The Insider (13 page)

“I know.” Now it was Jay’s turn to hesitate. “It’s just that—”

“Come on, people!” Oliver shouted coming up behind Jay, Bullock in tow. “Let’s go. Meeting right now in the conference room. And I mean
right
now.”

Sally puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes once Oliver and Bullock had blown past. “Here we go. He’s on the warpath.”

“What’s the problem?” Jay asked, rising from his seat.

Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed fine at our meeting this morning.”

Moments later the four of them were seated around the conference table. Oliver was at the head of the table, Bullock to his right, with Sally and Jay facing each other on either side.

“Close the door,” Oliver ordered, pointing at Jay. His hair was slightly tousled and there were bags under his eyes. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and took a deep, exasperated breath.

Jay rose and moved slowly to the door. The large, comfortable bed in his apartment seemed to be calling all the way from the Upper West Side.

“Before fucking Christmas, pal,” Oliver yelled.

The night before, Oliver had acted like a close friend. Now he was back to being Captain Bligh.

After stopping and starting several times, Oliver finally spoke up. “Abby has resigned,” he said flatly.

Jay looked up, suddenly wide awake. He had noticed the same strained quality in Oliver’s voice the previous day when Oliver had rushed up to him at the liquor store.

“There was… there was a letter delivered this morning to me,” Oliver explained, reaching into his leather portfolio and removing an envelope, holding it in the air for the others to see as if he were a defense attorney holding up a piece of evidence for the jury. “By… by courier.”

Jay had always been impressed with Oliver’s glib demeanor and smooth delivery, even in pressure situations. But that demeanor was gone. Jay scrutinized him carefully. Oliver seemed preoccupied, and his normally sleek appearance had faded.

“I wanted to tell everyone as soon as I could.” Oliver’s voice softened. “I wanted to tell you all at the same time.”

“Did she take another job?” Jay asked.

Oliver didn’t respond. He was staring at the wall, his eyes fixed on something.

“Oliver.” Bullock nudged Oliver with his elbow.

“I’m sorry.” Oliver shook his head. “What was the question?”

“Did Abby take another job?” Jay asked again.

“I don’t know. The letter simply said that she was resigning for personal reasons.” Oliver glanced at Bullock—almost for moral support, Jay thought.

Oliver drew himself up in the chair. “We’re all going to have to work very hard until Bullock and I can find a replacement for her,” he said. “Abby was an extremely valuable member of our team. She took a lot of pressure off us by attending to details and doing the grunt work. I don’t know how we’ll replace her.” Oliver placed the envelope back in his portfolio, his hands shaking. “That’s all I have to say,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry to take up your time.” He glanced at Sally, his eyes misty. “Would you excuse us? Bullock and I need to talk to Jay alone.”

“Sure.” Sally picked up her notebook and exited the room quickly.

Jay studied Oliver’s face, noticing age lines he’d never seen before. His permanent tan seemed to have paled as well, and the bags under his eyes were obvious. Something had happened since Jay and Sally had left Oliver at the club. Maybe it had to do with Abby, or perhaps Oliver and Barbara had gotten into it at home. Whatever it was, it was deeply affecting him.

“We need to go over your one-month review, Jay,” Bullock announced when Sally was gone.

“One-month review?” Jay looked at Oliver, who was slouched down in his seat. “No one ever told me anything about a one-month review.”

“It’s standard stuff,” Bullock said. “Every new employee gets one of these things.” He reached into his notebook and produced a single piece of paper, inspected it briefly, then passed it across the tabletop to Jay. “Read what’s there, then sign it at the bottom of the page. And don’t worry too much about the specifics of the review.”

Jay scanned the paper quickly. He had received an overall rating of two out of a possible five. Bullock had filled out the report. His name was at the bottom. “I don’t understand. This indicates that I’m not working to my full potential. It seems to infer that I’m not pulling the hours I ought be. I’ve been here until at least eleven o’clock almost every night since the day I started. Sometimes later.”

“Then you need to work more efficiently,” Bullock retorted. “And you need to pull the trigger on a few trades.”

“I placed three orders this morning,” Jay replied evenly.

Oliver opened his eyes and straightened slightly in his seat.

“Which companies?” Bullock asked.

“TurboTec, Simons, and Bell Chemical.”

Suddenly Oliver sat straight up and snapped his fingers. “Let me see that review,” he ordered.

Jay slid the paper across the table. Oliver scanned it briefly, then glanced at Bullock. “A two?” he asked incredulously. “I think this is way too low. Raise it to a four.”

“A
four
?”

“That’s what I said. A four.” Oliver pointed at Jay. “Are you comfortable with a four?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good.” Oliver shoved the paper back at Bullock. “Do it right away, Carter,” he directed, then walked out of the room.

Moments later Bullock rose from his seat and stalked wordlessly from the room as well, furious.

Jay rubbed his eyes when Bullock was gone, then headed back to his position on the desk. When he got there, Bullock wasn’t on the desk, but Oliver and Sally sat next to each other on the far side of the bulkhead, speaking into their phones. Jay eased into his chair, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved the employee home-phone list for the arbitrage desk, something Bullock had given him his first day. As Bullock had explained, everyone needed to be available at all times, because deals didn’t have nine-to-five schedules and even a brief lack of communication could cost the desk millions.

Jay located Abby’s home number and dialed, listening to the ring at the other end of the line while he watched Sally move off holding a piece of paper. After five rings Abby’s answering machine picked up. Jay listened to the greeting, then cut the connection without leaving a message. For a few minutes he gazed at the computer monitor in front of him, numbers on the screen blinking continuously as the on-line program updated the stock prices he was following closely. Then he rose from the chair, moved around the bulkhead, and stood beside Oliver.

“What is it?” Oliver snapped, finally looking up from the memo he had been reading.

Jay pulled out the keys to the Austin Healey, a clear image of Oliver forcing himself on Abby racing through his mind. “Here.” He tossed the keys down on the desk, then reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out the check Oliver had given him the previous night, and dropped it beside the keys. “I appreciate your generosity, but I think you better keep this.”

Then he turned and headed for the soda machine, feeling Oliver’s eyes burning holes in his back, wondering why Sally had lied to him about using his computer that morning to go on-line to check out the Asia close. He wasn’t hooked up to the Internet at home.

CHAPTER 11

McCarthy eased into the back of the long black limousine and sat down on the bench seat beside Andrew Gibson, deputy chief of staff for the president of the United States. McCarthy had taken a Delta shuttle down to Washington that afternoon from New York because his private Learjet was undergoing routine maintenance.

Gibson directed the driver to proceed northwest out of National Airport on the George Washington Parkway toward the Capital Beltway. “I’m glad you could come down to Washington today on such short notice,” Gibson began. “The president sends his regards. He says he’s looking forward to seeing you in New York.”

“Yes, it should be a great event,” McCarthy agreed proudly. He liked Gibson. They were about the same age and held similar political views. Gibson was short, slight, and perfectly manicured, from his neatly clipped straight gray hair to his crisp dark suits and conservative ties.

“It will be a tremendous couple of days,” Gibson said emphatically. “And your ability to coordinate the governor’s and mayor’s offices has proven very helpful. There is quite a rivalry between those two, and they both want to take credit—for political reasons, of course. It was good of you to step in and remind them that the president is the host. It’s their state and city, but they needed to have the whip cracked a little. Thank you. And those thanks come from the president as well.”

“Certainly.”

“There is one bit of bad news,” Gibson offered hesitantly.

“What’s that?” McCarthy asked.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t get you at the president’s table at the dinner.”

“Ah.” McCarthy waved his hand as if that piece of information was of no concern. “I don’t give a damn. I’m glad to be of help to the president any way I can. Besides, I’ll see him the next day downtown.”

“Yes, you will,” Gibson assured McCarthy. “You’ll be right there on the dais.”

“That would be nice, but I won’t count on it.”

Gibson patted McCarthy’s knee with his small fingers and smiled. “That’s why the president likes you so much, Bill. That’s why he’ll always take care of you. He knows that you have your eye squarely on the big picture. So many of his supporters don’t,” Gibson groused. “So many of them come to Washington with their hands out, looking for charity. You aren’t like that. You’re a team player, and we appreciate that.”

“Thank you.” McCarthy glanced out the limousine’s tinted window at the Key Bridge spanning the Potomac River, and at Georgetown on the bluffs beyond.

“The president wants you to come to Camp David in the fall,” Gibson announced. “He’s going to be hosting a very private forum on the U.S. economy and needs you to attend. He wants an insider’s perspective in a relaxed setting. There will be only about ten of you there. The CEO of General Motors, the CEO of ATT, IBM’s chairman… you get the picture.”

“Yes, I do.” It was the kind of access to political power few people in the world possessed, and McCarthy fought to keep his satisfaction hidden.

“He won’t take no for an answer, Bill,” Gibson warned good-naturedly.

“I’ll be there,” McCarthy assured Gibson. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good.”

The limousine headed up a long incline into the dense forest on the south side of the Potomac River. McCarthy and Gibson fell into a discussion of the current state of the economy, the rapid consolidation of the financial services industry, and where McCarthy saw interest rates heading over the next few months. All so Gibson could brief the president later.

When the vehicle moved past the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency on the left, the driver lowered the partition. “We’re coming up on the Capital Beltway, Mr. Gibson. What would you like me to do?”

“Get on the Beltway going north and cross the river,” Gibson instructed. “Then turn around at the first exit and get us heading back toward National Airport on the GW. Right back the way we came.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver raised the partition again.

Gibson pushed a button on the wood-grain console built into the door and turned on classical music. “Now we get to the heart of the matter. Why I needed you to come down to Washington today, Bill.”

McCarthy felt his heart begin to pound. Not one who had ever been able to hide his emotions well, he swallowed hard and felt the perspiration covering his palms. He wiped his hands on his suit pants.

“Steady, Bill,” Gibson urged gently. He had known McCarthy long enough now that he could easily sense the other man’s discomfort.

“What is it?” McCarthy asked. “Why did I have to come down here today?”

“It has to do with Oliver Mason.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Gibson turned the music up slightly louder. “When the fireworks are over, you’re going to have to let Oliver go. He can’t remain at McCarthy and Lloyd.”

“But I thought—”

“I’ve had two extensive conversations with my friend at the Justice Department. You know she is very powerful.”

“Yes.” McCarthy bowed his head deferentially.

“She has the president’s best interests at heart, and therefore yours.”

“I understand.”

Gibson blinked several times quickly and ground his teeth. This reaction was his personal Achilles’ heel, a certain indication that he was feeling uncomfortable himself, and the reason he would never be more than deputy chief of staff. Washington’s top appointee positions were available only to those who never revealed any of their emotions unless they wanted to. “She has discussed everything again with her point person in New York, and while he has promised not to prosecute Oliver,” Gibson explained, “he isn’t willing to allow him to continue as head of your arbitrage desk. It would simply be too transparent. Too blatant an abuse of power. He can’t even stay at McCarthy and Lloyd to work on special projects, as we had discussed. In fact, he’s going to have to take a long hiatus from the securities industry and simply be happy he won’t be spending that time in a federal penitentiary.”

“I see,” McCarthy said. “I’ll only say that he’s a good friend. He’s done a lot for me, and by extension, he’s done a lot for the president. Some of the contributions I’ve made have come from money Oliver has made me.”

“Don’t ever connect the president to this situation again,” Gibson warned.

McCarthy glanced up. He had never heard that tone from Gibson. “Oliver has promised not to engage in any insider trading once this is over, Andrew,” McCarthy pleaded. “I believe him. And if he ever violated his promise, I’d personally help you put him away.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gibson answered. “You will quietly let Oliver go once the lamb has been sacrificed. You will let Carter Bullock go as well. In fact, you will shut down your arbitrage desk permanently. We had talked about a six-month cooling-off period and then a restart, but that isn’t in the cards.”

McCarthy felt himself fighting for breath. That directive from Gibson presented unimaginable complications. “But—”

“Don’t fight it, Bill,” Gibson warned. “You should feel very fortunate the way this has all worked out. We are confident that you didn’t know what was going on at the arbitrage desk, but you know how these insider-trading investigations can start snowballing if somebody gets a bug up their ass.”

McCarthy hung his head. “I certainly do.” Everyone on Wall Street knew that insider-trading scandals mushroomed faster than the cloud from an atomic bomb.

“They can turn into goddamn witch-hunts, with people making all kinds of deals to protect themselves and accusing anyone the prosecutors tell them to accuse in order to save their own asses, whether or not they really have information on the others.” Gibson shook his head. “It can get really nasty. Innocent people can have their good names dragged through the mud,” he said ominously. “We don’t want that to happen to you. The president cares about you. As I said, he’ll always take care of you, but that promise can be kept only as long as you maintain your end of the bargain. We’ve made a deal. You must accept the terms, even these new ones.”

“All right.” McCarthy looked out the window. The limousine was back on the George Washington Parkway and heading toward National Airport. He was searching frantically for answers, but he wasn’t finding any. “I’ll give Oliver a hefty severance package.” He had to agree to the directive. Any hesitation and Gibson might pull out of the whole thing. “Bullock too.”

“I think that’s wise.” Gibson said. “I’m glad that’s settled.” He held up his hand. “I would wait to tell Oliver about his disassociation with McCarthy and Lloyd. I wouldn’t want him causing problems at this point.”

“Okay,” McCarthy agreed submissively.

The Key Bridge appeared again, and a few minutes later the limousine coasted to a stop in front of the Delta Airlines drop-off area.

Gibson shook McCarthy’s hand. “Keep your head up, Bill. It’ll all work out. In a couple of months everything will be back to normal.”

“I know,” McCarthy mumbled.

“Remember,” Gibson called as the driver opened McCarthy’s door, “not a word to anyone about what’s happening in New York in a couple of weeks. We must keep it under wraps for as long as possible. Particularly the downtown affair. Security and all that.”

“Right.”

“One more thing, Bill,” Gibson called out.

“What?”

“Get a haircut.”

McCarthy smiled wryly, remembering his order to Jay. Then he stepped out of the air-conditioned limousine into the sweltering heat. To the west he noticed dark clouds looming on the horizon. He hoped the storm wouldn’t delay his trip back to New York.