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“Good morning, Harris. You are up early.” I glance at the time and it’s just after six am on the west coast.
“Yeah, I heard my phone when you sent me that text and I couldn’t get back to sleep,” he replies in a gravely voice. “There are several things that we need to look into in that Firefly Media transaction,” he begins to explain. “Right before the buyout, he issued a million shares worth of stock options to a company called Snow International Holdings as well as nearly ten million to T Fowler Worldwide. So he effectively doubled the float going into the transaction.”
“It’s no wonder the stock tanked after the buyout,” I reply, wondering if Bill had any inkling what Tommy had done.
“He should’ve reported this in a separate SEC filing, but instead just buried it in the quarterly 10Q,” Harris explains further. “In addition to that, he failed to disclose the risk of losing the TV contract when he quit as the host of the show. That had to have been part of the media deal, so it was a known risk.”
“How can I move this forward on this end?” I ask, anxious to pin something on Tommy.
“I already talked to an old colleague of mine, Vicky Sterling, who works in the Manhattan office,” he informs me with a hint of excitement in his voice. “She is already compiling a case file on the matter and you will be able to pick up a copy later this afternoon. Do you know where their office is located?”
“Yeah, ironically it’s right next to the North Cove Yacht Harbor,” I reply with a giggle.
“Yes, I have always thought that the SEC chose that site to serve as a reminder to some of those yacht owners.” Harris actually laughs out loud. “Just ask for Vicky and she will have everything together for you by three o’clock.”
“Great! I’ll stop in and pick it up at three,” I confirm, feeling invigorated by the thought of being in possession of some solid evidence for once.
“I assume you won’t be back here anytime soon?” he asks with a hint of resignation in his tone.
“I’m not sure, sir. Let’s just say I’m out on assignment for now,” I tell him, hoping to buy another week or two. “You can take this out of my PTO.”
“That’s fine,” he says with a sigh. “Just pick up the file, review it and we will go from there. I just hope you know what you are getting into with that Addison boy.”
“Well, I believe he is a much better person than his father,” I reply, telling him what I believe to be the truth. “Whom, I know you hated.”
“I wouldn’t say I hated him.” He pauses for another long second. “It was more of a competitive, adversarial relationship. He and I were just on opposing sides in everything from business to politics. I may have thought that I hated him at some point, but I really just hated what he stood for.”
“I totally get that,” I tell him from the heart. “That’s exactly why I chose to come to work for you. I always wanted to fight for the little guy, but right now I want to fight for Bill Gleason’s family. Tommy Fowler screwed them good, even if he has nothing to do with the other crimes that have been going on all around us.”
“Go get ‘em, Amanda,” he says with a smile I can hear right through the phone. “That’s the reason I hired you. Let me know what you find.”
“I will, sir. Have a good day.” Clicking to end the call, I notice the return of some mixed feelings that have been absent for the past several days. Harris is a man who has had a laser-focused mission for the past forty years. At this point, I have to wonder if I will find something to stoke my passion in that way. Not that I want it to be my sole obsession in life, but it would be nice to be excited to get up and go to work in the morning. On that note, I better get up and get ready before Trey gets back.
Chapter 13
Trey
After dropping off Nana and Misty, we swing by the bank to take care of a little business before returning to the St. Regis to pick up Mandy. Anthony remains quiet, as if he is mulling over the details of the case. After pulling up to the curb of the hotel and giving the keys to the valet, he finally lets me in on his thinking.
“I’m still not sure whether or not we are dealing with The Ghost,” he says, revealing the source of his inner conflict. “It was like him to send a message by leaving a car in front of your grandmother’s house, but he would have been more forceful than leaving a note on the steering wheel.” He scoffs, as if he can’t believe a real man would do such a thing.
