Terminal Value Part 9

"Come on, Heather. Let's get out of here," he said, taking her bag in one hand and holding her hand in the other.

"I still can't believe it," she said, sobbing.

"Neither can I," he said as he guided them out the door and towards the parking lot.

A warm blast of dry air swept across the road. Heather sat in the pa.s.senger's seat, reached into her purse, and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked straight ahead, staring into the distance. Dylan put his hand on hers, and she turned and looked at him through red, puffy eyes.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to be in a public place."

"Shall I take you home?"

"No. I need to talk. I want to know-"

"My place?"

She nodded. "That's where we always used to meet and talk, the four of us."

The four of us. Dylan started up the car. They drove away from the airport and into the tunnels of the Big Dig. "You okay?" he asked as they pulled onto Storrow Drive.

"I'm just glad I'm back." She turned to him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." The lie was so palpable he could not look at her. He hurried on, changing the subject. "But something happened at the office today."

"You went to the office? Dylan!"

"It's better to keep busy. And it's a d.a.m.ned good thing I did. I found out Christine fired Rich yesterday."

"My G.o.d," Heather said, turning to stare at him.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

"What was her reason?"

"Rich said she told him his position was redundant and there wasn't another role for him at the firm."

"That's harsh. Do you believe it?"

Dylan said nothing as he pulled into his parking s.p.a.ce. The bright sun shone through the windows. "Maybe he knew too much."

Heather gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Rich told me a strange thing about what's going on in finance."

"Which was?"

Dylan opened his door. "I'll tell you inside."

In the living room, Dylan fixed a vodka tonic for himself and poured a gla.s.s of white wine for Heather. He'd wanted a drink all day but hadn't had anything, knowing he had to drive.

"Rich said Christine forgot to include the reserve for the acquisition of MobiCelus in our prospectus."

Heather shook her head. "I'm not sure I understand."

"The SEC requires complete transparency, meaning you have to report everything."

"Then why wouldn't they include it?"

"I don't know. I confronted Art about Rich, but decided not to let him know what Rich had told me. And I demanded to have access to the financials."

Heather looked at him. "Do you think Art and Christine will agree to that?"

Dylan took a sip of his drink. "I'm not sure. But I think it's my business to know."

"You know, Art said something odd," she said. Then the doorbell rang. Dylan rose and peeked through the spy hole. "It's Rob," he said, opening the door.

"Hi," said Rob. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. "Didn't want you to think I'm checking up on you, but-Heather!"

She went to him and put her arms around him. Dylan stepped back and looked at the floor. So they were speaking again.

Rob pulled away first, turning his head to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"I'm okay," he said in response to Heather's look. "No, I'm not. I'm a mess. But I can't do anything about it."

Dylan got him a drink and refilled his own. Rob drank quickly and threw himself on the sofa. "G.o.d, what a day," he said. "Jesus, Dylan, I'm sorry to intrude, but I have to tell you something."

"Rich?"

"You know?" Rob set his drink on the table.

"I was at the office this morning. Went to see him about something and saw his empty office."

"I found out this afternoon. Christine sent me an e-mail. I knew it would rip you, so I thought I'd better come over and tell you myself."

"Thanks. Maybe you can also tell me the real reason she did it."

Rob shrugged. "There's no hidden reason. You know I thought you were getting him in over his head at MobiCelus. And the water's a lot deeper at Mantric. I take Christine at her word. He couldn't handle the job. But Jesus-"

"They had no right to fire him without consulting you, Dylan," Heather interrupted. "Maybe you can convince Art to take him back when you talk to him again about having access to the financials."

Rob looked from one to the other. "What's going on?" he asked cautiously.

"They're keeping me on the fringes, Rob," said Dylan. "First the road show, now firing Rich behind my back."

"Technically, they have the right now to do that," Rob said.

"I know. They're testing me. If I don't push back, they'll steamroll me and I won't have any power at all."

"So much for the benefits of acquisition," said Heather.

Dylan looked at her and heard anger in her voice, saw fire in her eyes.

Rob drained his drink. "I've gotta go." He rose. Dylan hugged him again and led him to the door.

"Take it easy, Rob."

Rob's eyes met his. He nodded and left.

Dylan went to the bar. "You want another drink?"

"Sure." Heather kicked her shoes off and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

Dylan fixed the drinks and then returned to the living room. He took a healthy gulp. The excessive alcohol had made a significant dent in his misery, but not in the doubts that flooded his mind.

"What were you saying before? Art said something odd?"

Heather nodded. "It was at a meeting in New York last week. He was talking to the project managers, telling them how proud he was of them for the revenues they were generating. He said the New York headquarters was our most important office because it accounted for forty-five percent of our revenues."

"He said that?" It was the first time Dylan had ever heard a breakdown of their revenues by office.

"It's probably nothing, but it just seemed awfully high. Almost half the revenue generated by only one of our ten offices?"

"Yeah." It seemed high to him as well.

"Plus, aren't only about twenty percent of our people based here in New York?"

"Uh-huh. That doesn't add up. There aren't nearly enough people in New York to generate forty-five percent of Mantric's revenues."

"My thoughts exactly."

Dylan rested his head in his hands. "Jesus." He didn't want to show his reaction, but the alcohol had him now, and the doubts that had been lurking behind his misery grew and multiplied: the road show, Rich being fired, and even Rob's reaction to Dylan's anger. For every argument Dylan made, Rob countered. Dylan shook his head to clear his thoughts. Perhaps Rob was right, and Dylan just needed to feel there were more people on his side. But then again. . . .

Heather put her drink down. "We shouldn't be talking about this now. Dylan, we need to talk about Tony, about what's being done."

He nodded. "His father's in town. He thinks the funeral will be on Sat.u.r.day."

"I know. I spoke with him this morning. But that's not what I meant. I've been so upset since you called. I put it out of my mind while meeting with my client-I had to-but on the flight back, it ate me alive."

"I hear you," said Dylan, draining his drink. "It's a terrible feeling."

Heather nodded and s.h.i.+fted her position on the sofa, moving closer to him. "The thing is-I don't know how to say this, but it just doesn't seem like Tony to have made a stupid mistake that would cost him his life. Have you talked to the police?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

He looked down at the empty gla.s.s in his hands. "They said it looked like an accident. The press said it would take about a week to get the final cause of death. That's all I know." He did not like leaving Heather out of the conversation with the police, but for the time being he would.

Heather leaned back against the soft sofa cus.h.i.+ons. "Remember that time Tony rigged the office phones to start ringing each other on Sarah's first day with MobiCelus?"

"Yeah," said Dylan with a smile. "That was a good one."

"We all knew and were lounging around watching. But you were just as surprised as Sarah."

"What's your point?"

"Tony didn't tell you because you don't lie very well."

Dylan looked at her, uncomprehending for a moment. Then it hit him. "Why would I lie?"

"About a week ago, I got an e-mail from Tony."

A s.h.i.+ver ran down Dylan's back. "About what?"

"He wanted to ask my advice about something. He said he was in a tricky situation. A question of ethics. He didn't give me any details."

"Christ."

"We exchanged a few e-mails over the weekend. In essence, I advised him to make sure of his facts before he leaped to conclusions, and he agreed. That was it. But I got another e-mail Wednesday."

Dylan sat bolt upright. "When?"

Heather met his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"Yes!"

"He sent it at about three-thirty. I read it later that night in the airport."

"And?"

"He said he'd solved his problem. Said he was e-mailing you about it."

"f.u.c.k!" Dylan sprang up and crossed the room. He knew he should control himself, keep his feelings intact, but the barriers were down, and fear and sorrow overwhelmed him. "Why the h.e.l.l didn't he call me sooner?"

Heather stood up and moved to his side. "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Tears welled up in his eyes. "If I'd been there to take his call, he might still be alive."

"Stop it." She took him by the arm and led him back to the sofa. "Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know. But the cops don't think it was an accident." He looked at her face. "Murder."

"I knew it," she whispered.

"The police want to stall for a week or so. They're not mentioning the murder until the medical examiner's report is filed. But they're out there looking for whoever did it. I'm not supposed to say anything. And you can't either."

"I won't."