Bitterman hit the remote’s mute button and began to absent-mindedly rub the sting out of his elbow while he explained.
“Kelly’s Root Beer. That’s what this is all about.”
“Root beer?”
He nodded. “The man doing all the yapping is Darren Ellis of Ellis, Ellis and Cooper, Attorneys at Law. Their firm represents Kevin Devoe.”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder to look at the attorney. “And who is Kevin Devoe?”
He didn’t immediately answer her question. “Do you remember how you wanted to write about Kelly’s closing, and I pointed out that every other newspaper in the city was already writing about it?”
“Yes,” she replied. “And you were right.”
“A company everyone in Chicago loves as much as they love the Bears shuts down after sixty-some years in operation, and people want to know why.”
“I read the company wasn’t making any money. Costs were up and profits were down.”
“Yes, I read that, too, but that isn’t much of an explanation, now is it? No details were given. No, closing didn’t make any sense to me. The best damned root beer in the United States isn’t making a profit? Hogwash. Why didn’t the company simply hike the price per bottle? I would have paid double, even triple, and most of Chicago would have done the same. Can’t get root beer like Kelly’s anywhere else, can you?”
Sophie doubted everyone in Chicago loved Kelly’s Root Beer as much as Bitterman did, but she might hurt his feelings if she told him so. For some reason, he was sensitive about his soft drink.
“No, sir, you can’t get root beer like Kelly’s anywhere else,” she said.
He smiled because she had agreed with him. “Turns out there’s a whole lot more to the story. The retirement fund for all those loyal employees is gone. Gone,” he repeated, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
“How is that possible?” she asked. “A pension fund is closely monitored by…”
He shook his head, stopping her. “It wasn’t a pension fund. It was a retirement fund. Big difference. Kelly was a shrewd businessman, and he wanted to do right by his employees. He hired an investment manager and told his employees that if they wanted to, they could put as much as a third of their monthly paycheck into a retirement fund, and he would match their contribution. An employee puts in a hundred bucks a month; Kelly kicks in a hundred. It was a generous retirement plan and, over the years, had great tax advantages. The investment manager Kelly chose was good, real good, and the fund showed strong growth.”
“What went wrong?” she asked. A feeling of dread was twisting her stomach into knots.
“People get old and tired,” he said matter-of-factly. “The investment manager was the first to retire, and Kelly chose a man named Kevin Devoe to replace him. He was a conservative investor, and the fund continued to grow under his supervision. Initially, that is.
“Kevin met Tom Kelly’s only child, a daughter named Meredith, at one of the company functions, and they took a shine to each other. Six months later they married. Tom was ill and finally retired. He named Meredith president and left her husband in charge of investments. Don’t know that that was legal, but no one objected at the time.
“Now here’s where it gets dicey. Two years after Kevin took over as investment manager, he moved the money into another fund. There were three companies in the fund, and all of them were showing remarkable growth. On paper, that is. The numbers were inflated, and Kevin now says the money was invested in what he thought was a reputable stock fund, but now he realizes he was scammed. He also says no one but Bobby Rose could have pulled this off, and as Kevin’s attorney just stated on television, they have discovered that Bobby owned an interest in one of the companies. He didn’t say what that interest was.”
“My father is a convenient scapegoat these days.”
Bitterman didn’t disagree. “Kevin’s wife filed for divorce a few weeks ago, just before all this came to light.”
Sophie shook her head. “Don’t tell me they’re blaming my father for that, too.”
“For the divorce? No, no, of course not.” He picked up a pencil and began to roll it between his fingers. “I mention it because Kevin was eager to turn over his financials to his wife’s attorney, and made sure the press got copies. And guess what? On paper he looks like a pauper. He wants everyone to know that he put most of his own money into the stock fund and that he is as much a victim as the employees.”
“That’s ridiculous. He chose the fund, didn’t he?”
“He sure did, but he insists the numbers were grossly inflated.”
“Besides the possibility that my father had an interest in one of the companies, is there any actual proof that he took the money?”
“No, but the FBI is looking for it.”
“They won’t find any. My father didn’t do this.”
Her loyalty was admirable. In this case, Bitterman thought it was also justified.
“Yeah. I don’t see this as something your dad would do. However, there are a lot of people who think he used the classic pump-and-dump ploy. You know, the stock gets talked up until a huge amount is sold, then the guys who did the talking sell and, boom, the stock crashes. There are a lot of people who think he did take the money. They’re angry, very angry.”
She nodded. “I understand. I read that some of those employees had worked for Kelly for over thirty years. Now they have nothing.”
“I’m just letting you know that microphones are going to be shoved in your face the second you step outside. Security already called to say a couple of reporters for those rag mags have tried sneaking up here.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she said. “There’s nothing worse than being blindsided.”
“You might want to think about some time off until this blows over.”
“If I did that every time my father was in the news, I’d never get anything done.”
Bitterman stood and looked past her into the main office. “Here comes the FBI.”
“They’re early this time,” she said without turning. They usually didn’t take her in for the chat until at least a day or two after her father hit the news. “I wonder why the hurry.”
Bitterman looked sympathetic as he answered her. “Because I called them.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 61
ARCTIC CAMP
Today we observed the pack take down a caribou. It was amazing to watch the wolves work together to cut a straggler from the herd and attack from all sides, as though they communicated by mental telepathy.
Ricky orchestrated it all, and the others followed his lead. He made the kill. His powerful jaws clamped down on the caribou’s throat, and he would not release his hold until the animal had fallen to the ground. The other wolves pounced then, and with Ricky’s permission, enjoyed a feast.
I cannot feel sympathy for the caribou. His purpose was obviously to feed Ricky and his family.
Survival of the fittest.
When he returned to our facility, Eric and I talked about Ricky’s amazing strength and the abundance of the mysterious hormone in his blood. Eric is calling it K-74. He’s asked for my help in isolating Ricky so that we can take another blood sample. Since Brandon and Kirk have shown little interest in Eric’s findings, he has asked me not to mention what we’re doing.
I have become Eric’s willing assistant, for my curiosity as a scientist is the reason I have traveled this far. I believe we must be flexible and willing to try new methods. Since Brandon is old school and would not agree with my opinions, it’s best he not know what we’re doing.
NINE
DECISION TIME. SOPHIE COULDN’T QUITE MAKE UP HER mind if she wanted to play the dumb blonde or the bitchy blonde during the questioning. Over the years, she’d perfected both roles. Maybe for a change of pace she’d be flirty this time. Her friends said she knew how to work a room. Flirting with an FBI agent, though? Sophie doubted she could pull that off.
She knew there would be two agents. They always seemed to travel in pairs. For safety’s sake, she supposed.
She squared her shoulders and turned around. All thoughts of playing any games flew out the window as soon as she saw Alec approaching. She relaxed her guard and took a deep breath.
Bitterman edged his way around the desk and went to the door to open it. Sophie was smiling until she saw another agent turn the corner and follow Alec. Uh oh. He was the man she had met at the hotel the night of the poker game. Jack MacAlister.
It had taken a considerable amount of discipline on Sophie’s part to dismiss him then, but she wasn’t sure she could pull it off again. No harm looking, was there? He was awfully handsome. What woman wouldn’t look? But Jack was also in the FBI, and she was the daughter of a man they considered a career criminal. That reminder helped her control the attraction. She barely glanced at him again and kept her focus on Alec.
Her boss had met Alec several months ago when he had given her a ride to work. He shook Alec’s hand and said, “Come on inside.”
Alec introduced Jack to Bitterman and smiled as he watched Sophie’s boss squeeze his way around the root beer to get to his chair.
“Have a seat, all of you,” Bitterman said.
Jack looked around the office in astonishment. “There must be a hundred crates in here.”
“I only wish I had that many,” Bitterman said. “If you want a cold one, there’s some in the fridge behind Sophie.”
Neither one of the feds took him up on his offer. “You do know this is a fire hazard, right?” Jack asked.
“The way I see it, the root beer would put any fires out.”
Jack laughed. “It probably would.”
“Before I forget, Regan wants you to call her,” Alec told Sophie.
“I will.”
“Do you remember meeting Jack?”
She finally looked at the agent. “I remember. I would say it was nice seeing you again, but it might not be. I guess it all depends on why you’re here.” Turning to Alec, she asked, “Why did Mr. Bitterman call you?”
“You didn’t tell her?”
Bitterman shook his head. “I figured she would just shrug it off. I thought I’d leave it to one of you to tell her and hopefully make her understand how serious this is.”
Alec was pretty sure she would shrug him off, too, so he nodded to Jack to let him know he wanted him to break it to her. Maybe hearing the news from someone who wasn’t a friend would have a greater impact.
Jack didn’t bother to be diplomatic or ease into the announcement.
“Someone wants you dead.”
“Okay.” She nodded, nonplussed.
“Okay? That’s all you’ve got?” Jack asked.
As far as Jack could tell, the news didn’t affect her at all. God love her, she shrugged. She was good. He couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Do you hear this kind of stuff often?”
“My father is Bobby Rose. What do you think, Agent MacAlister?”
He resisted the urge to smile. Yeah, she was good all right, but he still wasn’t buying the blasé attitude.
Alec was much more gentle in his approach to get through to her. “There have been some threats.”
Still no visible reaction. “Okay.”
“We’re not taking this lightly, Sophie,” Alec said, his voice firmer now. He was trying the no-nonsense method even though he knew it was pointless. Sophie was as stubborn as his wife. No wonder they were such great friends.
“Thank you for telling me. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go call Regan. You didn’t tell her about the threats, did you?”
“No, I didn’t tell her, but she saw the press conference. She knows your father’s back in the news.”
Jack noticed something protruding ever so slightly on the wall next to the refrigerator. He moved closer, then glanced over his shoulder at Alec and said, “There’s a bug in here.”
Bitterman planted his hands on his desktop, half stood, and looked around the room. “Where? What kind of bug? I hate roaches, and I hate spiders.” He sat down again and was rolling up a newspaper as he anxiously waited.
“It’s not that kind of bug, sir.” Jack leaned close to Sophie, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he reached past her and pulled the listening device from the wall next to the refrigerator. To a novice, the barely visible bug would look like it was part of the dark wall socket. It was dusty, which meant it had been there for some time.
Jack tossed the device to Alec. “Look familiar?”
With Jack standing so close, Sophie was trapped. Pressed up against the refrigerator, she could feel it humming behind her back. She thought about trying to squeeze past him or nudge him aside, but he wasn’t the type to be nudged. His body looked solid as a rock. She doubted she could nudge him anywhere. Besides, if she squirmed or moved at all, he might notice her discomfort, and she didn’t want him to notice anything about her. FBI agents other than Alec weren’t to be trusted, and she wasn’t about to let Agent MacAlister know he made her nervous.
When it came to her father and his “issues,” no one was going to push her around.
Jack glanced down at Sophie and held her gaze for only a second or two, but it was long enough to look into her gorgeous eyes, time enough to take in the scent of her subtle, feminine perfume. Very nice.
He quickly moved away. The last thing he needed was to get close to Bobby Rose’s daughter.
Sputtering and red-faced, Bitterman drew his attention. “Are you saying…Are you telling me someone’s bugging my office? Someone is listening in on my private conversations?” He was outraged. “Who’s doing it?” he demanded in the next breath. “It’s not FBI, is it? Is it FBI, Alec?”
Alec shook his head. “It’s the same kind Gil found in Sophie’s apartment,” he told Jack. To Bitterman, he said, “Nothing we would use.”
Bitterman realized he was still clutching the rolled-up newspaper. He tossed it into the trash can. “You’re certain?”
“One hundred percent.”
“It looks like something you could buy over the Internet,” Jack remarked. “Amateur stuff.”
“Hold on a minute. Someone bugged your apartment, Sophie?” Now Bitterman was outraged on her behalf.
“It’s all right,” she said to calm him. “I’m used to it. I don’t want you to worry about this.”