing or other. Come, come into my office, both of you. Let’s talk.”
We followed him through the doorway and into a desolate hall lined with empty offices, until we reached his, a nice corner job with dark wood furniture and oil paintings of sheep. Nettles was a cheerful man, short and stocky, with round glasses and shaggy gray hair. He gestured us to sit on a couch, he sat perched on an easy chair beside us.
“Do you know yet when the funeral will be, Mrs. Denniston?” said Nettles.
“As soon as the police release the body,” said Julia.
“Please let us know. We’ve had many calls from those who wish to pay their respects.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you ever been up to the offices before, Mrs. Denniston?”
“No. Wren very much liked to keep his personal and business lives separate.”
“A fine policy,” said Nettles. “An excellent policy.”
“In fact,” she said, “he never mentioned you to me.”
“As I said, I’ve only just come aboard. I’ve been hoping to have a chat with you in the last couple of days, but I’ve held back because of the tragic circumstances. But now here you are. And with your lawyer, no less.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed, glanced at me, and then let his gaze wander up to my gelled hair. “So what can I do for you both?”
“As you are aware, Mr. Nettles,” I said, “the death of Mrs. Denniston’s husband has been a cruel shock. But that doesn’t mean the necessities of life halt.”
“Of course they don’t,” said Nettles.
“And as her attorney I’ve advised Mrs. Denniston that she has the responsibility to look after her late husband’s assets.”
“Of course she does.”
“And that is why we are here, Mr. Nettles. We need an accounting of Dr. Denniston’s financial stake in this company. And, if I may be blunt-”
“You may.”
“A sense of how his widow might turn it into ready cash.”
“Of course. That’s what anyone would want.”
“So when can we start?”
“Mrs. Denniston, Mr. Carl, please be aware that our records are completely open and you are more than welcome to send your accountants in to scour our books.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“As you can see, we have much more space than we need at present. We can set aside a few offices for your team to make itself at home while it examines every scrap of paper. With our files and databases, it shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to get a solid grip on the exact details. But maybe I can save you the expense.”
“That would be most kind,” said Julia.
“If you want a ballpark figure of the exact value of your husband’s share of Inner Circle, Mrs. Denniston, I could give that to you right now.”
“Are we talking liquid assets?” I said.
“Yes, I suppose.”
I leaned forward, smoothed the hair at my temple with the base of my palm, wiped my palm on the other palm and then back again, and then wiped both palms on my pant legs. Is it just me, or is the revelation of the exact numbers when dealing with great gouts of cash quite exhilarating? The number scrawled on a paper, the number given in a hushed tone, the first number in a lucrative negotiation.
“Go ahead, Mr. Nettles,” I said. “Make our day.”
“The value of Dr. Denniston’s share of Inner Circle Investments is” – he cleared his throat – “I’m afraid, nothing.”
My jaw dropped. I lifted a hand and pushed it back up. “Nothing?”
“Zilch. Zero. Nada. Actually, less than nada. Dada, you might say. I expect when the final numbers are run, and the lawsuits shake out, Dr. Denniston will owe Inner Circle quite a large amount.”
“How much?” said Julia matter-of-factly.
“I don’t want to give an exact figure now, but it is substantial, Mrs. Denniston. A full accounting will be presented to you shortly. I’m sorry to say that there will probably be litigation.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “How could that be?”
“Well, you see,” said Nettles, “from what I understand, there was an embezzlement by a minor clerk at a small bank in Taipei.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “Mrs. Denniston is broke because of some corrupt clerk in Taiwan?”
“Yes, actually. When the theft was discovered, the bank collapsed. Which bankrupted a medium-size manufacturer in Jakarta. Which cut the supply line to a large manufacturer in Shanghai. Who failed then to satisfy its order to Wal-Mart. Which subsequently canceled its contract with the Shanghai manufacturer. When the news got out, the stock of the Shanghai manufacturer fell precipitously on the Hong Kong exchange. All of which provided barely a ripple in U.S. markets. Except for one hedge fund, which, while searching for undervalued foreign companies, had been quite long on the Shanghai manufacturer’s shares. A little too long, perhaps.”
“I’m not sure I’m getting the connection.”
“Are you aware of what Inner Circle Investments was, Mrs. Denniston?”
“No, not really. Wren didn’t talk about business with me at all.”
“Inner Circle was an investment vehicle in which funds were invested in a single entity, a specific hedge fund run out of Connecticut. One of the principals of the fund was Joseph Borden.”
“Wren’s oldest friend.”
“Exactly. The fund was primarily financed by institutional investors, but Mr. Borden granted Dr. Denniston the sole license to bring individual investors into the fund. Dr. Denniston invested pretty much all his own money and solicited funds from most of his friends and associates and their friends and associates. It was a cozy arrangement, actually. For the hedge fund, it meant a steady stream of cash; for Wren and his investors, the returns were outstanding. Everyone was happy until-”