Geneva Connection, The (38 page)

“But that doesn’t explain the note from Safuentes.”

“He’s an evil bastard. Probably sent it to get inside my head.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Merriman knew Donohue well enough to realize she was onto something. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the transfer document wasn’t valid. The cartel never got their asset back.”

“But we all checked—”

“Superficially, everything appeared to be in order, but it wasn’t.”

“How?”

“I took copies home last night and read them over. They were properly completed, all right, but the signature on the stock transfer is not John Kent’s.”

Merriman narrowed his eyes. “Not his signature?”

“It’s his handwriting, for sure, but not his usual signature.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It actually reads ‘John Fortnam’ on the signature line.”

“Who the hell is John Fortnam?”

“I don’t have a clue. There’s no one with that name at CBC.”

“Have you searched the Oakham files?”

“I’ve searched everywhere for the name.” Donohue paused. “I don’t think he’s real.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, gripping his fingers together tightly.

“I think this was Kent’s deliberate attempt to undermine the transfer.”

“So do I.” Merriman closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“My guess is the cartel’s lawyers picked up Kent’s little ploy and thought it was us being smart. That would explain why we didn’t hear from them again.”

“I want Kent brought to the US. I don’t care what it takes. Better still, I’ll throw him to the savages at the cartel and let them deal with him. His greed may have cost Emma her life.”

Chapter 59

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in the days following the DEA’s asset seizure. Kent’s partners spent their time resigning from the boards of portfolio companies and helping the US authorities with their admin as they took over responsibility for the investments. Various US government agencies were involved, but there was no longer a role for CBC. It was depressing work, and all for no reward. Gradually, as the portfolio disappeared, there was less and less to do.

Kent started turning up at the office around midmorning. He hated witnessing the slow death of his creation and spent as little time at CBC as he could. It was not the successful end of the firm he’d once hoped for. He’d always imagined handing over an investment powerhouse upon his eventual retirement, but now his firm was coming to a sad, ignominious end.

What’s more, he had the difficult task of making staff redundant as the workload diminished. Many of them had been with him since he’d founded the firm. They were friends as much as colleagues, and he’d let them all down. He knew how hard it would be for them to find work in the private equity industry again now that CBC’s reputation was in tatters. In recent days, the newspapers had been filled with stories of CBC’s connection to organized crime. Most of them didn’t care the firm had been deceived into dealing with the cartel. It made a more interesting story, and sold more papers, spelling out in lurid detail how one of the world’s leading private equity firms had become a front for drug money. It would be impossible for anyone at CBC to maintain a professional reputation after all this.

Kent was planning to leave the industry altogether when the firm was wound up. Like the others, he had no choice; he’d be unable to work in financial services again. The FCA would never give him license to operate in another regulated firm. They’d look pretty stupid authorizing the CEO of a firm with proven links to the biggest organized crime outfit in the world. He had no idea what he was going to do with his time. Now almost fifty, he’d gone from being a master of the universe to nothing in a matter of months.

Whatever it was he decided to do, he could never let it show that he remained one of the wealthiest people on the planet. When he’d received the HS1 transfer documents from Merriman and saw a blank space where the transferee should have been named, Kent soon worked out that Merriman planned to syphon off the asset for himself. Why else would it not go to the US Treasury like all the others they’d seized? Kent was having none of it, so he’d deliberately invalidated the transfer documentation with a fictitious signature. That left the asset still in Sarah’s name. The cartel would simply assume the DEA had taken it along with all the others. And now Kent had his immunity letter from the DEA, Merriman could go swing. What could he do about it? Merriman could hardly let on he was planning to steal the asset for himself. Still, Kent would have to be vigilant, taking care to hide the income coming from the investment, at least in the early years.

Two weeks after the asset seizure, Kent was at home reading his Sunday newspaper. He picked up the international section and began to read an article about rising Mexican drug cartel violence. It went on to describe the recent kidnap and murder of the daughter of a senior DEA official by the Caruana cartel. He stopped breathing. The official named was a Mark Merriman, the DEA’s Head of Intelligence. It was not clear as to whether or not there had been any ransom demands. A few days after the kidnapping, a body part from the young girl had been sent by the cartel, indicating she’d been killed.

Kent’s heart felt as though it was about to explode in his chest. That’s what Merriman must have meant when he said his child’s life was at risk. Had the cartel demanded the return of HS1 as a ransom? Maybe Merriman hadn’t been trying to steal the asset for himself. That would explain why he’d sounded so desperate.
Jesus!
Had Kent caused the murder of this young girl? He dropped the newspaper and stared into the middle of the room.

“Are you okay, John?” asked Sarah. He didn’t answer. “John?”

“I don’t feel well,” he said as he stood up and ran to the bathroom.

He threw up into the toilet and then sat on the bathroom floor, leaning against the radiator. How long would it take Merriman to discover what he’d done to the transfer document and to work out he still had the asset? He was bound to hold Kent responsible for his daughter’s death. Now he’d issued an immunity letter, and so couldn’t come after him using the law, Merriman would think nothing of telling the cartel Kent had stolen the investment.
What a fucking mess.

Sarah knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you all right in there, John?”

“I’m okay. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. Give me a few minutes.”

Kent stayed seated on the floor, trying to work out what he should do. One thing was crystal clear: he and Sarah had to disappear and quickly. He couldn’t have more than a few days before Merriman discovered what he’d done. Maybe he was onto him already.

Later that afternoon, Kent drove to his squash club for a scheduled league match. He didn’t feel like playing much, but he needed something to take his mind away from the horrific situation he was in.

While he was out, Sarah heard Kent’s cell phone ringing; he’d forgotten to take it with him. The phone rang several times, but she couldn’t find it. Eventually, she heard the ringing coming from his briefcase in the study. She opened it and grabbed the phone, just missing the call. As she placed the phone back in the briefcase, she saw a DVD tucked into the same side-pocket. She took it out and inspected it. No label.
Can’t do any harm to look.

She placed the disc into the drive of the iMac on the study desk and waited for it to start. Complete with sound, the video played out in high resolution on the wide screen, showing Kent and Tara in the Geneva hotel suite. Sarah took a step back and held her hand to her mouth.

The bastard!

Chapter 60

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, Kent had to let go ten more staff and three partners. They all knew it was coming, but it still didn’t soften the blow. By late afternoon, he was shattered having had to deal with the emotion of the redundancies while knowing the cartel would be coming for him anytime soon. There were only days, maybe hours, to figure out what to do.

How was he ever going to persuade Sarah to disappear and leave behind all their family, friends, work, everything? How could he tell her he stole the cartel’s investment and that stupid act had, in all probability, led to the murder of an innocent young girl? She’d have to know they’d be on the run for the rest of their lives, pursued by the most brutal drug cartel in the world. Could he really do this to her? Maybe handing himself in was a better option for both of them.

A new e-mail popped up on Kent’s screen, shaking him from his self-pity. By coincidence, it was from Sarah, so he opened it immediately.

John,

I know about you and that bitch. Saw the video and every ugly detail.

I told you what would happen if you ever did this again. I said there would be no second chances. I’ve moved out. Don’t bother to come looking for me.

In your briefcase, I found a set of documents relating to something called HS1. For some reason, they were in the name of my trust, so I’ve taken them.

Good-bye

Kent stopped breathing then closed his eyes
. I’ve lost everything
.

“Can I ask you a favor, John?” asked Tara, from outside his open office door.

Kent bolted upright in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.”

“You seemed lost in your own world.”

“What is it?”

“Would you mind dropping me off on your way home? My car’s in for a service and they’ve just called to say they need to keep it in overnight.”

Tara lived near the village of Oundle, which was not much of a detour for Kent on his regular route home.

He looked at his watch. “Okay, but I’m leaving now. Something urgent has just cropped up.”

“Great. Thanks. Sorry to be a pain.”

Kent quickly closed the e-mail, powered down his PC, stood, and grabbed his briefcase. He hovered around Tara’s desk while she packed her things. “We really need to get going,” he said.

He raced along the A14 to Thrapston then headed north on the A605. On their way back, Tara tried to make small-talk about the events of the past year and how sad it was that the firm had been brought to its knees. Kent wasn’t really listening, his mind dominated by Sarah’s e-mail and where she might be.

“I’ve lined up another position with an insurance company in Peterborough,” said Tara.

“I’m pleased for you.”

“It’s pretty dull work, but it’ll pay the bills.”

“I’m sorry we won’t be working together.”

“Take a left here. It’s much quicker,” she said, as they drove past Oundle Golf Club.

Kent turned left onto a single-lane road called Harley Way. They drove about a mile along the quiet country lane.

Tara pointed to their left. “Pull in here, John.”

“Here? Why here?” he asked, slowing down the BMW near a gated entrance to a wood. The footpath sign next to the gate said: “Lyveden New Bield.”