Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(6)

After a year of training in the science of modern finance, the young women were rotated to Paris, where Philippe Abelmar oversaw their continuing education in the art of making money.

Anna Tuttle said, “For six months it was all about the philosophy, beauty, and inherent goodness of capitalism. And the value of knowing numbers—whether we were up or down and how we were going to take advantage of subtle changes in the markets. If you were particularly bright, you were made special personal assistant to Philippe.”

“Nothing to do with brightness and I know it,” Cassie Dane said. She gestured at her chest, saying, “Sure, I went to Penn, but that pervo Frog just liked my girls.”

Both women described the Paris office as a culture where conversations were often laced with sexual innuendo. Abelmar encouraged the behavior, believing that tension between coworkers was a good thing, especially if it was rarely or never relieved.

“He flirted with me for months,” Anna Tuttle said. “I tried to keep it professional, but Philippe made it impossible. Being his personal assistant meant I was always at his side or on call—at work, at his apartment, or on his jet.”

“Or the yacht in Cannes,” Cassie Dane said. “That’s where Philippe drugged me and then forcibly raped me after I’d worked for him for six months.”

“For me it was also roughly six months, but at his Paris apartment,” Anna Tuttle said. “He held me there several days. The things he did were…unspeakable.”

Bree said, “Did you file police reports?”

Both women looked at each other, embarrassed.

“He filmed it all,” Dane said. “He showed me a video where I was acting only a little drunk and giving him verbal consent to take off my clothes and make a recording. I have no memory of that. Zero. And I usually remember everything!”

“That’s all it takes in France,” Tuttle said. “Evidence of verbal consent between adults. Except Philippe didn’t take chances. He has signed documents, release forms, although neither of us remembers signing anything.”

“No one tested you for drugs?”

“If I had it to do over? I’d give a quart of blood to figure out what he stuck in my drink,” Dane said. “But he told me he’d release the videos on a porn site. Ruin me.”

“And then you were transferred out of the Paris office?”

Tuttle said, “No. That happened after Philippe blackmailed me into having sex with him until my year as his personal assistant was over.”

“And a new one was chosen,” Cassie Dane said.

Bree frowned. “You didn’t try to warn the new personal assistant?”

Patricia Nolan said, “In their defense, Bree, they had no idea at the time there were other complaints about Philippe.”

“But you knew?”

Nolan swallowed. “I’ve been with Pegasus only two years…but yes, I knew of Philippe’s reputation, if not the specifics of his actions.”

“Until the four hundred million went missing,” Anna Tuttle said coldly. “Then you were all about it after Pegasus ignored me and then drove me out of finance.”

“Same,” Cassie Dane said.

“No one’s sued?” Bree asked.

The corporate counsel said, “There were several attempts over the years. All of them were settled privately with significant payments made to the women.”

Anna Tuttle said, “He shuts you up with threats to release videos or with lawyers or with money. Philippe’s put himself above the law because he can. Harvard undergraduate. Yale Law. Sorbonne for business school. Billionaire before he turned forty.”

Cassie Dane pushed back that stubborn lock of red hair and gazed at Bree, smiling easily. “That’s who we’re up against, Ms. Bree Stone, fricking Goliath Pervo. So, girl to girl, please tell me true: Are you up for putting Goliath’s nuts in a vise and then letting us turn the handle tight? Or is this all too much for you to see through?”

Bree smiled and looked at her boss. “When do I leave for Paris, Elena?”

Elena Martin nodded. “There’s a business class seat for you on this evening’s Air France flight out of Dulles. Be on it.”





Chapter





8




Traffic had slowed to a crawl on the Beltway toward Dulles Airport. Bree kept checking her watch. I was still dealing with the aftershock of knowing that M was back in my life. Again.

M was the name I knew him by, though John Sampson referred to him off and on as Mastermind. Over the years, M had alternately helped and hindered us as we investigated various murders and criminal enterprises and his roles in them.

For a time, M had tried to make me believe that Kyle Craig, an old, dead nemesis of mine, was actually back among the living. He’d done it to mess with my head and with Sampson’s.

And even though this had been going on for years, we still didn’t understand his motivations, which was infuriating. M liked to taunt me, and I knew better than to respond to his texts.

But it was still bugging me.

“Alex, we haven’t moved in five minutes,” Bree said, breaking into my thoughts.

“We’ve got two hours to get there, and it’s only six miles away,” I said. “According to Waze, there’s an accident about a mile up the road. We’ll make it.”