Stephen Frey (4 page)

“You know he won't do that, Bo. He doesn't want to be held accountable.”

“Of course not.” Bo glared at Fritz for a full thirty seconds, then walked to the office doorway and pulled the cigarette from Fritz's mouth. “No smoking at Warfield Capital.” He slammed the door in Fritz's face and headed back to the desk, sucking on the cigarette. Smoke curling up into his eyes, he yanked open the bottom drawer of his credenza, grabbed a half-full bottle of scotch from between two files, and took a long swig.

I
t was three o'clock in the morning when Bo emerged from a taxi and stumbled into the small lobby of a three-story walk-up apartment building somewhere in Greenwich Village. He was no longer intoxicated, simply spent to the point of exhaustion. The woman he had met only an hour earlier at a SoHo nightclub and whose swaying hips he was following had promised him sex. He suspected she was well aware of who he was and how much his family was worth. But all he wanted was sleep.

He hadn't been home in two nights, he realized as he watched her climb the narrow stairway. He kept extra shirts in his closet at the office, but tomorrow would be the third day in a row for this suit. How had a few drinks in a bar turned into this? he thought to himself.

The woman stopped and looked back over her shoulder, aware that he wasn't following her. “What's wrong?” she asked.

Bo gazed at her for several moments, then turned around and headed for the door.

CHAPTER 3

B
o sank wearily into a leather club chair beside the wide bay window of his father's study. Jimmy Lee's impressive mansion sprawled across a grassy rise overlooking the lake's boathouse, and from here Bo had a panoramic view of the distant playhouse and its perfectly manicured lawn leading to the beach where he had discovered Melissa's body fifteen years before, floating in the pitch-black water. He shut his eyes tightly against that unwelcome memory—and against a brutal hangover.

The study's heavy wooden door creaked on its hinges.

“Wake up, Bolling.”

Bo felt his blood pressure spike. Meetings hastily called by his father always unsettled him. Bo was forty-two now and a man of power in his own right, a man Wall Street revered, yet Jimmy Lee still intimidated him. Just as he always had.

“Bolling!”

Bo sat up straight. Jimmy Lee had taken a seat behind his immaculately organized platform desk and was scanning a computer screen littered with blinking stock quotes. “I'm awake,” Bo said.

Jimmy Lee continued to check the computer screen as he worked his way through a coughing spell. “Barely, I'm sure,” he gasped.

“Are you all right, Dad?” Bo asked, ignoring the remark. Jimmy Lee claimed to have given up cigarettes years ago, but Bo suspected that his father still snuck one now and then.

“I'm fine.”

Bo watched his father labor to catch his breath. “Why don't you loosen your tie a little?” Jimmy Lee still wore a suit and tie every day, even though he had stopped commuting to Warfield Capital several years before. “That would help.”

“It's just a damn cold,” Jimmy Lee retorted, peering at his son over reading glasses. “Why don't you
wear
a tie for once?” He nodded at Bo's open collar.

Again, Bo ignored the comment.

“You were out late last night,” Jimmy Lee said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were out at a Manhattan steak house until midnight,” Jimmy Lee continued. “Then you and some people went to a nightclub in SoHo. People I don't like you hanging around with.”

Bo stared at Jimmy Lee for several moments, struck by how the physical characteristics of the bloodline had been passed directly to the first three children. Jimmy Lee was tall, fair-skinned, and physically striking, just like Teddy, Paul, and Catherine. He was a little gaunt after seventy-four years and his hair had turned from lifeguard blond to sterling silver, but he was still an impressive man. Bo was broad and dark, resembling a distant cousin his mother had shown him a picture of a few weeks before her death. Ashley, two years younger than Bo, was small-boned and petite.

“Were the Hazeltine people watching me last night?” Bo asked uncomfortably. Jimmy Lee's lack of response gave Bo his answer. “I thought that all stopped after college.”

“Get serious,” Jimmy Lee snapped. “You're responsible for a hundred billion dollars at Warfield. I need to know where you are and who you're with every second of the day.”

“At my age,” Bo said, his voice steely, “I don't need my father having me followed. You have my cell phone number. I'm ten digits away anytime you need me. Why do you have to do it? I've proven what I can do and I've proven my loyalty. I've done a damn good job with Warfield.”

Jimmy Lee checked the computer screen once more. The price of a stock Bo had taken a large position in last week had popped, netting Warfield a six-day profit of over twenty-two million dollars. A pittance of that profit would go to the insurance companies and Warfield's other long-term lenders to pay interest and a little bit of an incentive kicker. The Hancocks and their friends would keep the rest.

Jimmy Lee's eyes lingered on the screen a moment longer, as if admiring a beautiful woman, watching the stock tick up another quarter point. No one else on Wall Street had been bullish on the company, which was involved in gold and silver mining, with the majority of its operations in Canada. In fact, for the last month most of the Street's all-American analysts had been panning the company, urging their clients to sell its shares. Bo had gone against the tide, and won huge. Now the investment banks were jumping on the Warfield bandwagon, imploring investors to buy. Warfield would ride the hype for a few more days, then jettison the stock through a series of discreet transactions, leaving the latecomers holding the bag. Jimmy Lee would see to that himself.

“You're a master investor, Bolling,” Jimmy Lee admitted, still watching the stock price rise, making him millions. “Stocks, bonds, real estate, foreign exchange, gold, and oil. You've made us a fortune in all of those and more. I've never seen anyone better, and I've seen them all.”

That was more like it, Bo thought, allowing himself to relax a little.

“You never doubt yourself when it comes to the financial world,” Jimmy Lee continued. “You have incredible discipline even in the face of others' panic, which is one of the secrets of your success.”

Bo clenched his jaw to keep from grinning. The old man had never been generous with accolades. With Teddy and Paul all the time, but not with him.

“Hell, I watched that whole gold thing yesterday afternoon right here in my office,” Jimmy Lee said, scrolling the screen to a new page to check commodity prices. “I saw the price drop off the table yesterday evening around seven. I'm sure Fritz was upset.”

Bo nodded, remembering Fritz's panicked expression as the office door slammed in his face. “He wasn't happy.”

“But around ten the price started heading up. They were buying the hell out of gold in Tokyo before I went to bed.” Jimmy Lee tapped the screen where the gold quote was blinking. “It's way up this morning,” he said, smiling. “The CPI number that came out a few hours ago was high, much higher than expected. All of a sudden people are worried about inflation again.”

Bo nodded, thinking about how Fritz's contact inside the French bank had been so certain that the CPI number would be down this morning.

“Fritz got snagged, didn't he?” Jimmy Lee asked curiously.

“Yes. An informant of his claimed that a couple of French banks had gotten their hands on the CPI report early and were going to be dumping Fort Knox at the European open because the report would supposedly indicate that inflation was low,” Bo explained. “Someone inside one of the banks. Then somebody from Moscow called to confirm all of that. It was too convenient, too neatly packaged.”

“Your instinct was that Fritz was being worked.”

“There's an element out there that always wants to hurt the Hancocks. They hate our success. You know that, Dad.”

“Yes, I do, but how did you figure out the rumor was false so quickly?”

“I called one of
my
informants.”

“Not going to tell me which one, are you?” Jimmy Lee asked, a faint smile touching the deep creases in his cheeks.

“You said you never wanted to know.”

“Very good, Bolling. That's another key to your success. You don't have that compulsion to relay secrets the way most human beings do. You're a helluva businessman, son.”

“Thanks, but I—”

“It's just too damn bad you can't conduct your personal life with the same discipline.” Jimmy Lee seethed as he remembered the report he had received from the Hazeltine people a few hours before.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were out until three o'clock this morning,” Jimmy Lee said. “A few hours ago you were running around Manhattan like a fraternity kid, just like you were the night before. The difference is, two nights ago you had Frank Ramsey to watch over you. Last night you were on your own.” He hesitated. “Where were you when I talked to you on your cell phone this morning?”

Bo tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. “Some dive in the Village.” Bo was certain Jimmy Lee already knew all that had—and hadn't—happened, but he'd play the game if that was what was required.

“With a woman,” Jimmy Lee stated.

“No!”

“You picked her up at a SoHo nightclub and took her home to her place,” Jimmy Lee continued angrily.

“I dropped her off,” Bo retorted, shaking his head, “then I checked into the first hotel I came to.”

That was the thing about Bo. He told the truth or said nothing, but he never lied. Which was the problem and why they had to do this to him, Jimmy Lee thought to himself. “I know you did,” he agreed solemnly, his tone turning less confrontational. “But it's the
appearance
of what you did. You put the family in a vulnerable position. What if that woman got herself pregnant by someone else, then came after you? I'll bet she's just the type who would do something like that. An opportunist with money problems. Even though her story would be completely false, it would have teeth for a while. People might have seen you leave the nightclub with her, or go into her apartment building lobby.” Jimmy Lee rapped on his desk. “Why the hell didn't you get yourself to our suite at the Four Seasons?”

“I—”

“Or call one of our drivers who would have gotten your ass home to your wife where it belongs.”

“I—”

“Christ, it smells like a distillery in here,” Jimmy Lee said scornfully. “How much did you drink last night?”

“A little. It was no big deal.”

“You have a problem, Bolling,” Jimmy Lee said firmly.

“No I don't.”

“What do you tell Meg when you stay out all night like that?” he asked. “She called here around midnight looking for you.”

Bo looked down. Before leaving the office last night, he had called Meg to say that he was going to stay in the city at the Four Seasons suite the Hancock family leased year-round, and he'd had every intention of doing that. However, at three o'clock in the morning he'd been so tired he just wanted to find the nearest port in the storm. He'd fallen asleep in the taxi the woman had hailed outside the SoHo nightclub, and the next thing he knew they were at her apartment building.

“I told her that—”

A sharp knock on the study door interrupted Bo.

“Come in,” Jimmy Lee called.

The door opened and Paul strode confidently into the room, bronzed after a week in the Caribbean sun at the family's compound on St. John. Without acknowledging Bo, he moved to where Jimmy Lee sat. “Hello, Father,” he said, his voice booming through the study.

Jimmy Lee stood up, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Good morning, Governor.”

Paul Hancock was in his second term as governor of Connecticut. The first election had been close, but he had won the second in a landslide and now he had turned his sights on the ultimate prize. The presidential election was a year and a half off, but the Hancock machine had already kicked into high gear.

Bo looked away as Paul and Jimmy Lee embraced. Finally Paul acknowledged Bo with a curt nod. “Hello.”

“Hello yourself.” Bo made certain his voice yielded no emotion.

“How are things at Warfield?” Paul's interest in Warfield Capital was focused on two things: the fund's value and how much of that value he was ultimately going to receive. “Is the fund doing well?”

“Very well,” Bo replied. “We bought a fairly large position in—”

“Do we know yet who will be running against you in the primaries?” Jimmy Lee interrupted.

Paul gave Bo a quick smile. Jimmy Lee was much more interested in Paul's campaign than in Bo's stock purchases. “Ron Baker and Reggie Duncan. There will be others, but the people at party headquarters believe those will be the only serious challengers.”

Jimmy Lee chuckled. “I don't think either one of them will be a threat. Baker maybe. Ultimately, it won't matter anyway.”

There was another rap on the study door.

“Come in.”

Teddy entered the study. He too embraced Jimmy Lee, then embraced Paul, and finally nodded stiffly at Bo. “What the hell happened to you? You look terrible.” Teddy was more direct than e-mail, which explained why he hadn't gone into politics. “Like shit reheated.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

“Well, we made a great deal of money in the gold pits yesterday,” Teddy announced loudly. “I'm glad I doubled down on our position.”

“
You
doubled down?” Bo asked incredulously. “You—”

“It's all right, Bolling.” Jimmy Lee held up a hand. “We can work through all of that later. Right now we have something more important to discuss.” He pointed toward three chairs facing Bo's. Paul and Teddy sat down obediently, the empty chair between them.

Bo searched their faces for clues, then glanced at his father, trying to figure out what was going on.

“You're going to take a vacation, Bolling,” Jimmy Lee announced, like a judge pronouncing sentence.

“A vacation?” Bo's fingers gripped the arms of the club chair.

“Out west,” Paul added, “where no one can find you.”

“In fact, I've already purchased a ranch in Montana through one of our holding companies,” Jimmy Lee went on. “Where you won't be able to associate with gamblers and whores.”

“What!”

“Where you won't get into trouble,” he continued.

“Not the kind of trouble the New York press will care about anyway,” Teddy seconded.

“Wait a minute,” Bo protested, trying to defend himself against the tag-team assault. “What do you mean, ‘vacation'?”

“Time away from New York,” Paul explained.

“And Warfield Capital,” Jimmy Lee added.

“I don't understand.”

“You've become a major liability to Paul,” Jimmy Lee said firmly. “The national election is still some time off, but I'm sure Paul will be asked to run for president by our party leaders. His keynote speech at the convention last time around and his popular social programs here in Connecticut have made him an early favorite with some very influential people. They believe this could be Paul's time, and so do I.”