Read Online Money to Burn by James Grippando - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Grippando
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Thrillers, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Suspense fiction, Mystery Fiction, Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Fiction - Espionage, Capitalists and Financiers
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bear hitting the canvas—it drew the same reaction from the host:
“That’s a Bell Ringer!” he would shout.
Normally Bell’s show didn’t air until five P.M ., but today’s big news was happening before breakfast. Bell wanted a piece of the story in real time.
“Go home, Chuck.”
Bell turned to find Rosario Reynolds standing two feet away from him. Rosario was the female half of FNN’s popular morning duo—the young, energetic, and gorgeous counterpart to the stodgy old Wall Street fat cat who, bloggers said, couldn’t keep his dirty-old-man eyes off her breasts.
“Rrrrrosario,” Bell said, trilling the R for added annoyance. “How’s my international superstar this morning?”
“Back off, Bell. If you think you’re going on the air this morning to scoop the Saxton Silvers news, dream on. Roger and I are live in ten minutes.”
“Rosario, Rosario,” he said with a condescending shake of the head. “Don’t you know that at FNN the Money Honey is always the last to know?”
“This Money Honey has a bigger set of balls than you do. So like I said: Back off. This story is mine.”
“You don’t have a story.”
“I broke it this morning. Another twenty-two billion in subprime write-downs.”
“That’s not the story,” he said, smiling thinly. “That’s the tip of the iceberg.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”
He laughed way too hard, then snagged an assistant producer as she was trying to sneak past the two clashing stars in the hallway.
“Sandra,” said Bell, “how are we coming on the Palm Beach connection?”
Sandra checked her clip board. “Shooting for nine forty, maybe nine forty-five at the latest.”
“That’s during my show!” said Rosario
The assistant producer hurried away without a word. Rosario shoved Bell so hard that his shoulder blades bumped against the wall.
“What are you trying to pull?” she said sharply.
“I’m not trying to do anything. It’s done. FNN is bumping you for a special edition of Bell Ringer .”
“That’s not fair! I worked hard on this story.”
“Aww,” he said, patting her head. “Poor Money Honey.”
She knocked his hand away. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Thank you.”
“I am not going to let this happen,” she said.
“You don’t have a choice,” said Bell. “If these subprime write downs create the kind of liquidity problems that people are talking about, this could be the beginning of the end for one of the oldest investment banks on Wall Street. But all you’ve got are rumors. I’ve got a source.”
She gave him an assessing look. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”
“I’ll have your ass if you bump my show and don’t have someone on the inside.”
He smiled thinly. “Under normal circumstances, I might be worried. But you’re overlooking one crucial fact, Rosario.”
“What?”
He leaned closer, as if to share a secret. “There really is no adult supervision at FNN.”
12
T HE THUMB AND INDEX FINGER ON MY LEFT HAND WERE STARTING to blister. I didn’t think I needed a doctor, but it hurt enough to make me reconsider the sender’s agenda. Maybe the FBI was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t just a warning.
Maybe he did want to see me dead.
I was still in Eric’s office waiting for a chance to fill him in on my situation, and he was still on the phone talking through his headset. He suddenly stopped pacing long enough to grab the remote control from his desk and switch on the flat screen that was mounted on the wall above the wet bar. Like everyone else on Wall Street, Eric’s television was pre-set to FNN. The only thing worse than a business news network spreading rumors was being the only financial player in New York who hadn’t heard them. Chuck Bell was on the air, which caused me to do a double take. I’d been awake all night and my internal clock was off, but I was pretty sure it was just coming up on nine-thirty A.M ., not Bell’s regular time
“That’s a Bell Ringer!” he would shout.
Normally Bell’s show didn’t air until five P.M ., but today’s big news was happening before breakfast. Bell wanted a piece of the story in real time.
“Go home, Chuck.”
Bell turned to find Rosario Reynolds standing two feet away from him. Rosario was the female half of FNN’s popular morning duo—the young, energetic, and gorgeous counterpart to the stodgy old Wall Street fat cat who, bloggers said, couldn’t keep his dirty-old-man eyes off her breasts.
“Rrrrrosario,” Bell said, trilling the R for added annoyance. “How’s my international superstar this morning?”
“Back off, Bell. If you think you’re going on the air this morning to scoop the Saxton Silvers news, dream on. Roger and I are live in ten minutes.”
“Rosario, Rosario,” he said with a condescending shake of the head. “Don’t you know that at FNN the Money Honey is always the last to know?”
“This Money Honey has a bigger set of balls than you do. So like I said: Back off. This story is mine.”
“You don’t have a story.”
“I broke it this morning. Another twenty-two billion in subprime write-downs.”
“That’s not the story,” he said, smiling thinly. “That’s the tip of the iceberg.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”
He laughed way too hard, then snagged an assistant producer as she was trying to sneak past the two clashing stars in the hallway.
“Sandra,” said Bell, “how are we coming on the Palm Beach connection?”
Sandra checked her clip board. “Shooting for nine forty, maybe nine forty-five at the latest.”
“That’s during my show!” said Rosario
The assistant producer hurried away without a word. Rosario shoved Bell so hard that his shoulder blades bumped against the wall.
“What are you trying to pull?” she said sharply.
“I’m not trying to do anything. It’s done. FNN is bumping you for a special edition of Bell Ringer .”
“That’s not fair! I worked hard on this story.”
“Aww,” he said, patting her head. “Poor Money Honey.”
She knocked his hand away. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Thank you.”
“I am not going to let this happen,” she said.
“You don’t have a choice,” said Bell. “If these subprime write downs create the kind of liquidity problems that people are talking about, this could be the beginning of the end for one of the oldest investment banks on Wall Street. But all you’ve got are rumors. I’ve got a source.”
She gave him an assessing look. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”
“I’ll have your ass if you bump my show and don’t have someone on the inside.”
He smiled thinly. “Under normal circumstances, I might be worried. But you’re overlooking one crucial fact, Rosario.”
“What?”
He leaned closer, as if to share a secret. “There really is no adult supervision at FNN.”
12
T HE THUMB AND INDEX FINGER ON MY LEFT HAND WERE STARTING to blister. I didn’t think I needed a doctor, but it hurt enough to make me reconsider the sender’s agenda. Maybe the FBI was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t just a warning.
Maybe he did want to see me dead.
I was still in Eric’s office waiting for a chance to fill him in on my situation, and he was still on the phone talking through his headset. He suddenly stopped pacing long enough to grab the remote control from his desk and switch on the flat screen that was mounted on the wall above the wet bar. Like everyone else on Wall Street, Eric’s television was pre-set to FNN. The only thing worse than a business news network spreading rumors was being the only financial player in New York who hadn’t heard them. Chuck Bell was on the air, which caused me to do a double take. I’d been awake all night and my internal clock was off, but I was pretty sure it was just coming up on nine-thirty A.M ., not Bell’s regular time
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