A Girl Betrayed (A Leah Mason suspense thriller Book 2) Read online

  The next was reporting on a charity affair that Richard and Heather had attended for the Humane Society, with a small photo of the couple in happier times, before he’d started his firm. More links followed, but none with any substance other than a short notice from an SEC filing that disclosed Palladium as a shareholder in several public companies. Leah jotted down the names and moved to another window, where Richard had been one of the top finalists in a half marathon in Palo Alto.

  Leah sipped at her coffee, reading about a man who, on the surface, was a pillar of the community – rich, handsome, fit, relatively young, smart. Yet according to Heather, he was an adulterer and a financial shark with a debatable moral compass. It was hard to reconcile her description of him with his résumé, but Heather had no reason to mislead Leah, and the disparity between his public persona and his private self were a cautionary tale of how deceptive appearances could be.

  She finished her mug and was rising when Adam appeared at her cubicle entrance. “You rang?” he asked with a slight grin.

  “Yes, Adam. Thanks. I have a technical issue I could use your help with.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “I’ve got a computer. A notebook I was given by a source…but I don’t have the password to access it.”

  He frowned. “That’s not really a technical issue. It’s more…I don’t know. Something a service shop might be able to do.”

  “Do you know any good ones?”

  “A few.” Adam looked around her cubicle. “Where is it? Let’s see what kind of system it is. We can start there.”

  “Oh, sure,” Leah said. She set down her empty mug, flipped the latches on the briefcase, and opened it. Inside were the files, but no laptop. She eyed the contents in confusion. “That’s weird…”

  Adam stood by, perplexed, waiting for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he stepped closer. “Did you forget it or something?”

  “The source gave me the briefcase and said it was inside. Maybe she was confused?”

  “Huh. Okay. Was there anything else?”

  Leah thought for a moment. “I’m feeling out a story on a venture capital firm in the valley. Do you know anything about the industry?”

  “I know some people who work in the space, sure. But I’m not an expert. What do you want to know?”

  “Do the companies list their holdings on their websites?”

  “I’m not aware of anything requiring them to.”

  “How about investors? Do they have to list them?”

  “You mean limited partners? I don’t think so.”

  “So they’re pretty opaque?”

  “Generally, yes. Sometimes they have to register as investment advisors, but even that’s a gray area.”

  “Do they have to be licensed?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How do they operate? Is there a rule of thumb?”

  “Sure. They usually invest on A rounds, which are the first funding rounds of a private company after it’s proven its concept or technology. The VCs put in money and get an ownership stake in the company in return. If there are subsequent rounds, they may invest more for more equity, or bring in other VCs at higher valuations. They make money when the company goes public or gets acquired.” Adam paused. “It’s a high-risk business, but it can make fortunes.”

  “How do they get paid? I mean, sounds like they might have to wait a while for either the company to go public or get sold.”

  “The model is to collect a two percent annual management fee, and twenty percent of any profit the fund winds up generating.”

  Leah did a quick calculation. Richard’s firm was grossing ten million dollars a year. But then it had to pay for the most expensive office space in the area, staff, private jet travel, cars, taxes… So Richard was probably pocketing two to three million a year after all that. Which sounded like a lot to Leah, but which she knew could be eaten up quickly with income tax, mortgage on a mansion, and the lifestyle Heather and Richard lived.

  “Wow. Sounds like I’m in the wrong business,” Leah said.

  “You and me both. But the people I know who are in the game work like dogs. It’s super competitive, and even though the money is good, the pressure to perform is extreme. Think the top grads from Harvard, Yale, Wharton, Stanford, all competing for a small number of slots each year in an industry that’s closely held. And all the firms are looking to the same investors for capital. It’s not for the meek.”

  Leah smiled. “So I shouldn’t quit my day job?”

  “Not unless you’ve got a mountain of degrees from the best schools and all the right connections.”

  “I thought those people went to Wall Street.”

  “Different temperament type. The fast-lane guys go to the street. VC is more about analysis and reason. It’s not sexy. It’s more conservative than just about anything but insurance. It’s all about gauging future trends five and ten years out, and weighing risk, ability to perform, that sort of thing, whereas Wall Street is about making deals and this quarter’s bonus.”

  “Where would a guy who makes a few million a year fit into the hierarchy?”

  “As a general partner? Pretty near the bottom, I’d guess, these days. I mean, there are funds out there that control billions and billions. Imagine the fees on that. Even if there are a dozen partners, a few million is small potatoes. And the general would have to invest alongside the limiteds, so a lot of that would probably get burned up on investments as they made them, depending on how the partnership is drafted.” He eyed her. “Want to share what the story is?”

  Leah thought about how to frame Heather’s position, and opted to make it more about Richard. “I have a lead that a VC fund in the valley might be up to no good. Or at least the head of it. But there aren’t any specifics. I’m not even sure what investments they’ve made.”

  “And the laptop is this guy’s?”

  “That’s right. And I’ve got a bunch of financial records I need to copy and return.”

  “Personal or business?”

  “Probably both.”

  “I can ask around, if you need some help. I know a lot of people.”

  Leah tried a smile. “Can I coax you into helping me with some of the number crunching and industry-specific research? That’s not my forte.”

  Adam regarded her with a serious expression. “You’re so going to owe me for this.”

  “That sounds like a negotiation.”

  “I’m thinking dinner just to start.”

  “We can look at that,” Leah agreed, trying not to smirk.

  “Let me know what you need and when, and I’ll clear the decks,” Adam said, a smile spreading across his face. “When do you want to target for dinner? I’m open…I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think every night’s free.”

  “Let’s talk in a day or two. It’s crunch time with this. I need to analyze what I’ve got and figure out what I’m dealing with.”

  “I would start with the two obvious places – the investors and the investments. How long has it been in business?”

  “Only a couple of years. Five-hundred-million-dollar fund.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard, then – a fund that size wouldn’t have made that many investments in that amount of time. Let me know what you find, and whenever you’re ready, I can put the name out to a few contacts and see what comes back.”

  “I appreciate it, Adam.”

  “All part of the job, Leah.” He laughed. “Not really, but you know what I mean.”

  She nodded and waited until he’d walked away to call Heather, who answered her cell on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Leah.”

  “Wow. So soon? What did you find out?”

  “No laptop in the briefcase.”

  A pause. “What! That’s imp…wait. It has to be that bastard Ramon. He was the only one around. When we walked Brutus.” She swore under her breath. “I knew I should have locked the d
oor while we were gone.”

  “That’s a serious problem for you,” Leah said. “Obviously.”

  “I know. It means the clock’s ticking. He’ll be back on Wednesday. That doesn’t give us a lot of time.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “And I’ll come pick up the paperwork once you’ve copied it.” Heather cursed again. “Oh, well. It had to come to a head sometime.”

  “You could always fire Ramon before Richard comes home, for stealing your laptop.”

  Heather didn’t say anything for a few moments. “That’s not a bad idea. But it won’t accomplish much. Richard has his number.”

  “If he’s as busy as you say, he might not even notice for a few days if he’s not there until evening.”

  Heather grunted. “You know what? That’s perfect. I’ll enjoy this more than just about anything I’ve done this year.”

  “I thought you might. You can also threaten to file charges with the police if he doesn’t give it back. As far as they know, it’s your laptop and he stole it.”

  “He’ll say he was protecting it.”

  “Which is a story you’d expect if you caught him stealing. Figure it out, Heather. If you can get the computer back from him, I may still be able to crack it in time.”

  “I’ll go fire him right now. Hell hath no fury, right?”

  “He picked on the wrong lady.”

  Heather laughed drily. “They both did.”

  Chapter 13

  Washington, D.C.

  Lisa Winters padded down the hall and paused at the threshold of her husband’s study. “Honey? A messenger delivered an envelope for you,” she said. For a congressman, a delivery in the evening was not unheard of, although it was unusual.

  “A messenger? At this hour? Who’s it from?” Edward Winters asked, his brow furrowed.

  “I don’t know. It’s just an envelope with your name on it.”

  Winters’s frown deepened. He occasionally received communications on urgent matters at home, but at nine on a Monday night with nothing pressing, he couldn’t guess what the envelope contained.

  “Hand it over,” he said, motioning to his wife. She gave it to him, and he waited until she left to look it over. His name was typed across the front, with no address or sender information, which was unusual. He remembered stories of the days after the 9-11 attacks, when anthrax had been mailed to several people, and shuddered. An anonymous package of any kind was immediately suspect, and he debated calling someone to inspect it before recalling his recent interaction with Angelo. If this was some ham-handed way of communicating with Winters, he’d have a word with him – Winters wanted nothing in writing.

  He removed a pair of latex gloves he kept in his desk for his stamp collecting and pulled them on, and then felt every inch of the envelope. There was a slim rectangle inside, barely the size of a padlock key. Whatever it might be, it was too small to be a letter bomb – not that he had anyone who wanted to do away with him, as far as he knew.

  He set the envelope down and felt in his center drawer for a letter opener. Holding one corner of the paper against the desk, he carefully slit the top of the envelope and removed a tiny USB drive with a Post-it note stuck to it.

  A $500K surprise. Enjoy the movie.

  Winters pushed back from his desk and walked unsteadily to the study door. He closed it and twisted the lock, and then returned to his seat, staring at the drive like it was a scorpion. After a half minute of thought, he slid it into his computer’s port and clicked on the icon that appeared. A video file confirmed his worst fears, and he selected it with a knot in his throat that threatened to choke him.

  The screen flickered, and the familiar grainy image of the bordello bedroom opened in a window. He watched in horrified shock as the girl performed her ludicrous striptease, and then the image froze and was replaced by text.

  “You don’t want this leaking. You have five days to collect five hundred K in unmarked bills. You’ll be contacted on the fifth evening. Have it ready. No tricks or you’re blown.”

  Winters glared at the screen as it went dark. Those miserable, lying bastards. Now they were extorting him for money?

  He pulled the drive from the port and replaced it in the envelope. There was no way he could liquidate assets and come up with half a million dollars without triggering alarms. The cash demand was madness. Idiocy. He could never fulfill it.

  Which even an imbecile like Angelo had to know.

  So what was this really about? Was Angelo trying to put pressure on him, remind him who was boss? That wasn’t necessary.

  He rose and moved to a decanter filled with single malt Scotch and poured himself four fingers. He needed to think. Figure a way out of the trap.

  Ten minutes later the drink was gone and his posture was resolute. He dialed the number Angelo had given him, and when the despicable man picked up, he spoke slowly.

  “We need to talk.”

  A long pause. “If you’re having second thoughts…”

  “In person. Tonight. Not over the phone,” Winters snapped.

  Another pause. “Where and when?”

  “Lincoln Memorial. One hour.”

  “Fine. Just you and me.”

  “Better believe it.”

  Winters hung up and pocketed the envelope. He adjusted his loose sweatshirt so it covered the waist of his khaki pants, removed the gloves and pocketed them, and stood. He unlocked the door and walked down the hall to exchange his slippers for shoes. Lisa was sitting in bed, reading a book, and looked up at him when he entered the bedroom.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Emergency meeting,” Winters said.

  “Right now? Is there…is everything all right?”

  “Just the usual fire drill. Someone pulls the handle, we all have to scramble.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Don’t wait up. At least a couple of hours, maybe more.”

  “Oh, Edward…”

  His face hardened as he kicked off his slippers. “I know.” He hesitated. “What messenger company did they use this time?”

  Lisa frowned in concentration. “I don’t know. He wasn’t wearing a uniform or anything. Why? Is it important?”

  “No. I was just curious.”

  Winters donned a windbreaker and a pair of Bass Weejuns and departed without another word. He retraced his steps to his study and performed a check on his computer to ensure there was no trace of the video, and then ran anti-malware software to ensure it hadn’t been infected by a virus lurking on the drive.

  Ten minutes later he was satisfied that his system was clean, and he powered the computer down and switched off his desktop lamp, his scowl deepening as he ran scenarios in his head. Whatever game the mobster was playing, he’d learn tonight that Winters had his limits, and being shaken down for cash was one – although in reality, he’d have paid his last dime to ensure that his crime never came to light. But that wasn’t the point. You had to push back against bullies or they’d ride roughshod over you.

  And he was nobody’s bitch.

  He hurried to the garage and soon was driving his black BMW sedan toward the Lincoln Memorial, the only sound in the car the faint thrum of the motor and the nearly silent hiss of the ventilation system. He parked at a nearby Starbucks and walked to the street level, and then hailed a cab to take him the rest of the way, cautious of leaving any trail.

  The area around the Memorial was largely deserted, with only a few night owls taking selfies with the statue of the seated president in the background. Five agonizingly long minutes later Angelo arrived, alone, as promised, looking angry.

  “What the hell’s your problem, dragging me out here?” he barked at Winters, his eyes slits.

  “You know what the problem is. If you think I’m going to pay one dime, you’ve badly misjudged me.”

  Angelo blinked several times. “Are you drunk?”

  Winters took a step toward the mobster, his hands ball
ed into fists by his sides. “What do you think you’re doing? I agreed to play along. Now you’re going to blackmail me?”

  Angelo studied Winters’s face. “What happened?”

  Winters withdrew the envelope from his pocket and tossed it at Angelo, who caught it in midair, his reflexes surprisingly fast for his size. “This is what happened. A ransom demand to keep the video quiet.”

  Angelo’s eyes widened at Winters’s words. “Tell me everything that happened. Everything.”

  Winters gave him a blow by blow, and by the time he was done, he was shaking with anger again. Angelo assessed him with quiet calm and waited for him to finish.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “It isn’t me. But I’ll make it my job to figure out who it is, and take care of the problem.”

  “I thought you said you had the only copy.”

  “That’s what I thought. Apparently I was wrong.”

  “When you say you’ll take care of it…”

  “I mean whoever is doing this isn’t going to be doing anything else after I get to them. That’s all you need to know.” Angelo paused. “I may need your cooperation, though.”

  “To do what?”

  “If we can’t figure out who’s pulling this stunt, to deliver the money, of course.”

  Winters grimaced in rage. “I’m not paying a–”

  Angelo pocketed the envelope. “I’m not asking you to. I said I’d fix it. I will. But if it gets to the point where we have to make a drop, you’ll need to play along so we can set it up. That’s all. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Winters visibly calmed down, although he was still agitated. “You have no idea who it is?”

  “There’s only a handful of possibilities I can think of. Trust me, I’ll run this to ground.” He checked the time. “Are we done?”

  Winters exhaled noisily through his nose, looked around, and nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “This won’t get away from us. I’ll figure it out. Go home, get a good night’s rest, and don’t worry about it.”