Russell Blake - Silver Justice

“Time of death was four a.m., give or take. Nobody saw anything, no suspicious activity, no shady characters skulking around. The maid only knows what I have there in the report. Found the body; the boss was a wonderful man; nobody would want to hurt him.”

“All right. So he was a saint. Any ideas on how the perp got in and out?” Silver asked.

“The service entrance deadbolt shows indeterminate signs of having been picked. It’s not conclusive, but it looks like that was the way out. As far as gaining entrance, it looks like he got through the front door while the doorman was in the can. Same scratches on the lock levers, but only from the outside. The service entrance has abrasions on the inside.”

“I don’t suppose we got lucky with any security footage?”

“It’s an older building, so there is none,” Seth reported.

“How about traffic cams in the area?”

“We’ve pulled the feeds, but there are hundreds of people from the time of the killing until nine, when the maid arrived. Thousands, actually. I’m hoping we can narrow the time down some, but even so…”

Silver tried to contain her frustration. “What else?”

Richard cleared his throat. All eyes swiveled to the new team member. He got to his feet, studying a piece of paper.

“Ali Kurup, age forty-two, single, never married, lived alone. Was one of two principals in a software company that created custom applications for the financial industry. A wealthy man, with homes in Aruba, New York, Paris and Buenos Aires.”

“Was he ever investigated by the SEC?” Silver asked, fearing she knew the answer. “Two of the other victims had been.”

“Nope. Clean as a whistle. At least on the surface. But some interesting threads start to appear if you dig deeper,” Richard said.

“Like what?” Seth asked.

“Well, Ali wasn’t just a software guru. He had another sideline that made his software empire seem like small potatoes. Our victim was the principal architect, along with another man, of virtually every electronic trading platform in the United States. All the electronic exchanges — every one — were designed by him.”

The room was silent for a few moments.

“I don’t understand,” said Tom Brandt, one of the agents who worked with Seth.

“It means that all of the exchanges that popped up over the last fifteen years, that do huge amounts of trading — competition to the American and New York Stock Exchanges — were created either by Ali, or using his software. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that over half the trading in the U.S. markets goes over one of his platforms.”

“Wow.” Silver spoke for the group.

“Yes. Wow is right.”

“And yet nobody has ever heard of him.”

“Correct,” Richard said. “But it gets even stranger from there. Because of his partner and his associates.” At this point he had the room’s full attention. “His partner was a gentleman by the name of Farouk Iben Al Azir, who is also an unknown. But not his brother, Sharif, who is on the government’s watch list of suspected terrorist financiers supporting Muslim fundamentalist organizations hostile to the United States’ interests.”

Richard sat back down, having said his piece. Nobody spoke.

“Wait a minute. You’re saying that one of the two men who created the trading platforms used for the majority of trades in the United States is the brother of a known terrorist financier?” Silver pronounced each word carefully.

“Suspected. Brother of a suspected terrorist financier. Born in Lebanon. When he goes back there, he’s routinely in the company of several clerics who call for terrorist attacks against the U.S.. Known to frequent a mosque in Chicago that’s a who’s who of suspected financiers. Big on causes like Hamas and the Islamic Jihad,” Richard explained.

“And the only reason that anyone cares is because his partner got killed? Not because it seems like a generally bad idea that a group as anti-American as it gets is one degree of separation from the guys who created the wiring for the modern stock market? Am I missing something here?” Silver asked, trying to process the information so it made sense.

“I’m unaware of any ongoing investigations. Nothing came up. I ran Ali through the computers and the partnership and past business interests were there along with about twenty shell companies suspected of being tied to them — but no hard evidence linking them. The terrorism connection only came up because I went beyond what we normally would have done for a homicide. My forensic accounting background, I guess,” Richard said sheepishly.

“But you would agree that this is alarming?”

Richard sighed. “Of course it is. And it opens a whole other can of worms. If there’s a foreign terrorism element, then the entire serial killing premise could be a ruse — a cover for some sort of covert operation. I’d say it warrants going back and seeing if there are any connections in the other victims’ pasts. It may be nothing, but in my line of work there are no such things as coincidences. When I go in and do an audit, I just assume that nothing is as it appears and that everyone is lying. I approached this case the same way, starting with the identity of the victim. Now, maybe world-class baddies being so close to him is immaterial. But I wouldn’t bet on it. I think we need to keep turning over rocks and see what we find. Could be the other victims are angels. But given the SEC settlements, my money is on that they aren’t.”

“Right, then. The question is what bad apples pop up when we really go in-depth. How long do you think it will take to put some muscle behind this?” Silver asked.

“If I can get one of my analysts on it, that would speed things along. But nothing happens fast. We need to look at every aspect of all four victims, going back to their school years. Maybe even further back. There’s literally no telling what we’ll find, or if there’s a connection, where or how it’s hidden.”

“Let’s discuss the other three victims. The second one, David Petron. A hedge fund manager living in Connecticut. Fifty-nine. Married, although the wife was in Europe at the time of the killing. Two kids — son and a daughter. The son was in the house with him and was victim number three. He worked with his dad at the same hedge fund. Richard, maybe you can give us an overview of what a hedge fund is and how they operate?” Silver prompted.

Richard cleared his throat. “A hedge fund is basically a big investment pool — an anonymous fund of cash. It’s an entity that collects money from investors and then invests however its charter allows. There’s virtually no regulation on the industry, and it is estimated hedge funds control two trillion dollars.”

“Why no regulation?” Seth asked.

“Because the industry is tremendously rich and powerful. Its political clout kills any attempts to impose regulation. Aside from a few token nuisance requirements, the reality is that they’re black boxes with no transparency. And that’s how they like it — they have an army of lobbyists that fight any regulation tooth and nail. Hedge funds are also by far the largest players in the markets. One fund alone is estimated to account for over fifty percent of the trading on the NYSE, many days. It is mind-boggling, the amount of money we’re talking.”

“And victim number two ran one?” Silver asked, more a statement than question.

“Yes,” Richard confirmed, “but he was relatively small potatoes. His fund was eight hundred million.”

“That’s small?” Sam Aravian asked from the back of the room, his tone skeptical.

“Sure. We’re talking an industry where some of the more successful managers make two to three billion dollars a year, personally, and have funds that are ten billion and up. Eight hundred million isn’t even in the B league. It’s unlikely that his take home was more than thirty million on a flat year. Depends on his management agreement and the percentage of any upside.”