The Insiders Page 13

  “Mom, don’t. You’re not to blame.”

  “Okay, Wilson. No blame.” She nodded, firmly clutching his hand. “Your father called Davis Zollinger a narrow-minded, greedy man who had turned from friend to foe.”

  “Did you know the two women at White Horse were his daughters?”

  “No!” she gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. He could see the pain and suffering in her eyes. She dropped her hands to her lap and closed her eyes for several moments.

  When she opened them again, Wilson hated himself for continuing, but he did. She had to know.

  “Detective Zemke said the two daughters claimed their father was being blackmailed.”

  “By who? Your father?” she said in a voice of alarm.

  “No,” he said quickly to allay her concern. “He thinks Dad might have been blackmailed too.”

  “Was he?” she asked, leaning forward and closer to him.

  Wilson agonized over the fear on her face. She had told him everything she knew. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “These people are deadly, Wilson,” she exclaimed.

  Wilson nodded. “I’m fully aware of that.”

  “A few months ago your father told me that one of his partners was being wined and dined by the heirs of those who’d killed his grandfather. I tried to put it out of my mind because the fear consumed me. Now look where we are,” she said with more tears.

  “Was that all he said?”

  She nodded.

  “Which partner?”

  “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Have you asked Carter Emerson?”

  “No, but I will when he comes for dinner on Sunday.”

  “Anita and I have made all the arrangements.”

  “Great,” he said, realizing that his mother had already retreated back to a safe distance. “Thanks, Mom. I know this hasn’t been easy. And I promise not to do anything before all of us are adequately protected.” He leaned over and put his arms around her.

  She lingered in the library for a few more minutes chatting casually, until Wilson had to leave for the airport to pick up Emily. His mother had indeed told him everything she could.

  19

  Emily – Logan Airport, Boston, MA

  Emily landed at Boston’s Logan Airport sixteen minutes late, unable to reach Wilson fast enough. She exited the security section of the airport searching for Wilson. When she found him, their eyes locked just as they had on that first day in Professor Emerson’s class. Deep down, she felt as if they’d always belonged to each other. She couldn’t wait to feel his arms around her. Rushing to each other, they embraced and kissed, oblivious to the crowd of people watching.

  She looked stunning in her designer jeans, high-heel boots, teal top, and brown silk jacket. And Wilson immediately told her so. They were a strikingly handsome couple. Once they had retrieved Emily’s luggage, they drove to Brattle House. On the way, Wilson asked her how she was handling what had happened the night before.

  She hesitated momentarily and then decided to tell him.

  “I didn’t tell you this last night because I didn’t want you to worry or overreact.”

  “What?” he said suddenly swerving out of his lane. When he was in control again, he repeated his question. “What didn’t you tell me?”

  “I think we should pull over,” she said.

  “Oh God,” he said, considering a series of horrible possibilities. He swung over to the Copley Square off ramp and stopped on Newbury Street behind a car miraculously leaving its parking spot. He quickly pulled into the empty space and jammed the gear shift into park. “Okay, what happened?”

  “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. He placed the barrel of his gun under my ear and then ran it along my chin to my other ear. That’s when he said, convince your boyfriend not to do anything stupid.”

  “Goddamn bastards. I’m going to rip…”

  “Wilson, I’m fine. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you over the phone. I was afraid of you’d overreact.”

  “How can you expect me not to overreact?”

  “Because I’m fine and I’m here next to you,” she said, leaning over and kissing him.

  Wilson inhaled deeply. “You’re right,” he said, putting his arms around her. “ I’ll try not to overreact, but you have to trust me.”

  “I trust you, Wilson, but I don’t want to lose you.”

  After embracing and kissing again, Wilson started the car and pulled out onto Newbury. When they reached Brattle House, Wilson’s mother, Rachel, Darrin, and little Mary were delighted to see Emily. They socialized in the living room under full surveillance for over an hour. Then they migrated to the kitchen for a light dinner buffet and more conversation on the verandah. The threats to Emily and Wilson’s mother were discussed only briefly. To leave the incidents unaddressed would have been a mistake, but no one liked rehashing the frightening experiences. Wilson made it abundantly clear that he had no intention whatsoever of putting his family and loved ones in jeopardy.

  A little before eight o’clock, Wilson and Emily went to the belfry library where he sent an email to the managing partner of Kresge & Company’s Chicago office. He inquired about his current projects. Making the surveillance crowd think that he was going back to work might help diminish their obvious paranoia. Emily began reading the few pages Wilson had copied from the material in his father’s secret vault. They traded longing looks at each other every few seconds, impatient to spend the night together.

  Thirty minutes later, they retreated to the guest room to unpack Emily’s bags. Emily brushed against Wilson as she walked into the room.

  He inhaled her scent, watching as she walked to the bed where her bags had been placed by the house staff.

  As Emily opened a suitcase, she suddenly realized how awkward and nervous she felt. Wilson came up behind her. When she felt his breath on the back of her neck, she froze.

  He slid his hands up her arms and turned her to face him. He began kissing her slowly and tenderly, hoping to convey his love and regret for all that had separated them.

  She returned his kisses. But there was no need for prolonged tenderness. She loved Wilson unconditionally. Her passion for him was full—heart, mind, and body. She could feel the heightened blood flow coursing through her veins. Her only desire was to be with him. She pressed her mouth deeper into his kiss, her fingers knotting in his hair.

  Wilson pulled back in surprise. But he’d seen that look on her face before. They laughed at the mutual understanding, trying to kiss each other while quickly removing their clothes. But it was taking too much time. They wanted desperately to feel each other’s warm naked flesh. They separated only enough to watch every piece of clothing drop to the floor.

  The sight of Wilson’s obvious arousal made Emily feel powerful and secure in her ability to draw him fully into a world that was only theirs.

  He pulled her to him roughly and in a rush of tongue and teeth and searching fingers, they dropped to the beautiful Persian rug. Later, they would take time to explore and savor. But now, Wilson wanted nothing but to be inside her.

  Emily curled her hips to meet him.

  20

  Tate – Banff, Canada

  The legendary Banff Springs Hotel, built in 1888 by the Canadian Pacific Railroad, rose majestically from the pines atop a confluence of spiritual mountain crossings. Wayland Tate’s fondness for the Scottish baronial hotel and its mystical environs brought him to the resort at least twice a year. On this trip, he’d wanted to accompany the group of clients he was sending off on a two-day helicopter skiing trip to remote slopes in British Columbia. These were undoubtedly some of the most beautiful mountains on the face of the planet, but even greater pleasures awaited him today. David Quinn’s manipulation was about to reach new heights.

  Outside the hotel’s elegant lobby in the large roundabout, Tate’s clients finished loading their gear and entering the vans that would take them to the helipad. He half-warned, half-
bantered with them about sudden avalanches and sheer cliffs while, out of the corner of one eye, he watched David Quinn and Jules Kamin arrive in the lobby. As planned, Vargas had convinced Quinn to ski with her later in the morning instead of going on the heli-skiing trip. Now it was just a matter of minutes before Tate would be determining Quinn’s future.

  Once the vans were on their way, Tate joined Kamin and Quinn in a secluded part of the lobby next to an immense fireplace. Quinn was venting his frustration to Kamin.

  “Somebody at Kresge & Company spilled the beans,” Kamin said, clueing Tate in on what Quinn was saying. However, both Kamin and Tate knew perfectly well what had happened, since they were the ones who’d set things in motion. The first event in the Musselman stock-manipulation plan had been implemented.

  “They’ll pay for their arrogance,” Quinn said, still fuming. “They promised both me and MacMillan that they wouldn’t talk to the press. That was the only reason we let them keep the fees we’d already paid them. You watch me sue their asses for defamation, mismanagement, and fraud.”

  This was the moment Tate had anticipated. Everything had come together as planned.

  “What happened exactly?” Tate asked, his characteristic smoothness and feigned concern oozing from every pore.

  Quinn looked like death as he told Tate about the call he’d just received from his administrative assistant.

  “A reporter at The Wall Street Journal says he has confirmed information that Kresge & Company was fired because it questioned Musselman’s future viability. He knows all the details about Kresge’s recommendation to break up the company.”

  “Are you sure he’s got confirmed sources?” Tate asked, for effect.

  “He says the story’s going to run Monday morning, with or without confirmation from Musselman,” Quinn said.

  “What was MacMillan’s reaction?” Tate asked.

  “I haven’t talked to him or any other members of the board. You’re the first,” Quinn said, rubbing his hands over his balding head.

  “Word of the story must be spreading by blogs,” Tate said, letting a look of anguish fall over his features.

  “This is exactly what I was afraid of. And it only gets worse,” Quinn said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Hardware City has been buying our shares for the past several days. They’ve already acquired close to fifteen percent of the company and we don’t have a poison pill because I don’t believe in them. Our shareholders are salivating over the imminent tender offer. God, I’m such a fool.”

  There was a prolonged moment of silence as Tate stared out the large windows at the snow-speckled pines near Bow Falls. He could barely contain himself. Having placed Quinn in this predicament gave him a rush of pure psychic energy. This is what Tate lived for—the artful, unfair, and always deceptive manipulation of a rich and powerful CEO. In fact, he could no longer live without it.

  “Maybe there’s another way to look at this, David,” Tate finally said to break the silence.

  “If you can find a silver lining in this, I’ll write you a blank check for your services.”

  “That won’t be necessary, David. There’s always opportunity in crisis.”

  “Of course there is for Hardware City’s management. They’ve been dying to get their hands on my warehouses for years.”

  “No. For you, David. For us. For our friends.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ve seen this scenario before,” Tate said. “Bad news gets leaked just before the weekend, the stock price begins dropping, and everyone in the trading community knows the details before the market reopens. The Monday morning sell-off, combined with the bad press, drives the stock price to new lows. Bottom line? One investor’s nightmare becomes another investor’s dream. When the stock bottoms on Tuesday, we buy more than we can afford.” Tate paused and placed his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “And, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “You and I, Jules, and a group of clients committed to helping each other make a lot of money.”

  “That’s not going to stop Hardware City, and you know as well as I do we don’t have the debt capacity to buy back our stock.”

  “No need for that,” Kamin said, having remained quiet since Tate arrived, just as rehearsed earlier. “Our way is better. A consortium of clients purchases twenty-six percent of Musselman’s stock before closing on Tuesday. A second suitor, friendly, of course, buys another fifteen percent at the same time. You purchase another ten percent and we’re completely insulated from any takeover, without raising suspicion. We’ll do it all simultaneously. While Hardware City is busily acquiring shares to establish a minimum ownership position, which will probably be something around forty percent, we’ll shut them out.”

  “You know I can’t do it. In the first place I don’t have a billion dollars lying around to invest. In the second place, it’s illegal. Not only do we release quarterly earnings next week, we’re about to launch America’s Warehouse. I’m in a blackout period, you know that. The SEC would crucify me.”

  “We can take care of the legalities,” Kamin said, stepping closer. “The first thing we’ll do is collateralize your Musselman stock options through a foreign lender into a blind Nevada corporation owned by a Nevis Trust. Everything will be completely untraceable. The Nevis Trust will then use the proceeds from the collateralization to obtain a line of credit. That line of credit will be used to buy ninety-five million shares of Musselman stock on margin. Only twenty-five percent of the value of the stock will be required for deposit. The rest can be borrowed from the broker. The stock price doubles before margin call, and the Nevis Trust cashes out over a three-day period. You make a killing and prevent a takeover.”

  “Why can’t your partnership of clients or this new suitor you’re going to arrange buy the remaining ten percent?”

  Tate came back into the conversation, “Because they’ll want to know you’re in this with them, David.”

  Quinn looked scared and trapped. He was in over his head. In less than forty-eight hours when the New York Stock Exchange reopened for trading, Musselman’s stock price would continue dropping and Hardware City would give shareholders a way out, by buying their shares at a premium. Life as Quinn knew it would be over by Wednesday, unless he accepted Tate’s offer. He should have done more to prepare for the possibility of a takeover, as remote as it may have seemed weeks ago. And he might have, had he not been so involved preparing for America’s Warehouse. Now, he had to choose. Either accept Tate’s offer and be beholden to Tate for the rest of his life or reject it and lose everything. There were no other options, at least none that could be developed in time to stop a Hardware City takeover, and Quinn knew it.

  Tate didn’t expect it would take long for Quinn’s moral dilemma to give way to his obsession for preserving control of the J. B. Musselman Company.

  Quinn rubbed his fingers across his large forehead and peered at Kamin.

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “Yes,” Kamin said.

  “How many times?”

  “Dozens.”

  Quinn’s face froze in astonishment.

  “No, David, we didn’t create this situation,” Tate said. “Actually, it happens more often than you might think. We just know how to turn it to our advantage.”

  Small beads of sweat began forming across Quinn’s forehead. He took a deep breath. “You’re certain there’s no way to trace my involvement?”

  “Absolutely no way,” Tate said with his characteristic arrogance.

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “We’re not,” Tate said. “You once told me you wanted to buy a ski resort in Idaho.”

  “I’ve considered it, but what does that have to do with…”

  Tate interrupted, “The Nevada Corporation will be set up as a resort development company. The investment coming from your collateralized stock options will be made to look like foreign investme
nt, to be used as working capital for the selection, acquisition, and development of ski resort properties. The cash will remain in the Nevada corporation at all times, and will only be used by the Nevis Trust as collateral for obtaining a line of credit to purchase the ninety-five million shares of Musselman stock on margin.”

  Quinn folded his arms across his chest and glared at Tate. “Is this what you wanted, Wayland, to own me lock, stock, and barrel?”

  “Don’t be silly, David,” Tate said, putting his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “This is what friends do for each other. Don’t forget, we all have a lot riding on the success of America’s Warehouse. A takeover by Hardware City could jeopardize everything.” Tate paused a moment to let his words register. “Your interest is our interest. We can have all of this worked out by Monday morning. It’s what we do for clients in crisis. In the meantime, enjoy your day of skiing with Andrea. They say it snowed all night at Sunshine Village, two feet of fresh powder.”

  Quinn’s face was flushed. He said nothing.

  “If you’re not comfortable, we won’t go through with it. It’s your call, David.” Tate could see Quinn’s anger, but the trap had already caught its prey. That was life. It was time for Tate to cash in on his investment in David Quinn.

  Quinn walked over to the huge window and stared at the snow-covered pines. A couple of minutes later, he returned to where Tate and Kamin were standing. The look on Quinn’s face had changed from anger to resignation.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell me exactly how we go about borrowing the money against my stock options.”

  That was it. Quinn was now theirs for as long as they wanted to manipulate him. He savored the moment as Kamin answered Quinn’s question in precise detail, assuring him that the funds could be made available immediately, through a European investment fund created for just this sort of emergency. After that, Kamin suggested they meet before dinner to sign all the necessary papers.