Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie
Twelve
Sadie
Since I’m in the middle of an undercover op, I throw on an outfit I believe Sydney would wear on any given Sunday afternoon. Cargo shorts and a lightweight navy sweater with sandals. This outfit also happens to be what I’d wear in real life, too, but most importantly, if I happen to bump into Chase Maitlin or any other suspect, they won’t think twice about my weekend outfit.
As I head up Park Avenue, I can’t help but scout up and down and across the wide avenue for any sign I’m being followed or anyone is watching me. I thought being undercover would feel like the movies, that I’d be the up and coming Jamie Bond or something. Instead, it’s more like I’m the one being hunted. Every moment makes me feel like a small child again. Everything I need to treat as ‘normal’ is unnerving, and I couldn’t feel further from a kick ass world-class spy. I take a breath…and remember my training.
With one last glance up and down, I push the door open. Once again, there’s no indication any of the offices on the hall are occupied. The door at the end of the hall opens, and Agent Hopkins smiles in greeting.
He’s wearing khakis, dress shoes, and a button-down dress shirt with a jacket. On a Sunday afternoon, Hopkins is dressed like more of a businessman than Chase Maitlin on any given workday.
“How was the first week?”
“Interesting.” I open my handbag and pull out my thin laptop.
There are manila files sitting on the table, and he already has his laptop open and set to review the new information the team came up with over the past week.
“Interesting on our end, too. SEC may be getting involved.”
“Why?” The SEC gets involved when there’s suspected stock fraud, but the companies we’re investigating are private.
“Titan Pharmaceutical announced they are acquiring South Fork Research.”
“That’s not particularly suspicious. South Fork has been making progress on alternative cancer treatments. It was only a matter of time before they’d be purchased.”
“True. But do you remember who the biggest shareholders of South Fork are?”
He’s dribbling the information out like I’m a slow learner. I refrain from rolling my eyes as I answer, “The guys we’re investigating. The Stanford crew. That doesn’t explain the SEC interest.”
“Well, those same guys also happen to be significant shareholders in Titan. For the most part, the men all acquired significant shares within the last six to twelve months.”
I can see it’s suspicious. But these are wealthy men, and they’re heavily vested in the bio-med space. Regardless, it’s good for me to be aware of, but I won’t be the one investigating that angle.
I pick up my phone and make a few notes in my app as Hopkins continues. “South Fork Research is also the biggest beneficiary of funding from the McLoughlin Charity. And, coincidentally, BB&E does their accounting.”
“I’ll prioritize looking at South Fork’s books on Monday. I’ll need to anyway. BB&E will expect me to double-check everything given due diligence will be coming.”
He nods as he peruses a yellow notepad. “Tom Bennett’s wife didn’t necessarily come from money. Middle class background. She doesn’t work. We didn’t find anything particularly interesting. We also located Tad Johnson. He died two months ago.”
“How?”
“Drunk driving accident in upstate New York. He plowed his car into a tree. No suspicions of foul play. No autopsy completed, and he was cremated.”
“That’s…interesting.”
“Yes. But the agents who drove up there to investigate further didn’t find any leads to suggest anything other than Tad got behind the wheel of a car when he shouldn’t have. We also gained access to Chase Maitlin’s financial records.” He slides a folder over to me, and I flip it open as he continues to talk. “Maitlin has brokerage accounts with over $12 million in them.”
“Wow. He didn’t earn that from BB&E.”
“No, he did not. He’s a real estate investor and apparently also what’s called a domainer.”
I write the word down and wait, hoping Hopkins expands. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to ask, and I’d rather not admit I’m not familiar with the term.
“A domainer refers to someone who buys and sells domain names for websites.”
“Ah. I’ve read about that.” I snap my fingers. “Buying and selling website domains would be a great way to receive legitimate payments for illegitimate services.”
Hopkins snaps his fingers right back at me. “Bingo.”
“Who is buying domains from him? Are they at inflated prices?”
“Valuing domains is largely subjective. It’s not like real estate where it’s more obvious McLoughlin Charity was paying inflated prices on properties to Cooper Grayson’s company. But the team is researching prior sales now.”
Damn. Chase Maitlin’s friends are going to be shocked when they find out everything he’s into. I had thought he was a small player, but looking through this folder at his financial statements, he’s not looking like he’s such a low-level component anymore. I set the folder down.
“Last night, I went out with Maitlin. At first, with his friends. I didn’t find any of them to be suspicious. They aren’t related to BB&E or these Chicago firms. Actually, one of his friends, Maggie Thompson, used to work for McLoughlin Charity. She and her fiancé recently moved to Chicago. You may want to look into both of them.”
I jot down the names for him.
“I have some pics on my phone of them that I’ll send you. Also, Sam Duke, one of the founders of Esprit Corp, is one of Chase’s close friends.” I write down his name as well. “I don’t see a connection between his company and these guys, but—”
“He’s a billionaire. Got it. Anyone else we need to look further into?”
“Jackson Hendricks works for Sam. He’s a lawyer. His focus is on M&A. If I remember correctly, they’re solely focused on tech, but given what’s going on with South Fork, it might be worth researching exactly where they’ve been investing.”
Shit. This case has far-reaching implications. It no longer feels like an in-and-out case.
“Oh, and after we went out with Chase’s personal friends, he left to meet a client. I found it suspicious, so I followed him.”
Hopkins snaps to attention.
“EJ Mason is the client who insisted Chase come out and meet him. They met at a private club. He called it a gentleman’s club. I would call it an underground sex club.”
“You weren’t wearing a wire last night.” He frowns. “Did they discuss anything incriminating?”
“I wasn’t around them to hear. I did see both Evan Mitchell and Bennett. Mitchell had had a lot to drink. I didn’t get a good look at Bennett.” Fidelity is none of the FBI’s concern, but given we’re trusting Mitchell, at least in my mind, it speaks to his credibility, and I strongly suspect based on his open fly he’d been partaking in some way, but I don’t say anything because I don’t have proof. “Mitchell did not look happy when he saw me.”
Hopkins gets on his laptop and clicks the keys.
“If you followed them—”
“Chase saw me first. I acted like I had been following him to see if he was meeting up with another woman.” Hopkins stops typing. “He bought it. I think Mitchell assumed Chase brought me.”
Agent Hopkins returns to typing.
“Are you letting Agent Blakely know?” I ask.
He peers over his laptop. “I’m setting up a meeting to update the team tomorrow morning. Blakely will be there. What’s the name of this club?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes narrow. “There were no signs. It’s private. Illegal. I had to hand over my phone to enter. Members only.” Thinking back, I’m glad I wasn’t wearing a wire. The music was so loud they wouldn’t have gotten anything, anyway, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to risk getting caught with a wire by those bouncers.
He clacks a few keys more slowly. “Where was it?”
“Jersey City. Backstreets. Warehouse district. Off Grand Street. I could locate it if you want.”
“Probably not necessary. Did they discuss business at all?”
“No. Sex act on center stage. There was a back room, and I suspect the men were with prostitutes in the back. Chase mentioned EJ was busy being entertained with a private lap dance.”
His fingers light up the keyboard.
“All of the men participated?”
“I don’t know. I felt limited in terms of what I could ask, given I followed Chase there and he found me. But I’d guess Evan Mitchell participated in something. At the very least, he was drunk. I didn’t get a good look at Bennett. As a matter of fact, he was standing far enough away I couldn’t testify it was him.”
“Interesting. And Maitlin didn’t get suspicious?”
“I don’t think so. He asked me out on a date.”
“Okay. Listen, I expect the operation will remain intact. If Blakely has concerns about Mitchell after learning this, I’ll reach out, and we’ll pull you. For now, keep your wire on. Even when you’re not in the office.”
“The auditory quality won’t be good in the gym. Or any nightclub.”
“Yes, but if he says anything, we want it on tape.” He’s right. I should have worn the wire last night. “You’re getting closer to Maitlin.”
I look away so he doesn’t see how much that hint of judgment angers me.
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s good. It’s what we want. This could be a career case,” he says.
That catches my attention. There’s nothing in his demeanor that indicates he’s joking or being a smart ass.
“Really?” That’s not the way I interpreted this case when I transferred onto the team.
“Yes. The Illinois AG briefed the New York AG last week. SEC coming in? If this ends up expanding beyond the little Stanford clique, it’s gonna be a big case.”
“And Walters still wants to focus on BB&E?” Bill Walters is the prosecuting attorney. He’s Mr. ‘I don’t want another Enron.’
“Sadie, BB&E is the cornerstone. It’s the how. This case is big. Get close to Maitlin, but if you get uncomfortable, let me know. Remember, my top priority is you. That’s what it means to be your handler.”
“Got it. Chase and his friends invited me to a wedding. It’s for Jason and Maggie, his friends who recently moved to Chicago.”
He glances over his notes. “Maggie is the one who worked for Senator McLoughlin’s charity?”
I nod.
“You should go.”
“It’s in Iowa. I’d be riding on Sam Duke’s private jet.”
“Send me the details on where the wedding is. I’ll look into getting backup in Iowa.”
“I can’t imagine backup will be needed.” He looks at me like I have no idea what I’m talking about. “Seriously. It’s a wedding in her parents’ back yard. In Iowa. It’s not going to turn into the Red Wedding à la Game of Thrones.”
“Send me the deets. I’ll let you know what the team decides.”
“Okay. Oh, one more person to check out. I emailed you. Garrick Carlson. He’s the guy who actually does the work on all the accounts we’re suspicious of. And I got the impression he’s not a huge fan of Maitlin.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, everyone else looks at Maitlin like he’s a superstar. He’d win Most Popular hands down. Carlson treated him the way people normally treat colleagues.”
“So, he might be the one guy who knows what he’s up to. Maybe the guy we can convince to turn.”
“Bingo.” I shoot him back with my fingers.
When I leave my meeting, I deflate. There’s little doubt Chase is involved, and I like him. If he wasn’t a bad guy, he’d be easy to fall for. I mean, at first I thought he was one of those guys who half-assed everything and got by on his personality, but he has multiple businesses on the side. He might have a carefree persona, but he’s driven. Unfortunately, I’m about to discover exactly how many lines he’s crossed thanks to that drive.
* * *
Monday morning, I’m in my office, scanning the news while drinking my coffee. I might be UC, but there’s comfort in routine and finding similarities between a person I’m pretending to be and the real me. That’s one of the things they teach us.
This case isn’t such a departure from my normal office dwelling self, but it’s still tiring. So many times when chatting with Rhonda or when making small talk before meetings, it’s been on the tip of my tongue to drop in comparisons between D.C. and NYC, and I have to swallow them because my cover story is I moved here from L.A. The other day, Rhonda was showing me pictures of her dogs, and I wanted to tell her all about my childhood dog Sam, but instead, I pushed it back and asked subtle questions about her dog. I was surprised to learn Maitlin has cared for her dog in the past when she’s gone out of town on vacation with her husband and kids.
Rhonda knocks on my door and steps in, a conspiratorial crouch to her posture. “Word is there’s a huge fight going on between Tom and Evan right now. Stay clear of the eighteenth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Karen called from the executive floor to warn everyone.” She smiles with clear pleasure over spreading gossip.
“Do they fight a lot?”
“Yes and no. But when they do, bad moods all around. Stay clear.”
I pretend to check my calendar and in a conspiratorial tone say, “I think I’m in the all-clear. No executive-level meetings today.”
Chase’s booming voice echoes down the hall, along with a chorus of “hey, man” and “good weekend?” She wiggles her fingers goodbye and exits, presumably to greet her boss with his coffee and share the gossip.
I reach down and pick up my briefcase. I open it and, using my FBI issued phone, send a text to Hopkins to check the tapes from Evan’s and Tom’s offices from this morning. Our team auditing the wiretaps would eventually listen, but we have so many wiretaps going on in this operation, it could take them a while to get there. And I can’t help but wonder if the Monday morning argument had to do with Saturday night. Or if Mitchell broke down and copped to agreeing to let the FBI into their offices. He swore to keep it private, but my gut tells me Mitchell doesn’t deserve the trust the FBI has given him.