Due Diligence: A Thriller (36 page)

But it didn’t really take his mind off it. Not really.

At the end of the day, Doug Earl came by and asked if he could have a few minutes. There was some legal stuff relating to the deal he needed to go over and the lawyers in New York had asked him to get back to them before the weekend. They sat at the coffee table in Wilson’s office and Doug took him through a bunch of documents. Wilson listened mechanically, nodding when he was supposed to nod. Doug left.

Wilson slumped in the armchair. Outside, over the river, the sun was setting. He stayed there, staring, as the room got darker.

There was a knock. The door opened a fraction.

“Come in,” said Wilson.

It was Stella. “Don’t you want a light in here, Mr. Wilson?”

“I guess so.”

Stella looked at him quizzically. She turned on the lights in the office.

“Just a few things to go over,” she said. She came to the table and set down a portfolio of letters for him to sign. Then she sat down and went quickly through the notes she’d made during the day, dealing with the matters that needed to be cleared, requests for appointments to be scheduled or denied, e-mails addressed to him that he needed to look at, messages she’d taken that she had decided could wait for the end of the day. It took about fifteen minutes.

“Shall I wait while you sign those?” she asked, nodding at the portfolio on the table.

“No, Stella. You go on home.” He looked at his watch. “You should have been gone an hour ago.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Wilson.”

“You go on home, Stella.”

Stella stood up. She was looking at him again with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Wilson?”

“Yes, Stella.”

“I could stay a little longer…” She shook her head questioningly.

Wilson smiled. “Go on home.”

“Well, don’t forget, you have the State Orchestra board of trustees dinner tonight. Ms. Mendelsson rang to make sure I reminded you.”

“How many times?” asked Wilson.

Stella smiled. “Three.”

Mike Wilson sighed wearily.

“She said—”

“I’m sure I know what she said, Stella.”

Stella nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson.”

“Oh, shoot! I’m sorry, Stella. I didn’t mean to snap. You go on home now. You’ve done more than enough for one day.”

“All right, Mr. Wilson.”

“Stella?”

Stella stopped and turned back. “What is it, Mr. Wilson?”

“How long is it you’ve worked for me now?”

“Four years, Mr. Wilson. Four years last September.”

“And … it’s okay, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Wilson?”

“I mean, you don’t mind … it’s not too bad, is it?”

“It’s a very good job, Mr. Wilson. I enjoy each day. I just hope I do it well enough for your satisfaction.”

“Oh, no … that’s not what I mean. I mean…” Mike Wilson frowned. “Working for me. You don’t think I’m such a bad guy, do you?”

“Oh, Mr. Wilson.” Stella shook her head. She even blushed a little. “You’re fine, Mr. Wilson. Better than fine. I’m very happy working for you.”

Mike Wilson nodded. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he murmured. He nodded again and sighed. “Thank you, Stella.”

There was silence.

“Is that all, Mr. Wilson?”

“Yeah, Stella. Thanks.”

“Good night, Mr. Wilson.”

“Good night, Stella. You have yourself a fine weekend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilson.”

Stella closed the door. Wilson opened the portfolio and started signing the letters. When he had finished, he tossed the portfolio back on the table.

And then there was nothing left, nothing to distract him from his own terrible thoughts. They came out, as if from the recesses of his mind, and ran riot.

He was finished if the deal fell through. That was clear. Finding another one would be impossible. Even if he found another target, even if he had one selected right now, there wouldn’t be time to complete it before the next quarterly filing. So this was it, make or break. The only hand in the game. Everything was riding on it.

And it had all seemed to be falling into place until the phone call had come through from Mandy Bellinger. Even that stuff from the bankers about the loan, that was just talk. But now something had gotten in the way. Someone was apparently talking. An analyst who had names. Actual, accurate names. And he was telling people. Journalists.

He couldn’t just ring up Pete Stanzy and tell him to shut the analyst up. He’d talk even more if he did that. And if he had those names, he must have details. Wilson shuddered to think what those details might be.

So what was he meant to do?

Mike Wilson didn’t regard himself as an especially good person. He had done some bad things in his time, he knew. In business and in his personal life. Things that he never thought he would do, if you had asked him when he was younger. But like everyone, he found ways to rationalize them. There were reasons, explanations. When there was nothing else, he could always remind himself that there were still some things he wouldn’t do. If he wasn’t exactly a good person, he wasn’t utterly bad. He had boundaries. He had limits. Didn’t he?

The phone rang. His cell phone. It was on the desk. Wilson got up and looked at it. The display showed Dot Mendelsson’s number. Mike Wilson ignored it.

It was dark outside now. Wilson turned off the lights in the room. Down by the river, the lights of the factories glittered cold, blue-white. The river itself was a deep, inky strip of darkness.

What choice did he have? There was no other way out. And no time to lose. It was as stark as could be, black and white, a zero-sum game. It was him or this analyst, one or the other. And whose fault was it? Who asked this analyst to get involved? Why had he decided to start talking?

Yet it gave Wilson a cold, nauseating feeling. He felt as if he were going to throw up, just thinking about it.

And yet, what choice did he have?

Mike Wilson picked up the phone. He knew that he was going to make the call. He had known, at some level, from the moment he heard Mandy Bellinger tell him what she’d heard. Maybe he just had to wait for night to fall before he could bring himself to do it.

37

The voice on the phone was impatient. “Yeah?”

“Tony? It’s Mike. Mike Wilson.”

The tone changed. “Mike Wilson. This is a pleasure. How are you, Michael?”

“Not bad, Tony.”

“I heard you didn’t have such a good night in Budapest the other night.” Tony Prinzi chuckled. “And in London the other week. You been busy, Mike. All over the world.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

“So, how is this big deal of yours going, Mike? When am I going to see my money?”

“You’ll get it,” said Wilson. “Everything. As soon as the deal’s done.”

“I know that, Michael. You think I’d keep bankrolling you if I didn’t? Mike, I have to tell you, if not, you would have had a visit by now. Not from me, you understand?”

Mike listened to Tony laugh.

“It’s all right, Michael. I’m just talking.”

Was he? Wilson still didn’t know if this gangster talk was for real or if it was just the stuff you saw on
The Sopranos
. He was about to find out.

“Listen, Tony, there’s some advice I need.”

“How can I help you, Michael?”

“This deal of mine, Tony…”

“What is this deal, anyway, Mike? I’ve been patient, and I believe what you have told me, but I’m not sure I understand how this works. You tell me you’ll pay me everything you owe when this deal is done. All right. What are you doing in this deal?”

“It’s confidential, Tony.”

“I understand, Michael. Confidentiality in my business also is something we take seriously.”

“I’m buying another company.”

“You?”

“My company is buying the other company.”

“You see, this is what I don’t understand,” said Prinzi. “Your company buys another company. But your company isn’t
your
company. You work for this company. Am I right?”

“You’re right, Tony.”

“So it buys another company. Where from do you get the money out of this?”

“They pay me for doing the deal.”

“Who?”

“My board.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-four million.”

There was a long whistle on the phone.

“Let me get this straight. You buy a company, and your board gives you money? Just for doing the deal?” Prinzi laughed. “Mike, that’s easier than stealing candy from a baby. And let me tell you, I’ve done that.”

“That’s how it works,” said Wilson. He was getting impatient.

Prinzi was still chuckling in amusement.

“Tony, listen to me. I need some advice. There’s someone who’s making trouble.”

“There’s always someone making trouble, Michael. This is a fact of life. You gotta ask yourself, how bad is this trouble?”

“Bad, Tony.”

Prinzi sighed, as if it disturbed him deeply to say what he was going to say. “Then you must take away the source of this trouble.”

“That’s not so easy.”

“There’s always a way, Michael.”

Wilson hesitated. He frowned, almost as if he were in pain. “Tony, I think I might need to ask you for a favor.”

“I must tell you, Michael, favors I don’t do so much.”

“This person, Tony, the kind of trouble he’s making could make my deal very hard to do.”

“That doesn’t sound good for you, Mike.”

A rare moment of understatement from Tony Prinzi, thought Wilson.

“Tony, no deal, no money.”

“Michael, if I don’t get my money, unpleasant things are going to happen. You understand me? I don’t dislike you. It’s not personal, it’s business.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t get you your money, does it?”

“Listen, I’m not a cruel man, Mike, but if I don’t get my money…”

“Tony, what I’m saying is, you want this deal to happen, too. If it doesn’t happen, it’s your money that doesn’t get paid.”

“Yeah, but it’s your kneecaps, Mike.”

“But it’s your money, Tony. What do you prefer to have, my money or my kneecaps? What good are my kneecaps going to do you?” Wilson waited for Prinzi’s response. He had been involved in hundreds of negotiations in his business career, but this one was unlike any of them. It was possible, he thought, that Tony Prinzi would say he’d take the kneecaps.

Prinzi laughed. “I understand, Mike.”

“So, is there any way you can … you know, scare this guy?”

“Scare him?”

“You know,” said Wilson. “Stop him talking.”

“Michael, you been watching too many gangster shows.”

Wilson nodded to himself. For a moment, despite everything, he felt a sense of relief. Of course, Prinzi was all talk.

“You want to stop someone talking, you don’t scare him. Who knows what such a person will do? Go to the police, maybe. Make things worse. You want to stop someone talking … you have to stop him. Period.”

Wilson was gripped by a clench of cold, clammy nausea.

“Michael? Are you still there?”

“Isn’t there any other way?”

“If you ask my opinion, no.”

Wilson really did think he was going to throw up. He breathed deeply.

“Michael, who is this person? He’s important?”

“Not really.”

“People know him? He’s some kind of a public figure?”

“No, Tony.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“So, you can … you can do it?”

“Mike, please. Who are you talking to here? I’m putting my trust in you. You’re not a violent man, right? You’re not a thug. You wouldn’t ask this thing if it wasn’t important.”

“No,” said Wilson hoarsely.

“I respect this. So I say to you, we can do this.”

Wilson shut his eyes. Was it really this easy? It seemed even easier than in the movies.

“But Mike, it’ll cost you. You want to know how much? He’s no one special, right? No one anyone’s going to notice? Let’s say, twenty grand. On account of I’m partly doing this for myself, as you pointed out. But I’ve still got expenses, you understand. All right? Twenty K? And listen, interest on this, I won’t charge you.”

“Fine,” whispered Wilson. Twenty thousand. Less than he spent on the corporate jet in a week.

“What was that?”

“Fine, Tony. Add it to the bill.”

Prinzi laughed. “‘Add it to the bill.’ I like that. Add it to the bill. All right. So, who is he? Where are we talking about?”

“New York,” said Wilson

“New York? That’s convenient. You got an address? Makes it easier if you can give me an address.”

“It’s on West Thirty-ninth Street.”

“Oh, Hell’s Kitchen. We cleaned that up, you know. Long time ago now, back in the eighties. The Westies, they were making life hell for everybody. No class. You been there recently, Mike? It’s amazing how the area’s improving.”

Tony Prinzi, the civic father, thought Wilson in revulsion.

“Where on West Thirty-ninth Street? You want to tell me? I’ll get a piece of paper.”

“Tony…” Wilson grimaced. “How do you … you know … what do you do?”

“Mike, you don’t want to know the details. Trust me, we know how to do this. Every case is different. In the city, we make it look like a burglary maybe. That’s a very good way of doing it. Does he live alone? If he lives alone, you just knock on the door, go inside … then it’s done. A knock on the door, it’s done. Make it look like a burglary. But there are other methods we can employ. You must leave this question to us. Now, who is he?”

“It’s not … it’ll be quick, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Mike! You want a video of it?”

“Christ, no!”

“Then what the fuck are you worried about? Excuse me for cursing.”

“I just don’t want it to be bad.”

“It’s bad. Michael, this is not a good thing. On the other hand, it can be worse. You want us to hurt him first?”

“No!” cried Wilson. “Christ, no!”

“All right, we’ll do our best to make it quick. I’ll see to it. But no guarantees. It’s not a science, Mike, it’s an art. Now, I haven’t got all night. You want to keep talking about it or you want me to do something?” Prinzi paused. “You want this done quick?”

“How quickly can you do it?”

“Tonight, I’m not sure if we have availability. This is something Nick will know. Michael, to be on the safe side, if not tonight, I would say by tomorrow night definitely. Will that be quick enough for you?”