Nele Neuhaus - Swimming with Sharks

He had expected Nelson to validate his actions, to give him some type of blessing. But Nelson’s words had sobered him and instantly dissolved his euphoria. He suddenly felt like a sentimental fool who had been seduced by a woman. Angry, Sergio downed the whiskey in one gulp. Nelson was right. He needed to keep Alex at a distance.

Alex and Mark sat on a bench enjoying a lunch of chicken sandwiches from Bandi’s Deli. They were soaking in the warm sun at Battery Park, just like many other employees from the nearby financial district. Alex stretched out her legs, wiggled her toes in the comfortable sneakers that she had put on in place of elegant pumps, and watched a horde of tourists embark on one of the Circle Line ferries heading for to the Statue of Liberty.

“Mark, have you been to the Statue of Liberty?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered. “Three times.”

“I’ve never been,” Alex said. “What’s it like?”

“Well,” Mark said in between bites of his sandwich, “you have to wait in line forever because there’s only one elevator that holds a maximum of two people. Or you can squeeze up the narrow stairwell with the crowd and have a fantastic view of the butt ahead of as you climb step by step for about an hour.”

“My God,” Alex said, dismissing the idea, “that’s settled.”

“My grandmother arrived in America on a ship from Europe in 1943. She’s Jewish,” Mark said. “When she first saw Lady Liberty, she realized that she had escaped the Nazis, the war, and the bombed-out cities, and that she was finally free. She told me and my brothers about it so many times that I had to see it for myself.”

Alex swallowed the cynical remark at the tip of her tongue when she sensed Mark’s honest emotion. And she had assumed he was an unemotional and somewhat boring person!

“The Statute of Liberty is a symbol of our democracy,” he continued, “and whenever I see her, I feel a sense of humility and gratitude that I am able to live here and not in Africa or, say, Russia.”

“You’re a real philosopher,” Alex replied, teasing him. He responded to her sarcasm with a skeptical look.

“Haven’t you ever thanked God that you have so much good fortune in your life? That you are healthy, smart, good-looking, and managed to take advantage of your opportunities?”

Alex suddenly felt uncomfortable. She crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it into a trash can next to the bench. What did God have to do with her success? She was the one who worked so hard and sacrificed so much!

She tried to lighten the tone of the conversation with a joke. “What, are you a Jehovah’s Witness or something? A Scientologist?”

“No,” Mark countered seriously, “I’m Jewish.”

“That was supposed to be a joke.” Alex grimaced.

“I don’t joke around about God or faith.”

She looked at him and shrugged, but his comment called to mind the values that her strict Catholic parents had instilled in her. She hadn’t set foot in a church for years, though there were more than twenty-five hundred churches in New York. Suddenly she had a guilty conscience. She glanced at her watch, brushing off feelings of embarrassment.

“Lunch is over,” she said. “Duty calls!”

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” Mark said as he straightened his tie. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the park without exchanging a word. A man walking by stopped in his tracks.

“Mark? Is that you?”

They turned around. Alex had never seen this man before. He was in his midthirties, with tan skin; he was wearing mirrored sunglasses. With his jeans, Knicks T-shirt, light-brown Timberlands, and a backpack over his shoulder, he looked like a tourist.

“Oliver?” Mark asked in disbelief. When the man nodded, both of them laughed and hugged each other heartily.

“Alex,” Mark said, “may I introduce an old friend of mine, Oliver Skerritt? We were law school roommates at Harvard. Ollie, this is my boss, Alex Sontheim.”

“Hi, Alex.” Oliver took off his sunglasses and reached out his hand with a smile. He had a nice face, with a thin goatee. He exuded a casual confidence.

Alex responded with a smile. She instinctively felt his gray eyes judging her and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“How long have you been back in the city?” Mark inquired.

“Three weeks,” Oliver replied, grinning. “There’s nothing worse than working where other people go for vacation.”

“Where were you?” Alex inquired politely.

“The Caymans.” Oliver grimaced. “On business, unfortunately. Luckily, I had the chance to do a bit of diving.”

“Oliver works for the Financial Times ,” Mark explained.

“Really?” Alex was surprised. “So what were you doing in the Caribbean?”

“A piece about offshore companies,” he said vaguely. “I’m somewhat familiar with the subject.”

“That’s a gross understatement,” Mark interjected. “Oliver was with Simon, Weinstein & Cooper. He specialized in corporate law. After that, he was a fund manager at Trelawney & Hobbs and managed speculative and high-risk hedge funds.”

Alex looked at the man with renewed interest.

“Why are you working for a newspaper now?” she asked. Oliver smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

“I was simply tired of my job,” he replied. “You are drilled to be a ruthless and unscrupulous machine, and it’s all about more money and financial success. I wanted to preserve a shred of humanity for myself. I like the whole business much better from the outside, and I finally don’t have to keep my mouth shut.”

“Did you get fired?” Alex asked directly.

A mocking look sudden flashed in his gray eyes.

“No.” There was a hint of amusement on his face. “I simply quit, bought a house on Martha’s Vineyard, a loft in the Village, and turned my hobby into my profession.”

Alex couldn’t understand how someone would trade a position at Trelawney & Hobbs—the world’s largest investment company—for a job at a newspaper, and she suspected that he had been fired after all. “And what’s your hobby?”

“Uncovering scandals,” Oliver said with a smile, “and making them public.”

Oliver and Alex sized each other up disdainfully.

“So you’re a whistle-blower,” she declared, and he became serious.

“If necessary, I also do that,” he said, “and this is why I advised Mark to quit his job at LMI as soon as possible.”

“Oliver,” Mark started to say, “how could you say that in front of my boss—”

“It’s okay, Mark.” Alex stared firmly at Oliver. “Can you explain to me why?”

“I’d give you the same advice,” he answered. “You still have a good, clean reputation in the industry, but that could change very soon if you keep working at that place. I’ve uncovered some pretty sensitive details that are directly tied to LMI. And this isn’t about market manipulation or tax evasion, but substantial fraud and at least one life lost.”

“Is that so?”

“Have you ever heard the name Gilbert Shanahan? No? Just ask Mark about him.”

Mark’s face looked like he would prefer the earth to open up and swallow him.

“Imagine,” Alex said, growing impatient, “that I’m not interested one bit in this Gilbert. I have a well-paid, fascinating job, and I have worked very hard to get to where I am today.”

Oliver gave her a penetrating look.

“A couple of years ago I had the same reaction,” he said. “It hurts to admit that you are just a cog in the wheel of a giant criminal machine.”

“Please listen closely, Mr. Skerritt,” Alex interrupted Oliver harshly. “You could get into serious trouble if you keep making insinuations that you’ll be hard pressed to prove.”