Every Last Fear(48)

“I prefer to stand,” Keller said, if only to see the woman’s reaction. Another smile, a nervous twist of her hair.

Keller waited patiently, gazing out at the spectacular view, the tops of other skyscrapers and the green water of Lake Michigan spanning out to the horizon. It was nearly ten minutes before another woman, pretty again, appeared in the lobby. The delay meant the executives were having a pre-meeting. Probably a panicked one. The woman escorted Keller to the door of a glass-walled conference room. The glass was frosted so Keller couldn’t see inside.

The woman held the door open. Two men stood when Keller entered.

The first man was taller than she’d expected. She’d seen him only in photos and media appearances. The head of Marconi Chicago, Devin Milbank. If the office was dirty—and it was—so was he.

“Special Agent Keller,” he said in his deep baritone. He shook her hand, a tight squeeze with lots of eye contact. He motioned to the other man, who was almost a foot shorter than Milbank, rotund in a pinstripe suit. “This is Mel Bradford, our general counsel.” The man stuck out his sausage-finger hands and gave Keller a vise of a shake.

“Are we waiting on anyone else?” Milbank said.

“Just me,” Keller said.

He nodded as if he were impressed by that. Or maybe relieved: the meeting couldn’t be anything serious if they’d sent a woman all by her lonesome.

They sat near the end of the long glossy table.

Milbank began. “It’s not every day we get a visit from the FBI. How can we help you, Agent Keller?”

“I’m here about Evan Pine.”

The lawyer next to Milbank seemed to relax immediately. He sat more naturally, less stiff in the leather chair.

Milbank said, “We couldn’t believe it. What a tragedy.”

Keller nodded. “It looks like an accident,” she said, “but when an American dies abroad under unusual circumstances, we need to look into it.”

“I get it,” Milbank said. “We’ve received several calls from reporters. After that TV show, Evan was something of a celebrity.”

“How long did Mr. Pine work here?” Keller already knew this, but needed to begin somewhere, get him talking.

“In this office, about seven years. Before that, he was with the Omaha branch for nearly twenty years. The firm let him transfer because of that business with his son. The family needed a fresh start.” He didn’t mention firing Pine.

“Could you tell me who Mr. Pine’s closest friends were in the office?”

Milbank let out a breath. “Evan wasn’t really close with anyone here. That was sort of the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evan never really engaged with the office. He was always distracted, preoccupied. The first couple of years we just thought it was the transition. But it didn’t change. Until the documentary aired, we didn’t understand the extent of his struggles.”

“But you kept him on for several years.” Keller said this as an observation, not a question.

“He had a major account,” Milbank explained. “Adair Irrigation was pretty loyal to him. Stuck by him for nearly all of that time, even after the Netflix show. An executive there apparently was an old friend of Evan’s father-in-law.”

“I gather something changed? I mean, I understand you let him go recently.”

Milbank shifted in his chair. “Evan’s contact at Adair retired and the new person shuffled the deck chairs and a different team took over finance. Evan had delegated nearly all the day-to-day work to others at our firm, and when the new Adair team came in…”

“Did the documentary have anything to do with it?” Keller asked. She didn’t have to say why. Evan Pine came off like a man obsessed, a little unhinged, even. Not someone you’d want handling your finances.

“It didn’t help,” Milbank said.

Keller considered Milbank. His gray suit complemented his thick gray hair. He wasn’t trying to rush her, wasn’t impolite or arrogant. But Milbank was still on edge, she could sense it.

“When was the last time you spoke to Evan?”

Milbank thought about this. “It’s been probably a year.”

Keller gave an expression of surprise.

“His direct supervisor told him he was being let go,” Milbank said, anticipating the question.

How gracious, after more than two decades with the company. Keller felt a surge of anger. Evan had a family, four kids, and they’d unceremoniously shown him the door.

Keller examined her notes. She could go on asking all her questions, but it would be a waste of time. She’d conducted hundreds of interviews during her career. Continuing down this path would just be spinning her wheels.

Devin Milbank was smiling again, playing the cooperative corporate executive. Keller thought about Evan Pine’s internet searches again. His plan to kill himself to save his family from financial ruin. And she thought of this man not even showing the courtesy of firing Evan to his face. Keller decided to take Stan’s advice: no more analysis paralysis. She glanced at the lawyer, who wasn’t paying attention, eyes on his phone.

“Just a couple more questions, and I’ll let you get back to your day,” Keller said.

“Of course,” Milbank said. “Anything to help.”