It
was
crazy, Christian realized. “What made them change their minds?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I was too excited.”
“You think this quarterback you want has some kind of injury we don’t know about? Maybe he fell down stairs at home this afternoon or something.”
“Maybe, but we’ll find out. No trade in the NFL clears until the players involved pass physicals. If he’s hurt, the trade’s nullified.”
Christian remembered hearing that before.
“I don’t think they’d offer what they did unless our guy was healthy,” Lancaster said.
“Then what do you think
did
happen?”
“I don’t know,” Lancaster answered, “and I don’t really care. All I care is that we’ve got a quarterback who can win. I might be able to get you to the play-offs this year after all.”
Christian looked out the window as the jet pulled up to the general aviation terminal. It would be nice not to have to care about why something good happened, to simply believe that lady luck was on your side. But that was a naïve approach to life. Everything happened for a reason, and it was always best to know what that reason was. Having information, knowing why something happened—whether it was good or bad for you—was the key to success. Being surprised was a much worse outcome. Then you couldn’t do anything about it.
What bothered him was that there seemed to be more and more things happening that he couldn’t explain, that he needed to investigate. He couldn’t decide if that was coincidence—brought on by external forces he couldn’t control—or if it was lack of focus. Maybe Faith was right. Maybe it was him, not the situation. With her
and
Everest.
HEWITT STOOD
in the darkness by the gate, awestruck by the multitude of stars above him. They called Montana Big Sky Country, but the Texas sky was actually bigger and better. He’d seen both many times and he had no doubt about it.
He watched the headlights of the SUV move slowly along the dirt road toward him. One of his “friends” was driving, bringing him a very important package. As the SUV drew close, he mused on the fact that he thought of these men as more his friends than he did of a man like Stewart Massey. As much as he could have friends, anyway. Of course, maybe that was why he liked them so much. Not just because they were unfailingly loyal and did whatever they were asked without question but also because they knew they could never be close to him. The relationship was steady. Hewitt didn’t have to worry about these men ever thinking they might actually get close to him, ever thinking they might get an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. They knew they wouldn’t. They knew the boundaries. Guys like Massey always held out hope for more.
The SUV stopped in front of the gate, and a lone man jumped out. He hurried to where Hewitt stood and handed over the package—a CD case—then turned and jogged back toward the vehicle without a word.
Hewitt smiled. Pay people enough and they were loyal to you forever. As long as someone else didn’t pay them more. “Wayne,” he called as the man was about to climb into the truck.
“Yes, sir?”
“Come back here for a second.”
The man hustled back. “Yes, sir?”
Wayne was an ex–Texas Ranger, with a steadfast belief that the country was going to hell very fast and that something needed to be done.
Ex
-Ranger because Hewitt had offered him triple what the state could pay him. “You’re a good man, Wayne. You and the rest of the boys do a great job.”
“Thank you, sir.” He hesitated. “Is that all?”
“Tell the other guys I appreciate them, too.”
“They know that, sir.”
Hewitt nodded and smiled. “Okay.” Once again he watched Wayne head toward the SUV. Money was the most important thing by far, but sometimes you had to show people a little more to really manipulate them the way you wanted to.
9
GORDON MEADE
was in his late fifties. Neatly groomed from his silver hair to his perfectly knotted tie to his shiny shoes. For a man who managed thirty billion dollars, he had a relaxed manner, and when he spoke he did so with a faint smile, as if recalling a secret about a Wallace family member. Something that gave him job security, no matter what. Christian had known Meade now for several years and always wondered about that faint smile—and what it represented.
“I’m glad to hear our investment in your fund is doing so well,” Meade said, taking a sip of coffee. They were almost finished with dinner. “You really think it’s doubled in value?”
People always heard what they wanted to hear, especially about their investments. Christian had never said that. “Not quite, Gordon. I think your five’s worth about eight now.” Meade had rounded up, like so many people did about so many things—their salaries, the value of their houses. “That’s pretty good, given that we haven’t invested all the money yet.”
“Remind me again: How big is the fund?”
Meade managed thirty billion himself, most of which was parceled out to other investment managers in much smaller blocks than five billion. So it wasn’t surprising that he wouldn’t know all the details of his Everest investment. He was a man with a lot on his plate. “Twenty billion.”
Meade shook his head. “That’s incredible. Any other funds around that large?”
“No. One of the other big buyout shops just raised an eighteen-billion-dollar fund. They were trying for twenty, but they didn’t quite get there.”
“Are you learning?” Meade asked, turning to Allison. Quentin was at the bar, waiting. Meade had asked that it be just the three of them at dinner. “That’s one of the reasons your uncle and I wanted you at Everest, to figure out how this guy does it.” He pointed at Christian. “How the master makes his money.”
“Hey,”
Allison spoke up, “I’ve brought a few deals to the table.”
Meade glanced at Christian.
“She has,” he confirmed.
In truth, Allison had turned out to be a great addition to the managing-partner team. She’d gone to the right schools, then worked in Goldman Sachs’s mergers and acquisitions group after getting her MBA, putting in long hours for a few years as she learned the ropes at one of the most prestigious firms on Wall Street, before coming back to Chicago to help manage the family’s enormous wealth. She had the pedigree, the experience; she worked hard; and she was learning how to take full advantage of her long list of connections.
She was learning how to take advantage of her beauty, too. After they got past their egos, men loved working with Allison. She was pretty, she knew sports, and she could drink most men under the table. He’d seen her do it, too, seen her stick around at the bar until the last guy stumbled off to bed. Then be up at seven the next morning, grinding through deal points and tough negotiations while her male counterparts struggled not to lose it on the conference room table as they sucked down cup after cup of black coffee.
Christian smiled as he gazed at her. She was wearing a conservative outfit tonight, a dress that fell below her knees. She would never let on to the family what a party girl she was. She liked the responsibility the elders were giving her, so she tried to act innocent around them and Meade. She knew that Meade told her uncle everything.
“Allison’s found two of the eight companies we’ve bought out of the fund so far,” Christian said. “I’m hoping she’ll stick around for good, Gordon.”
“Oh, no.” Meade shook his head. “She’s working at Everest so she can bring all that experience back to us when this fund is finished. We all know that.”
“
I’ll
be the one who decides what I do when the fund is finished, Gordon,” Allison said firmly.
Meade gazed at her for a few moments, then turned back to Christian. “How much of the twenty billion have you invested so far?”
“A little over twelve billion, a little over sixty percent of it.”
“Are you going to raise another fund?”
“Absolutely.”
“When does your operating agreement let you free up to start raising the next one?” Meade asked.
“When we’ve invested seventy-five percent of it.”
Investors wanted Christian and his team focused on their money, so there were restrictions on raising additional funds. But the investors also understood that it took time to raise multibillion-dollar pools of money, often a year or more. Christian needed lead time so the next fund would be ready to go when the current fund was out of money. The agreement he had with his investors was that once he’d invested seventy-five percent of the money in the active fund—fifteen billion out of twenty in this case—he could start raising a new one.
“You going to go for more than twenty next time?”
“Twenty-five.” Christian had already started talking to his biggest investors. Based on those discussions, he felt certain he could clear that number.
“Wow.” Meade smiled. “And I bet you do it. Unless, of course, there’s a hiccup with any of the companies you own now. Then it’ll be tough to get to twenty-five billion.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Christian answered, picking up his water glass. “Our portfolio companies are doing well.”
“Still don’t drink, huh?” Meade asked.
Christian hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since the night in high school when he’d wrapped his father’s Porsche around a tree. When he’d come to in the hospital, his father had been standing over him, tears streaming down his face. That image had stuck with Christian forever. He’d vowed never to disappoint his father like that again, even after his father was gone. “Nope.”
Meade motioned across the room to their waiter for the check. “How’s the Laurel Energy sale going?”
Everest had bought Laurel using money from the fund that was in place before the current twenty-billion-dollar fund. The Wallace Family had no investment in that fund, so, technically, Meade shouldn’t care how the sale was going. “It’s taken longer than we expected, but I’m sure everything will be fine. Why do you ask?”
Meade gestured at Allison. “Allison told me it wasn’t going well.”
Christian’s eyes shot to Allison’s. You never told the outside world about problems until you absolutely couldn’t fix them yourself. Even though Gordon was directly responsible for the Wallace Family investment in the Everest fund, he was still an outsider. The only true insiders were Christian and his five managing partners; even the other employees at the firm weren’t real insiders. Allison should never have said anything to Meade about the Laurel Energy sale. He took a frustrated breath. This was one of the big problems with having your single largest investors actually living at the fund with you—they were conflicted in their loyalties.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t going well, Chris,” she said defensively. “I said exactly what you just said, that it’s taken longer than you expected.” She gave Meade an irritated look. “And it has, that’s true.”
“It sure would hurt if you couldn’t sell it,” Meade spoke up. “It’d be a real black eye, wouldn’t it? Especially since you thought it was going to be such a grand slam. I think you told me you were going to get five billion for it, didn’t you, Christian?”
“Yes,” he admitted, ruing the remark. It was almost like Meade wanted Laurel Energy
not
to sell. Like he didn’t want Everest to be able to raise another fund, especially not a twenty-five-billion-dollar fund. Like he wanted Everest to do poorly after Allison came back to Chicago so Christian couldn’t compete with them.
“Any other problems in the portfolio?” Meade wanted to know. “Or with any of the companies you’ve taken public?”
Christian felt his eyes begin to narrow, but he tried to keep his expression even. “No, everything’s fine.”
Meade nodded. “Good. Because, again, something like that, you know, one of those companies you’ve taken public having problems? That would hurt big-time when you go out and try to raise the next fund. Everything gets so messy with public deals. The SEC gets involved and
boom
. You and your firm are splashed all over the headlines.”
“I’m aware of that, Gordon.” Christian couldn’t remember Meade ever being so passive-aggressive with him. “But thanks for the advice.”
The older man leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Well, that was quite a meal, delicious. Thanks for coming all the way out here to Chicago to update me. I like face-to-face so much better than phones and e-mails. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks.” Christian glanced over at Allison. She was folding and refolding her napkin, like she was nervous. Or feeling guilty.
BLANTON MCDONNELL
wheeled the shopping cart down the carpeted aisle of a high-end grocery store in Greenwich, Connecticut, toward the canned soup section. He could have had one of the help come to the store for him, but he wasn’t actually looking for soup. In fact, he didn’t really need anything from the store at all—at least, not any of their products. Of course, he’d thrown a few things in the cart for appearance’s sake, like he always did.
As McDonnell neared the soup section, he glanced around furtively. Just a couple of women with kids, one of whom was screaming at the top of his lungs. Good. A distraction.
He quickly found the row of Campbell’s Baked Potato with Cheddar and Bacon Bits soup, a flavor that he and Mace Kohler had determined wouldn’t cycle quickly. Not like chicken noodle or clam chowder, which probably had to be restocked a couple of times a day. He grabbed the cans two at a time, placing them in the cart until he came to the last one. He pulled it from the back of the shelf and held it up, turning it around. There it was, taped to the back of the can. A note from Kohler. He wanted to get together tomorrow night at the place they’d decided on the last time they’d met.
They never met in the same place twice in a row. It was much too dangerous. You never knew if Hewitt was watching.
TODD HARRISON
pulled his rusty Toyota into a narrow parking space at the run-down apartment complex and skidded to a stop, barely missing the fender of a pickup truck that had its left taillight bashed in. He banged off the headlights with his left hand, at the same time twisting the key with his right and yanking it from the ignition. Then he grabbed his backpack off the ripped passenger seat and jumped out, sprinting up the outdoor steps to the third floor. He rapped loudly on the glass storm door when he reached the small landing outside the apartment. “Come on, George, come on,” he muttered to himself, looking over his shoulder down into the darkness of the empty lot below.
The door opened and he burst inside, not waiting to be invited in. “Where have you been?” he demanded, tossing the backpack on the sofa beside him as he sat down.
George Bishop shut the door, then moved to a ratty easy chair beside the couch and fell into it, like it had taken all the energy he had left in his body to answer Harrison’s knock. “Where
haven’t
I been?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I—”
“Why’d it take so long to call me? You were supposed to get to me by five. It’s almost eleven.”
“I’ll tell you if—”
“You should have been back hours ago.”
“
Hey,
are you going to let me talk?”
“Sorry, yeah, yeah, go ahead.”
Bishop played with his scruffy beard for a moment as his gray-and-white cat jumped into his lap. “The wind really sucked coming back in from Champagne Island. I don’t know if you could tell from shore, but it blew the surf up something fierce. The waves kept getting bigger and bigger out there. They must have been three or four feet. Never been out in something like that before. I’m a pretty good seaman, but I almost went over a few times.”
“Jesus, I had no idea. It was a beautiful day here.”
“Yeah, I know—it was weird. Anyway, I’m fighting it, just trying to keep the bow steady, and all of a sudden I barely miss this Boston Whaler coming the other way. I mean, it was that close.” Bishop held his hands up a foot apart. “I never even saw it coming because the surf was up so high and I was keeping my head down.”
“Roth,” Harrison said excitedly. “It must have been Roth going back out to Champagne after he met me.”
“Well, I’ve never seen Roth so I don’t know, and I didn’t really get a look at the guy in the other boat at that point because it all happened so fast.” Bishop chuckled. “But then he started chasing me.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the fucker turned around and started hauling ass after me.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, so I can’t come back to Southport, you know? If it’s Roth, I don’t want him knowing where the hell I live. So I changed course and went up to Logan, and he tailed me all the way there, plowing through the waves right behind me. As I’m tying up at a dock, he comes running over after he’s tied up his boat, wanting to know what the hell I was doing out there.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him it was a free country, and a free ocean, and I could do whatever the hell I wanted to out there. Then I told him to get the fuck out of my face.” Bishop pushed the cat gently off his lap, walked to the refrigerator, and got a beer. “The guy didn’t like that very much.” He popped the beer open and took several gulps. “Roth. Is he about six feet tall, say one-eighty? Scar over his left eye?”
“That’s him,” Harrison confirmed.
“He’s a mean-looking motherfucker,” Bishop said, heading back to the easy chair.
“So, what happened?” Harrison asked. “Did he just leave?”
“Nope. After I told him to fuck off, I went to a place on the waterfront to get something to eat, and he followed me inside. Just stared at me from the other end of the bar while I was eating.” Bishop took a deep breath and shook his head. “I had to climb out the men’s room window, haul ass to my boat, and get the hell out of there before he knew what was going on.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harrison glanced at his backpack. “What about Champagne? Did you find anything?”
“I found out Roth leaves his wife alone out there. Glad you told me she might be around.”