Terminal Value (21 page)
“How do you know that?”
“Reflections.”
May 12, 8:00 p.m. New York
Dylan walked into Docks, an always-crowded upscale bar in midtown Manhattan. Suits and skirts packed the bar. Men lingered over Crown Royal on the rocks, being careful not to spill it on their thousand-dollar suits. The women in the bar fell into one of two categoriesâthe successful, and the other. The successful women did not dress off the rack. Their appearance, from five-inch spiked heels to uptown haircuts and make-up, spoke volumes about their success and their choices in both fashion and men. The other women, easier targets, prowled around the men, accepting their offers of a drinkâalmost always choosing a martini.
Dylan worked his way through the crowd, looking for Heather. He went around one side of the bar, but she wasn't there. Maybe he'd arrived first. Then he looked across the bar to the other side. Four men were huddled around a woman, talking animatedly. He moved to get a view of the woman and then spotted her strawberry-blonde hair.
He made his way through the crowd and around the bar. “Hi, Heather.
“Hey, Dylan,” she said with a broad smile and gave him a light kiss. She turned to introduce him to the others, but they quickly glanced at each other and muttered “Nice to have met you.” Then they disappeared.
“You made quite the fan club.” He noticed a tinge of jealousy in his tone.
“Just a bunch of investment bankers trying to impress me.”
“Oh I'm sure,” he said lightly.
“Actually I was doing a little bit of free market research.”
“Market research?”
“Yeah. I asked them if they'd ever heard of Mantric.”
“And?”
“Not only had they heard of us, but the two that cover the technology sector knew everything. They said we had great âbuzz' and they couldn't believe how well our stock was doing.”
The hostess greeted them at the dining room and showed them to their table. Dylan pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his clip and asked for a table in the back, far from the noisy bar.
Heather opened her menu. “The seafood here is excellent.”
Dylan scanned the menu but had difficulty concentrating. The events of the past few days kept running through his mind like a tape being played over and over.
The waitress appeared and poured water for both of them while reciting the specials of the day. Heather ordered swordfish, and Dylan ordered salmon.
The waitress disappeared, and, just as Dylan was about to speak, his cell phone beeped. He answered, but said nothing. He kept his eyes on Heather as he nodded his head up and down in agreement with whatever his caller said. The call lasted only a moment.
“What was that all about?”
“That was Detective Baldwin. She said they now have Tony's computer.” He stared beyond her, deep in thought, then added, “But it's meaningless.”
“Why?”
“We already know Ivan got in and probably deleted everything, or at least anything they would consider damning evidence. I saw that in Christine's eyes when she told me the police wanted Tony's computer. Baldwin and her folks won't find anything on it. And if the e-mail Tony sent me was on it, neither will I.”
Heather's eyes hardened. “Ivan. That pig,” she said, fairly seething.
Dylan's attention wavered. “What is it with you and Ivan? I saw him staring at you at the funeral.”
Her expression darkened, and she looked away. “He made a pass at me, that's all. A very crude, medieval pass.”
“What? When?” Her admission angered Dylan.
“It happened when we first came to Mantric. I remember he asked if I was having a relationship with anyone at MobiCelus, other than friendship. I told him it was none of his business.” Her eyes narrowed. “Believe me, I can handle that sort of crap.” Her anger startled Dylan. “But Ivan won't forget my rejection. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me. Like he's obsessed or something.” She shook her head, then smiled. “So now you know. Let's get back to the issue at hand. How are you going to find Tony's e-mail?”
“If Tony sent it from his computer at the Boston office, Ivan has it now. In fact, he probably intercepted it, which is why I didn't get it in the first place. Brandon brought it to my attention that if Tony was sending me proof Mantric was up to something, like they discovered what he was working on and were going to try to steal it from him, then he must have gotten proof from somewhere. And the most likely place to find it is on the protected servers here in the New York office.”
“Okay. I buy that. And by now they're probably destroyed.”
“Maybe, maybe not. If they're the sort of files I think they are, they wouldn't be destroyed except on the way out the door.”
“Why not?”
“If you're playing around with the financials or doing something else criminal, you still need to keep track of the figures just as carefully as you do when you're on the straight and narrow. You just bury it where you think no one will find it. In my gut, I think Tony found something, and that was the file he wanted me to see. And for that, I need to hack into Mantric's secure servers.”
Heather nodded. “That's where I come in. I will be much less conspicuous than you. I'm the perfect person to do this. I'm a senior member of the management team. I can go anywhere I want to in the company. Nobody would ever think I would be hacking into the root directories. I may have a degree in digital media, but I minored in information technology. I can hold my own with the nerd herd anytime.”
“I've got Brandon's script, but I'm not comfortable with you being put at risk.”
She countered, “That's just it! The script will hide me while I search. I'll run it, and it'll cover my tracks by shifting the IP address of my computer while I work.”
“Are you absolutely certain?” he asked. “I can do it.”
“We have to do this, Dylan, and you're overwhelmed emotionally by what's been happening. Tony's death, this Prometheus business, the HyperfÅn disaster. Are Matt and Rob learning any more about that?” she asked in a whisper.
“No. When we did our investigation, there was no sign LC was even thinking of getting into this business. It's like they knew all along about the business we were creating and somehow kept it hidden while they built one themselves.”
“How could they? We keep all our work confidential.”
“Rob thinks it was an inside job at HyperfÅn. He might be right. Then again, now we're part of Mantric, and someone somewhere in the company could just as easily have leaked information. But why the hell would anyone at Mantric want to hurt our revenues just after we've gone public? They'd only be hurting themselves. It doesn't make any sense.”
“No. A lot of things don't make any sense.” She averted her eyes.
“Such as?”
She touched her napkin to her lips. “Remember how we all thought Art was an idiot when he wouldn't let you attend his management meetings or go on the road show?”
“Like it was yesterday.”
“What was his reason?”
“He said he didn't want me distracted from the business.”
“No, when you pressed him, what was the real reason?”
Dylan thought for a moment. “That the board didn't want anyone else to see the detailed financials.”
“Bingo,” she said as she picked up her wine glass and took a sip.
“I'm sorry, Heather. I'm not following you.”
She set the glass down. “Didn't Rich tell you he thought Christine was incompetent at running finance?”
“Yes, that's right,” Dylan agreed.
“And she forgot to include a reserve for the acquisition of our firm in our filing with the SEC.”
“Yeah, but you guys all thought Rich was in over his head.”
“I know. But what if we were wrong? What if they got rid of Rich and gave him a fat severance because he was getting too close to the truth? And what if Art lied to you about the board not wanting you to see our detailed financials?”
“What are you saying?” Dylan said, leaning in closer to hear her whispers. The noise in the restaurant seemed to increase exponentially with the discussion.
“I'm saying, what if Art isn't an idiot? And what if Christine isn't incompetent? What if, in fact, they're both brilliant? I mean, why else would Art bring down the hammer over the loss of one measly client? He's trying to keep you as far away from the real action as possible.”
“He's succeeding.”
“Dylan,” she said, leaning over the table, her face close to his. “There's something I need to tell you.”
“Why do I think I'm not going to like this?”
“Remember I told you about Christine saying the New York office accounted for over forty-five percent of our revenues?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I've been doing my homework, too. I looked up last quarter's revenues for the whole firm. They were 105 million dollars. If New York accounted for forty-five percent of that, it would be over forty-seven million dollars.”
“Right.”
“So then I did an analysis of our New York revenues last quarter.”
“How'd you do that?” Dylan said, surprised. “You don't have access to those numbers any more than I do.”
She laughed. “You know, you're a brilliant guy, but sometimes you're just too damn logical. It was easy. I just chatted with people working on the projects based out of the New York office. Every team knows what they are billing their own client. They just don't compare notes and add up a whole office's worth. They love to brag about their individual successes. They never questioned why I needed the information. They just gave it to me. So I quietly gathered up that information and then totaled it up myself.”
Dylan certainly hoped she'd done it quietly. Having them both in trouble wouldn't help anyone. “What'd you find?”
“My estimate is the New York office only billed thirty-two million dollars last quarter, not forty-five million.” Heather tapped a highly polished finger on the tabletop for emphasis.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I suppose I could be off by a million or two, but not fifteen.”
Dylan took a long drink of his water. “Well, it's not exactly hard evidence, but it certainly is suspicious.”
“You are the master of the understatement. And if Tony found out. . . .” She let her statement dissipate, unanswered.
Dylan sat back and slowly responded, “I guess anything's possible.”
“If Tony found out about this and maybe approached Art or Christine, would that be a big enough reason for murder?”
“It very well could be, and that's a good reason to hack into the secure server. Honestly, Heather, I think we have toâ”
“I know.” She licked her lipsâa reflexive gesture Dylan knew she made whenever her thoughts overwhelmed her. He had seen her do it at the poker table and at the conference table. It had always endeared her to him. “So you really think Tony was killed because he found out something bad about Mantric?”
“Yeah.”
“By whom?”
“Ivan, maybe ordered by Art or Christine. The trio seems to have a tight relationship, though Ivan is certainly under the other two's thumbs.”
She nodded slowly. “Can't say I'd put it past the bastard.”
He watched her face, knowing her creative mind was churning as she looked for flaws in his theory.
“Okay, we need to do this. Here's how it's going to be, no questions.” She looked from side to side, ensuring their conversation would not be overheard.
Dylan drew a deep breath. “I don't like this.”
“Doesn't matter,” she insisted. “I'm better at sifting through obscure directories than you are, which is why I'm going in.”
Dylan shook his head. “It's a big risk. What if you get caught?”
“I like risk. Your job is to keep an eye on Ivan while I'm hacking into the server. Because, in the end, I'd rather you were the one keeping Ivan occupied while I deal with the nice friendly server.”
Dylan realized he really had no choice. Heather was right about his methodical, detail-oriented mind versus her intuition. “OK, I'll keep him occupied for you,” he finally said, grimly.
Their eyes met. Heather raised her glass, and Dylan did the same.
“For Tony.”
May 13, 7:30 a.m. New York
The next morning Dylan arrived at Mantric before most of the staff. He sat at his desk and began to prepare a folder, his heart thumping as he considered the multiple ways the plan could go wrong. If they were caught, could they be arrested? He was an officer of the company, but what about Heather? What jeopardy had he placed her in? They had reviewed every minute of their timetable over and over until they could recite it backwards. Dylan shook his head to dispel the questions. It was too late to go back now. He reached out to the keyboard and called the Boston office a few minutes before eight-thirty and spoke with Sarah.
“So I take it you haven't been able to fix the HyperfÅn problem?”
Dylan felt his heart sink. “Sarah, how many people know about that?”
“Pretty much everyone here, I'm afraid. You can't expect the whole team to keep it a secret when they are suddenly yanked out of a client and told to go back home.”
It wasn't what Dylan wanted to hear, but it was certainly understandable. “So where are they?”
“In the main conference room. Ready and waiting for your call.”
“Organized as always. Thanks, Sarah.”
“No problem. Dylan, is there anything else I can do?”
He sighed. “No. But thanks for asking.” Dylan linked to the conference room, where he had a view of the entire HyperfÅn project personnel sitting around the long table. The room fell silent as he came online, and everyone's eyes focused on him.