Among Thieves Page 5

  “It’s the usual setup. Two and twenty.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Two percent management fee. Twenty percent of the profits.”

  Beck calculated two percent of 150 million, frowning at how big the number was.

  “Yeah,” said Olivia, “three million in management fees, minus expenses. And if there are profits, then the numbers go up very fast.”

  “How much is fast?”

  “Crane is swinging for the fences, so thirty percent easy. Fifty would be more like it. Twenty percent of seventy-five million? Say fifteen million or so. For as many years as they can run it. Fifteen million in pure profit, since the fees are more than enough to cover expenses.”

  “Spread around to how many?”

  “Not many. That much money goes a long way in a firm the size of Summit.”

  Beck thought about what people would do with that much money at stake. Breaking a couple of fingers by accident and screaming threats didn’t seem so hard to believe now.

  “So after the blowup, what happened?”

  “He sort of used up all his anger and then walked out of my cubicle.”

  “Did he say anything about your hand?”

  “No. It was like he couldn’t have cared less. I doubt he even realized he broke two of my fingers.”

  “So then what did you do?”

  “I put on my coat, picked up my purse, got to an elevator as fast as I could. Went downstairs to the guy at the main security desk, but it was after normal work hours and there was just this young guy there. I didn’t bother with him. What was he going to do? My hand hurt so much I felt like I was going to pass out. I went out, hailed a cab, and went to the hospital.”

  “Didn’t shut down your computer, turn out the lights…?”

  “No. Just got the hell out of there.”

  “And then what?”

  “The closest emergency room is Lenox Hill. I got lucky. There was a hand surgeon available. He set my fingers. Told me I might get away with no surgery. I went back a week later, and he said everything was good.”

  “Did you tell them what happened?”

  “Yes. I told the triage nurse. She said she’d report it. Told me to just worry about my hand. I don’t know what she did or when, but by the time everything was done, the police hadn’t shown up. There was no way I was going to sit around waiting for them. So I left. The next day, I called the precinct. I went in and filed a complaint.

  “Of course, Crane denied everything. Filed a counter complaint and is suing me for false whatever, and I got fired. I talked to an assistant DA. Basically, he said I had no witness, so no case.”

  Olivia looked down at her lap, perhaps to hide her expression.

  She looked up. “I never set foot in that office again. Barred. I’m not sure if I’m actually fired or suspended until all the legal stuff is resolved, but I don’t have the money to fight it. And Crane put out the word that I should be banned from working at any other firm. Filed complaints with FINRA and the SEC. I tried everything, believe me. I tried multiple times to get a hold of Milstein.”

  “Did he ever contact you?”

  “No.”

  “So nobody helped you, you’re screwed, and Crane is still just fine.”

  She stared at Beck. He had put it so bluntly and succinctly that she turned away, her face lit by the guttering fire. He wasn’t sure what she didn’t want him to see: anger, fear, tears. Whatever it was, he didn’t press her.

  Beck shifted his gaze to the view out her windows. A red tone had seeped into the winter sky. Beck had missed the sunset, but imagined how stunning sunsets would look from Olivia Sanchez’s window.

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

  Finally, Beck said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

  She turned back to face him. “So am I.”

  Beck paused, exhaled, said, “So you called Manny.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you ask Manny to do?”

  “To help me.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t ask him to do anything specifically. I just told him about this guy who was ruining my life. I told him I couldn’t afford defending myself against his lawsuits. That I needed to stop him from blacklisting me. That I needed to get back to work.”

  Beck pressed. “How did you think Manny could accomplish all that?”

  She looked at Beck, defiance coming into her voice, as she finally admitted it. “You know how. I wanted him to threaten Crane. To confront him and scare the shit out of him. I wanted Manny to do what I couldn’t.”

  “You wanted Manny to do to Crane what he did to you.”

  Beck’s comment confused her. Then angered her. But she didn’t shrink from the answer.

  “Yes. Yes, I wanted him to threaten to kill Crane if he kept trying to hurt me. Okay. I admit it.”

  Beck nodded. He let what she’d said sink in for a moment.

  “This threat of Crane’s to kill you, did you believe him?”

  “At the time, it terrified me.”

  “You actually believed some Wall Street hedge fund guy would kill you?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded real.”

  Beck nodded. “What about Manny? Do you think Manny is capable of killing someone?”

  Olivia cleared her throat. She didn’t want to say it, but finally she answered, “I think it’s a matter of record.”

  Beck shifted around on the couch. Looked at the fire. At the red sky darkening. At Olivia Sanchez. Then he asked, “Whose money is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The money Crane is investing. Who is the client?”

  Olivia looked down. Then directly at Beck, but this time she didn’t say anything.

  Beck said, “Shit. That’s what you’re not telling me.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know for sure.”

  “Are you saying you don’t know? You, the person in charge of monitoring risk?”

  Olivia’s expression tightened. She looked away. Stared at the fire. Finally, she said, “I don’t know all the details. The money belongs to a Russian named Leonid or Leonard Markov. There may be some other money in Crane’s hedge fund, but it’s mostly Markov’s. There’s a lot of privacy issues involved. Client’s identities and who owns what are kept confidential. But like I said, I hear things. What I hear is, Markov’s an arms dealer. He supposedly has all kinds of connections to the government. The U.S. government. Maybe other governments. I don’t know. Now, it might not be just Markov. Crane has a reputation of dealing with shady types. I know that he swaggers around like he has friends that…”

  “That what?”

  Olivia didn’t back down. She looked straight at Beck, “That could or would kill people.”

  So there it was. Beck grimaced. “Christ.”

  “But I don’t know if that’s true, or just a bullshit macho image Crane likes to project.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Just let that bastard threaten me; let them take away my job and slink away?”

  Beck didn’t answer.

  “Look, Crane is full of shit. You’re right. He’s no gangster. No tough guy. He’s walking around like a big man because he knows some unscrupulous people. I just figured he’d fold in two seconds if he saw a real tough guy.”

  Beck made sure to speak very calmly. “Olivia, a real tough guy, a man like your cousin, doesn’t go around threatening people. It doesn’t happen that way.”

  Olivia started to explain more. “I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t tell him to…”

  Beck raised a hand. He had the picture now. “All right, all right. Take it easy. I’m not out to make you feel any worse than you do now.”

  “Well, you are. I thought you would understand.”

  “That’s the problem. I do understand. Now I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why Crane went off like that. You say he’s running money for un
scrupulous people. Maybe a guy with connections to who knows? He’s taking big risks. If he gets shut down, and loses a ton of money, what’s going to happen to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe what he said would happen to you.”

  Olivia looked down, shaking her head, “Dear God.” She paused. “So what do I do? Is there anything you can do? Or do I just forget about it? When this mess blows over, I’ll just start again. I really can’t fight this. I mean, you don’t think Crane is actually going to make good on his threat, do you?”

  “Crane isn’t your problem now. At least not your main problem.”

  Olivia looked confused. “Who is?”

  “Manny Guzman. You don’t just put him back in a box. Something has to be done about this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Manny is not going to let this slide.”

  “Even if I ask him to?”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “You can’t tell him.”

  “No,” said Beck. “And I can’t not tell him what’s going on here.”

  Olivia stood up and turned to the window, the red winter light making her skin seem to glow deep bronze. She turned back to Beck.

  “This is a nightmare.”

  “All right, take it easy. Let’s go back to what you want. You want Crane off your back. You want to be able to earn a living, someplace. Not Summit. That’s a dead end, but you want to get back to where you were.”

  “Yes. And I don’t want Manny involved. Or hurt. Or … anything.”

  “Yeah, okay. Well let’s take it one step at a time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “For starters, we don’t talk about this anymore.”

  “What? What do you mean? Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Beck watched her consider the question. He watched her deep brown eyes flecked with gold move up and down as she processed everything.

  “I think you mean the less I know the better.”

  “Yes. The more I say to you about it, the more you know, the worse it could be for you. You get that, right?”

  “I suppose, but I’m not sure where that leaves me.”

  She suddenly moved over to the fire, picked up an iron poker, and stabbed at the charred log, sending sparks up the flue, taking her frustration out on the husk of burning wood.

  She turned to Beck, “Are you going to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. Is there anything I should do?”

  “First, don’t call Manny. There can’t be any record of contact between you and him.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until I tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “If we need to talk, I’ll find a way to contact you. Next, and think about this before you answer, you have to assure me that no matter what happens, no matter who asks you, the police, the DA’s office, whoever—you will swear to them that you never talked to Manny Guzman about any of this. On the outside chance they go after your phone records and find out you contacted him, you never said anything to him about Summit or Crane or any of it.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You answered that too quickly, Olivia.”

  “I don’t care. It’s true. It’s nobody’s business who I talk to or what I said.”

  Beck made a face. “Of course it is. The chances of this getting messy are very high. Do you understand? Can you stand up to cops grilling you about it? Pressing you?”

  “Yes. If it means just keeping my mouth shut, yes. I’m not all that good at outright lying, but I can refuse anybody.”

  I’ll bet you can, Beck thought.

  “Okay. And the same goes with regard to me. Anybody asks about me, you tell them nothing. Not, you don’t know me. Not, you do know me. Nothing. If they arrest you, you tell them to talk to your lawyer.”

  “Arrest me?”

  “If … If … On the unlikely chance that happens, you tell them nothing except you want to talk to your lawyer.”

  “I don’t have a lawyer.”

  “Well you will if it comes to that.”

  “Christ, what are we talking about here?”

  “We’re talking about you and Manny Guzman. He is a known criminal. He still has years left on his parole. Anything he gets involved in, the assumption is going to be that a crime has been committed or soon will be. There’s none of this innocent-until-proven-guilty shit with convicted felons. Once you’re a felon in America, it’s the opposite. That’s how it works. So the first rule is, you don’t tell anybody anything about this. Especially law enforcement. Not one fucking word, except your name and address and get me my lawyer. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever. Name and address and get me my lawyer.”

  She raised her voice. “Okay.”

  Beck could see he was unnerving her, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care how beautiful she was, or how unfairly she had been treated, she had to know what she was getting into.

  He stood up from the couch, facing Olivia standing in front of the fire. Whether it was the glow of the fire against the fading twilight, or the intensity of her vulnerability and distress, Beck knew he had to force a distance between them.

  “Okay. That’s enough for now.”

  She could see that Beck was about to leave. “What are you going to do?”

  Beck hesitated, then said, “I’m going to try to get you what you want. And then I’m going to try to somehow convince Manny getting you what you want should end this.”

  “All right,” was about all Olivia could muster.

  “If I need your help, more information, whatever, I’m assuming you’re prepared to see this through.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where can I find Milstein?”

  “Why?”

  The question annoyed Beck. He ignored it. “Where can I find him? What’s he look like?”

  Olivia walked to a desk in the far corner of the living room. She picked up her laptop and brought it over, sat back down, set the computer on her knees, and logged in to the Summit Web site. She clicked through to the page featuring Milstein’s bio.

  She turned the laptop around so Beck could see the screen.

  “The picture is about five years old. He’s a bit grayer, but that’s him. He’s a small man. Skinny. Always wears a suit and tie. A little hunched over. Not exactly the nicest guy in the world.”

  Beck leaned toward her and took in the picture of Milstein.

  “Summit is at Fifty-seventh and Lex?”

  “Yes. The twenty-seventh and eighth floors. Milstein works on twenty-eight. Crane, too. But at separate ends of the floor.”

  “How late does Milstein work?”

  “Until six. Pretty much on the dot.”

  “What about Crane?”

  “It varies. He’s one of those guys where things revolve around his schedule. He has a place in Miami, and he lives in a loft in Tribeca. Both residences are hooked in with the Summit computer system. He works from home quite a bit.”

  “Where does Milstein live?”

  “Seventy-ninth and Park. He has his driver pick him up and take him home, even though it’s only a fifteen-minute walk. Always the same driver. A big guy. Ex-cop.”

  Beck reacted immediately. “An ex-cop?”

  “Yes. I guess he’s sort of a bodyguard, too.”

  “Why would Milstein need a bodyguard?”

  “I don’t think he does. He’s mostly a driver, but Milstein thinks it’s cool to keep a big guy with a gun around who people will assume is a bodyguard. Like a status symbol or something.”

  Beck frowned. Armed ex-cops didn’t exactly fit in with a Wall Street type.

  “All right, let’s leave it at that for now. If I need to, I’ll be in touch. If we get lucky, you won’t hear from me until this is over.”

  “Right.”

  Olivia stepped toward Beck and took hold of his forearm. He could smell her soap, or sham
poo. Something fresh. Something that fit her exactly.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She was holding his arm firmly. The contact unnerved him, which surprised Beck. The closeness of her, the touch, she had crossed the normal barrier that separated them.

  Beck gave in to the desire to touch her back. He placed his hand on top of her hand, almost as if he were going to remove it. Her skin was incredibly smooth and warm. It seemed as if he could actually feel the sheen of it.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She let go of his forearm; he let her hand fall away from his immediately.

  She turned away from Beck, leading him back to her front door. He took his coat from her, nodded once, and walked out the door, wanting to get outside quickly, to get away from Olivia Sanchez.

  In a moment, he was making his way through the Escher-like maze of staircases and arches and walkways that connected the condo’s units. He checked his watch. He’d been there nearly an hour.

  He spotted the black Mercury parked at the fire hydrant about thirty feet down the block. He slid into the passenger seat. Settled back and exhaled.

  Demarco looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  Beck shook his head. “Christ.”

  “Christ what?”

  “Christ sake this isn’t what I expected.”

  “How so?”

  Beck grimaced, scratched the back of his neck, ran his hand back and forth over the top of his head.

  “That bad?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Not good.”

  “Why?”

  “It sounds like there might be some nasty players behind this.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like a fucking Russian arms dealer for starters.”

  Demarco frowned. “How’d that happen?”

  “Money, man. A lot of fucking money.”

  “So now what?”

  “I gotta get a handle on this fast. Have to try and make things right for Manny’s cousin, at least right enough so Manny will back off for now. And do it fast before too many snakes crawl out from under rocks.” Beck’s voice faded out, lost in his thoughts. “And not leave any trail.” Beck shook his head, stared out the windshield. “Shit.”

  Demarco didn’t bother asking Beck what he was wrestling with. He just repeated, “So now what?”

  Beck looked at his watch. Almost five o’clock. There was time.