Nele Neuhaus - Swimming with Sharks

“How do I know you are who you claim you are?”

“Do you want to see my ID?” the man asked. “I can prove to you that all of the documents Alex gave you are real.”

Connors interrupted: “Then show us your evidence.”

“Who are you, if I may ask?” Justin Savier challenged with raised eyebrows. Nick quickly introduced the US attorneys and offered him a seat and a cup of coffee. Justin accepted both. Then he explained that he was a college friend of Oliver Skerritt’s and Alex’s trusted employee Mark Ashton, and that he worked at MIT in Boston. He reported that Mark, Alex, and Oliver had approached him last summer because they wanted to find out more about the dirty dealings that she’d uncovered at LMI. Nick and Connors exchanged a glance.

“Where is Alex Sontheim now?” the deputy US attorney inquired.

“On an airplane to Europe,” Justin replied.

“Impossible. All airports are under surveillance.”

“I got her a fake passport,” Justin admitted in front of the assembled US attorneys. “You’ve got to believe her. I have the e-mail that Alex printed from St. John’s computer last night. Mark Ashton and Oliver Skerritt disappeared because this monster’s already got a hold of them.”

“Not so fast,” Connors cut him off. “What do you have to do with this whole thing?”

Justin told them how he managed to get the information that Alex had handed over to Kostidis. Then he recounted what he had learned last night about the ownership structure of the SeaStarFriends partnership.

“Whew,” Connors exhaled, running his hands through his hair.

“You don’t believe me?” Justin asked.

“We’ve questioned the authenticity of the statements,” Nick answered on Connors’s behalf, “but they do appear to be real.”

“They definitely are,” Justin confirmed. “We were totally shocked when we realized the magnitude of this conspiracy.”

“What makes you so sure that it wasn’t Alex Sontheim who killed St. John?” Connors asked.

“She had absolutely no reason to kill him,” Justin replied. “After all, he could have testified to what actually went down at LMI. After reading St. John’s e-mails, you’ll see that he had no intention of blowing his brains out. Alex believes that Vitali’s thugs killed Zack, and now they’re blaming her for the murder in order to divert attention.”

Nick and Connors again exchanged a brief glance.

“Alex didn’t kill St. John,” Justin said emphatically. “I’m sure that you’ve noticed the police contradicting themselves on TV, right? First, they found fingerprints everywhere and then the gloves. That’s totally contradictory!”

“Show us the e-mails,” Connors requested.

Justin grabbed his backpack and pulled out a few pages. He placed them on the table. The deputy US attorney took the pages and read through them.

“Wow,” he exclaimed and passed them on to Nick. “Incredible.”

“Don’t you believe Alex is telling the truth?” Justin asked.

Connors looked up.

“Yes,” he said grimly. “Yes, now I believe her. Oh, this is going to be one hell of a ride.”

Sergio spent half a day checking in with his connections at the US Attorney’s Office and the police department. No one doubted that Alex had killed St. John out of greed and to cover her tracks. No one he talked to seemed nervous, which could only mean that Alex hadn’t shared any evidence against him. Sergio still had no plausible explanation for how she had accessed a bank statement from Levy & Villiers, but even if she had run to Kostidis, there was no direct link leading to him. There was no way in hell that the people he bribed would admit to anything because then they’d be finished. There was no evidence. Zack—the only person besides him and Levy who knew the score—was dead. All of the documents that the lawyer from California had in his possession had been destroyed, and he was dead as a doornail.

A sinister smile appeared on Sergio’s face. Zack thought he was smart, trying to cover his ass, but Sergio was smarter. Then his smile vanished. Yes, he was smarter than Zack, but Alex had him fooled. But even she couldn’t hide from him forever. She’d trip up at some point, and he would pounce on her and show no mercy.

Silvio stopped the car at van Mieren’s mansion at the edge of Hempstead on Long Island. Nelson hadn’t left his house for the past three weeks. Sergio knew that his closest confidant was seriously ill, but he’d had enough of Nelson’s wife’s excuses to keep him off the phone. He wanted to hear Nelson explain himself. The situation had turned incredibly complex, and Sergio urgently needed the advice of his friend and lawyer. Carmen van Mieren opened the door.

“Sergio! Come in,” she greeted him warmly and let him kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll tell Nelson you’re here. He’s in bed.”

“Thank you. I won’t disturb him for too long.”

Sergio walked into a comfortably furnished salon with a magnificent view of the lake. A thick fog hung like a cloud over the water. He gazed out at the leafless yard and down to the pier, unable to fend off memories of happier days. They had often sat in this yard and on the jetty, forging their ambitious plans. The children had played in the yard while Carmen and Constanzia prepared meals. Sergio remembered Nelson’s son William’s wedding, which they had celebrated here just one week after the magnificent opening ceremony of the VITAL Building, the steel-and-concrete manifestation of his success. Sergio remembered his sons as children and reminisced about the many years that he and Nelson had known each other. He and Nelson had been so successful in their work together. They had built an empire that generated billions. Sergio sighed. Nelson was the rock on which he always relied. His loyalty had been unshakable for forty years. Now they were old—older than their fathers ever were. It was time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of their hard labor, but instead everything had fallen apart. Constanzia had left him, Cesare was dead, and—because of Alex—his empire was shaken to its core. Sergio dug his hands into his pants pockets. He stiffened as he thought about her. Alex had humiliated him, wounded his pride, and now had also lied and stolen from him. She’d caused him a crushing defeat. But one lost battle didn’t lose the war.

“Hello, Sergio.”

He flinched and turned around quickly. Sergio was terrified at the sight of his old friend. Nelson must have lost forty-five pounds during the past few weeks. His complexion was unhealthy and gray, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Nelson, my dear friend.” He walked toward Nelson and grabbed his hand heartily. “How are you?”

“It probably won’t get any better,” Nelson replied in a hoarse voice. “The doctors tell me to do chemotherapy, but I don’t want it. I won’t get healthy again doing that.”

He walked over to an armchair and sat down clumsily.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Sergio suddenly asked.

“Do I give you that impression?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Nelson said with a sigh. “I guess I probably owe you an apology.”

Sergio sat down in another armchair across from him.

“I told you once before that I was out if you had the mayor killed. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, you said something along those lines.” Sergio nodded impatiently. “Kostidis is alive and kicking. What else do you want?”

“You had a car bomb planted in his car that killed four people,” Nelson said, “and you lied to me when you said that you had nothing to do with it. I believed you.”

Sergio didn’t bat an eye.

“Since Kostidis was still alive, you sent Natale to the cemetery,” Nelson continued. “I’m also sure that you gave the order to have your own son killed, even though you also denied that to my face.”