The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(141)

He smiled and stood up, offering his hand for me to shake as if we had just completed a successful business transaction and I could now happily go forth and produce, or build, or invest, or whatever it was we had just agreed upon.

But I didn't shake it. I simply stared at it. Then at him. "I think you're wrong," I said modestly.

He flashed an amused grin. "Oh yeah? About what?"

I swallowed hard. As if what I was about to say was the hardest thing I'd ever had to force out of my mouth in all my life. But in all actuality, I had been eagerly, breathlessly, impatiently waiting to say it from the moment I walked in the door. "I think you're wrong about there being nothing in it for you."

His grin never faltered. He was clearly entertained by my last-minute attempt to negotiate a better deal. "And what would that be, my dear?"

"Silence," I replied matter-of-factly.

A hint of confusion spread across his eyes, but he immediately shook it away. "Silence, huh? What kind of silence?"

"My silence."

His smug grin faded into a slightly irritated roll of his eyes. He was now starting to lose his patience. "Silence about what?" he grumbled.

But I had plenty of patience left. I had a whole lifetime's worth of patience in my vault. "About March 15, 1989," I stated simply.



MARCH 15, 1989, is what I read off the document that I had hastily pulled out of Anne Jacobs's enchanting manila envelope. And the reason I read that particular line of text first was because it was highlighted. Along with the ten lines below it. All offering the same seemingly useless piece of information – March 15, 1989.

"What is it?" I asked, my anticipation no longer kept inside, rather now written all over my face.

"Look at the highlighted lines," she instructed me.

I felt an overwhelming sense of frustration. I had been looking at the highlighted lines for what felt like an hour. And they still made no sense to me. I read through them once more, and then looked up desperately at Anne. "They all just list stock trades that took place on March 15, 1989." I studied the paper again. "Each for ten thousand shares of 'KII.'"

Anne nodded. "Kelen Industries Incorporated."

I held the paper up in front of my face. Of course! Kelen Industries! Raymond's car-engine manufacturing corporation. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't recognize the stock symbol when I first looked at it. I had seen it listed on several reports that I had read while doing my research for his assignment. But what was so significant about that date? And what did it matter if Raymond Jacobs had trade confirmations for buying stocks of his own company?

Then I noticed something at the top of the document. My eyes had been so attracted to the bright yellow highlights radiating off the middle of the page like rays of sunlight that I hadn't even noticed who the stock trade confirmation belonged to. Kenneth Pauley. That name certainly didn't sound familiar.

"Who's Kenneth Pauley?" I asked.

Anne sat back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. She looked so at peace now. As if she had just eliminated a gigantic burden she had been carrying around for years. And now that it was no longer in her hands, literally, she could finally relax. "He's an old college friend of Raymond's. They got their MBAs together. Supposedly they stopped talking soon after graduation. But apparently" – she motioned to the document in my hands – "that wasn't the case."

I looked at her curiously. That's it? That's the only explanation I was going to get? That still didn't make any f*cking sense. That still wasn't enough to march into Raymond Jacobs's office with and wave in his face. "Ha-ha, I know who Kenneth Pauley is. You're a dead man!" I still had nothing!

"There's more," Anne urged me, gesturing toward the envelope I had tossed down beside me.

I frantically snatched it up and reopened it, pulling out three more documents that looked surprisingly similar to the one already in my hand. Stock trade confirmation pages. All dated March 15, 1989. And all with several highlighted lines of purchase activity for stocks of Kelen Industries Incorporated.

But as I looked closer at the second page, and then the third page, I noticed one very distinct difference among them. They all had different names listed at the top. Lawrence Wilson, Gary Morningstar, Weston Davidson. "More MBA buddies?" I speculated.

She shrugged. "Some."

Why was she being so damn elusive? Why couldn't she just spit it out and tell me what these stupid documents meant. Why?

"Do you know what March 15, 1989, is?" she asked, possibly sensing my growing aggravation.

I shook my head adamantly.

"I'm sure you must have come across it in your research," she prompted, as if this were a final exam. My whole career, life, and happiness came down to this one moment. This one question. And out of the kindness of her heart, she was offering me a clue. Tipping me off to the exact page of my textbook from which this answer would have come.

I thought back to all the articles and annual reports and financial statements I had read about Raymond Jacobs. But honestly, they were blurring together in my mind with all the other articles and annual reports and financial statements I had read about every other man I had ever tested.

Car engines. I remembered car engines. I remembered that he took over his father's small engine-manufacturing company right out of grad school. I remembered one particular article that told the story of Raymond's path to success, and how he had managed to take the small manufacturing outfit and turn it into the huge corporation it was today. And how his big break finally came when he...