Chapter 10 Jeremy

On Monday morning, Vanessa was engrossed in her regular work when Jeremy walked in to her office. “Hey, Vanessa, want to come to a meeting with me?”

“What are you doing here, you have been booked off for a week, and I have got all your clients covered, and you look terrible! Those amber sunglasses don't hide the bruises around your eyes, they just make them look gangrenous.”  Vanessa wouldn’t have been that hard on him if she hadn’t been relieved to see that he was positively much recovered. “What meeting and when?”

“I was watching MSNBC this morning, and they reported that Microline have a press conference scheduled for four thirty today. It is to be downtown at the Palmer House Hotel. Seemed to me that being there we may just find out something. The firm is actually a very small shareholder, I bought some stock for one of our clients last year, but he couldn't pay, so we held the stock.”

“ OK, we can take the train, they will be empty on the way in, and the worst of the crowds will be over on our way back.” Vanessa was demonstrating her hatred of the Chicago highway system, total gridlock unless you were traveling at three AM.

“Sure and I’ll even buy you dinner.” The offer from Jeremy seemed to seal the deal, and they agreed to meet at three for the short drive to the Vila Park station in Jeremy's BMW.

 

As the email promised, the CFO of Microline occupied the rostrum most of the press conference, explaining that their new software had been delayed due to problems of compatibility with Microsoft Windows 98, hence revenue would be down, and expenses up, a disaster enough to tank a stock in normal times, but in these heady days of zero earnings and infinite P/E ratios, probably only to knock a few dollars off the price. Jeremy and Vanessa had sat near the back of the room, but they were on an elevated row which gave them a pretty good view of the proceedings. Nothing seemed to jump out at them, a few of the directors and other officers sat behind Fred Mathis, ostensibly to show their support, and pick up any questions he could not answer. However, young as he was, Mathis was quite experienced, this being the second software startup he had been involved with, and he handled most of the questions admirably, in fact better than the CEO handled the one question Mathis deferred to him.

 

It wasn’t until the conference actually ended, and the people on the stage turned away to file off that Vanessa grabbed Jeremy by the arm, “That guy just leaving the stage on the left, he was the one in the Trader the night you were mugged. Now that he has turned away, I recognize the back of his neck. Strange that he should be here.” 

Jeremy knew that Vanessa would not be wrong, “Let’s go find out who he is.” He led the way down to the front of the room, but a melee of reporters had formed a barrier. “Out the side door,” said Vanessa, and they ran together just in time to see the man exiting the hotel onto Wabash Street. Vanessa was out the door first, and saw the man again this time just opening the driver’s side door of a gray Cadillac. She stood transfixed, because as she watched a red ford Bronco pulled away from the curb with a great squeal of rubber, and struck the man a sharp blow with its fender, driving him into the sharp edge of his car door. The Bronco took off, and before anyone could absorb any details of the truck, it disappeared around the first corner. All Vanessa did notice was that the driver was a short man, so short she could hardly see his face over the dash.

The victim didn't bleed much, but the horrendous dent in his forehead made it clear that he was dead.

 

Jeremy had wanted to take off, but Vanessa insisted that she should give a statement to the police, she had seen the whole thing, and she knew it was not an accident. As she explained while they rode the train back to Lombard Station, “It was our best chance of finding out who he is.”

“No longer necessary,” said Jeremy, “I checked the identity of the attendees at the press conference, and who do you think is, or was an outside director of Microline, Bill Fernstine. Apparently Merkel, through their venture capital subsidiary initially funded Microline, and then promoted their IPO. I’ll bet any money that that was Bill of the email, and also my attacker. With him now dead, it may be impossible to find out what was going on, and who else is involved.”

 

It was just before eleven the next day when the receptionist at Frasers called Vanessa. “Three men here to see you, and they would like to see Jeremy as well. I think one is the detective who was here the other day.”

“OK I’ll see them in reception 1, and I will alert Jeremy.” She was referring to the small meeting rooms that the firm had leading off the reception area. This way visitors never got to walk around inside their offices. The receptionist was quite right. One of the men was the scruffily dressed detective who had been present the morning of Jeremy's attack, but now he was sort of clean shaven. The other two men she had never seen before, but both wore smart, almost identical gray suits. They could have been twins were it not for the fact that one was black, the other white.

The room was not really large enough for the five occupants, but Jeremy and Vanessa had squeezed in along the wall, while the three detectives sat facing them. The shabby one spoke first, “You will remember me, Miss, Detective Turner from the County Police. “This gentleman” pointing to the white man, “is Agent Hargrove of the FBI, while this is Mr. Phelps with the SEC. Just following up on that little incident last week. Are you recovered Mr. Baird?”

Before Jeremy could respond, Hargrove said, “It’s very strange, but we were checking the identity of the man killed in the hit and run last evening, fed his fingerprints into the computer, not really expecting anything, and presto, out came a perfect match with a crime scene from only a week ago. Your office. The attendance register at the press conference shows you were at the hotel last night, and who was a witness to the accident.  Miss Swift here.”

Vanessa was on the brink of a reply when Jeremy nudged her with his knee, obviously he wanted her to remain quiet.  “We were at the press conference because this firm is a shareholder in Microline, the company giving the statement, and we had no idea who it was who was killed in that accident until we saw his name in the papers this morning. We certainly did not know that the victim had been at my office before, as you can see visitors do not get invited into our work place.” Jeremy had spoken clearly and firmly, without the usual hesitancy in face to face encounters.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning that Mr. Fernstine, that is the victim, had been feeding you insider information. Do you have a comment?” This question came from Phelps.

“That's outrageous. I knew of Finestern, it’s not a big industry, but the only contact I had with him was indirect. One of his associates had asked me for pricing on doing some trades for them, I had responded, but nothing ever materialized.” Knowing how good Jeremy was with names, Vanessa knew immediately that his mispronunciation of Fernstine’s name was deliberate, and that he did not want anyone to suspect how much he, and she, knew about what really happened. Only then did she realize, what Jeremy had obviously done several minutes before, that they were suspects in the death of Bill Fernstine, and perhaps they, or at least he, was suspected of other things as well.

“If you knew so little about him, and he about you, how would the tipster have known your name, your little “accident” the other night was not reported by any press?” The questioner this time was Hargrove, the FBI man. The lack of sympathy in the question was not reflected in the mans voice, which was soft and almost gentle, the accent eastern, with an ivy league overlay.

Vanessa who was trained to pick up on these nuances jumped in to answer the question before Jeremy had a chance to open his mouth, “Well he is quite well known in his own right in the trade, and it wasn’t an accident, he was brutally attacked, and you three should be out there trying to find out who did it - not in here harassing us!” She had chosen her words carefully because there had been several articles in the Tribune over the last few days berating the Chicago police for harassing the black community. The implied joke was not lost on Hargrove who very nearly smiled.

Hargrove stood up, “Well you two, now don’t you leave town.” The drawl was clearly a peace offering, the underlying statement notwithstanding.

 

After the detectives had left, Jeremy and Vanessa sat and looked at each other for a few seconds. “This is a pretty mess.” Vanessa was the first to break the silence.

“Hang in there Vanessa, while they obviously suspect us of some wrongdoing, equally obviously they have no evidence otherwise we would have been arrested, or at least dragged down to the station for questioning. It‘s funny, as I drove to work this morning, I was just concluding that it was time to bring in the SEC. Telling them anything now will just make us seem more guilty!” Jeremy’s pragmatic comment did little to settle Vanessa’s rising fury.

“Let’s get out of here. We are going to have to sort this out ourselves, and the place to start is Brad, whoever he is. There is only one person that we know of who knew that Fernstine was coming to your office that night, and that was the other man in the conversation I overheard at the Trader. If Brad is that man, we will know who, if not why or what for! So, the only Brad you know is at Merkel Capital, and I’m the only one who saw the man, so Merkel Capital here I come.” From watching Vanessa on the ice, Jeremy knew that when she was this fired up, it was a good idea not to get in her way, and he also knew that she got the most fired up when the umpire called a penalty that was unfair. Accusing the two of them of murder, or worse of stock fraud, now that was unfair.

 

It took them nearly an hour to get down town even though mid day traffic should not have been heavy, so it was just after one-o- clock when they stood in the foyer of the Sears Tower. Jeremy found a vacant seat where he could observe the comings and goings to the elevators, and Vanessa took the first car up to the 56th floor. At reception she was greeted by the usual would be model who explained that Mr. Layton did not normally see people without an appointment, and anyway was out to lunch. Vanessa said she would wait, and take her chances. She had been sitting in the chair closest to the girl for only a few minutes when a man came out from the door which led into the inner offices. The man was vaguely familiar, but Vanessa could not pin it down until he leant over the receptionist’s desk and whispered, “I'm getting out of here, cover for me.” The menace in his tone on the previous occasion was missing, but there was no doubt this was the man who had met with Fernstine in the Trader. The receptionist let Vanessa wait a few more minutes before she pretended to speak on the phone, and then turned to her and said, “Sorry Mr. Layton will not be back this afternoon.” So the man in the trader was Brad Layton, almost certainly the Brad in the email.

Vanessa mumbled something like, “Some other time,” and quickly left the office.  She wanted to get back to Jeremy as soon as possible, perhaps they could catch up with Brad and follow him. It took forever for the elevator to arrive, and it was almost too full for her to squeeze in. All the other occupants packed a little closer, and she just avoided being crushed as the doors closed. The elevator stopped several other times before reaching the foyer, and on the second floor, everyone had to step aside to allow a short stocky man get out. As he did, Vanessa, having been one of the last to get into the elevator, had to step out of the car and stand outside the door to let him pass. He passed so close she could smell his aftershave, and get a really good look at him.

When the car finally reached the foyer, the reason for the crowd and the delay in the arrival of the car became clear. The adjacent car was halted at the foyer, and paramedics were furiously working on a man spread-eagled on the floor of the car. Through the crowd Vanessa just caught a glimpse of his face. He was the man she had seen leave the offices of Merkel Capital just a few minutes before. He was Brad Layton.

This time, Vanessa agreed with Jeremy that they should get out of there pronto.

 

They were silent for most of the trip back to Oakbrook Terrace, then Vanessa spoke “You know Brad is now also dead. I know because I saw his killer.” The words kept coming in a stream, “A short stocky man got off the elevator on the second floor, I knew I had seen him before, but couldn’t remember when. Now I do, he was the driver of the car that killed Fernstine. If this is all about the email and the insider trading it represents, and if anyone else knows the email went to you, your life is in danger too.” As she said this, she realized that this worried her, it worried her a lot. “Maybe we should not go back to the office, you are still booked off sick, and I have plenty of  vacation time.”

It did not then occur to Vanessa that she had also seen the email, so her life was in jeopardy also!

They drove in silence for a while, then, “I agree” said Jeremy and called the office on his cell phone. He got no further than “Hello, this is Jeremy” when the receptionist started to whisper urgently, “The cops are here, they have warrants to search both yours and Vanessa's office, and, Jeremy, I also had to give them your home addresses.”  With that she rang off. “Maybe we can’t go home either! I’ve got a cottage on the lake in Michigan, it’s only a few hours from here, and that will give us a chance to regroup, and decide what to do next.

 

The cottage was a good idea, isolated and quiet. It had been inherited by Jeremy when his father died in Canada, so probably no one else knew about it.  It would make a good base to work from. At dinner time, as they slurped a rather sloppy pasta Jeremy had concocted, Vanessa said, “I will cook next time, so we had better get in some provisions.” She continued as if it was the same subject “We’ve got to get into Brad’s office. Something tells me we will find out there what we are into.”

Later, as they lay in separate beds in separate rooms, Vanessa was pleased that she was this close to Jeremy. Maybe she could keep him alive. As she fell asleep, she was sure she felt him touch her arm. Or was that just a dream?

 

By morning the papers were full of the untimely death of a heart attack of Brad Layton. Such a young man, so fit, so healthy. For Merkel, a great loss, and so soon after Bill Fernstine’s tragic accident. Fifty six other mutual fund managers wondered what he had done and who would be next.

Alex was on a plane back to Miami. He mused that the developed world was so gullible. Anyone from South America would immediately recognize a case of curare poisoning! 

Back in New York, Jeff was concerned. The favor he had asked for was in connection with Bill Fernstine. Brad Layton was not on the note he had given Jose. Was this a mistake, a coincidence, or a message for him? If it was the third option, he had a problem!