Due Diligence: A Thriller (44 page)

“He’s okay.”

“Sure?”

“I think so.”

“Is he at work?”

“Mike, don’t worry about him. He’s a very junior guy. The main thing is, everything’s going to run smoothly from your perspective. Whatever resource we have to put in, we’ll put in. If we need to bring someone else onto the team, that’s what we’ll do. Whatever it takes. This deal is our number-one priority. No question. That doesn’t just go for me and John Golansky, it goes for the whole firm. Now, when you’ve had a chance to have a look at the—”

“Your analyst,” interjected Wilson, “is in possession of very sensitive information.”

Stanzy stopped, pulled up short by the sudden change in Mike Wilson’s tone. The amiability had gone right out of it.

“This deal is not done, Pete. It’s not close to being done.” Wilson paused. “Let’s remember where we are. Until we announce, Bassett isn’t locked in in any shape or form. He can walk away from the table and you know what? No one will even know he was there. And if this thing leaks … all bets are off. Now, I’m sorry about what happened to your analyst, I really am, but I need to know if this guy’s okay. Have you talked to him?”

“Mike…”

“I want to know where this guy is. Have you talked to him, Pete? Yourself?”

“No. Not myself.”

“Why not? Don’t you think you should?”

Stanzy shook his head, wondering what to say.

“Pete? Level with me.”

“Mike, we do have a problem with this analyst. He’s … look, we don’t actually know where he is.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete! What’s his name?”

“Rob Holding.”

“Is he stable? How long has he been with you? What do you know about him?”

“Mike, calm down. This thing … this incident … has obviously upset him. I assume he’s just needing time to work through it. Look, it’s not ideal, I know. When I talk to him, we’re going to have to have a serious look at the way he’s behaved. But it’s got nothing to do with the deal. It’s a personal issue. There’s absolutely no reason he should tell anyone anything. The deal is safe, Mike. That’s what matters.”

“Are you telling me,” said Wilson slowly, “that you have absolutely no idea where he is? I want you to be straight with me, Pete. You have no idea at all?”

Pete Stanzy took a deep breath. “We don’t. I’m not going to try to kid you. We don’t know. He’s not answering his phone.”

“When was the last time anyone saw him?”

“Sometime yesterday, I believe.”

“And you have no idea where he is? Absolutely none?”

“No.”

There was silence.

“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s not ideal, I know. But … what can I say? I’m as unhappy about it as you are. And believe me, I’m doing everything I can to deal with it.”

“Okay. Okay, I understand. I’m glad you leveled with me.”

“I really don’t think there’s an issue with the deal, Mike. This is a personal problem our guy’s got.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for him. Listen, it must be hard on the rest of your team, making up for someone like that. Let them know I appreciate it.”

“I will,” said Stanzy. “They’ll appreciate that. They’re a great bunch of guys.”

“Let them know there’ll be a little something extra for them when it’s all done.”

“No, Mike. That’s not necessary. Everything we have to do for this deal, we’ll do it. I guarantee that. Whatever it takes. We’re two hundred percent committed. Mike, we’re going to send that fax down in a couple of minutes. Give me a call when you’ve checked it over. I’ll be right here.”

“Okay. Pete, when your guy does turn up, as soon as you know where he is, I want to know. I want to know when you’ve found him and I want to know where he is. You call me, right?”

“Sure,” said Stanzy.

“All right.” Wilson’s tone was peremptory. “Make sure you do. As soon as you know.”

*   *   *

Mike Wilson watched the pages coming out of the fax machine as he dialed the number. He waited as the phone rang. Then he heard the familiar, nasal voice on the line. It was too familiar, like something you’ve carried with you for too long and just wished you could get rid of.

“I just spoke to someone at Dyson Whitney,” said Wilson. “Apparently he hasn’t turned up for work. They don’t know where he is. I thought I should let you know.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“He’s not answering his phone. They’ve got no idea at all what’s happened to him.” Wilson paused. “Tony, it sounds to me like he’s figured out someone’s after him. Sounds to me like—”

“Michael, we’ll find him.”

“What if he talks to the police?”

“What will he say?”

Wilson didn’t want to imagine. He had no idea how much Holding knew.

“Michael, you ask me, I don’t think you need to worry that he talks to the police.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he would have done it already. Let’s be calm. We’ll find him. I told you, there are not so many places a person goes. And if we don’t find him there, we find someone who can tell us where he is. It’s very simple.”

“Have you found her? His girlfriend?”

“It’s in hand.”

Wilson closed his eyes.

“Michael?”

“What?”

“Thank you for this call. You’ll let me know if you hear anything else, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good-bye, Michael.”

Wilson heard the line click dead. His eyes were still closed. On the other side of the room, the drone of the fax machine continued. He was deep, deep in self-revulsion. Now he was hoping that Prinzi’s thugs had gotten hold of the girl. Every time he thought he’d reached bottom, he found himself sinking lower.

He heard a knock. He spun around. The door was open. Lyall Gelb was in the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” he demanded sharply.

“Just a second.”

Wilson stared at him suspiciously.

Lyall came into the room. “You all right, Mike?”

“What do you want?” demanded Wilson.

“I just got off the phone with Trewin. Their due diligence is done.”

“And?”

“They’re happy.”

Wilson stared at Lyall Gelb a moment longer. Then he pulled himself together. He grinned. “That’s great. Come over here. Come on, let’s call Bassett.”

Wilson punched the speaker button on the phone. A moment later, he had Bassett on the line. They exchanged jokes about their due diligence, about each not being able to find the skeletons the other party had buried.

“Andy, laughs aside,” said Wilson, “I want you to be absolutely one hundred and ten percent happy that you’ve seen everything you wanted to see. We gave you all the data we thought you could possibly need.”

“Oliver’s team said they’d never seen so much data in one place.”

“Good.”

“Said they could have used another six months, actually.”

Wilson winked at Lyall. “Andy, I wish I could have given it to them.”

“Absolutely, Mike. One must do one’s best in the time, eh?”

“Exactly my philosophy. There’ll be no reservations on my side when I recommend this deal to my board tomorrow, and that’s how I want you to feel as well. You still talking to your board as scheduled?”

“Absolutely. Eleven o’clock tomorrow. There’ll be no reservations on my part, either, rest assured.”

“Well, we may just have a deal!” said Wilson.

“I think we may,” responded Bassett.

“Great. I’ll tell my guys they can shut down the data room and file all that stuff away,” said Wilson.

“Ahh … technically, Mike, I think we should just keep it open for the moment.”

Wilson glanced questioningly at Lyall. “Why’s that, Andy?”

“Well, if the board were to ask for clarification on any point, I wouldn’t want to say we don’t have access anymore. Wouldn’t look good.”

Wilson glanced at Lyall again. Lyall didn’t speak.

“Sure, Andy. We’ll keep it open. Let those lawyers get another couple of days’ room rent out of us. You can shut yours down. We’re happy.”

They arranged to speak again the next day, after their boards had met. It would be evening in London by the time the Louisiana Light board finished. Bassett told Wilson to call him on his home number.

Mike Wilson looked at Gelb after he cut the line. “How much stuff did you put in that data room?” he asked.

“Everything I could find.”

Wilson laughed. “You want someone to miss the tree, put him in the forest. A big, fat, Hungarian forest.”

Lyall Gelb nodded. But there was a part of him that had almost wanted that tree to be found. He didn’t realize it until now, when he knew it hadn’t been.

“I’ve got things to do,” he said.

“Sure, Lyall.” Wilson watched as Lyall got up and walked out. The door closed behind him.

Mike Wilson leaned back in his chair. It was close now. Close enough that he could almost touch it.

But not close enough that he could afford to celebrate. Three days to go. Three more days of bluffing.

He was thoughtful again, calculating. He went through the elements in his mind. The due diligence was done now. The bridge loan was more or less finalized. The board meeting tomorrow was the last obstacle. The extra cash that he had offered to Bassett, and the structure of the loan that was necessary to raise it, was going to be an issue. The board didn’t know about that yet. Even the friendliest board would be bound to ask questions.

Wilson began to go over his strategy for the meeting. He had arranged to have dinner that night with Ed Leary to get him primed. Carefully, methodically, Mike Wilson went through what he was going to say to Leary in eight hours’ time. He thought through the angles, how Leary might react, how he was going to play it.

Robert Holding and his girlfriend and what was going to happen to them at the hands of Tony Prinzi had slipped entirely from his mind.

46

Sammy Weiss leafed impatiently through the draft of the due diligence report. He was waiting for Mike Wilson’s corrections to come through. Cynthia was proofreading the other document that would be going to the board, which outlined the structure of the bridge loan and the financial arrangements for the deal. They had both worked through the night. Once Wilson’s corrections arrived and once Menendez had vetted them, they would only have to make the changes, print out the hard copies, and address them for the courier, and finally they could get out of there.

The phone rang. Sammy picked it up. It was Menendez, wanting to know if Sammy had seen the corrections. He was calling about every ten minutes to find out, and just as Sammy had told him ten minutes earlier, the answer was still no. Sammy didn’t know why he kept calling anyway. The corrections were going to go to Stanzy first, and Stanzy would send them to Menendez. Phil was going to see them before they got anywhere near Sammy.

A few minutes later the phone rang again.

“Oh, give us a break!” muttered Weiss. He grabbed the receiver. “Yes?” he said.

It wasn’t Menendez. “Is Robert Holding there?” said a voice.

“No,” said Sammy, trying to repress his irritation. “He’s not here.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the Eighteenth Precinct. Sergeant Berry. What’s your name, son?”

“Sammy Weiss.”

“Listen, Sammy.” The man coughed. “We’re looking for Robert because of a certain crime—”

“I heard about the murder,” said Sammy. “I’ve already spoken to a detective.”

Cynthia looked around.

“Of course you have. There’s certain things we need to follow up. We’re actually looking for Robert’s girlfriend and I’m trying to find someone who can help us.” He coughed again. “Excuse me. You don’t know where his girlfriend lives, do you?”

“No,” said Sammy.

“The information seems to have gone missing.”

“How could it go missing?”

“Tell me about it. I’m just following up. What’s her name, his girlfriend?”

“Emmy.”

“Her last name?”

“I don’t know her last name.” He looked at Cynthia questioningly. Cynthia shook her head.

“Emmy. Okay. You know her address? Her phone number?”

“No,” said Sammy. “Hold on.” He turned to Cynthia. “You know where she lives? Rob’s girlfriend?”

Cynthia shook her head again.

“What about where she works?” said the voice on the phone. “Do you know that?”

“She’s an editor at a publishing company.”

“Lascelle Press,” said Cynthia. “I lived in a street with almost the same name.”

“Lascelle Press,” said Sammy into the phone.

“Lascelle Press. She’s an editor there? Very good. You’ve been very helpful. Sammy Weiss, right? How do you spell that?”

Sammy spelled his name.

The man coughed. “Thank you, Sammy.”

“No problem. Listen, if you find Rob—”

Sammy stopped. The phone was dead. He looked at it in surprise, then put it down.

“Police again?” said Cynthia.

Sammy nodded. “Apparently some information’s gone missing. The police, for Christ’s sake. You’d think they could get things straight the first time.”

*   *   *

Caitlin and Andrea exchanged a glance. “I’ll get it,” said Caitlin.

She pressed a button on her phone and raised the receiver. The phone on Emmy’s desk in the office they all shared stopped ringing.

It was Nicole, the Lascelle Press receptionist. “I’ve got someone asking for Emmy.”

“Emmy’s not here, Nicole,” said Caitlin.

“I know, but they’re very insistent. It’s the
police
.” Nicole whispered the word, as if it were too scary to say it out loud. “Perhaps you can help them.”

Caitlin glanced at Andrea and rolled her eyes. Nicole was way too much a pushover to be a receptionist. She had been known to give out private cell phone numbers in her efforts to be helpful.

“Nicole,” said Caitlin, “I can’t make her appear out of nowhere.”

“Please, Caitlin…”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “All right, put them through.” She waited. “Emmy Bridges’s phone,” she said.

“Is that Emmy Bridges?” asked a male voice.

“No. Emmy’s not available, I’m afraid.”

“Do you know when she will be available?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say that. Can I take a message?”

The man coughed. “This is Sergeant Berry from the Fourteenth Precinct. Who am I speaking with?”