Crown's Vengeance, The (16 page)

Two days ago, Ben Flood had been given the most unusual assignment of his career, and he was starting to wonder if his CEO was off his rocker. He’d just spent an entire day scouring the market for places to spend a brand new company’s money, and there had been no shortage of takers. It didn’t even seem like Drake cared how much the shares cost, just that the money was spent and the market was stimulated.

Out of curiosity, Ben had done some research, combing through his usual channels in search of any indication that oil was going to go up. Every single person he’d spoken with, people he trusted, people with decades of experience, had been unable to validate Drake’s message. Same story with all the websites he’d checked and projections he’d run.

Nothing indicated an imminent rise in the price of oil. Calling Drake’s directive strange was an understatement. In fact, and this is what he needed to tell Parker about, the spike in future oil prices could be directly attributed to Aldrich’s massive spending. No one outside of the company would know it, but Spencer Drake had single-handedly sent the value of these futures skyward. Right now the price change wasn’t drastic, but it wouldn’t take much more for the media to get wind of the shift, and once they started cranking out doomsday stories to sell papers, watch out.

When Ben had last spoken to Parker, he’d been fascinated with his story, straight off the big screen. If Ben hadn’t known the guy since their college days, he’d have a hard time believing that Parker and Erika had unearthed a series of long-lost espionage reports prepared by Paul Revere. How they’d found themselves in the business of unearthing lost artifacts he had no idea, but it sure made for entertaining conversation.

He thought Parker would find his latest bit of insider information just as juicy. His old friend picked up after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey bud, what’s up?”

“Not much, Benny boy. I’m getting ready to head to Philadelphia. Took next week off to spend time with Erika.”

“Find any more hidden letters from our forefathers?”

“I wish. No, Erika’s been researching those letters, but hasn’t made much progress. I pretty much leave that stuff to her. She’s the Ivy League professor, after all.”

“Do you remember what I was telling you about the meeting I had with Spencer Drake, our CEO?”

“For a billionaire, he has some strange ideas about investing.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I was talking to one of the other traders about this whole operation, and guess what he told me? When he was waiting outside Drake’s office for another meeting, he overhead Spencer on a conference call. Drake likes to shout on the phone, so even though the door was closed my friend could still make out what was being said.”

Ben’s theatrical pause was met with silence and finally a long sigh.

“All right. Who was on the phone?”

“A who’s who of the financial industry. The CEOs of Bank of America, Goldman Sachs and J.P. Morgan.”

That grabbed Parker’s attention. “Wow. It doesn’t get any bigger than that. What were they talking about?”

“Get this. My buddy said Drake was playing salesman, encouraging all of them to invest in oil. Apparently he thinks oil is going nowhere but up, and he was convincing all of them they’d make a fortune if they invested heavily in the futures and derivatives markets for black gold. And you know what Warren Buffet said about derivates.”

He could hear a tapping noise come through the phone as Parker considered this.

“
Derivatives are financial weapons of mass destruction.
Boy, was he ever right. I didn’t see that coming, but I guess if Drake believes he has a winner, he’d exploit every angle. I suppose it’s not that strange for him to share the information. Maybe he has a vendetta against foreign investment firms and wants his buddies to make a killing while everyone else misses the boat.”

“I’d agree with you, except for one thing. My buddy said Drake was encouraging all of them to use depositors’ money.”

The silence that ensued spoke volumes.

“Are you certain?”

“My friend has done this for twenty years. He’s positive.”

“But that’s crazy. Proprietary trading is going to be illegal soon.”

Ben knew Parker would never have suspected that little nugget. Proprietary trading, which was using depositors’ money to buy securities or make trades, was scheduled to be illegal in the near future after passage of the Dodd Frank Act, a piece of reactionary legislation born out of the recent recession. Every institution that practiced commercial banking was steering clear of the practice.

“Questionable ethics aside, it’s not technically illegal yet. However, I agree. Unless they plan on selling any accumulated assets quickly, there’s no reason to do it.”

“That’s not even considering the mess they’d be in if they lost money. Ben, you know as well as I do that there aren’t any guarantees in this business. If Drake and his CEO cronies lose depositors’ money, they’ll have to replace the lost funds from company coffers. Not a great way in impress investors, and you can be damn sure banking clients don’t want their money invested in anything as risky as oil futures or derivatives.”

“Which is why I called you. There has been some seriously strange stuff going on over the past few days. What it means, I have no idea, but I thought you’d want to know about it.”

“I definitely do. Thanks for the update.”

Ben had been out to lunch, and as he navigated the crowded sidewalks in Boston’s financial district, the gleaming steel edifice of Aldrich Securities headquarters loomed in front of him. “Hey, I have to go, but let me know if you guys learn anything else about those letters.”

“Will do.”

Ben slid the phone back into his suit jacket, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of his current assignment. He didn’t know what Spencer Drake was up to, but as long as the paychecks kept rolling in, he would follow orders.

Thirty stories above the sparkling glass door that Ben had just walked through, Tom Becker summarized the phone call. A list containing two names was on Ben’s file. If any phone conversations involving Parker Chase or Erika Carr were intercepted, Becker was to hand deliver a summary of the call to Mr. Drake immediately.

Like a good soldier, Becker dashed upstairs and found Drake in his office, engaged in a heated discussion via teleconference. Without a word, he laid the summary on Drake’s desk and departed.

“Gentlemen,” Spencer Drake cajoled, his voice smooth as silk, “I understand this is an unconventional method. Before you write it off, I suggest you have a look at my track record. Have I steered you wrong before?”

“No, Spencer, we can’t say you have.”

“So there’s no reason to think I’d start now.”

Drake picked up the report and scanned the first few lines. His eyes nearly flew from his head. “I must apologize, but something has come up. Perhaps we can continue our discussion this afternoon?”

“We’ll be here.”

Drake stabbed the phone, cutting off his counterparts. The trio of CEOs had been hesitant to follow his lead when he’d first broached the subject of proprietary trading, but they seemed to have come along over the past twenty-four hours, as he’d known they would. However, that discussion would have to wait.

An agreement had been struck with the hired gun to eliminate Mr. Flood, though the arrangement had been open-ended. It seemed that Ben Flood needed to be dealt with in a timelier manner.

Once again, the assassin’s phone number was in his hands. After several rings, the call was connected. Soft breathing, but no words.

“Hello?”

“What do you want, Mr. Drake?”

The man’s total neutrality was unsettling.

“I need to know when I might expect completion on our latest contract.”

“The job will be finished when I am able to do so.”

The guy sounded like a damn machine.

“Would it be possible to accelerate the timeline? Something has come up, and I’d prefer that this be completed as soon as possible.”

The silence stretched on for so long that Drake thought they’d been disconnected. Just as he was about to repeat himself, the man responded.

“For this inconvenience, the fee will be doubled. Payable immediately.”

Another million dollars was outrageous, but he didn’t argue. “Agreed. I’ll deposit the balance in your account today.”

“Don’t forget.”

The connection was severed. He stared at the phone in his hand like it was a live grenade. With any luck, that would be the last time he had to talk to that lunatic, and today would be the last day Benjamin Flood worked at Aldrich Securities.

Chapter 26

By the time Ben Flood left his office, the moon was full overhead. Ever since this new assignment had come down from the CEO, Ben and his counterparts hadn’t been able to get away until after dark, no small feat in late May. At this hour, few people were on the streets near Aldrich Securities headquarters, most having either made it home for the night or found their way to a local bar. It was toward the latter option which Ben was headed, where he had a date planned with an enticing young lady he’d met recently.

The only problem he had was a paucity of cash. Lunch had cleaned him out, and with the legendary temperament of Boston cab drivers when a fare tried to use their credit card, he’d rather avoid the hassle. He thought there was an ATM several blocks ahead, near his favorite coffee shop. The daytime crowds had disappeared, so much so that Ben’s footsteps echoed off the skyscrapers all around him. Two men walked past, headed in the other direction. The only other person on the street was an elderly man walking behind him, his cane tapping out a staccato beat on the sidewalk as the old guy marched onward, face hidden beneath a fedora.

It was kind of nice to be all alone in the middle of so much humanity.

Ahead, the darkened windows of his local java joint reflected a solitary streetlight. The massive buildings on either side kept out the moonlight, rendering his surroundings a thick shade of gray, each alley and doorway a subtle outline in the dark.

The keypad beeped as Ben entered his security code, whirred for a few seconds, and then spit out a handful of twenties.

While he waited for his money, the sharp, short taps of the old man’s cane continued behind him. The noise stopped abruptly, but Ben didn’t realize the old guy was right behind him until he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel against the back of his skull.

Frozen with shock, Ben’s hesitation cost him his life.

He never heard the shot, but neither did anyone else. Not a single person was within two blocks when the suppressed pistol fired a round into Ben’s brain, the bullet exiting through his forehead to spray blood all over the bank machine.

When police reviewed the machine’s camera, they would be at a loss to explain why the elderly man who carried a cane had shot the young banker. After he pulled the trigger, the old man shuffled away, not even bothering to take the money.

Chapter 27

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Three hundred miles south of where Benjamin Flood’s corpse lay cooling, two men sat in a parked car, eyes glued on the building in front of them.

Tonight, they planned to break inside, specifically into the office of Associate Professor of History Dr. Erika Carr. Their supervisor had instructed them to retrieve three letters from the office, each one a single sheet of paper that was several hundred years old. They didn’t know why the letters were important, nor did they care. Both men worked in the security industry, and both had served in the military under Captain Thomas Becker.

After each was dishonorably discharged for different reasons, employment prospects had been bleak until Captain Becker had contacted each man separately with a unique job offer. Becker had found work in corporate security, and he was in need of a few men with a talent for acquiring information. It just so happened that these two had been trained by the government in that specific field. They may not have been the most trustworthy or honorable men, but they could crack a locked safe in short order.

Five years and several dozen “liberation” operations later, the two men sitting outside Dr. Carr’s office had become Aldrich Securities’ go-to option for white collar espionage. Intelligent and articulate, a large reason for their success was that these two men didn’t look like criminals. Tonight each was dressed as a professor, sporting rumpled slacks and mismatched blazers. Thick glasses completed the outfit, and no one gave them a second glance when they walked inside.

Dr. Carr’s cell phone had been tapped for several days now, and they knew she was out to dinner in Old City with her boyfriend. The pair of thieves ambled slowly down the hallway, pausing only briefly outside Dr. Carr’s door. Shielded by his companion, one fraudulent academic used a set of lock picks to open the door lock in ten seconds, and they slipped inside, unseen.

Careful not to disturb anything, one stood watch while the other searched the office for three letters written by Paul Revere. He spied a small safe near her desk, and a grin spread across his face. The man relished a challenge.

Five minutes later, the electronic coding mechanism he carried discovered the combination. The keypad chirped softly, and a faint whirring noise told him the deadbolts had retracted. Inside the safe was a small stack of cash, maybe five grand, and several sheets of paper in protective sleeves. The top three pieces all bore the signature of one
P. Revere
.

He gently pulled the documents from the safe and slipped them in a folder. One glance at his partner confirmed they were still in the clear. Back in the hallway, the door locked behind them, they moved at a languid pace toward the parking lot. Several minutes later the pair sat in silence, headed to the airport, where a private plane waited to ferry them back to Boston.

Chapter 28

Boston, Massachusetts

A full moon sat high in the evening sky above Aldrich Securities headquarters. Yellow light bathed the city in a midsummer evening glow, most denizens of the storied town asleep. Inside a gleaming skyscraper, Spencer Drake dismissed his security chief with a wave, eyes glued to the letters on his desk.