Having known him in his Princeton days, Wilson appreciated that expressions of empathy were a rare commodity with Carter Emerson. “Thank you for your messages of sympathy and support to the family,” Wilson said.
“I visited your father this morning,” Carter said slowly. “Dr. Malek seems genuinely optimistic, which is marvelous. But if Charles regains consciousness, he could become a target again. Malek’s an old friend of your father’s and mine. He told me you asked him about moving your father to a more secure location. I think it’s a good idea.”
Wilson nodded as the host escorted them-at Wilson’s request-to a thick stone-lined corner of the pub. When they were seated, Wilson dispensed with the normal social niceties. “Daniel Redd’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Carter concurred solemnly, without saying a word.
Wilson leaned over the table. It was time for plain talk. But before he began, Wilson reminded himself to be calm. His relationship with Carter had been nothing but stimulating and inspiring. If he couldn’t trust Carter Emerson, he couldn’t trust anyone. With measured delivery and a voice reserved for discreet conversation, he said, “Why has it taken my father lying on his death bed to find out what he was really doing at Fielder amp; Company? And I’m sure I don’t know the half of it. Daniel was feeding me bits and pieces, but only in answer to specific questions. Now he’s dead. Probably murdered by the same people who tried to kill my father. Who’s next? You? Me? We’re all under mounting surveillance, but we can’t go to the authorities because their involvement could jeopardize the liquidation of my father’s assets, which unknown to me until a couple of days ago, total more than seventy billion dollars. I need answers, and according to my father, you’re the only one left who I can trust.”
“I learned a long time ago that certain conversations must remain absolutely private,” Carter said in a dry voice as he looked down at the briefcase resting on the floor next to his foot. “The technology in that briefcase radiates digital noise interference, essentially turning our conversation into white noise. It also immobilizes and nullifies listening devices such as wireless microphones and GPS tracking devices. There are two telephone scramblers inside as well. You can take the briefcase with you when you leave. Operating instructions are inside.”
Wilson sat back, contemplating the mystery that was Carter-so like his father. “Tell me everything you know,” he said firmly.
“Your father came to me a week ago, expressing grave concern about clients who were misusing his methods of wealth creation. His plan was to blow the whistle on them, regardless of the consequences to Fielder amp; Company. He asked for my assistance in documenting the abuses, including historical context and economic impact, to prepare stories for The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. I immediately began clearing my calendar to concentrate on the files he promised to deliver upon his return from White Horse,” Carter said, his eyes heavy.
What Carter said made sense and even sounded like something his father would do, Wilson thought, but was it true? Wilson’s cynicism was growing. How much does Carter really know?
“Are you still willing to do what my father asked?”
“Now more than ever,” Carter didn’t hesitate.
“I have the files with me,” Wilson said, looking down at the briefcase sitting next to his side of the table. “Daniel reviewed the files with me on the flight back from Sun Valley.”
For the next forty-five minutes, while they ate a lunch of sandwiches and fruit, Wilson summarized the major areas of abuse by Fielder amp; Company’s clients. He cited several examples from the fifty-two files and answered Carter’s probing questions. When there were no more questions, Wilson looked deep into Carter’s eyes. “I don’t know how many people have already died, or how many may yet die to keep this information hidden, but I want to be ready to give this story to the press as soon as my father’s assets have been liquidated and all of us are under the best protection I can find.”
Carter nodded admiringly. “I am in full accord and eager to commence.”
“I can arrange to give you access to all of the company’s files. My father’s administrative assistant Anne Cartwright will be your contact. I’ll tell her you’re compiling a corporate history of Fielder and Company as a way of offsetting some of the unfavorable press surrounding my father,” Wilson said as he finished his meal.
They paid the check, left the underground pub, and walked out onto Dunster Street, carrying each other’s briefcases.
“Did Daniel identify any major suspects from among the fifty-two?” Carter asked as they walked toward Harvard Yard.
“No,” Wilson said sharply. If Carter knows more than he’s telling me, he’ll be able to boil the list down to prime suspects much faster than I can. “I was hoping you would…”
“That’s the first thing I’ll do,” Carter said, interrupting. “Do you anticipate carrying out the KaneWeller merger, or have the deaths of Daniel Redd and Cheryl O’Grady changed things?”
“I don’t know yet,” Wilson said, struck by Carter’s decisiveness and his sudden return to analytical detachment. He must know more than he’s telling me. “If Daniel’s law firm fails to produce and/or adequately explain the requested files, KaneWeller may have legitimate cause to back out of the deal. On the other hand, if the law firm hands over the files, KaneWeller may choke on the information. Either way, there’s a good chance they’ll back out.”
“What then?” Carter asked as the two of them entered Harvard Yard through Johnston Gate.
“Fielder amp; Company becomes a stand-alone entity again,” Wilson said.
“Who would assume control of the operation?”
“I would,” Wilson said, anxious to see how Carter would respond.
“After what happened to your father? That’s foolhardy.”
“Who else is going to stop the carnage?” Wilson said goadingly. “If KaneWeller backs out, no other firm will consider acquiring Fielder amp; Company for at least a year.”
“Whoever disposed of Daniel will do the same to you,” Carter said with surprising intensity. “You must assume that the people watching us have sufficient means to get away with anything. And I do mean anything.”
Wilson stopped in front of the Widener Library to search Carter’s eyes. What Carter had said was true. So why isn’t he telling me everything? For protection? There’s only one way to find out. “Then I’ll have to convince them to trust me.”
“You expect to reason with these people?”
“Why not? What better way to expose them?”
“The journey could damage you more than you can imagine.”
Wilson’s eyes narrowed as he responded, “If the deal with KaneWeller goes sour, I don’t see an alternative. I didn’t ask for this mess, but I can do something about it.”
“Take perspective, Wilson,” Carter said, as they faced each other in the quad between the Widener Library and Memorial Church. All of a sudden there were students everywhere. “Do you honestly believe that saving the world from one more corrupt conspiracy will make a difference?”
“Of course I do, and so do you.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Then why work so hard to keep your students from succumbing to the misinterpretations of one more historian? Why write so prolifically about what we haven’t learned from history’s bitter ironies? Why help me document the abuses at Fielder amp; Company? I’ll tell you why. To be free from lies. Your whole life has been about saving the world from one more corruption-one more lie. I was your student for two years, remember?”