“What?”
“You know, I was wrong about you,” she said, heading for the door. “I take it all back. You really are a total asshole.”
“Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment.” He got to his feet. “It was a pleasure working with you, Detective Jordan.”
“Let’s not make a habit out of it.”
He took a step toward the doorway. “I had a brief chat with Captain Oakes. He agrees we make a good team. I suggested we might make use of our respective talents again in the future.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” he held up his hands. “I merely suggested that the Blake Foundation is looking for some charitable causes to support. And I pointed out that the NYPD annual fundraiser is just around the corner.”
Mary clenched her teeth. “Get to the point.”
“Let’s just say, I’ve enjoyed our time together and I’m looking forward to our next case.” He smiled. “Hey, maybe they’ll get me a desk near yours.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Is that any way to talk to your new partner?”
“Go to hell, Blake.” She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Her footsteps echoed through the corridors of the penthouse. He heard the front door slam shut. A few seconds later, Jerome appeared. He peeked his head through.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
Leopold pulled down a bottle of whiskey and a crystal tumbler from the bookcase and settled back into his armchair. He looked up at Jerome and poured himself a drink.
“Better than I thought,” he said.
Later that Morning
Martin Parks always came in early. As a senior analyst at Needham Brothers, one of the top New York boutique investment firms, he was expected to put in a good deal of face time with the junior staff—and that meant beating them to the coffee machine. But today had been a little different. Instead of rising at six a.m. and getting into the office at seven, Martin had awoken to the sound of his cell phone going off at a little after four thirty.
Apparently, it was all hands on deck.
Forty minutes later, Martin had showered, dressed, and caught a cab to the office. Now, just as the first hints of dawn were visible over the horizon, the senior vice president of trading was gathering his people and preparing to give a speech. That was never a good sign.
Straightening his tie, Martin made his way toward the mass of people, keeping his ears open for any snippets of conversation that might explain what was going on. As he passed by his boss’ office door, he felt someone grab hold of his arm.
“Parks, get the hell in here.” Ryan Gibbs, Martin’s immediate superior, pulled him inside the room.
“Jesus, Gibbs. What’s going on? This a fire drill or what?”
His boss’ office was a mess of paperwork—client files stacked knee-high all over the floor, the desk a clutter of stationery and disposable coffee cups. The blinds were pulled shut over the plate glass windows, shutting out the glare of the city lights.“The whole floor’s being let go,” said Gibbs, collapsing into his ergonomic chair. “We’re screwed. This is it.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Is this something to do with Creed and whatever the hell he and Gordon were mixed up in?”
Gibbs fished a pack of cigarettes out of his desk draw. He studied the pack carefully but didn’t open it. “I’m talking about the end of the world as we know it,” he smiled, a slightly manic expression on his face. “The shit’s about to hit the fan, and guess where we’re standing.”
“Speak English, Ryan. What’s going on?”
“It’s going to be headline news in a couple hours. Our analysts have done the math. The board of directors has been here all night. Hell, I’ve been awake for thirty hours. The numbers don’t lie.”
“What numbers? What are you talking about?”
“A few months ago, we stumbled across a piece of information. It was a formula, a market model. Similar to the ones we use every day. Except this one was more accurate. We trialed it, made a freakin’ fortune. Problem is, we didn’t figure the market would shift more than a few points in a given week. We were wrong.”
“Yeah, so what? Happens all the time.”
“Not by thirty percent, Parks. Over the last month.”
Martin’s jaw dropped.
“You see what I’m getting at?” Gibbs said. “We used the new model to make smart buys. But we monitored the volatilities with our old model. Like some freakin’ amateurs, we didn’t notice until it was too late. We’re leveraged up the ass, Parks.”
“How bad?”
“Let’s just put it this way—our liabilities will exceed the value of our assets if we don’t unload everything in the next six hours.”
“We’ll get shut down.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” Gibbs said. “If we try to unload our stock now, before the value tanks, people are going to notice. We’ll have started a chain reaction.”
“What are we going to do?”
“The board voted last night. That’s why we’re all here.”
“They’re going to dump the stock.” Parks knew the answer already.
Gibbs nodded, staring intently at the packet of cigarettes. “Carson is going to brief you all. The first few hours are the most crucial. If we don’t sell the bulk of our options before lunch, the buyers will catch on and run for the hills.”
“They want us to sell the stock, knowing it’s going to tank?”
“They’re offering a bonus for the entire floor if we get this done on time. One mil each. Plus another mil each if we hit ninety cents on the dollar.”
Parks leaned against the desk, his head spinning. “This is a lot to take in.”
“Get your head around it quick, son. This is happening. Right now.” Gibbs stuffed the unopened packet of smokes into his jacket pocket and stood up. “Fair warning. Get your head straight.” He escorted Martin out the door. “And put on your game face.”
Martin paused in the doorway. “Wait a minute. You said you found this new model months ago? Why are we only just figuring out the problem now?”
“Some people asked questions at first, but I guess nobody wanted to hear it. The signs were all there, but we were all too busy riding the high to notice. The alarm bells started ringing when one of our biggest accounts pulled out their entire portfolio. Happened yesterday evening, pretty late. Obviously, that got people asking questions. Made us look at the numbers properly.”
“Which account?”
Gibbs leaned against the doorframe. “Blake Investments. They cleared out their stock options pretty much across the board.”
“Guess they saw this coming.”
“Yeah, and they left it ‘til the last minute to do anything. Could have given us a heads up. Instead, the bastards hung us out to dry.” Gibbs shook his head. “Carson’s getting ready. You need to go. Good luck.” He shut the door and disappeared back into his office, probably to sneak a cigarette.
Martin felt his throat close up. It was all over. Less than five years and his career was done—and two million dollars wouldn’t last long. Not in this town. Not after the IRS took half and the rest went on the house. Not with school loans. Not with car payments.
Across the office, Senior Vice President Jack Carson stood with his back to the window. With the sun coming up behind him through the tall glass, he was surrounded by an aura of light. Like some kind of bizarre angel. Or a prophet. Or a demon. Either way, Martin knew, in the next few minutes everything was going to change—and he’d better be ready for it.
The senior VP held up both hands. The room fell silent. Carson addressed the floor. Martin listened, feeling the tension in the air. The words were carefully chosen but, somehow, hearing Carson say them had a deeper impact than Martin had expected. There were hurried whispers in the audience. Looks of shock and surprise. The curtain had been pulled back, revealing a sham—one that an entire office of people had given their careers to support. And their leader, the man charged with guiding them through the storm, was selling out.