The Devil's Analyst (13 page)

A group of nine-year-olds were scrambling for optimal viewing. Surrounded, Danny realized he was standing there too long. One of the school chaperones was staring at him as though to prod him to move along. He did. After all he wasn’t a product of taxidermy, nor was he captured forever in a single moment of time. He looked down at the book he carried. Whatever story Lopez may have woven, in the end it was only a piece of fiction. Whether it was derived or not from Danny’s life did not matter. Only Danny and Oliver knew where the truth lay. Besides whatever story was told, it was a plot floating in a past river. As the old adage went, you could never step into the same river twice. The book didn’t matter. Oliver didn’t matter. Danny tried to convince himself that his logic was sound

Kids rushed forward into a new hall, eager to discover something more interesting. Danny followed. They were clustered around a display cabinet near the rotunda. As a frequent visitor to this museum, Danny knew what was inside: a giant oarfish. The strange marine creature never seemed natural—too long to be real, too rarely encountered, and too little discussed by people for the casual observer to accept its true existence. More like a serpent or sea dragon, the preserved oarfish floated in its timeless mix of yellowing resin. The display gave the specimen an unearthly aura, and allowed the preserved fish to be subjected to the laughter, stares, and gibes of the children.

Danny felt that gaze of the other again, at the back of his head, the sense that some chaperone was marking him as questionable. Not wanting to be flagged as a child predator, he knew it was time to leave, but he looked around to catch who was making him feel watched.

That’s when he noticed someone across the rotunda walking rapidly into another hall. That person was wearing the same kind of blue fisherman’s hat that Pete Peterson used to wear in Thread. What next? First he was reminded of Oliver, and now of Pete. His past refused to vaporize in the way that all unwanted memories should.

Danny felt chilled. The hat reminded him of a night at the resort that followed a moonlit round of skinny-dipping with Oliver. They rested on a raft floating off the sandy beach. Feeling protected by the stars and warm summer air, Danny told Oliver all about Pete—and what Pete meant to him, and in turn, what he meant to Pete.

What if Oliver had repeated that to Lopez? What if that past was recounted in the book? Danny couldn’t abide such treason.

INTERLUDE

Session Six

I have a theory.
Life is just a giant game board. Sort of like chess. Not so structured or unnatural as that game with all its strategies and books on famous moves. Real life is far more challenging. You have to be smarter than a chess grand master to prevail in the real world.

To answer your question before you even ask it . . . yes, I think of myself as one of those more intelligent people. You have to know it’s true. You’ve seen me and talked to me. Don’t you agree that it’s an honest assessment?

But I don’t operate alone. Did you really think that I did?

No, life is a team sport. Just like chess, we have to have our kings. We don’t move around all that much, but when we kings move, it makes every bit of difference.

Of course, there are other players and so many pawns. Always the expendable pawns. They’re needed and useful, but ultimately one can always sacrifice one’s pawns. When that happens, you can’t get emotional. Their demise is simply a part of the game.

The real trick is finding the right players for your team. They have to be of a similar ilk, but you never want them to be quite as smart as you. Don’t believe those businessmen who claim they only hire people smarter than them. Not true. You can’t trust someone smarter than you. There’s always the possibility they will be operating one move ahead of you.

Admittedly, sometimes in one area or another they must be smarter. After all, you can’t know everything. Even I wouldn’t claim that, but then it’s always been good to know your weaknesses—as well as theirs. Having a few crazies around always helps too. It makes it easier to keep everyone in check.

You want to know what all of this has to do with Danny? I’ll tell you.

I play a lot of games, and he’s only one of my games. Maybe in this game you can think of him as the king of the white players. Of course, he’s a rather naïve player, since he doesn’t even know he’s playing the game. But that only makes his moves unorthodox and unexpected. It adds to the excitement. Besides, the motive of this game isn’t to destroy the guy; it’s to expose him for who he really is.

Why are you asking me what I mean by that? Don’t you listen to anything I say? I need to know what will win out . . . hope or despair.

I have a lot of people around me and I know exactly what motivates each one of them. That’s why I can play them. But I like to think Danny has something more than what I see on the surface. So what if he’s an irrational obsession? There is definitely something that links the two of us as players. Bound together in some eternal, cosmic way.

I have to be certain of him before I make my final move. Call it omniscient curiosity. But once I know. Wham! It’s checkmate.

CHAPTER SIX

On Tour

Josh gulped both olives
; he loved a dirty martini made with Belvedere vodka. Already the staff at United Airlines Red Carpet Club at LAX was bringing his second one, and the frosted glass appeared perfectly chilled. Orleans looked at him disapprovingly. Josh didn’t care; it was past two and soon they would be on the three o’clock Premium Service flight to JFK in First Class. There wasn’t a better way east—other than on a private jet. But he didn’t have that luxury, at least not yet.

Earlier Kenosha drove them to the airport so the three could meet in a private conference room at the airline lounge. She carried a briefcase filled with press kits that extolled the virtues of Premios. Her packs of finely honed truths, destined for the hands of multiple business reporters and bankers, were crafted to maximize the possibility of the right sort of articles and broadcast hits. To get them to this day, Orleans scheduled the investor visits and Kenosha wrangled the press. Both accomplished more than Josh thought possible, but it would be up to him to exert the final effort that would make everything pay off.

“Josh, pay attention to this,” Kenosha wore her serious face. He found her willingness to don the tough woman persona amusing. He was sure it had been a hard battle to fight her way free of the wooded canyons of Brentwood.

“I know all the questions. I know all the answers. Backwards and forwards.” He felt flippant. Maybe it was the cocktails.

“Do you?” she challenged. “What about this one? ‘Are you concerned that one of your investors recently disappeared under suspicion of embezzlement?’”

Josh just laughed, “Kenosha, they are never going to ask that.”

Kenosha was not placated. “That’s beside the point. The reason we prepare a Q&A is so you’re ready to respond to anything that gets thrown your way. You can’t let dirt hit you in the face; you have to fling it right back.”

“Kenosha’s right,” Orleans offered. She looked at Josh placidly, almost as though to egg him into contradicting her. He wouldn’t fall for that ruse. Most of Kenosha’s prepared questions were focused on finances, and while she had labored diligently to be certain he could spin out the right details to cast the perfect light on the enterprise, he had this—just like he had control over every question that might get asked. No one could rattle him.

“Reporters wouldn’t know to ask such a question. No local paper has even reported Chip’s disappearance, and besides, the New York press doesn’t follow the
Thread Times
or whatever hick paper gets published in the back woods. The police aren’t even certain any money was stolen, let alone that Chip did it. There’s the possibility that it’s just a computer error, or some vestige of a “Y2K” issue messing up a transaction or balance sheet. It’ll take weeks before anyone figures it out, and by then, Chip will be back in the arms of all those who love him. Cynthia is a worrier. There’s nothing more to it.”

Josh didn’t actually believe any of the nonsense he just spouted, and he would be surprised if either of these two clever women did. But it didn’t matter. It sounded logical, so maybe the police would believe it.

“Just humor me,” parried Kenosha. She wasn’t giving up. “If it did come up, how would you answer it?”

“Ask me.”

“Okay. We’ve heard disturbing rumors about the disappearance of Chip Grant, one of your early investors. How will that affect the planned stock offering for Premios?”

Josh smiled; this was an easy curveball. “It won’t affect it at all. Mr. Grant holds less than a 2% equity stake in Premios, and is in no way actively involved in our day-to-day management or strategy. Besides, I’m not at all convinced he’s even missing.”

Kenosha frowned. “Don’t add that last sentence. It’s not in the packet because it’s not relevant what you think. Circumstances may change and why let future events contradict you.”

Josh shrugged. She was right, but it was a minor point.

Kenosha was still on topic. “Now, tell me again, the logic behind that two percent comment.”

Just as Josh would expect her to do in an actual situation, Orleans took over. As the CFO, it was her responsibility to handle all the money questions. “Mr. Grant made a personal investment as part of the second round of funding for Premios. That round involved ten million dollars, and $500,000 came from Mr. Grant. The venture capital firm of Endicott-Meyers provided the remainder, and their total investment gave them an ownership stake of thirty-three percent of the company and giving the overall company a second round valuation of approximately thirty million dollars. Mr. Grant’s half million dollars represents less than two percent of that total.”

“Your answer is too long,” said Kenosha.

Orleans rolled her eyes, and Josh knew that she wanted to say that one couldn’t explain it more succinctly. But you could. She should have just said that Chip owned a half million dollars of a thirty million dollar company. But that was today. If this investment tour went well, Josh anticipated the IPO would raise the valuation of the company to over three hundred million.

“Okay, girls, we’re overdoing this. The press kit is fine. The background provides the relevant details. I’m comfortable with the financial data. And despite your worries, Kenosha, you know I have all the Q&A well in hand.

“But, Kenosha, let me compliment you on a fantastic job. You make Orleans and me look better. Orleans, take some lessons from this whiz.”

He glanced at Kenosha to see if she would press on any topic further, but she accepted the compliment and started to repack her bag. “All that’s left then is to say ‘good luck.’ I’m looking forward to seeing my stock options make me rich.”

Josh stood, offered his hand, and added, “That’s what I do. I make people’s dreams come true.”

Kenosha left. Orleans and Josh were alone in the room, along with his glistening martini. Orleans pushed the glass away; he could see she was annoyed.

“What could I learn from that overpaid flack?” she demanded.

Josh found it amusing to stoke a little tension among the troops. “Don’t worry. You know you always have to compliment some people. It’s like calming a barking dog. A few pats and all is good. Besides you know that you’re the one I depend on.”

Orleans seemed only partially mollified. “We shouldn’t be doing this tour,” she said. “The timing is all wrong. The markets are unsettled. We’re going to end up leaving too much cash on the table.”

“You know we can’t wait.”

Orleans pulled out her laptop as though she was about to bring up some numbers to review. But then she unexpectedly slammed the screen down and demanded, “Where the fuck did that million dollars come from?”

“Why so angry?”

“Because I’m supposed to be your partner in this. I’m your chief financial officer. And suddenly out of the blue a million dollars gets injected into our accounts, and no one warns me. I have to rework everything in these documents.”

“The pitch will look better though, won’t it?”

“Again that’s beside the point. You still haven’t told me what’s going on. I sat here all the while we met with Kenosha knowing you had something up your sleeve with that sudden infusion of cash. I’m not flying for another five hours wondering what it’s all about.”

Josh couldn’t claim to know fully what was going on, but there was no way he would admit that to Orleans. She might be smart enough to figure out on her own what he really knew and didn’t know, but that wouldn’t be the same as admitting a weakness.

“Endicott-Meyers increased their level of investment.” At least Josh knew that was technically true.

“Really. And what did they get for it?”

“Another five percent stake in the company.”

“Did you do the math? When we go public in a few months, your five percent will be worth fifteen million or more. Are you telling me you gave up fifteen million of our money for one million now?”

He didn’t like the math either. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You know what it means. Without an added investment from Endicott-Meyers, Premios would have sunk before we ever went public. You don’t get rewarded with millions if you’re in deep water clutching debris. That trade in equity was the only rational path available.”

Orleans seemed to accept that, but still seemed troubled.

“What’s wrong?”

“The whole presentation has to be reworked.”

“Only the bankers’ version,” Josh replied. “Luckily we’re meeting with press first, so we have plenty of time to finalize the new packets. I’ve already planned through what’s needed.”

She wasn’t yet mollified.

“What else?”

She appeared deeply reluctant to voice her concern, but then she looked directly into his eyes, “It seems odd that Lattigo Industries is missing a million dollars at the same time Endicott-Meyers invests another million with us? Do you know what happened to Chip?”

“No, I do not” he replied, keeping eye contact, until Orleans relaxed.

He wasn’t lying. He did not know for certain exactly what happened to Chip, but he knew enough to be unhappy. He had to get things back on track before it all unraveled.

Cynthia waved
after she disembarked the plane and exited into the terminal. She was thankful to see Danny waiting for her. She had been afraid he wouldn’t make it, and she felt she couldn’t possibly have left the airport without him to guide her. She was neither a weak woman nor a dependent one, but the hours required to reach the West Coast had eroded her emotions bit by bit until there was barely enough resolve to hold her from failing into an all-consuming exhaustion.

Thomas, the comptroller at Lattigo Industries, had volunteered to drive her to the Timberton airport. That was where she needed to catch the short commuter flight to Minneapolis. From there she could transfer to a Northwest flight to reach Los Angeles. Only once they were in his car did she realize Thomas’ hidden agenda. Troubled by Chip’s situation—that’s what he called it, a situation, not a disappearance—he was seeking support. But he had it backward. She was the one who needed his support, or at least an explanation for Chip’s absence that she could believe.

Like most of the young men and women on the reservation, Thomas grew up protected by Chip’s financial oversight. Like all the youth of the area, he worshipped her husband. Now there was a chance his hero was a villain. Unfortunately, in Thomas’s face, Cynthia recognized the same tension and worries that kept her from sleeping.

“I know Chip didn’t take the money,” Thomas declared. “The police may think otherwise, but Chip’s not that kind of person.”

Of course Chip was not a scoundrel, but the Los Angeles police were leaving the case entirely in the hands of the Lattigo tribal police because they clearly considered Chip a missing embezzler. Fortunately, the local cops were giving their fellow tribe member the benefit of doubt; moreover, they had neither the pressure nor the resources to be aggressive. That’s why Cynthia convinced herself she had to go to California: to hire her own detectives and to lead the search herself. Nobody else would ensure the search was thorough.

“You’re not alone,” Thomas consoled her. “The IT guys have gone through our financial accounting system backwards and forwards. They’re ninety-nine percent certain that the transfer of funds resulted from a computer program planted in our systems. Did Chip mention what happened on New Year’s Eve?”

“He told me about the computer virus that attacked Premios.”

“The guys think there’s a connection. They can’t prove it, but they’re combing through the code, looking for something to connect both incidents.”

“But how could hackers have done it?”

“There was a weakness in one of our financial routines. The payroll program uses an automatic weekly correction to adjust the final result against first estimates. It normally submits a small electronic deposit or withdrawal to make that happen. Someone hacked our program to add five zeros to that amount and to send the oversized payment to an offshore bank. The police think Chip did it himself, but that’s ludicrous. We know he was searching for the hacker who infiltrated our company on New Year’s Eve. To me, it seems more likely that the same people who hacked us did it.

“In any case, the money is gone. There’s no way I can avoid submitting a claim with our insurers. Once I do that, we can’t keep this under wraps any longer. The public will know.”

After that, neither knew what to say to the other. They sped through snowy woods in quiet. At the small airport, Thomas escorted Cynthia through security and remained by her side until she was ready to board the propjet. As she was about to walk out the door to cross the icy tarmac, she consoled Thomas, “Don’t worry. I will find Chip. We’ll clear this up.”

By the time she arrived in Los Angeles, her confidence had evaporated. Flying over the city reminded her of the enormous urban area. How could one search through such immensity? Winter storm clouds hovered off the coast, and she felt rains were about to break forth. The weather chilled the air in the terminal as Danny and she hugged.

“You’ll stay with us,” Danny said. “Let’s get you there now before the rain arrives.”

“No,” she said. “Not yet. When we were about to land, I got a glimpse of the ocean. Could we walk along the beach first? Just to clear my head. Could we do that?”