Forte unzipped the bag, pulled out one of the CDs marked “Hewitt,” slid it into the DVD player, and turned it on. Moments later Samuel Hewitt appeared on the screen. He was naked, as was the young boy in front of him.
Hewitt howled and bolted for the television. But one of Forte’s men stepped in front of him, grabbed him, and tossed him backward like a rag doll.
Forte turned toward Christian. “So what we have here is a stand off. Mutually assured destruction. Mutually assured inaction. I’m impressed.”
“Even if you tortured Hewitt, you’d never know for sure if you got all the copies of the Jesse clip. This way Hewitt has the clips of Jesse, but you have this clip of him—and more. If you ever released it, he’d lose his job as CEO of U.S. Oil, his family, everything.” Christian pointed at Fleming and Meade. “You have clips of them, too, Elijah, as insurance.”
Forte thought about it for a few moments. “Yeah, I’m okay with—”
A burst of gunfire erupted and two of Forte’s men collapsed. Christian hit the floor, spotting a shooter in the kitchen doorway, then another in the dining room. Hewitt hadn’t come alone.
Then all hell broke loose, guns spitting and bullets flying as Forte’s men returned fire. Christian saw Harrison hit in the arm and Johnson take one to the leg. Meade went down clutching his stomach, followed by Forte.
Christian jumped to his feet and grabbed his bag of tapes, then Forte’s and raced ahead, snatching the Jesse clip off the top of the television. As he did, he came face-to-face with Hewitt—who was aiming a pistol straight at him.
Hewitt smiled even amid the chaos, as the bullets flew, cool as always under pressure, then lifted the gun and squeezed the trigger.
Christian recoiled, certain Hewitt had gotten off a shot. But when he looked up, Hewitt was on his knees, the gun on the floor in front of him. Hewitt was gazing at him, through him, really. And then Christian realized. Hewitt had taken a bullet.
“Come on,” Allison shouted, tossing the pistol she’d scooped up off the floor to shoot Hewitt with and grabbing Christian by the arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
He dashed after her. God, he hoped the kid had waited.
EPILOGUE
CHRISTIAN PICKED UP
The National Enquirer
that Debbie had dropped on his desk a few minutes earlier and glanced at the headline: “Shootout at the Champagne Corral.” Then his eyes flickered down and he began to read.
Early on the morning of July 19th, state law enforcement officers descended on Champagne Island—a tiny island located a few miles off Southport, Maine—and discovered a stunning scene. Nine men killed in a shootout one of the first officers on the island likened to the famous gun battle at the OK Corral which took place more than a century ago in Tombstone, Arizona. Among the dead were: Samuel Hewitt, CEO of U.S. Oil, the largest industrial company in the world; Elijah Forte, one of the nation’s wealthiest African Americans; and Gordon Meade, a prominent member of Chicago’s Wallace Family, rumored to be worth around thirty billion.
As Christian finished the article, his office door opened and Allison appeared. He motioned for her to come in. He’d been expecting her.
“The National Enquirer?”
she asked when she saw what he was reading. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d pick up that.”
He held it up so she could see the headline, then slid it across the desk at her as she sat down. “Todd Harrison wrote a little piece in there you might be interested in.” He chuckled, watching her eyes bug out as she started the first paragraph.
“My God, what are we going to do? Are you mentioned in here?”
Christian shook his head. “No. How would Harrison prove I was ever there?”
After crashing through the window and tumbling to the ground, they’d picked themselves up and sprinted back to where they’d swam ashore. Thankfully, the kid had waited.
“I guess that’s why Trenton Fleming isn’t mentioned, either,” Christian continued. “He must have gotten out, too. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if I was mentioned. Harrison admits near the end of the article that he basically doesn’t have any hard evidence. And none of the other big newspapers have reported anything about this. The only thing that corroborates Harrison’s story at all right now is that no one can find Hewitt, Forte, or Meade. But so what? I’m sure U.S. Oil and Ebony Enterprises will put out statements saying the guy’s off his rocker. I’m sure your family will, too.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to anyone in the family. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Christian could see she was scared. She’d always known wealth, tremendous wealth. Now she didn’t know if she could count on that anymore. Maybe the family would disown her after what had happened on Champagne. “Look, Ally, you’ll always have a place here at—”
“What about this police officer?” Allison interrupted. “The one Harrison claims he interviewed.”
She was scared but proud. She didn’t want to talk about it right now. Well, he could understand that. “A lie, I’m sure. We called the feds as soon as we got back to the mainland, not the local guys. I’m sure the local guys weren’t even allowed on the island for a few days.”
Allison dropped the paper on the desk. “There was that one tape of Hewitt with the boy. We didn’t get that.”
Christian shrugged. “All that proves is that Hewitt was a pervert. It doesn’t do anything to back up Harrison’s claim that Hewitt was the leader of some secret society that ‘influenced events around the world.’” He put his fingers up and made quotation signs.
“Is that what Harrison says in here?”
Christian nodded.
“You think he got Hewitt’s tape?”
“Probably, but I don’t think he’ll release it. Candidly, I don’t think anyone would care that much if he did. I’m sure U.S. Oil will come out with a statement sometime today explaining how Hewitt has stepped down. They’ll say all the right things. They’ll basically end their association with him somehow. They’ll claim he had a stroke or something and in a couple of weeks he’ll be a distant memory.”
“I guess you’re right,” Allison agreed. “What did you do with all the tapes we got off the island?”
“Burned them.”
“But you could have used them against Trenton Fleming. I mean, the SEC’s still going to come after—”
“It’s all taken care of, Ally,” Christian interrupted. “Fleming doesn’t know I burned them. Black Brothers agreed to pay all damages associated with the class action suit the CST investors have filed. And I gave Bob Galloway’s wife a nice check for her adoption agency.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” Christian called. Quentin appeared at the door and Christian motioned for him to come in and sit down beside Allison. “I was just bringing Ally up to speed on everything.” He’d talked to Quentin at length by phone an hour ago.
“You tell her about our great friend Nigel Faraday?” Quentin asked.
Christian shook his head slowly. “Nigel went back to London to one of the big buyout shops over there,” he explained.
“Aren’t you going after him?” she asked.
Christian shook his head again. “It’s done,” he said quietly.
“Sorry about Jesse,” Quentin spoke up.
“Jeez,”
Allison said loudly. “Guess I’m in the dark about everything. What happened with Jesse?”
Christian smiled sadly. “He’s going with someone else as his VP. Turns out Forte was the one pushing me, not Jesse.”
“I’m sorry. That’s too bad.”
Christian nodded slowly. “Yeah.” It was too bad. He’d wanted that—a lot. Almost as much for his dad as himself.
“I’ve got an idea,” Allison spoke up, her expression brightening. “Let’s all three go to Vegas.”
Christian laughed. “I’m one step ahead of you, Ally. The plane’s already waiting for us at LaGuardia. Sunday’s opening day for the Dice.” He glanced at Quentin. “First step on the road to the Super Bowl. We’re all going to watch from the box.”
“Awesome.”
As they headed for the door, Christian caught Allison by the wrist and pulled her toward him. “I’ll take you on one condition, Ms. Wallace,” he said, grinning.
“And what’s that, Mr. Gillette?”
“I’ll take you as long as you agree that whatever happens in Vegas,
stays
in Vegas. Okay?”
She gazed into his eyes for a few moments, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine with that.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S
TEPHEN
F
REY
is a managing director at a private equity firm. He previously worked in mergers and acquisitions at JP Morgan and as a vice president of corporate finance at an international bank in Manhattan. Frey is the bestselling author of
The Protégé, The Chairman, Shadow Account, Silent Partner, The Day Trader, Trust Fund, The Insider, The Legacy, The Inner Sanctum, The Vulture Fund,
and
The Takeover.
He lives in Florida.
ALSO BY STEPHEN FREY
The Takeover
The Vulture Fund
The Inner Sanctum
The Legacy
The Insider
Trust Fund
The Day Trader
Silent Partner
Shadow Account
The Chairman
The Protégé
The Power Broker
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Stephen Frey
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
B
ALLANTINE
and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-49378-1
v3.0