Terminal Value (26 page)
“What about the detection of an intruder into our network?”
“That's an automated system. I was the first one in this morning, so I'm the one who detected it. And then I followed protocol. I erased the log for it and came directly here to see you.”
“So only you and I know about this?”
“That's what I'm saying.”
Art went back to his chair and sat down. “Okay. I'll take care of this.”
“Fine.” Ivan looked relieved.
“Can you find out what e-mail messages Tony has sent and received in the past forty-eight hours?”
“Yes. That shouldn't be a problem.”
“Good. And can you access his voice mailbox and listen to his messages?”
“Of course.”
Art stared silently at Ivan. “All right. Now listen to me carefully. You're not to talk to anybody about this.”
“Of course.”
“I'm serious, Ivan. Dead serious. You're not to discuss it with a soul. Not your friends, not your family. No one, not even your computer security buddies. I don't care how proud you are about figuring out it was Tony. You are never to breathe a word of this to anyone. Ever.”
“Okay, Art. I got it.”
“And if you ever doâ” Art said, pointing his finger at Ivan.
Suddenly, the screen went black. Heather reran the last few moments, but again the video ended at the same point. “I don't know what's wrong. Somehow this video is damaged.”
“This is incredible,” said Dylan, ignoring her comment. “My God, they really did it. They killed Tony to cover up something.”
“Dylanâ”
“Okay, you're going to tell me it's not proof. But it's a motive, Heather. A real motive.”
“Dylan!”
He looked at her and found her face full of concern.
“If they killed Tony, they could kill you. Or me. Remember?”
Fear assailed him. “I won't let them hurt you.”
She gave a short laugh. “That's very noble of you.”
“I mean it,” he said firmly. “We've got to take precautions.”
Heather nodded her head in agreement. “Look, something is very clear to me. Whatever Art is doing, there's a method to it. He's cheating and lying to make a ton of money. But he's built a house of cards, Dylan, and it won't stand for long. All the things that have been going wrong? He's setting you up to take the fall when it all comes crashing down. He means to put the blame on you.”
Dylan nodded silently. “I know. It fits the pattern. They'll claim MobiCelus was a cancer on their business and that HyperfÅn was a failure to begin with and someone in our group sold them out.”
“We can't let them do it.”
“They can't succeed if we can track down the leak to LC and prove it wasn't our fault.”
“Well, I think we have a pretty good idea who did it. Fucking creeps!”
Dylan glanced at the clock. It was after nine. “Let's keep going. This is a gold mine.” He opened the video from the evening after Tony's death.
“Did you hear Christine's message?” Ivan asked.
“You mean about Tony? Yes, I heard it. Very tragic.”
“This doesn't have anything to do with us, does it?”
“Of course not!” Art bellowed. “You heard the message. Tony was killed in an electrical accident up in Boston.”
“So did you talk to him before he left the office?” Ivan asked.
“No, I didn't catch him in time. But obviously that doesn't matter now.”
“That's a pretty strange coincidence, don't you think?” Ivan asked.
Art locked eyes with the security chief. “I don't know what kind of crazy Slovak Intelligence shit is going through that mind of yours, but I had nothing to do with this. And I ought to kick your ass for even thinking it.”
“The police will take his computer,” Ivan warned.
“Shit. Can you prevent that? Claim it's private property, orâ”
“They won't be able to find anything.” Ivan said.
“Oh. Good. So what did you find out about his e-mail and voice-mail traffic?”
“Nothing.”
Art leaned forward in his chair. “Don't mess with me, Ivan. You know what I mean.”
“I checked our system. There's no evidence Tony forwarded any of the files he may have accessed to anyone else.”
“Really? What about e-mails to Dylan?”
“I didn't see any e-mails. But there were voice-mails.”
“Tell me.”
“There was one voice-mail from Tony to Dylan. It was left yesterday at about four p.m. And there were two from Dylan to Tony later that night.”
“What did Tony's message say?”
Ivan pulled an mp3 player from his breast pocket and hit the play button.
“Dylan! Hey, it's Tony. How come you're never there? Look, things are sort of crazy around here, y'know? I got sort of caught up in something big. Ha! So you're coming back to Boston tonightâright? Listen, stop by my place on your way home and I'll show you what I've found like I promised I would. And look, this is hush-hush, so don't tell anybody
â
okay? Heads are gonna roll when this gets out. Oh, and heyâI'll be online just after four for the IPO celebration. Promise!”
“Did you delete these messages off the system?” Art demanded.
“I couldn't. Johnson had already heard it and saved it.”
“So? You could have made it look like a malfunction.”
“That is too obvious and would only draw attention to us.”
“That's what you think. Nobody notices how much shit just disappears. Trust me.”
Ivan maintained a stony silence.
“Continue to monitor Dylan's e-mails and voice-mails. Let me know if you see anything unusual.”
“Why?”
“Ivan, never mind why. Just do it. And get up to Boston and yank the hard drive from his computer!”
Ivan looked into Art's eyes, an expression of suspicion and dislike on his thin face. “I'll do that immediately,” he said and walked out of his office.
Dylan leaned back in his chair. It wasn't what he had expected, but, of course, if Art had murdered Tony, he wouldn't be bragging about it. Even to Ivan. “He treats Ivan like shit,” he muttered. Then he glanced up at Heather. “Not that he doesn't deserve it. And did you see the look on Ivan's face? He really doesn't like Art.”
“I still don't trust him. I don't care who he dislikes. So what's next?”
“I don't know.” His e-mail alert jingled softly. A priority message. He opened the message.
He glanced at Heather:
From Art
He moved his laptop so Heather could read it too.
Dylan,
Pursuant to our previous conversation, and due to the fact that, despite our attempts to keep your dirty laundry out of sight, word has gotten out to the general public about the HyperfÅn scandal, I hereby notify you that Matt Smith will no longer be an employee of Mantric. I have attached a letter of termination written in your name. You will sign it and deliver it to Smith immediately. In case of your refusal, I have attached your letter of resignation. Your choice.
Art Williams,
CEO Mantric
Dylan looked at Heather as she read the letter. Her lips formed a small “o” and she looked back at him in disbelief. He picked up the Tracfone and dialed Matt's home phone number.
“Matt, I'm going to be sending you a letter I got from Art. He's demanding I terminate your employment. I need you to sign it and send it back to me, but you need to trust me that everything will be fine, and you need to give me some time. I know that sounds odd, but Heather and I are getting close to solving several problems, HyperfÅn among them, and I think we're going to need your help.”
“I can't say I didn't expect this. I just wasn't sure when it would happen. So what's up?”
“I can't give you any more information right now, but expect a call from Heather, and let's just keep this between ourselves for now.”
May 16, 7:30 a.m. Boston
The radio clicked on at 7:30, and the brash voices of the local radio jocks talking about the previous night's Red Sox game dragged Dylan awake. Beside him, Heather was still asleep. They had agreed that Heather would stay with him over the weekend, at least until they could find answers to the questions they grappled with.
He moved slightly, trying not to awaken her, and shut the radio off, then got out of bed. His morning ritual began with the hot shower doing its best to drown out the thoughts racing through his mind. Dylan stood under the hotter-than-usual spray of water, watching the steam building up, feeling its cleansing effect.
The movement of the shower curtain startled him. Heather poked her head around and greeted him. “Good morning. Do you mind if I join you?”
For the first time in several days, he smiled. “Not at all.”
“Good. Got a washcloth?” she asked with a sly grin. “I'll scrub your back.”
* * *
May 16, 9:00 a.m. Boston
Heather sat with her back to the wall in the Panera café on Lexington Street in Waltham and stirred her coffee slowly, all the while staring at the doorway. It was five past nine when a familiar face appeared.
“Rich! Over here.”
Rich Linderman gave a little wave and wove his way through the crowd to the unbearably small round table where she sat.
She pushed a second cup of coffee toward him. “Cream and sugarâright?”
He grinned foolishly. “Aw, you remember.”
“Of course. Thanks for making time to see me.”
“Not at all. In fact, I'm glad you called. I was sorry we didn't have a chance to catch up at Tony's funeral. I've been thinking about you lately.”
“And I've been thinking about you.”
“Hey, I'm all right. Actually I just accepted a job at Fidelity in their finance department. I start next week.”
“I'm glad to hear it.”
“Yeah. I figure it's the kind of company where I can learn a lot. And I spent a lot of time with my new boss before accepting the offer. I really like him.”
“I'm happy for you, Rich.”
“Thanks. Look, Heather, I don't blame you guys for what happened. In the end, it's working out well. From what I hear via the grapevine, I may have gotten out just in time.”
“I'll say.” Heather crossed her legs and eyed him coolly. “Can we talk off the record, Rich?”
He frowned. “Sure.”
“You can't tell anyone we met. And don't phone me at the office. Use the new number I gave you if you have anything to add later on.”
“Christ, Heather! Okay, I'm in. What's up?”
“Do you recall seeing anything in accounting relating to a company called LC?”
“No, I don't think so. I mean, Mantric worked with a lot of companies, and I was only there a couple of months. Why?”
“LC is a competitor to HyperfÅn. Out of the blue they launched their own competing mobile business. We lost HyperfÅn as a result.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. But no, I've never heard of LC.”
“What about HyperfÅn? Was there anything about the account?”
“Rob and Matt handled it. We had team meetings, of course, butâ” He shook his head. “What the hell is going on?”
“I can't go into details, Rich, but it looks like someone at Mantric may have stolen the HyperfÅn information and sold it to LC.”
“Christ! Really? Is Christine involved?”
“I can't rule that out,” Heather said cautiously.
Rich leaned forward. “Heather, nothing would surprise me about that woman. I've done a lot of thinking about it since I left. Did you ever hear about a company called Cendant?”
Heather shook her head.
“Check it out. It happened pretty long ago, but it was a huge scandal. It sounds similar.” He met her eyes. “Seriously. Check it out. C-E-N-D-A-N-T.”
“Thanks, Rich. I will. And I'm sorry I've been out of touch.”
“That's perfectly understandable. Don't apologize at all.”
“All right. Let's make a point to get together again. Soon.”
He stood. “Sounds great. Take care of yourself, Heather.”
“You too, Rich.”
* * *
May 16, 9:30 a.m. Boston
Sarah opened the door and walked in. “You're in late today, aren't you?” She looked at her watch.
“Yeah,” Dylan answered curtly. “What's up?”
Sarah sat on the corner of his desk. “I just wanted to quickly review your calendar today, but I can come back later if you like.”
“No, that's okay. Sorry to be short, but I just have lots on my mind. What's on the calendar?”
She shrugged off his indifference. “Well, it's actually pretty light. You have a couple of calls to field, at ten and eleven, and then a video conference this afternoon at three.”
“Okay.” It hadn't escaped Dylan's notice that Sarah was trying hard to keep his schedule fairly open. He appreciated it.
“Ohâand you might want to spend some time going through your e-mails,” she added as she turned to leave. “I've had a few people call wondering if you ever got them.”
He frowned. Ever since joining Mantric it seemed like he received at least fifty e-mails a day. He used to be pretty good about staying on top of it, but he had recently fallen behind. “Okay, I'll do that this morning. Thanks.”
“You're welcome. Door open or closed?”
“Closed, please.”
She nodded and closed the door behind her.
Dylan turned back to his computer and called up his e-mails. He shuddered at the long list: over two hundred unread messages. As he started plowing through them, he noticed how many were a back-and-forth discussion of some particular problem. Most had been resolved without his involvement. It was as if he were already out.
