Kamin smiled as Tate sucked heavily on his cigar and then blew perfect smoke rings into the air. They both laughed.
“You really think we’re moving too fast with Quinn?” Tate asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I’d feel more comfortable if he were sleeping with Vargas,” Jules said.
Tate sat back, his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa. With the confident air of a pimp fully in control, he said, “I didn’t believe I would ever say this, but it’s just a matter of time. When the Hardware City takeover is averted and Musselman stock starts climbing again, Quinn will be ready to celebrate. Mark my word, that’s when he’ll sleep with Andrea Vargas. I guarantee it.”
“I hope you’re right, Wayland,” Kamin said, smiling cagily.
“Would you like to wager on it?” Tate asked, displaying a toothy grin. “Let’s say your share of the Musselman take?”
Kamin immediately shook his head, “No thanks.”
They both laughed long and loud before lighting up another Havana and ordering more Martinis.
When they finally decided to call it a night, Tate was satisfied that Kamin, while not entirely happy with recent decisions and events, would get over it. What choice did he have? Tate was in control and as usual he would do whatever it took to stay there.
21
Wilson — Cambridge, MA
At four o’clock in the afternoon, Yankee pot roast and stuffed Cornish hen with all the trimmings were spread out on the thirty-foot dining table. His mother and Anita had outdone themselves, Wilson thought. Both of them were great cooks and they loved entertaining. The delicious meal was accompanied by urbane small talk and, of course, a lively discussion about stopping any further investigation and getting on with their lives. It felt like a “B” movie without the canned laughter, but he remained confident that the mock discussion would accomplish its purpose for long enough to fortify their protection. Even if the surveillance crowd didn’t believe everything, they would certainly conclude that Wilson, his family, and their friends were sufficiently scared to back off.
After dinner, Carter, Rachel, Emily, and Wilson removed themselves to the belfry library. Everyone else moved to the family room to listen to the string quartet that Wilson had arranged, rehearsing Vivaldi’s
Rachel was as shocked and saddened as he had been when she found out about their great-grandfather’s murder. Wilson attempted to console her, but without much success. She remained morose throughout the rest of the meeting.
Carter asked a few questions and then shared his own revelation.
“There are a dozen primary suspects. One or more of them must have orchestrated everything,” he began.
Wilson looked at Emily who was studying Carter. “How did you narrow it down?” Wilson asked.
“To tell you the truth, it was quite simple. I merely identified the clients with the most entrenched patterns of questionable practices. There are twelve of them who surpass the others by a substantial margin.”
There it was, again, that same elusive enigma and cool resolve that Wilson loved and hated about his father. He glanced at Emily again. How many secrets do Carter and my father share?
“Did you know that my great-grandfather was murdered?” Wilson asked.
“Yes. I think it’s what started your father down this path.”
Wilson’s anger was rising again. “My father told my mother that one of his partners was being wined and dined by descendants of the people who killed my great-grandfather. Have you found anything that …”
Carter cut him off. “Four of the twelve primary suspects have restructured their corporate debt or acquired new equity funding through a consortium of European and Asian investment banks.”
Wilson stared at Carter, reminding himself once again to calm down. Carter would only share what he wanted and only on his terms.
“I’m not surprised,” Wilson said.
“From the inception of recorded history,” Carter said with a confident professorial air, “Certain malcontents, rebels, zealots, visionaries, and others of similar intent have entered into secret orders with blood oaths to keep their power-mongering and nefarious misdeeds hidden from the rest of the world. Subscribing to the maxim of ‘control or be controlled’ they formed secret pacts to minimize risk and maximize success. It is the inexorable nature of some men and women to form secret alliances for the purpose of gaining power, wealth, and advantage through whatever means available. As much as I’m loath to admit it, I cannot deny the overwhelming evidence that Charles created such a secret society among clients of Fielder amp; Company.”
Wilson remained silent, keeping his composure, not for the sake of appearance but concentration. He glanced over at Emily while squeezing her hand.
Carter continued, “As I pieced together my own experiences with Charles and the salient elements of Fielder amp; Company’s history, it became clear that his business practices were designed to manipulate stock market prices through sophisticated disinformation and shrewd business changes, thereby creating circumstances advantageous to himself and his clients. Once clients became entrenched in Fielder amp; Company’s methods, which on the surface appeared to be completely legal, they apparently qualified themselves to become members of an exclusive insiders club, where CEOs from the world’s largest corporations could amass unimaginable wealth by trading on each other’s company secrets. When Davis Zollinger was murdered for what I presume was a desire or threat to leave the club, it must have devastated Charles. He immediately placed a moratorium on corporate restructuring engagements at Fielder amp; Company and entered into merger talks with KaneWeller. But I suspect he had already lost control of the clandestine partnership and was attempting to regain it when he was shot.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Wilson felt a cold numbness spread from the back of his head. Carter’s bold conclusions were more emotionally jarring than he’d anticipated. If Carter was right, and Fielder amp; Company was an elaborate front for some sort of secret network of corrupt CEOs, then the Zollinger sisters were right. They really had uncovered a secret society that was getting away with conspiracy, fraud, and murder.
Carter saw the growing distress on Wilson’s face. When he spoke again his tone was quieter and more personal.
“When your father and I were in school together, we vowed to change the world just like the rest of our boomer generation. But Fielder amp; Company’s history suggests an activity level well beyond what I imagined possible from Charles. I’m as astonished and troubled by my findings as you are.”
“Who were his closest confidants in the partnership?” Wilson asked, pushing his chair back from the table and feeling suddenly protective and defensive about his father.
“No way to know for certain,” Carter answered. “I found nothing that openly revealed the agendas or inner workings of Fielder amp; Company’s secretive meetings with client CEOs. Every year there were dozens of outings with groups of CEOs at exclusive resorts, but no records. The only thing I was able to document was the pattern of manipulation and disinformation among Fielder amp; Company clients. It’s all in the client correspondence, especially emails. Sudden board changes, management reorganizations, carefully timed spinouts, merger and acquisition rumors, surprise divestitures, frequent IPOs, disarmingly candid press releases, shareholder scare tactics, threatened lawsuits, leaked memos about new products and services, anonymous chat-room revelations, innuendoes about…”
Wilson interrupted. “Daniel claimed everything Fielder amp; Company recommended to its clients was legally defensible.”
“Everything I just mentioned can be made to fit the technical requirements of a legal defense. I suspect it’s how the partnership lured its new members,” Carter said.
“How did you discover all of this so quickly? I’ve been through my father’s files…”
Now it was Carter’s turn to interrupt. “Email logs. As a historian you learn to avoid the most obvious and
