Rosen felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew that whatever it was, it was very, very bad. In fact, it was god-awful. He stared at Summers as though he were something sub-human. He turned back to Stone and wondered if the man was having a stroke. His mind whirled as he thought about what to ask next when his desk phone rang. The screen on the console read: Helen James, The Wall Street Journal. He snatched the receiver from its cradle and, with forced calm, said, “Hey, Helen, working late?”
“Glad I caught you, Sy. I’m following up on a rumor that you guys are involved in a fraudulent transaction involving billions of dollars. You wanna clarify the rumor?”
Rosen blurted a small laugh. “What the heck are you talking about, Helen? Rosen, Rice & Stone is one of the most reputable firms on the Street. We would never be involved in any kind of tainted transaction.”
“That isn’t going to fly, Sy. I’ve had three calls in the last thirty minutes from investors who claim you attempted to sell them a phony mortgage-backed security deal. I just got off the phone with an officer at Sunrise Casualty Insurance who refused to comment beyond telling me that Sunrise has never sold a real estate-backed loan security before its maturity. What’s going on, Sy?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Are you telling me that you aren’t in a transaction with Sunrise?”
When Rosen didn’t respond, James said, “One of the people who called me said the CUSIP code on the security you created is fictitious.”
A cold hand reached inside Rosen and gripped his chest. He jerked open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of antacid. “Helen,” he said, “I already told you I don’t know what you’re talking about. How ‘bout I get back to you after I check into it?”
“I’ll be here at my desk, Sy.”
Rosen hung up and looked at Stone and Summers. “What the fuck have you two done?”
“I told you I wanted to check the CUSIP codes but—”
Rosen’s icy stare cut Summers off.
Sergeant Michael Hallinan had been an honest cop in Brooklyn for eighteen years. That changed four years ago when his wife was diagnosed with cancer and her treatments were determined to be experimental and not covered by insurance. The medical bills had almost ruined them and they were in the process of having to sell their house when Hallinan was approached by a neighbor, Bobby Tennucci, who wanted information about a police investigation. Tennucci had offered him twenty thousand dollars.
Hallinan rationalized the transaction by telling himself it was only information. It wasn’t as if he was taking drug money or stealing something. And the money he’d received from Tennucci for the past four years for other information had saved his wife’s life and allowed them to keep their home. He now knew the neighbor worked for the Massarino Family…and couldn’t have cared less. When Hallinan heard that Detectives Sparks and Nicoletti had brought in a Vietnamese woman suspected of being a hired killer, he, along with several other cops, strolled into the interrogation area to get a glimpse of her through the one way glass. After all, female assassins were a rare breed. It wasn’t until hours later that Hallinan heard a rumor that the woman had finally struck a deal with the D.A. In return for disclosing the identity of her employer and her targets, she would be given a reduced sentence. The rumor also included information about the woman’s client and her intended target. The names Sy Rosen and Janet Jenkins meant nothing to Hallinan, but the name Bruno Pedace rang all kinds of bells in the cop’s memory bank.
Hallinan recalled Bruno Pedace’s name coming up about a decade ago concerning some Wall Street scandal. The Pedace name was not an easy one to forget. He also recalled news reports about Pedace being from Brooklyn and going to school with one of the Massarinos. Maybe the Massarino Family would like to know about this assassin, Hallinan thought. He called Tennucci at 9:16 p.m., passed on the information, and then went back to work.
Bobby Tennucci called his boss as soon as he got off the phone with Hallinan.
“Very interesting,” Massarino said. “Thanks, Bobby. Make sure the Irish cop is properly thanked.”
“Of course, boss. I assume you still want me to go forward.”
“Oh yeah, Bobby. Even more so now.”
“You certain about the news media?”
“It’s already begun, Bobby.”
“You know, these guys won’t do well in prison. Someone will punk them out five minutes after they hit a cellblock.”
“Yeah, but they’ll be alive. That’s a luxury my brother Carlo no longer has.”
Massarino went down to the basement apartment and found Bruno asleep in a chair, an empty beer bottle in his hand, the television on. He padded over, carefully picked up the television remote, and muted the sound. Bruno startled awake.
“Sorry, Bruno,” Massarino said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Bruno placed the empty bottle on the table next to him and rubbed his face. He glanced at a wall clock and said, “I’m glad you did. I want to watch the late news.”
Massarino asked, “Your old partners go broke, lose everything, maybe go to jail; that’ll be enough for you?”
“It’ll have to be, Louis. What else can I do?”
Massarino nodded. “I understand.” He sat in a chair and looked at the clock. “Almost time for the news.” He turned the sound back up on the television. The end of a sitcom segued to a local news channel. A blow-dried news anchor with supernaturally-white teeth and a spray-on tan welcomed the audience and then immediately announced that New York State and Federal authorities were investigating possible fraudulent securities transactions at the Wall Street firm of Rosen, Rice & Stone Investments. The anchor went on to state that very little information was available, but the station had learned that a scheme involving forged documents and billions of dollars of loans on commercial real estate properties across the United States were involved. He finished the story with, “All attempts to contact the company have been unsuccessful.”
“What’ll happen next?” Massarino asked.
“Investigators from the U.S. Attorney’s office, the SEC, the FBI, and the State of New York will probably storm the company’s offices and take control of all their files and computers. They may have already done that, despite it being Friday night. The investigators will try to find a whistleblower among the partner ranks who’ll rat out the others about every petty indiscretion that might ever have occurred.”
“You certain there’s no way the Feds can track anything back to you?”
“Absolutely. Your nephew, Jesse, is a genius.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’ll call the SEC and tell them how the firm set me up a decade ago.”
“What about the documents you took?”
“They’ll just make my case. I’ll turn them over to the investigators.” Bruno chuckled. “With the three partners locked up, I’ll feel safe again.”
“So, you do that; then what?”
“I’m not sure.”
Massarino frowned. “Are you really that oblivious?”