The Insider (5 page)

“Good boy. I’m glad you remembered that in the heat of battle. Shows you’re learning.”

Jay pointed at Abby. “Abby reminded me. I can’t take the credit.”

“What did you pay for the shares?” Oliver asked, ignoring Jay’s honesty.

“Seventy-one.”

“That sounds expensive,” Oliver snapped.

“Not if GE comes through,” Jay countered.

Oliver rubbed his chin, thinking. Finally he gestured to Abby. “Why don’t you and I find a conference room so we can go over that proposal I’m going to make to Bill this afternoon?”

“What?” A confused expression flickered across Abby’s face.

“The proposal,” Oliver repeated tersely. “The one we talked about Friday afternoon.”

“Oh, right.” Abby rose quickly from her chair, grabbed a manila folder, and followed Oliver through the maze of the trading room floor.

Jay watched them go. It was only seven-thirty, but already the floor was crowded, and they had to dodge their way through traders shouting buy and sell orders over telephones. Finally they ducked into a hallway at the far end of the room. It was odd. The folder Abby had picked up appeared to be empty.

When they had disappeared, he turned back around to face his computer screens. Fortunes could be made using the information on these screens, especially at a firm such as McCarthy & Lloyd, which provided its people generous dollar amounts to trade with. The trick to making that fortune was simple: find the right stock to bet on. But so far he hadn’t pulled the trigger on a single trade—except for the Bates shares, which he wouldn’t get credit for, anyway, because Oliver had made the initial purchase two weeks earlier. He sensed that Oliver’s standoffish demeanor was in part a reaction to this slow start. Jay clenched his jaw. He wanted to make money for Oliver and the firm, but he didn’t want to lose any, either. He was acutely aware of the importance of early wins versus early losses. Reputations were made or lost based upon the success or failure of the first few trades.

“Good morning.” Bullock tossed his suit coat over the bulkhead behind his computer screens, loosened his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, and sat down in a chair beside Jay.

“Morning,” Jay answered warily. Bullock rarely opened the day with a friendly greeting.

Bullock placed a plain brown bag on the desk, extracted a bran muffin, slapped a generous amount of butter on top, and took a huge bite, pushing nearly half of it in his mouth at once. “Any hot stock tips for me?” he asked through the mouthful, crumbs falling to the floor.

Jay heard a sarcastic tone through the muffin. Oliver hadn’t yet vocalized his displeasure at Jay’s slow start. Bullock, on the other hand, rode him constantly. “Yeah, the company that makes that muffin you’re inhaling. You must eat five of them a day.”

“Three,” Bullock corrected.

“And the company that makes Slim-Fast,” Jay added. “You’re going to add a couple of points to its stock price on your own when all that fat starts bloating your waistline.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I work out twice a day, every day—before I come here in the morning and at night when I get home. It’s all I can do to keep the weight on, kid.”

“Why do you work out so much, anyway?” Jay asked, irritated that Bullock was still referring to him as “kid.” Bullock liked to advertise his muscular build, wearing his shirts a size too small so they stretched tightly across his chest. “Are you trying to make up for other deficiencies we can’t see?”

“Why do you ask so many stupid questions?”

Jay smiled. “There’s the Mr. Congeniality I’m accustomed to. I was a little worried when you said good morning. You actually sounded friendly.”

Bullock finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You aren’t gonna be giving me that cocky little smile when Bill McCarthy wants to know why you haven’t made any money for his arbitrage desk.”

“Don’t worry about me, Badger,” Jay shot back.

“I’m not worried about you at all,” Bullock assured Jay. “In fact, I’m going to thoroughly enjoy myself the day Bill stomps out here and starts screaming about your lack of performance in front of the entire fucking floor. And that day will come soon. He hasn’t screamed at anyone in a while, and you’re the perfect candidate. If you think Oliver is impatient, he’s nothing compared to Bill.” Bullock paused. “And guarantees aren’t always guarantees, even when they’re written.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jay asked.

“You figure it out.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, wondering if McCarthy & Lloyd could renege on his bonus. “Oliver wouldn’t screw me that way.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Bullock muttered.

“And anyway,” Jay said, “I’m working on a couple of things that will make us a significant amount of money.”

“Like what?” Bullock pasted more butter on the muffin and took another large bite.

Jay shrugged. “I’ll tell you when I’m about to pull the trigger.” He didn’t trust Bullock. The guy could easily follow up on the company, buy the shares, preempt Jay, and take credit himself when the stock price rose.

“I’m your direct superior, and I want to know what you’re working on—right now,” Bullock insisted.

“It’s still preliminary. You know as well as I do that the more people who know about an opportunity, the better the odds are that word will leak out. And if word gets out on the Street that we’re looking at a stock, the price might run up before we can buy shares, and there goes the opportunity.”

“You’re blowing smoke,” Bullock sneered. “But it’s a false alarm. There’s no fire. You don’t really have a line on anything.”

“You’ll—”

“Mr. Bullock.”

Bullock and Jay glanced up at the sound of the voice. Before them stood Karen Walker, Bill McCarthy’s executive assistant. Beside Karen was a tall woman with long blond hair swept off the creamy skin of her face and arranged in a neat bun at the back of her head. Instinctively Jay and Bullock rose from their seats. There was an unmistakable presence about this woman.

“This is Sally Lane,” Karen explained. “I believe Oliver was expecting her this morning.”

“Yes, he was.” Bullock stepped forward and took Sally’s hand. “Good morning.” A smile spread across his wide face. “It’s nice to have you aboard.”

Jay’s eyes flashed to Bullock’s.

Bullock gave Jay a subtle glance, then turned his attention back to Sally. “You’re a welcome addition to the arbitrage desk.”

“Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to this morning.” She let go of Bullock’s hand and turned to Jay. “Sally Lane.”

“Jay West.” He met her aqua eyes head-on, masking his surprise that there would be a new member of the team. “Welcome to McCarthy and Lloyd.”

“Thank you.”

Sally was about five-eight, Jay judged, six inches shorter than he, and slender. Her face was slim, her nose slightly narrow, and her lips thin. She wore almost no makeup, yet it was obvious that she took great care with her appearance. Her dark blue dress, which fell slightly below her knees and fit her slim body perfectly, was plain but tasteful. Her light hair shimmered, and her face exuded a fresh, natural look.

“Sally will be joining us as a vice president,” Bullock announced, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Just like you, Jay.”

“Great,” Jay said cheerfully. He wasn’t going to give Bullock the satisfaction of seeing his irritation at not being kept in the loop. “Welcome aboard, Sally.”

“I’m thrilled to be here.”

Karen spoke up. “I need to take you up to human resources, Sally.”

As the two women walked away, Jay turned and moved off through the trading floor, threading his way around the long workstations, making his way to the supply room. So they’d hired another professional for the arbitrage desk. Another vice president. Perhaps Oliver was more irritated about Jay’s slow start than he seemed and was going to replace him with Sally Lane. He shook his head as he walked away from the trading floor and down a hallway toward the supply room. That didn’t make any sense. He had been there only a month. Oliver would have had to spend at least a month interviewing Sally and doing background checks. That meant he would have had to begin interviewing her at the same time Jay arrived.

Jay ducked into a doorway and walked down a dimly lit, twisting hallway, past cardboard boxes filled with old files. Of course, Bullock had made that crack about guarantees not always being guarantees. Yes, he had signed an employment contract on his first day that guaranteed him a million dollars in January, but the firm might hold up the payment if Oliver and Bill McCarthy weren’t satisfied with his performance. He had blindly taken Oliver’s advice and skimmed the thirty-page contract himself without having an attorney review it, then signed it immediately. Perhaps there were loopholes in the document that would allow the firm to renege on its obligation. He took an irritated breath as he turned into the supply room and reached for the light switch. He was usually so careful.

Jay froze. Coming from a room at the end of the hallway he heard muffled voices, one obviously a woman’s, rising in fear. He backed out of the supply room and moved slowly over the carpet to the doorway at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, and he could just see into the room. The lights were off, but a small window provided a feeble gray light, enough for him to see Oliver pinning Abby against the far wall with one hand and reaching beneath her short dress with the other.

“Oliver, please,” Abby begged, pushing his hand away. “Please don’t do this.”

“What’s the problem? Don’t you like my attention?”

Jay swallowed hard, stunned by the sight of Oliver accosting the young woman. He glanced over his shoulder down the dim hallway, then back into the storage room.

“Not here at work, Oliver!” Abby struggled to fight him off.

“So you wouldn’t have any problem meeting me at the Plaza Hotel later.” Oliver pulled her pantyhose down to her knees, then worked his tasseled loafer between her legs and rolled the hose down to her high heels.

Abby leaned down and attempted to pull them up, but Oliver caught her and pushed her back against the wall roughly. “I want you to be at the Plaza at six o’clock sharp,” he ordered. “Understand?”

“Oliver, I love you, but I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Jay hesitated. He’d been about to push open the door, but Abby had said the word
love
.

“Why not?” Oliver pulled the dress up to Abby’s neck and pressed himself against her. “Why can’t you do this anymore?”

“You’re married,” she said softly, no longer struggling.

“That little complication hasn’t gotten in the way for the last few months. It didn’t stop you from spending this weekend on the sailboat with me.”

Jay pursed his lips. The scene on the trading floor a few moments earlier had been a charade.

“Please, Oliver,” she sobbed.

Oliver stepped back, and Abby’s dress fell to her thighs. “I could fire you so easily,” he whispered. “You’d be on the street by lunchtime, and you wouldn’t get another job in the industry.” He straightened his tie. “I know how poor you are, Abby. You need this job.” He paused. “And don’t think I wouldn’t fire you. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Abby gazed up at him, suddenly incensed. “That wouldn’t be a very wise thing to do,” she snapped through her tears. “Remember, I know about you and your friends. If you fire me, I wouldn’t have any problem letting the proper people in on the secret. I’m sure they’d take care of me in return for that kind of information.”

“You don’t have any information.”

“You know I do.”

Oliver pressed a fingertip into her face. “That would be a very stupid thing for you to do, Abby.”

“Is that a threat?” She pushed his finger away.

“Take it any way you want to,” he hissed.

For several seconds Abby gazed up at Oliver, then her chin dropped dejectedly. “I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me.” Her voice was barely audible. “I thought you loved me.”

He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. “Likewise.”

“I do,” she sobbed. “With all my heart. I’ve told you so many times.”

Oliver moved closer and took her face in his hands. “Then do what I want and everything will be fine.”

For a time Abby remained motionless. Finally she slid her hands around Oliver’s neck and kissed him deeply. “I can’t resist you,” she murmured, pulling back and allowing her head to come to rest against the wall.

Jay stepped back from the doorway. For several moments he stood in the darkness feeling his heart beat rapidly, uncertain of what to do. He didn’t condone their action, but it wasn’t any of his business, either. Finally he turned and quietly retraced his steps, carefully avoiding the file-filled boxes. As he emerged from the hallway, he nearly ran into Bullock.

“What the hell were you doing back there?” Bullock asked suspiciously.

“Looking for legal pads,” Jay answered quickly.

Bullock glanced at Jay’s empty hands, then past him and down the hallway. “Where are they?”

“What?” Jay asked unsteadily. Did he mean Oliver and Abby?

“The pads.”

“Oh, I couldn’t find any,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “I’ll have to tell whoever is in charge to reorder.”

“You do that.” Bullock looked over Jay’s shoulder once more. “I suggest you get back to the desk. You’ve got a few messages.”

Jay brushed past Bullock and hurried down the corridor toward the trading floor. Bullock seemed to have checked the hallway as if he knew what was going on in the room at the end of it. As if he knew that Oliver was in the storage room with Abby. Oliver and Bullock were good friends, and Oliver had paid Bullock a three-million-dollar bonus the past January. Bullock had every incentive to protect Oliver, Jay reasoned.

He stopped when he reached the trading floor. What the hell had Abby meant by her threat to tell the proper people about Oliver and his friends?

After several moves, the wire transfer into Victor Savoy’s account at Bank Suisse had come from a dummy corporation in Antigua, so the odds were damn good that the money was already clean because Antigua was the new financial black hole of the Caribbean. Now the money had reached Switzerland, and the chance that it had been successfully laundered had risen to almost a hundred percent. However, Savoy was a careful man. He knew that only through painstaking attention to detail and extraordinary patience would he remain beyond the reach of the FBI, the INS, Scotland Yard, and law enforcement units in Eastern Europe, which were under intense pressure from Washington to find him.