Terminal Value (29 page)

Dylan walked quietly to the door and pressed his ear against it to listen. He assumed she was talking to Michelle, Art's secretary. He heard only one side of the conversation, but he knew the word was making rapid rounds throughout the office.

“You can say that again! When Mr. Williams finds out—well, somebody's living on borrowed time!”

Dylan's company cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He walked as far away from the door as he could and eyed the caller I.D.: Joe Ferrano. “Hello, Joe,” he said, his voice low.

“Dylan, what the hell is going on?”

“What?”

“You haven't heard?”

“Heard what?” He wondered how fast the story would make the rounds, and he knew he would get a good read from an outsider like Joe.

“Are you kidding me? The news is everywhere! On CNN, on CNBC, on every financial and technology industry website. Check it out. It seems your boss and his cronies have been cooking your books!”

“Really. When did you—?”

“Two minutes ago. Dylan, it also says you guys are padding your pockets by selling out your own clients.”

Dylan was silent.

“Before all of this, the news about what happened to Hyperfōn was already getting out on the street. It won't take people long to figure out our company was one of the ones your firm sold out! Jesus, Dylan, are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, Joe. I am. But I can't talk about it over the phone.”

“I see.” There was a pause then a change in tone. “Dylan, are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“You don't sound it. Can I help?”

Dylan stopped and shook his head. “Joe, I'm really grateful for that offer. After all that's happened, I'd have thought you'd be the last person on Earth to offer me help.”

“Look, Dylan, I'm not saying I'm not still pissed off at what happened. I am. My company got screwed. But I don't believe for a second you're involved. I warned you about Art Williams's reputation. And I like you, Dylan. You're a talented and hard-working guy. I didn't get where I am by luck. I'm pretty good at reading people, and we've worked together long enough for me to know you've been snookered as well as me. Hell, you remind me of me at your age.”

Dylan bowed his head. From across the room, he could see the computer screen blink with an urgent message from Art. He ignored it. “Thanks, Joe,” he said, choking on his words. “I'm sorry you're involved in this mess.”

“Yeah—me too.”

Dylan paused and took a deep breath. “Listen, Joe. Do you think it's crazy to pass up a fortune for the sake of a good friend?”

“Hell no! Wait. How big a fortune?” Joe chuckled.

Dylan returned the chuckle, then said, “I have to go. Thanks for calling, Joe. Maybe we can get together sometime. Outside of work?”

“Sure, Dylan. Call me when you can. And remember that offer of help remains open.”

Dylan disconnected his phone without further comment. He felt like a ghost, sitting in his office, silent, while at every level the Mantric staff found themselves in a world crashing down around them. In an eerie reversed image of the day the company had gone public, they huddled before their monitors and over their smartphones watching the numbers dance, spiraling down from the heights just as quickly as they had risen just a short time earlier: 61, 53, 51, 44, 37, 27 . . . 12.

Dylan sat in the dim office, lit only by the morning light coming through the windows. He went to his computer, ignoring Art's urgent message, and dialed two numbers. Within moments the screen divided in half, with Heather's face on one side and Matt and Rich on the other.

He placed a headset on his head to ensure no one in the office could hear their conversation. “Are you ready?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Yep,” said Heather.

“Us too,” echoed Matt and Rich.

“Okay, so let's go over this one more time.”

Heather spoke first. “I'm going to call Christine and ask her if she has spoken to you. I'm going to tell her I got a frantic message from you on my voice-mail and I've not been able to contact you.”

“And if she asks for any details?”

“I'll tell her that you said you spoke to Matt and Rich and they had some important financial information related to Hyperfōn, but you didn't leave any particulars.”

“What if she pushes for more?”

“Then I'll act stupid, like financial things are so far out of my league, and I thought you might be contacting her.”

“Good. Okay, guys.” He turned his attention to Matt and Rich. “How about you?”

Matt spoke. “I'm going to call Rachel and ask for you. When she tells me you're not there, I'm going to ask her to give you a message—that I heard from Rich that he was supposed to meet with some high-end corporate lawyer about suing Christine and Art for unlawful termination. That the lawyer had found something in the paperwork that raised some legal questions in his mind. Then I'll tell her I am going to meet Rich and his lawyer to give a statement, and the lawyer said he might be able to help me too with the Hyperfōn situation.” Matt chuckled. “Sorry to have to use Rachel this way, but she doesn't keep secrets very well.”

“Well, that's what we're counting on. Okay, our timing has to be perfect.” He lowered his voice to just barely a whisper. “It's 11:30 and Rachel has left. She'll be back from lunch in about thirty minutes. Just keep calling until you get her. I'm staying put until I hear her side of the conversation. You let Heather know once you've completed your end of the deal. Heather, you make your call to Christine as soon as you hear from Matt.”

Rich's face appeared on the screen. “Are you sure about the timing of this thing?” he asked.

Dylan took a deep breath. “Nothing is guaranteed, but, if I know Rachel, she'll hightail it to see her good friend Michelle, Art's secretary. And I have no doubt Michelle will waste no time telling Art. By that time, either Art will call Christine, or she will have already called him. All they need to know is where your supposed meeting will take place. Be sure you give the name of some restaurant far enough away that traveling to and from it will give me enough time.”

“What about Michelle?” Heather asked. “How are you going to get past her?”

“One thing I've learned is that when Art is out of the office, she takes advantage of his absence and runs an errand or two. She keeps a close eye on his calendar and knows when she can wander and when she can't. He won't be gone ten minutes before she's out somewhere.”

There was a moment of silence before Heather asked, “Are you sure the information Ivan gave you is correct?”

“No, I'm not sure of anything, but for some reason, I trust what he said. I haven't seen him today, and I suspect he is long gone.”

Matt piped up, “Well, be careful. If they come back before you're finished, you'll really be finished!”

Dylan raised his eyebrows. “That's an understatement. Listen, everyone, no more contact until tonight. I'll get back to you and let you know what's happened from this end. Good luck!”

Matt and Rich disconnected. Heather remained. “Dylan, please be very careful. Now that we know Ivan taped all of those meetings secretly, your safety may really be in question. We know from that one damaged video that Tony knew something—something he was getting ready to tell you about. If they did not kill him, I'm sure they had their fingers in that pot. Either they made Ivan do it, or they hired someone else.” Her voice began to rise.

Tears filled Dylan's eyes as his memory reran the details of that video. The last day of Tony's life. There was something about the video he could not put his finger on, but he was certain it held the key to Tony's murder. “Wish me luck.” He disconnected the call and turned his computer off.

He looked at his watch. Twelve-oh-five. Suddenly he heard a rustling outside the door. He hurried over to a dark corner behind the door and waited, holding his breath. He watched the doorknob turn and the door open just a few inches. Then he heard the phone on Rachel's desk ring. The door closed, and he heard Rachel answer the phone.

“Oh, hi Matt. No, he's not here. I was just going to check his office calendar when you called.”

Several moments of silence followed. Dylan tiptoed to the other side of the door and gently opened it just enough to see Rachel's back. She had cradled the phone between her left shoulder and ear while she scribbled notes. Dylan could not see her face, but the speed with which she wrote, her head bobbing up and down in frantic silence, spoke volumes.

“My goodness! I see. Yes, I'll tell him as soon as he comes in. Oh no, I won't tell anyone. Yes, I promise to give him the message immediately.”

Dylan softly closed the door and moved to the shadows in the back of the office, but Rachel did not enter with any notes for him. He waited for one minute, one minute that seemed like an hour, before he opened the door again. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. A quick scan of the cubicles across the hallway told him the employees were still gathered in small clusters, either in someone's cubicle or in the cafeteria or the conference room, watching their world collapse. He hurried out the door toward the stairwell, yanked the door open, and raced, two steps at a time, up two flights to the senior executive floor. He leaned against the wall next to the door and bent over, grasped his knees, and took a deep breath. Then he opened the door a fraction of an inch and listened to silence. He heard no voices, no sounds of movement of any kind. He slipped into the hallway.

Like the floors below, all life was focused on computers, smartphones, or tablets as employees watched their futures disintegrate before them. Dylan held himself close to the wall, eyeing nearby offices in case he needed a quick hiding place.

“What the hell is this all about?” Art's voice boomed from around the next corner.

Dylan rushed into an empty office. He placed his ear close to the door.

“I swear, Christine, between this damned news leak and your handling of Linderman's termination, we have a real mess that I have to clean up.”

“
My
handling of his termination? You're the one who wanted him out. You're the one who told me to do whatever it took to get rid of him, and fast!”

“Don't try to shove this off on me. Everything was working as it was supposed to until that blunder.” Art's deep voice continued to rise.

“Keep your voice down!” Christine demanded.

Dylan listened through a moment of silence, wondering if they had taken the elevator or were still nearby. Then he heard Christine continue. “Let's take a deep breath. Did Michelle tell you where Matt was meeting with Rich and this lawyer?”

“Yes. It's a restaurant about fifteen minutes from here.”

“So we go there and do what? Do we confront him with his lawyer standing there?”

“I don't know what we do yet. I just feel like we have to get there. We can act surprised—be nice. You
do
know how to be nice, don't you?”

“I don't like this, not at all. I don't think we should leave.”

“Fine. You stay here and bury your head in that damned computer, like you always do.”

“I'll go with you, just to make sure you don't do something else stupid. But I think we need to discuss what we're going to do about Dylan.”

Dylan pushed his ear harder against the door and held his breath.

“I'll fire him, of course.”

“On what grounds?”

Art remained silent for a moment, and Dylan imagined him running a hand through his hair while he considered the question. He waited, wondering what Art was up to. Then he heard Art on the phone: “Michelle, call the garage and get the limo ready.” Then Art turned his attention back to Christine. “We need to discuss this on the way to the restaurant. We have to be together on this, Christine.”

Dylan noted Art's tone had changed.

“Of course, you're right.” She said nothing for several moments then asked, “What about Dylan, and Tony's death?”

Dylan's eyes opened wide as he listened to Christine.
Where is she going with this
, he wondered?

“What about it?” Art asked.

“Well, now that the world knows Tony was murdered, someone has to take the fall.” Christine lowered her voice, and all Dylan heard was garbled whispering.

“What are you talking about?” Art said, his voice now clear. “He has a rock-solid alibi for that day. He was in New York—remember? He didn't even get back to Boston until after Tony was killed, and he has a bucket full of receipts and airline personnel who can verify his alibi. Why would you even think that?”

“Well, where were you when Tony was killed?” Christine asked.

“I was also here in New York. You might recall we had just returned from the road show, and the IPO occurred that Monday.”

Christine's manner became sour. “Yes, and it's just a short shuttle trip up to Boston, isn't it? We worked on our notes that weekend, but Tony was murdered that following Monday. Seems like plenty of time to me—”

Art cut her off; his tone took on a cold, steely note. “Do not even attempt to go there, Christine. If you did not see me, please remember I did not see you either. Besides, what motive would I have for murdering him?”

Dylan gritted his teeth as he thought about the video; he struggled to keep from opening the door. He was bigger than Art; he was stronger than Art; he was younger than Art; and it would be nothing for him to take the man out. He was about to open the door when he heard Christine's response.

“Hyperfōn,” she said. “Everything started to go bad with the Hyperfōn sell-out to LC. If Tony found out and threatened to make it public, there would be a number of people who would have a reason to kill him, including you.”

“You should be very careful, my dear, with such loaded accusations. Remember, you would appear on that list as well.”