Best,
Meredith
I stare at the email. Should I draw Alyssa and Temor into this without giving them a heads-up that something may be very wrong? At this point, I don’t think I have a choice. I have to know how I’m being framed.
But I delete the email and pick up my phone.
No paper trail.
“Hey, Alyssa.” I ignore the niggle that I am still not entirely sure Alyssa doesn’t know more than she’s saying. I guess I’ll find out. “I’ve got a project for you.” I continue to draw her into the web that was spun for me.
Ten minutes later as I’m finishing packing my bag, something sticks as I try to position my notebook along the two computers. I pull out the envelope Betsey gave me in the Grand Central bathroom. My hand hovers above my trash can when I remember she said she wrote something on the back, maybe a number. I slide out the photograph and stare at the image, remembering the minutes after it was taken, after I left Lucas. As I rushed to the train station, Clint called. I didn’t fumble for why I was late. The lie spilled freely from my lips.
“We really have to go, hon.” Clint holds out his watch as he approaches.
I immediately flip the picture and read the number.
“What is that?” Clint comes around the side of my desk.
“Before we go, I need to make one call.”
“To who?”
“Why don’t you take a seat? I’d like you to listen. I can explain more in the car.”
He scowls but sits on my office sofa. It pulls out to a surprisingly comfortable bed. I would know.
I lay my cell phone on the desk and dial the number, putting the call on speaker.
“You have reached the Securities and Exchange Commission. If you know your party’s four-digit extension—” I blanch. My finger disconnects the call. The trembling starts in my hand.
“You’re calling the SEC?”
I shake my head. Each number is clearly legible on the back of the photograph. I must have misdialed. Taking my time, I peck out the numbers again.
“You have reached the Securities and Exchange—”
I slam my index finger down on the red icon like I’ve just been bitten.
“I don’t understand.” Clint leans forward.
“I don’t either.” I take a huge breath and point to the back of the picture. “This is the number Betsey gave me to get in touch with her.”
“And this is the first time you’re calling it?”
“Yeah.” I stare down at the numbers, trying to make sense of it.
“Call it again. Ask for her.”
I don’t respond. That’s either the most foolish idea or perfectly brilliant. Something scratches at my memory of the Grand Central bathroom. She might have told me to do just that when she tried to give me the envelope. Either way, maybe we’ll finally get some answers. Together.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Clint squeezes my quivering knee. “Talk to them.”
“Might not be that simple. I think someone at Garman Straub has set me up. Maybe even Phil himself.” And the SEC is not an organization to take investor fraud lightly. Their enforcement division isn’t going to assume the portfolio manager of the funds didn’t know what was going on under her nose. They won’t hesitate to charge me with misconduct, at the very least.
“All the more reason. Everyone’s made their trek and strung their tents. Time you at least took a look at the trail map.”
A small smile curls my lip. I do need a map.
