To Catch a Bad Guy (22 page)

“Shared Legal drive,”
Dean mused. “I missed that one.”

“I guess you can’t sift
through everything,” Janet could not resist jabbing him.

“Well, then, we’ve got
to pay Fred Rossingram a visit.”

“How do you propose we
do that? I don’t know anything about the man besides his name.”

“In the age of the
Internet, no search is insurmountable.” Dean reached for his laptop. After a
few moments of his fingers typing feverishly, he exclaimed triumphantly. “Found
him.” Dean turned the laptop screen towards Janet.

“Fred Rossingram –
Estates and Wills, Prenuptial Agreements and Divorces,” Janet read. “Must be a
big change from being a general counsel of Bostoff Securities,” Janet observed,
noting Rossingram’s address, which was all the way on York Avenue.

“I think we should pay
the old man a visit.”

“How do you know he is
old, and under what pretext are we going to visit him?”

“The first one is
easy.” Dean flipped to the About Us section of Rossingram’s website, showing a
picture of a gray-haired man in horn-rimmed glasses. “We’ll just have to come
up with a pretext to visit him.” Dean drummed his fingers against his chin.
“We’ll say that we need a prenuptial agreement.”

“Can’t you think of a
better cover-up?”

“This one is perfect: a
nice young couple seeking an old man’s advice – just the thing to drop his
guard.”

“But we’d be imposters.
Isn’t that illegal?”

“I don’t see anything
illegal about inquiring about drafting a prenuptial agreement.”

“You’re the boss.”
Janet leaned back against the cushions of her couch, feeling as though she had
sunk into a deranged thriller movie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“By all means.”

“Do all Treasury
investigators operate by such unorthodox means?”

“Nope – just me, but
then I’m not your average investigator.”

“What makes you so
different?”

“If we solve this case,
I promise I’ll tell you.”

Janet shrugged. She
already knew the answer anyway: extreme arrogance and smugness. Oh, and deep
blue eyes, a strong chin, well-defined nose, and broad shoulders… Snap out of
it, she kicked herself. Dean Snider was the enemy, and one could not lose one’s
guard around the enemy.

Dean looked at his
watch. “I think that’s it for tonight. I’m glad to see that we’re making
progress already. I’ll see you tomorrow: same time, same place?”

“You know the address.”

“Janet, if we are to
solve this case, we’ve got to move fast. My boss gave me an extension to a
three week deadline, and week one started today.”

“I got it. I’ll do what
I can.”

“That’s a girl. It’s
good to have you on my team, Janet Maple.”

“Good night.” Janet
headed for the foyer and held the door open for Dean. He would not fish any
compliments out of her.

“See you tomorrow.”

***

Back at his apartment,
Dennis pulled a beer out of his fridge and gulped down half a bottle with
satisfaction. Finally, he was getting somewhere. Granted, he had assembled most
of the picture already, but having Janet help him on the case made things easier.
Janet’s access to the data on Bostoff’s trades helped fill in the blanks, and
he couldn’t have gotten this data without her help. Sure, Dennis had wired her
computer, but Janet had told him that the trade reports were saved on the
shared computer drive. She was printing the reports without saving them to her
computer, which was why the tracking software had missed the files.

Dennis was glad that
Janet had agreed to help him. He was even gladder that he had been able to talk
his boss into granting protection for her. Ham Kirk had been most cantankerous
about the notion, but he had finally caved in, telling Dennis that his head was
on the line. Well, Dennis Walker was used to taking risks, and he was not about
to stop now.

Janet exited the cab on
York Avenue and Ninetieth Street. A sign on the corner building with ground
floor offices read, Fred Rossingram: Suite 1A. She looked around, searching for
Dean. They had an appointment with Rossingram at six o’clock; it was six
o’clock on the dot. The sound of hurried footsteps made her turn around. Dean
was walking toward her. He had his work clothes on: another variation of a suit
that was two sizes too big for him.

“Sorry, I got held up
at work.”

“Let me guess, another
nincompoop who could not turn on his computer?” Janet felt a pang of sadness,
remembering how Dean’s jokes about his job used to make her smile when she had
actually thought that IT Specialist was his real job and that his interest in
her was genuine.

“You hit the nail right
on the head. Shall we?” Dean offered his arm to her.

“You know, it’s not too
late to call the whole thing off. It has disaster written all over it. If
Rossingram’s got at least half a brain, he’s bound to see right through us.”

“And what makes you say
that?” Dean put his hands on either side of Janet’s shoulders, steering her
toward the glass door of the building, in which she could see their reflection.
He leaned in closer to her. “I think that we look compelling as a couple.”

Janet felt her face
flush. Dean was kidding, of course, but for a moment, the possibility had crept
into her thoughts.

“Fine. Let’s get it
over with.”

“That’s my girl.” Dean
pressed the intercom button. The door buzzed open, and together, they walked
into the building lobby.

Rossingram’s office was
on the ground floor to the right. Janet felt nervous jolts run through her body
as Dean rang the doorbell. She made a mental tally of their story to
Rossingram. They were an engaged couple on the brink of tying the knot, and
they needed a prenuptial agreement. Nothing fancy, just the bare bones to
protect Dean’s inheritance. At least she was glad that Dean had spared her the
role of the rich heiress. There was no way she could have carried off that
charade. It was Dean’s idea, so let him do the crazy bit. Yet, mixed in with
her nervousness, there was excitement too. She had never done anything like
this, and if it had not been for Dean, she probably never would.

“Good afternoon.” A man
in a tweed jacket and wool slacks opened the door. He was in his mid to late
sixties, with gray, slightly balding hair. He had pudgy cheeks, a gray mustache
and horn-rimmed glasses. “Jeff Amble and Jacky Stein?”

Janet blinked,
remembering the pseudonyms Dean had come up with for their visit to Rossingram.

Holding her arm at the
elbow, Dean nodded. “That’s us.”

“Come on in.”
Rossingram stood by the door. “This way, please.”

The office consisted of
two rooms: a foyer with a receptionist desk and a room in the back that
contained Rossingram’s desk and law reference books.

“Please have a seat.”
Rossingram motioned to two chairs that stood opposite his desk, as he took a
seat in the worn swiveling chair behind his desk. “So, I understand that you
are looking to draft a prenuptial agreement?”

“Correct.” Dean patted
Janet’s hand, sending shivers up her spine. “It’s my family. They are very
conservative. I told Jacky that I trusted her completely, but you see, my
mother will not have it any other way. You do understand, honey?” Dean cooed at
Janet, and it took all of her self-control not to burst into laughter. What was
this guy doing working for the Treasury? His calling was on Broadway.

“Yes, dear.” Janet
looked at Dean with what she hoped was convincing affection. “You know that I
do.”

“Good.” Dean exhaled as
though an incredible weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Very well.” Rossingram
eyed them curiously. “I am going to need some information about your employment
and assets. Have you brought the paperwork I’ve asked you to complete?”

“Yes.” Dean put a
manila folder on Rossingram’s desk. “Everything is in there.”

“Let’s have a look.”
His expression perfunctory, Rossingram began reviewing the files. When he
reached the part about Janet, or Jacky Stein, as Dean had decided to name her,
Rossingram’s expression clouded. “You work for Bostoff Securities?” He peered
at Janet over the rim of his glasses.

“Yes.” Janet swallowed.
Her throat had suddenly gone dry under Rossingram’s piercing gaze.

“Jacky recently joined
their legal department,” said Dean. “Of course, I keep telling her that there’s
no need for her to work, but she is so independent,” Dean exclaimed with the
authentic disdain of someone who never had the need to work. “But all of this
is going to change once we get married, right, honey?”

“We’ve talked about
this,” Janet retorted, aware that her acting was nowhere near on par with
Dean’s. “Now is not the time to discuss it.” She blushed. This was a natural
reaction, but she hoped that it would add credibility to her words.

“There, there.” Dean
took her hand and pressed it to his lips – an unnecessary action in Janet’s
opinion, but apparently, the gesture produced the desired effect on Rossingram,
as the lawyer looked at Janet with a mixture of sympathy and concern.

“Young lady, and may I
add that I use the term in the most endearing sense of the word – I’ve got a
daughter of about your age, Ms. Stein.” Rossingram cleared his throat. “I
suggest that you listen to your fiancé and quit your employment at Bostoff
Securities immediately.”

“Why would you say
that?” Janet asked, prompted by the pressure of Dean’s fingers on her hand.

“That place is a boiler
room,” Rossingram snapped, halting immediately, as though frightened by his own
blunt admission. “I have not spoken about this matter to anyone for years, but
I suppose there is no harm in me telling you. The two of you seem like such a
nice couple… I was the general counsel of Bostoff Securities for almost twenty
years. Hank Bostoff and I were good friends, but when his son, Jon, took over,
everything changed. Bostoff had been one of the most respected shops on the
street for years, but the markets began to change, and the profits started to
dip. The fact that Hank’s wife passed away didn’t help the matter either.
Slowly, Hank began to give more and more authority to Jon, and the business of
Bostoff Securities began to change. Jon started signing on shady hedge funds
that Hank would have never let within two feet of the front door. I tried to
reason with Jon, but he would not listen to me. Instead, he cut me out of the
loop completely, contracting all the legal matters out to Ridley Simpson law
firm. I believe the fella’s name was Tom Wyman …”

At Rossingram’s mention
of Wyman, Janet nearly jumped out of her seat, but was steadied by the touch of
Dean’s hand. Thankfully, Rossingram was too engrossed in his own memories to
notice her reaction.

“I tried talking to
Hank, but he waved me off, saying that we were too old to understand the new
markets, and that it was time for him to pass the business over to his sons,
Jon and Paul. But Jon was the one running everything. Paul’s involvement was
limited to marketing and PR. He did not really have a head for business.”
Rossingram took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It was a difficult
decision to make. Over the years, I had come to think of Hank Bostoff as a
friend, but there was nothing I could’ve done to help him. Jon had taken over
completely, so I resigned. Now, I do estate planning and prenuptial agreements
to keep myself busy.”

“This sounds like a
detective novel!” Dean exclaimed. “What exactly was going on at this firm while
you were there?”

“I couldn’t tell you
the specifics, as Jon had cut me out of the loop. I bet the lawyers at Ridley
Simpson have the whole picture, though. Jon started using them once I told him
that I didn’t agree with his ‘business model.’ He knew that I would tell Hank
about the kind of business he was bringing into the firm, which I did, only
Hank didn’t listen to me…”

“So, Jon Bostoff
outsourced everything to Ridley Simpson law firm?” Dean prodded.

“Yes. I’m sure there’s
another reason why he did it. If Bostoff Securities were ever to come under an
investigation, attorney/client privilege would be impenetrable, unless waived
by Bostoff. It’s much easier to pressure a firm into disclosing its
communications with the internal counsel, versus outside law firm.” Rossingram
shook his head. “I sure hope it will not get to that. I would hate for Hank to
see his life’s work covered in shame… I wish I could have helped, but Hank
would not listen to me, and with the kinds of clients Jon was signing on, I
knew that nothing good would come out of it, so I resigned, and I advise the
same to your fiancée.”

Janet looked at the
sadness in Rossingram’s face. The old man had been completely honest with them,
and they had repaid him with ridiculous lies.

“Thank you, Mr.
Rossingram. I’m going to follow your advice.”

Rossingram nodded.
“Wise decision; the place is a volcano waiting to explode. Feel free to mention
me as a reference if you’d like.”

“Thank you for that,
but I would not want to trouble you.”

Rossingram sighed.
“It’s no trouble. I would hate to see a young girl like you get caught up in
their schemes. Sooner or later, those hot-shot hedge funds Jon Bostoff had
signed on are going to get busted, and Bostoff Securities will go down with
them. I just hope that Hank Bostoff will not be there to witness it.”

“Thank you for your
time, Mr. Rossingram. I think we’ll be going now.” Dean stood up from his seat.

“But what about the
prenup?” Rossingram asked, surprised.

“Oh, I’ve changed my
mind about that,” Dean was quick to respond. “I don’t want to put Jacky through
this nonsense. She’s got enough to worry about already. Mother will just have
to accept my decision.”

“How much do we owe
you?” Janet asked. The least they could do was compensate Rossingram for the
time he had spent with them.

Rossingram waved his
hand. “It’s free of charge. I didn’t give you legal advice.”

Once they were several
blocks away from Rossingram’s office, Janet glared at Dean.

“I’m never doing
anything like that again.”

“What’s the matter with
you? We’ve got a ton of valuable information from the man.”

“I felt horrible sitting
there and lying to his face, while he was being honest and genuinely
concerned.”

“Well, wouldn’t you
agree that there are genuine reasons for his concern? Last time I checked, you
were still an employee of Bostoff Securities.”

Janet balked; she had forgotten
about that part. Dean might be spending ten-hour days on the trading floor of
Bostoff Securities, but in the end, he was only pretending to be an IT
Specialist at Bostoff Securities, while she was the one who was employed by the
dubious firm, and she was the one putting everything on the line – her
employment record, her reputation, and her future.

“Perhaps I should take
Rossingram’s advice and quit.”

“Don’t do this to me,
Janet. We’re so close to solving the case – we’re almost home.”

“It’s easy for you to
say: you’re not the one sticking your neck out.”

“If you resign, you can
still be subpoenaed to testify about the events that transpired during your
employment at Bostoff. The protection offered to you by the Treasury for your
cooperation with the case would be voided the moment you resign from Bostoff.”

“You knew about this,
didn’t you?” Janet stared at him in disbelief. Was there anything that was more
important to this man than his career?

“These are standard
terms; I thought I had made that clear. If not, I apologize.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, Janet, we’ve
almost got them. Already, we have enough evidence to demonstrate that there is
manipulative trading being conducted by the Impala Group. Bostoff Securities
has failed in its due diligence and oversight obligations by taking the orders
from Impala. These are strong charges, but to really corner the case we need
proof of organized market manipulation.”

“I think you forgot to
say that we’ve gotten this far thanks to me,” Janet sniffed. She was the one who
had done the painstaking task of piecing all the trades together, deducing a
pattern, and identifying the stocks that were being targeted. For the past few
nights, Dean had been a constant guest in her apartment while she explained her
findings to him.

“Yes, you’ve done an
amazing job, and I’ve informed my boss of your valuable input to the
investigation. Rest assured, when the time comes, your contribution will be
recognized. This is why we cannot quit now; we are too close. The only missing
piece is Impala Group and its connection to Bostoff. Once we get that, we’ll
hit a home run.”

“And how do we get
that?” Instantly, Janet wished she had not asked, for she already knew the
answer: Tom Wyman.