Crown's Vengeance, The (15 page)

Piercing green eyes stared back at her, contained within an angular face that was well complemented by the severe black suit he wore. A full head of sculpted hair covered his head, no doubt dyed to keep out the gray. Most telling of all were the razor thin lips bearing just a hint of a smirk. Spencer Drake appeared every bit the arrogant, stately CEO who controlled over a half trillion dollars.

Erika immediately disliked him.

His organization was the oldest financial firm in Boston, founded in 1838. According to the company’s website, they had been chartered by Aldrich Drake, who was an enormously wealthy entrepreneur of the time, with holdings in shipping, logging, mining and railroads. Aldrich had shrewdly invested in the burgeoning manufacturing industry and made a fortune supplying the Union Army during the Civil War.

Over the next century and a half, Aldrich Securities had experienced consistent growth, expanding their influence to include investment banking, management, securities and other services. Amongst their institutional clients were several of the largest corporations in the country. It appeared Spencer Drake was a powerful man.

“Let me know if you hear anything else. I’ll keep an eye on it.” Parker dropped his phone on the desk and interrupted her research. “Can you believe that? You know what this means, don’t you?”

She had dealt with his enthusiasm before. “No, we don’t know what it means. We may suspect what it means, but we don’t know for sure.”

His arms flew into the air. “How can you say that? Paul Revere writes a letter that specifically identifies George Simpson as a traitor. Lo and behold, we find out Simpson is related to the CEO of a securities firm in Boston. First of all, do you have any idea how much money it takes to start a bank? Even in 1838 you’re talking about a fortune, maybe a million dollars, which in those days was an enormous amount of money.”

She loved his energy, but the problem was controlling it. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. In fact, I hope you’re right, and this is the link we need. But right now I have to do some research to verify these claims. It won’t do us any good to jump into anything without being sure.”

“Stupid academics. No excitement about anything.”

She suppressed a grin as he flopped back into the chair across from her. “Do you know anything about this Spencer Drake character? He’s one wealthy man, for starters.”

Parker shot back up in his chair. “You reminded me. Ben told me about some unusual stuff that’s going on at Aldrich.”

“Such as?”

“The meeting he had with Drake was about the futures markets, specifically which areas Drake wants the traders to focus on.”

A blank stare was her only response. “Try it again, in English this time.”

A playful grin flitted across his face. “All right class, today’s lesson is about futures trading. Please be seated.”

She was not amused.

“We’ll start at the beginning. Ben is a trader with Aldrich Securities. You know what the stock market is?” A pencil flew at his head. “Thought so. Futures are basically like stocks, except they are based in the, wait for it…future. For example, if Ben thinks the price of oil is going to go up in the future, he may choose to buy oil futures now at a price that he predicts will be lower than the actual price of oil down the road.”

Math was a subject she hated because, simply, it was boring. “So if he’s buying the oil now, he plans on using it later, right?”

“Not exactly. Ben’s never going to use the oil he bought. He’s only buying it to make a profit.”

“All right, so he buys these oil futures today, for some fixed date in the future, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And in the future, whenever that is, he will own a stock, or future, of oil that is actually lower in price than the current market value?”

“More or less. You see, Ben probably won’t hold on to that specific future until that day comes around. In all likelihood, he’s going to sell it to someone else, another trader who’s looking to make money on it.”

That was a curveball. “Why would he sell it to someone else if he thinks that he’ll make money on it in the future? That sounds like he’s giving away guaranteed profits.”

“Not really, for a couple reasons. First, nothing is guaranteed. Just ask your real estate agent. Second, you have to remember money is fluid, and no trader wants all their capital tied up in one stock or commodity. If Ben thinks he found a better deal in a different area, he might sell his oil futures to a new trader, take whatever profit he can get, and re-invest.”

“I guess that makes sense. So what’s the big deal about this meeting he had with Spencer Drake?”

Parker stood from his chair and began pacing back and forth. “All that stuff about futures was just background. Here’s what has my attention. The meeting Drake presided over was about oil futures, a subject on which you are now a certified expert. What was interesting, and bear with me, is that Drake, who you must remember is a highly respected financier, has just instructed his traders to do something very unconventional.”

“What do you mean by unconventional?”

Parker struggled for the right word. “As in the implications of what the traders have been instructed to do are that Drake either knows something that no one else does, or he’s up to some shady business. Here’s why.” Parker grabbed a piece of paper and drew a rectangle. “Imagine this is the United States. Right now”-he put a dot in the upper right corner-“we’re here, in Philadelphia. Ben is just above us, in Boston.”

So far she followed.

“Ben has just been told that he is in charge of investing money for a company that didn’t exist last week. It’s incorporated here, in the Bahamas.” Parker put a dot below the rectangle.

“Thanks for the geography lesson, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe everything. When you hear the rest of the story you can decide for yourself. I just wanted you to see that the money he’s using, and the profit he hopes to generate, is stationed offshore.”

Her face lit up with recognition. “You think he’s skirting the IRS?”

“It’s how I would do it. Not saying that I would, but if I were a crook, I’d use the Bahamas.”

“Remind me to start opening your mail.”

“Anyway,” Parker continued, “Ben has been told to invest money which belongs to an offshore corporation that didn’t exist last week in oil futures. Not just invest, mind you, but to invest aggressively. As in spend every dollar he has on futures.”

The fog of confusion had again descended. “Why is that noteworthy? Maybe Drake thinks that the price of oil is going to go up soon.”

“He very well may, but logic would dictate that the price of oil will never get too high or too low, a theory which I’ll explain in a moment. For now, just trust me. What I’m worried about is that a financier of Drake’s caliber would never do this without being absolutely certain he was right.”

The light in her head turned on. “You think he has inside information.”

He put his hand out for a high five. “Correct again. It just doesn’t make sense for Drake to do this. Of course, I don’t have any proof, but there are unwritten rules to investing, and he’s breaking one of the basics. And you can be damn sure I’m not the only person who’s going to notice.”

“But you yourself are working with insider information. If Ben hadn’t told you about the private meeting he just attended, you’d have no idea what was going on.”

His face dropped. Score one for Erika.

“One other thing you should know,” he continued, ignoring her comment, “is that this isn’t the first strange news I’ve seen about oil futures recently. Just after we returned from Boston, one of my trading buddies here in Philadelphia told me his firm had noted an unexplained up-tick in futures purchasing. I did some research, and guess who’s doing the vast majority of the buying?”

“Aldrich Securities,” Erika said.

“Bingo. Now put that together with what Ben just told us, and you have one company investing a boatload of cash in the oil futures market. Which, not to confuse you, isn’t crazy because of the amount of money. It’s crazy because, as any good gambler will tell you, it’s smart to hedge your bets. All of Aldrich’s money is predicting the price of oil will go up and up.”

Here she was on more familiar ground. After the recent explosion in gas prices, she’d learned a little bit about the industry. “Is it bad because, contrary to what you’d think, the oil companies don’t want the price to get too high?”

“Well done, Dr. Carr. Oil companies like it high, but not too high. If the price of oil gets too high, people and companies begin to curb their usage and purchase less of it. When people aren’t buying oil, the oil companies aren’t making any money.”

“Which is why it doesn’t make sense for Aldrich to gamble so much on the price going anywhere but up.”

“Correct again. If the price of oil gets so high that consumption declines, the prudent course of action for suppliers would be to increase their output so that oil is plentiful. More available oil should slow any rapid increase in price. Once they stabilize the price, more oil will be sold, and their profits will rise.”

Which in Erika’s mind brought them back to square one. “So why is Drake doing this?”

His arms spread out wide. “That’s the billion-dollar question. I have no idea. I doubt anyone outside of his inner circle does. However, what I want to know, more than why he’s investing money so foolishly, is what relation does Aldrich Securities have with the letters we found.”

She considered his question, her gaze falling to Paul Revere’s espionage reports on her desk. Right now, she didn’t have a clue.

Chapter 24

Boston, Massachusetts

Overhead, the sun was shining on Boston, another beautiful summer day beckoning the legions of suit-clad business warriors out of their corporate prisons. Spencer Drake wasn’t exactly working in a cell, but even he felt the warm weather’s irresistible pull and was considering whether or not to jump into his helicopter and head up to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend.

Liz and her brilliant raven hair poked through his office door to interrupt his thoughts. “Tom Becker is outside. Says it’s important.”

“Send him in.”

His head of security appeared, mouth pinched, eyes slits on his weathered face.

“Tom, what’s the matter? You appear troubled.”

A thin sheaf of papers was held in one hand. “I’ve brought you the latest correspondence from Mr. Flood. Sir, I’m not sure what it means, but he’s been speaking with Parker Chase again, and the subject matter is very, well, very unusual.”

Spencer tore the papers from Becker’s hand. His face grew hot with anger as he read.

“Thank you, Mr. Becker. That will be all for now.”

Becker heard the overt menace in his tone and disappeared.

“This cannot happen,” Drake muttered, head resting in one hand.

Before he dialed Nigel Stirling, Drake reread the report on his desk, the implications of what Parker Chase and Benjamin Flood had discussed hitting him like a prizefighter’s uppercut.

It was only a few short days ago that he had called Flood and a group of other traders into his conference room, detailing their instructions for purchasing oil futures in record numbers. Each man had been given primary control of a newly established offshore entity along with two hundred million dollars to spend on the commodity as they saw fit. Not only had he instructed the group that this was to be a private venture, with secrecy taking top priority, he had also explained that if word leaked about their plans, profits would be decimated.

It was all a charade, but the mere fact that one of his employees would so quickly and blatantly disregard his instructions infuriated him. Now Parker Chase and Erika Carr not only knew of Aldrich’s plans, they were aware that several hundred years ago a covert mission had been undertaken by agents of the Crown to decimate the American economy. The likelihood of them connecting the two events was infinitesimal, but there could not have been a worse time for this to occur. Not when their plans were in motion, when they had finally secured a place within the halls of American power strong enough to effect truly disastrous consequences.

He only hoped Stirling would agree with his drastic proposal.

“Nigel. We need to talk. Immediately.”

Stirling must have been on his boat, as seagull cries were audible in the background, along with the giggling of his overpriced escorts. They might have been stupid, but Nigel certainly had an eye for the pretty ones.

“Spencer, what’s the matter? You should be out enjoying yourself.”

“I’m not joking around. We have a problem.”

Five minutes later, Stirling agreed. “It defies belief. What do you think we should do?”

“To me, there’s no question. First, we obtain the letters. I want to see what is written in the reports, verify their legitimacy.”

“Agreed.”

“Two, we must eliminate Mr. Flood,” Spencer continued. “He is too close to this operation, has too much access. An unfortunate accident would seal the leak nicely.”

“I trust you can handle it. Call the asset we utilized earlier.”

“I’ll do so immediately.”

Stirling clicked off, leaving Drake with a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. Few men could make Spencer Drake nervous. A professional assassin was one of them.

Drake’s office was swept for bugs every morning. The phone lines on which he spoke were secured with the best encryption system money could buy. He had bulletproof windows specially coated to disrupt the sound waves emanating from within, eliminating the chance his words could be intercepted with laser vibration microphones. Despite all this, he punched a button on his desk, lowering the window blinds. He also locked his office door. The slip of paper on which he’d written the assassin’s contact number was locked in his wall safe, hidden behind the oil painting of his ancestor, George Simpson.

Steady yourself, old boy. It’s just a phone call.

Chapter 25

Boston, Massachusetts