“How would you know that?”
“Public knowledge,” said London. “It’s in the fund’s annual disclosures. You see, Mr. Sun, we’ve been taking a close look at Future Indonesia and at Harrington-Weiss lately.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“I’m sorry,” said London. “Mr. Riske failed to tell you that I’m an investigative journalist for theFinancial Times.”
Sun shifted in his seat, uncertain how to view Riske or London: friend or foe. “I’m a motion picture producer. I have nothing to do with my aunt’s affairs either in government or in business. If she decided to finance my film, it’s because she realized it represented a good return on her investment.”
Simon laughed, the banker in him rebelling at the suggestion. “How many films ever make money?”
“This one will, I promise you.”
“So your Aunt Nadya gave you free rein to make any movie you wanted?”
“Of course,” said Sun. “She recognizes my skill as a creative professional. One might even say genius.”
“That’s not the way I see it,” said Simon.
“You’re a glorified mechanic, some kind of thief. What would you know about the movie business?”
“Very little, but I know lot about you.”
Sun swallowed, offering a nervous smile to London, adjusting his scarf, his glasses.
Simon stood up from the sofa and approached Sun. “I know, for example, that you worked for a finance and investment company named PetroSaud. I know that it was you who came to Tarek Al-Obeidi and Hadrian Lester with the scheme to defraud your country’s sovereign wealth fund.”
“P-preposterous,” stammered Sun. “Really…”
“You see, I don’t think your aunt had any say in it at all. How could she? The money she stole from Future Indonesia…you thought it was yours.”
Simon set Lester’s phone on the table near Sun. “That belonged to Hadrian Lester. Last night on the flight from Singapore, I spent eight hours reading his old emails. They go back years. It’s all there. I don’t need to remind you. After all, you’re something of a ‘genius.’” Simon kneeled in front of Sun, hands on the chair, effectively imprisoning him. “You worked with my friend Rafael de Bourbon at PetroSaud’s Geneva offices. It was you who told Paul Malloy not to pay him the bonus he was due. Do you remember what you did?”
Sun didn’t answer. He had somehow become smaller, weaker, the real person minus the clothes and the house and the trappings of his stolen wealth. Suddenly, he looked like an overgrown child playing dress-up.
“You suggested that Malloy invest the bonus in your company,” said Simon. “In Black Marble.”
Sun’s expression hardened. Though the room was cool and pleasant, he had begun to sweat.
“Did he?” asked Simon.
Sun hesitated, then shook his head.
“Smart man.”
Simon stood quickly, eliciting a gasp from Sun. He strolled around the room, needing a minute. “It all started in that office. All of this. You, Rafa, Malloy, Lester, your boss Tarek Al-Obeidi. I’m missing someone. Oh yes, Luca Borgia. The big boss. You met him there, too, didn’t you?”
Sun nodded. He might not really be a genius, but he was smart and canny. He could see where this was leading.
Simon continued: “I wonder what Luca Borgia will say about all this. That it was you who gave Malloy that lousy advice. That it was you who started this whole chain of dominos. Borgia is Al-Obeidi’s partner, has been for years. You know what happened to Paul Malloy, don’t you? And Rafa?”
The first real look of concern. “Why would I? I’m busy working.”
“You don’t read the papers? Look at CNN?”
Sun shook his head, eyes moving between Simon and London, preparing for bad news.
“Your aunt didn’t tell you?”
