The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(142)
"Oh my God," I suddenly said aloud, my stomach doing a small flip.
Anne smiled. She knew I had stumbled upon it. She knew I had sourced the right page in my memory and had finally come up with the correct answer.
And like any proud teacher, she knew I would pass the test... with flying colors.
RAYMOND JACOBS staggered backward. I watched him intently, my eyes never blinking, my face never revealing a thing.
"What about March 15, 1989?" he said, desperately trying to hide the obvious terror that was filling his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said dismissively.
"Hmm," I continued, staying true to my mastered game of coyness and modesty. "That's funny. I would think you would remember that day quite well, given your obvious success and all." I nodded, indicating his spacious corner office.
He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the humiliation of an unforeseen, surprise attack. One he had never seen coming in a million years, but one that he would inevitably never forget for the next million.
"I mean, March 15, 1989, was a huge day for you, wasn't it, Ray?" I continued, basking in my glory yet refusing to outwardly gloat. It was much more fun this way. Playing the unassuming detective who would have never guessed that this man was anything more than just an honest, hardworking businessman.
Raymond shook his head, refusing to speak.
So I continued. After all, I still had plenty to say. "Because, as I recall, if I'm not mistaken, March 15, 1989, was the day before March 16, 1989, a very important day in the history of this company." I brought my finger up to my chin and pretended to rack my brain for all the important details. "Yes, I believe March 15 was the day before you announced to the world that Kelen Industries, once a small, humble, tiny little manufacturing plant, was now teaming up with Ford Motor Company to supply engines for their newest line of midsized cars. Wow!" I took a deep breath and feigned an impressed nod of appreciation.
"You know," I said, thinking long and hard about my next seemingly puzzling statement. "I would have thought that you'd be out celebrating on March 15, 1989 – the day before such a huge, important announcement. But no, you were probably too busy for that, huh?" I speculated. "I can imagine. I mean, rounding up all your long-lost, grad school buddies and telling each of them to buy tens of thousands of shares in your company before this big exciting news hit the public would certainly tie up a lot of time. Not to mention all those stressful negotiations of who gets what percent of who and what and where and..."
"What do you want?" Raymond said, infuriated.
"Some people call me a human calculator," I continued, ignoring his question. "And it's true. I have been known to do the occasional computation in my head. But this one was actually quite staggering: two hundred thousands shares total at five dollars a share is impressive enough. But then to have the stock price rise from five dollars to fifty dollars in less than a year? Now that's some serious cash." I paused and pretended to punch the corresponding numbers into my mental calculator until I had come up with the final tally. "That's like ten million dollars made on insider trading alone! Not to mention what you must have made legally on the deal itself."
"What do you want?" he repeated, seemingly fed up with my ongoing rant, and no longer willing to suffer through it quietly.
I stood up and looked him directly in the eye. No longer afraid. No longer the one with the lower hand in this game. "I believe we've already established what I want," I said firmly. And after that there was really nothing more to be said.
So I walked out the door, careful not to let it slam behind me. After all, I had probably disturbed his peaceful world enough for one day. And no one appreciates a slammed door.
34
The Puppet Master
I KNEW it was only a matter of time before the phone rang and Karen Richards was on the other end, demanding to know why her husband had unexpectedly returned early from his business trip a few days earlier, and she had yet to hear from me regarding the outcome of his inspection.
So when the phone did ring on Friday morning while I was still basking in the triumphant glow of my battle against Raymond Jacobs, I assumed it would be her.
I unplugged the Treo from its charger on my nightstand and answered the call. "Hello?" I said, my voice still overflowing with traces of sweet victory.
"Yes,hello, Ashlyn?"It was a female voice.Kind and compassionate, with just a small hint of something familiar about it. But after having Karen Richards's voice burned involuntarily into my memory, I was certain this wasn't her.
"May I ask what this is in regards to?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Um . . ." the voice began hesitantly. "This is Lauren Ireland. Do you remember me?"
I grimaced. Of course I remembered her. She'd practically bit my head off. Not that I blamed her. I mean, I'm sure the fact that her father hired me behind her back came as quite a shock. But the question wasn't, did I remember her, but why the hell was her voice coming through my phone?
"Yes, I remember you," I said cautiously, worried that she might be calling to give me another earful, or worse yet, a guilt trip about her canceled wedding or non-refundable plane tickets to Fiji. I placed my finger, poised and ready, on the hang-up button, as a precaution.