The Insiders (30 page)
When Emily was finished, the earphones and tape were reapplied and she was left alone. She’d done it. Now, Wilson and Hap Greene would have to decipher the message.
As long as Emily was still missing, Wilson had no choice but to listen to Wayland Tate, who spent the next hour spinning a tale of good and evil in the garden of American capitalism. Including, of course, their plans to replant the garden.
“Once transformed,” Tate said, “The new capitalism will give individuals more access to insider information, more options for trading, more avenues for taking even the smallest businesses public, more ability to raise and borrow funds, more freedom to act for themselves, more opportunities to collaborate with others, and more hope for people to become what they want to become. No more wage slavery. The primary role of government will shift from controller to liberator. Continuous education for everyone will finally become the undisputed priority of democracy.”
Wilson continued to flirt with the idea of trusting Wayland Tate as he listened to the story of how Fielder & Company and Tate Waterhouse along with their affiliates had declared war against the status quo by orchestrating a byzantine pattern of abuses that would force change. But something felt wrong. He was being manipulated and he knew it.
“What do you want me to do, Wayland?” Wilson said tersely.
Tate eyed him cautiously. “We need you to spin off corporate restructuring from the rest of Fielder & Company. Make it a separate entity. We’ve already arranged for the financing.”
“Why?”
“All our manipulations were accomplished through selected segments of our operations. At Fielder & Company it was the corporate restructuring practice, the rest of the firm is clean. Your father planned it that way,” Tate said as he took a bite of his lamb chop and chewed for a few moments. “Once you divest corporate restructuring, completely removing yourself from the partnership, we’ll negotiate with Hearst to get Emily back. Then, we’ll prepare for disclosure.”
“Why not do it as soon as Emily’s safe?”
“Daniel’s death set us back a few months. There are files and histories that have to be recreated. If the disclosure’s incomplete, it won’t have enough shock value to galvanize public opinion. We also need time to calm the waters with some of my partners who think you’re a loose cannon.”
“I assume you’re talking about the partners who know about your ultimate objective?”
This time Tate stared hard at Wilson before responding. “Until recently, only the seven original members, and to a limited extent Daniel Redd, knew about our ultimate purpose. Damien Hearst changed all that. Right now, I’m not sure who else knows, but we have to find out before we disclose anything.”
“Everyone in the partnership except the original seven joined because of the money?”
“Basically, yes,” Tate said, removing his napkin from his lap and placing it on top of his plate. “The abuses had to be real, performed by real CEOs with real motivations to exploit the system’s weaknesses for their own personal gain.”
“How many members are there in the partnership?”
“About three hundred and fifty.”
“And you expected to keep them under control?”
Tate raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond.
“Who else was in the original group?”
Tate hesitated with a genuine look of concern in his eyes. “The original group formed many years before the Fenice Partnership was officially launched after the first Gulf War. Robert Swatling, Jules Kamin, and John Malouf,” Tate said, hesitating again.
“And?” Wilson said.
“Carter Emerson,” he said slowly.
Wilson was immediately nauseated by the response, not because he’d never considered the possibility, but because Carter had withheld it from him. Tate watched closely as Wilson struggled to keep his nausea down. “That’s six.”
When Tate didn’t respond, Wilson repeated his question. “Who was the seventh?”
“Your mother. Charles was the only one who was married when we first got together. We all loved your mother. We did everything together in those early years. It was natural to include her.”
Wilson felt his jaw drop and his head spin as he gazed in disbelief at Wayland Tate. A wave of cold sweat swept over him. He felt as though his body was melting.
“Your mother removed herself from the group many years ago. It was too much of a strain on her, even though she believed deeply in what we were doing. Carter wanted to tell you everything, but we were uncertain about your reaction, until Emily was kidnapped. Then we knew we had to tell you. I’m sure you can appreciate the precariousness of our position.”
By the time Wilson’s legs got the message to get up from the table and leave the private dining room, he was already freefalling into the abyss. He opened the door to the corridor and ran his fingers along the textured wallpaper until he reached the bathroom where he retched repeatedly. Afterwards, he washed his face, rinsed out his mouth and braced himself before returning to the private dining room. Refusing to sit down, Wilson asked Tate for a written copy of his plan to spin off corporate restructuring.
“I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, Wilson. Are you okay?” Tate said as he stood up.
“Get me your plan by tomorrow. Let Damien Hearst know that neither he nor his clients and partners will be exposed,” Wilson said as he turned and left the dining room.
Walking back to Fielder & Company by himself, he felt depleted and numb. Why hadn’t his mother and Carter told him the truth? Did they actually believe they might never have to?
Tate’s story was too compelling and too complete for him to ignore or deny it. One way or another, Wilson had no choice but to cooperate with Wayland Tate. Emily’s life depended on it, and right now that was the only thing that made sense or mattered.
Tate walked down the long wide corridor from where he and Wilson Fielder had just finished their luncheon meeting to a room where Robert Swatling, John Malouf, and Carter Emerson sat silently, nursing drinks and picking at a platter of cheeses, seasonal fruits, and mixed nuts. Jules Kamin joined them by phone, having listened to the luncheon dialogue along with the others.
Rolling back the burgundy leather executive chair at the head of the imposing walnut conference table, Tate sat down while the others watched and waited for him to speak. “What do you think, Carter?” Tate asked.
“He’s obviously going to need additional explanation and encouragement. But all things considered, I think we can count on his cooperation,” Carter returned.
“You’re not at all concerned?” Tate probed.
“Of course I’m concerned. Emily’s been kidnapped and you just told him that he can’t trust anyone, including his own mother. What choice does he have but to cooperate?” Carter said, sitting back and taking a sip of his drink.
“I don’t trust him,” Kamin said over the speakerphone.
“Neither do I,” Swatling agreed.
“John?” Tate said, leaning over the table and waiting for Malouf’s response.
“Time will tell,” Malouf said finally.
“Let’s give him a few days. If he doesn’t cooperate, we’ll take further action,” Tate concluded.
The meeting was over. As the others left the room, Tate slipped Swatling a folded note:
Cut surveillance for a few days. I want Wilson to believe we trust him, but end his contact with Emily after tomorrow. Let’s begin in-depth background checks on every single one of Hap Greene’s men, ASAP. Call when you have something interesting.
Swatling read the note and then left the room with Tate. “I’m concerned about Carter,” Swatling whispered as they walked down the corridor.
“He’s proven his loyalty, Bob. That’s why we cancelled the contract on him, remember? I think you’d feel differently if you had been there that night,” Tate said, dismissing Swatling’s comment as elevated anxiety. He recalled that fateful evening in Sun Valley when Carter had saved his life by taking the gun away from Charles. And if that wasn’t enough, Tate mulled, Carter was the one who pulled the trigger. No one would do such a thing for the sake of appearances, no matter what was at stake. Carter had more than proven his loyalty to him and the partnership. If he were going to betray them, he would have already done it. Besides, they all had much more to gain by forgetting about the disclosure and expanding the partnership. If only Charles had come to recognize the utter futility of disclosure.
Once back at Fielder & Company, Wilson told Anne that he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone except Hap Greene. Then he took the leather wing chair from the head of the gray stone table and pushed it to the wall of windows where he sat down and stared out over the Charles River. Five minutes later, Hap entered the office without knocking. He closed the door behind him and walked to the gray stone table.
Wilson remained adrift in thought, trying to make up his mind about which of Wayland Tate’s revelations were true and which were not.
“Swatling, Malouf, and Emerson were in a room down the hall listening to everything. Someone was patched in by phone, probably Kamin,” Hap finally said. “They met briefly with Tate afterwards, but not long enough for us to break their nullifiers.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Wilson said sarcastically as he turned around.
Hap stepped to the wall of windows and stood next to Wilson. “We need some clarity, Wilson. And we need it soon.”
Wilson didn’t respond, but of course Hap was right.
“For whatever it’s worth,” Hap said, “No amount of intelligence or data mining would have uncovered this scheme. Nothing is what it seems. Manipulation is a way of life for these people. Every word has multiple meanings, every action points to a range of possible outcomes. And everything could change in an instant.”
Wilson held his silence. Manipulation and contingency.
“When are you going to talk to Emerson?” Hap asked.
Wilson didn’t respond.
“The sooner the better, Wilson. Whether it’s Hearst or Tate or someone else in the partnership who’s holding Emily, they won’t give you much time to convince them that you’re cooperating.”
Just then Anne’s voice came over the telephone speaker, “Wilson, I know you didn’t want to be interrupted, but Emily Klein is on line one.”
Wilson moved immediately to the workstation. Before he pushed the button with the blinking red light, he looked back at Hap.
Hap was standing a few feet behind him nodding his head. “We’re ready.”
Emily sat fretfully in the straight-backed wooden chair listening carefully to the sounds around her while she waited for Wilson to come on the line. She was still blindfolded with her hands and legs strapped to the chair, but the tape over her mouth and the heavy earphones had been removed. The same woman who’d taken her to the bathroom and fed her vegetable soup and crackers a few hours earlier was once again holding a phone to her ear and mouth.
“Emily!” Wilson said as he pushed the button.
She could hear the emotion in his voice. “I only have a few seconds. I’m on a seesaw with my emotions but I’m fine. They let me call my parents to tell…”
There was a click on the line and the phone was taken away from her head. Within seconds, the earphones were replaced. The automated voice said, “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”
“No, thank you,” Emily said, shaking her head from side to side, feeling jittery and uncertain. But she’d done everything she could for the moment. With any luck, it would be enough. New tape was placed over her mouth.
“Emily? Emily?” Wilson said into the phone, but he knew she was already gone.
“That’s all for now, Mr. Fielder.” It was the same computerized voice from before. “Remove yourself from our affairs and you’ll have her back.”
The line went dead and Wilson hung up the phone, racking his brain to figure out what she meant by “I’m on a seesaw with my emotions.”
Hap was already on a cell phone to his people, listening to the replay. “What’s she trying to tell us with on a seesaw,” Hap asked, looking at Wilson.
“I have no idea,” Wilson said, pushing back the strands of black hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “Is it a name? A place? Is she trying to tell us she’s by the sea? God, I have no idea.”
“We’ll track down and analyze the call to her parents. Hopefully, it will give us more to go on. In the meantime, I suggest you meet with Carter Emerson. We’ll be monitoring everything.”
After Hap left the office, Wilson called Carter.
“I’ve been waiting for your call, Wilson,” Carter said with an emotionless voice after his assistant put Wilson through to his office.
The realist in Wilson had known for some time that Carter was intimately involved, but his innocent wisdom still didn’t fully comprehend why Carter hadn’t confided in him. Carter had been withholding the whole truth from him for reasons only his father and Carter knew. “How could you do this to me and Emily?”
“I know how you must feel.”
“You have no fucking idea how I feel!”
“It’s time to talk,” Carter said.
“So you can tell me more lies?”
“I’m prepared to explain everything. I will be home in an hour. Elizabeth is in Montreal visiting friends. Your man Hap already knows about it. The house will be ours.”
“You sure about that?”
“Hap’s people already sterilized the place and I’m sure they’ll have a van outside. Bring your nullifiers, if you like. See you in an hour.”
Wilson stayed at the office for another thirty minutes, waiting until Hap returned with word on Emily’s phone call to her parents. When Hap entered the office, he set the handheld recorder he was carrying in his hand on the gray stone table. “They must have placed calls tying up the line to make sure she only got the answering service,” Hap said.
“How did you get this?”
“Don’t ask. Emily’s parents remain unaware of her kidnapping,” Hap said. He pushed the play button on the recorder. Emily’s voice seemed enthusiastic and upbeat:
Mom and Dad, it’s me. Sorry I missed you. Just wanted you to know that we’re back. We had a glorious time. When we arrived by sea at the San Marco port and I saw the Campanile d’Oro and the Palazzo Ducale, I started crying because it was so wonderfully beautiful. And where we stayed was only minutes from San Marco. Never fear, I’ll tell you all about it when we visit you next week. I love you.