James Grippando - Money to Burn

“Then why did you come?”

“I’m not the type to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I hate to see a marriage between two good people not work out.”

I paused to get a read on her. I’d met many of Mallory’s friends, and something about this one didn’t add up. It wasn’t just the way she took an interest in short sellers. It was the little things-like her pigging out on pasta, or her monochrome dye job, which completely lacked the array of highlights that cost Mallory the monthly equivalent of a subprime mortgage payment after a rate adjustment. I was getting the sense that Andrea didn’t belong in the club-and that she didn’t really want to belong.

“I appreciate your saying that,” I said.

My cell rang again. This time it was a red alert: TURN ON FNN!!!

My gaze shifted to the television. I started reading the closed captioning, the several-second delay from the audio giving me some time to catch up.

“More devastating news,” said Bell. “My source tells me that, earlier today, the credit department of a major trader held up a trade with Saxton Silvers because of concerns about the firm’s financial health. My source also tells me that perhaps as soon as tomorrow Saxton Silvers could be on a no-trade status that will continue until the firm solves its liquidity problems. All I can say, folks, is that compared to tomorrow, today could look like a good day for Saxton Silvers and its shareholders.”

“Mallory is very serious about a divorce,” said Andrea.

I heard her, but I was still numb from Bell’s words.

“She already has a lawyer,” said Andrea.

That got my attention, but my phone rang. It was Eric Volke. I apologized to Andrea and stepped away from the bar to take the call.

“We’re sunk,” said Eric.

“I heard. Wasn’t Bell supposed to stop spreading rumors after you let him interview me?”

“He says they’re not rumors. He stands by his source.”

“Maybe Stuart should go back on the air.”

“It doesn’t matter what the CEO or anyone else says at this point. Once a statement like that is out there-that Saxton Silvers can’t follow through on a trade-the firm is dead. Chuck Bell killed us.”

“Bell and his source,” I said.

“Fucking shorts,” said Eric.

“What’s going to happen?”

“I’m meeting with Treasury and the Fed tonight. The vibe I’m getting is that they’re going to give us until Sunday to find a merger partner.”

“Sunday?” I said, incredulous. “That’s crazy.”

“We either get it done, or we’ll be in bankruptcy court on Monday.”

Things were moving too fast, and Eric’s use of the B-word really had my head spinning. Just two days earlier, it would have shocked me less if Bill Gates had called me to debug his computer.

“It’s all hands on deck tonight,” said Eric. “Your Green Division is one of the few that is completely untouched by subprime. I’ll need your most current numbers and six-month pro formas. How soon can you be here?”

I checked my watch. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

“Sooner,” he said, and the call ended.

Andrea approached. “Is everything okay?”

“Something’s come up. I have to go into the office.”

“I’m sure it’s important. But let me leave you with this thought: Use me. I think I can help with Mallory.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

I was having my doubts. I was still hoping that Mallory would cool down and change her mind, but it struck me as odd that Andrea-someone I hardly knew-would track me down and come to my aid, especially if it was true that Mallory had already hired a divorce lawyer.

“Is there anything you want me to tell her?” asked Andrea.

Alarms were ringing in my head. Something told me not to trust Andrea, and I always went with my instinct.

“Yeah,” I said, “there is.”

“What?”

“Tell her it’s another beautiful day in paradise.”

I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG THE MINUTE I SMELLED TODAY’S assortment of executive-suite flowers. A pair of Saxton Silvers security guards met me as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, and their expressions could have taken the bloom right off the Sexy Rexy Floribunda roses.

“I can take it from here, guys,” I said. “I know my way to Mr. Volke’s office.”

“Sorry, Mr. Cantella. We have our orders.”

“Oooh-kay.”

Security knocked on the closed door and Eric let me inside. He was not alone. I recognized Sonya, of course, but not the two men standing beside her. Eric made the introductions, but I noted that he didn’t look me in the eye as he spoke.

“This is FBI Agent Malcolm Spear and Agent Carl O’Neil,” said Eric. “Mr. Spear is a supervisory special agent, and Mr. O’Neil works in the Computer Fraud Division of the bureau’s Manhattan field office.”

These were not the same agents who’d come by my building that morning to check out the fire in the elevator. O’Neil was by far the younger man, but Spear had the look of an ex-Marine, and as we shook hands I decided I would rather face O’Neil in a bar fight.

“I assume this is about my identity theft.”

“Have a seat, Michael,” said Eric.

“Is the news not good?”

“Please. Have a seat.”

I took the leather armchair facing the agents, who seated themselves on the couch. Eric went behind his desk, and I found Sonya’s positioning very interesting. She took the chair that was on the opposite side of the coffee table from me, closer to the FBI.

“At the outset,” said Sonya, “let me make it clear that I’m here strictly as general counsel to Saxton Silvers. I don’t represent anyone in his individual capacity.”

“You mean me?” I said, trying not to sound too facetious.

She nodded.

I glanced at the FBI. “I’m guessing you don’t represent me either.”

“That’s correct,” said Agent Spear.

It wasn’t intentional, but a nervous chuckle escaped as my gaze shifted in Eric’s direction. “Should I have a lawyer?”

“That’s certainly your right,” said Agent Spear.

“Am I being accused of something?”

“No,” said the agent.

Sonya started to speak but hesitated. Then, without words, Eric seemed to give her the green light.

“I would suggest that you merely listen,” she said. “Eric and I wanted you to know what the FBI investigation has uncovered, but we thought it would be best for you to hear it straight from Agent Spear.”

My throat tightened, which was probably a good thing. I was getting the distinct impression that I shouldn’t even try to talk.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

Spear spoke in a patented FBI monotone that made things sound even more serious. “There has been a major development in our tracking of the funds from your Saxton Silvers personal investment accounts to the Cayman Islands and beyond.”

“Congratulations. I guess it’s true that the post-nine-eleven world of bank secrecy is not as secret as it once was.”

Eric caught my eye. I was talking too much.

Spear continued. “This is what the FBI knows. Your investments were liquidated and the cash in your accounts was then immediately transferred into a custodial account in the name of your late wife, Ivy Layton. Your funds were commingled with hers, and the entire amount-about thirteen million-was wire-transferred from the custodial account to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands.”

He paused, and I sure hoped there was more. “No offense,” I said, “but my tech guy told me everything you just said about ten minutes after I discovered my account balances were at zero.”

“Understood,” said Spear. “Here’s where it gets interesting. The minute your thirteen million hit the Cayman account, it was used as collateral for twenty-six million in short positions on Saxton Silvers stock obtained through various sources.”