phone glued to his ear, making call after call. Ryan pages through the files Estelle left, trying to figure out which witness they’re supposed to be interviewing. In the airport, they’re whisked through to the executive lounge without waiting. Joseph is still on the phone and Ryan is still completely clueless as to what he’s supposed to be doing on this trip. It’s not until they actually get onto the plane and are buckling themselves into the much roomier and much more comfortable business class seats that Joseph finally turns to him and acknowledges his presence.
“Phil Cartwright,” he says.
Ryan’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. Phil Cartwright is the former Chief Operating Officer of McNeil Industries, one of Jack McNeil’s highest ranking executives, closest confidantes, and a guy who has been either number one or number two on Joseph’s hit-list for months. If Jack McNeil ever carried out any insider trading, tax fraud, or any other corporate crime, then Cartwright is the most likely person to know about it.
“Seriously? Cartwright’s agreed to testify?” Ryan says.
“Not exactly, but I’ve got a feeling we can convince him.”
“Convince him? How?”
Joseph gives him a look. “Don’t underestimate my powers of persuasion.”
“Oh, okay, so is this going to be some sort of Don Corleone deal,” he says.
For a moment he thinks he’s gone too far, Joseph blinking back at him like he’s seriously not amused, then Joseph breaks into a smile and he chuckles. “Much as I’d like to put a gun to Cartwright’s head and force him to testify, I don’t like breaking the law. It would be pretty hypocritical of me. Now, keep reading.” He pats the file on Ryan’s knees. “I need you to know as much as possible about this guy before we meet him.”
C ARTWRIGHT IS one jumpy fucker. He’s unshaven, his eyes red and twitchy, and he looks like he’s been on a bender for the past six months. He looks nothing like the corporate photo of him in McNeil Industries’ last published Annual Report. The one of him posed on the boardroom desk, smiling genially at the camera and looking like a respectable middle-aged executive with two kids, two dogs, and a place in the country. This guy looks like a New Jersey gangster, dressed in sweats and a gold chain, overweight and sweating profusely when he takes his seat.
“If Jack knew I was meeting with you,” he starts to say, eyes darting between Ryan and Joseph and ending up on Joseph. “He really hates you,” he says to Joseph.
Joseph’s lip curls. “The feeling’s mutual.”
They’re sitting in a booth in the diner where Cartwright insisted on meeting. Ryan and Joseph are squashed into one side, their backs to the door; Cartwright is opposite them. Weak, pallid cups of coffee sit untouched on the Formica table between them.
“Your daughter, Marie,” Ryan says, “she’s eighteen, right? Starting her senior year at high school?”
Cartwright cuts his nervy gaze away from the door and toward Ryan, blinking at him like he’s just noticed Ryan’s existence. “Yes,” he says sharply, “what’s that got to do with anything?”
Ryan spreads his hands, gives him his most sincere smile, his expression open and entirely nonthreatening. “Just making conversation. Does she have plans for college?”
Cartwright keeps looking at him, his eyes dark with suspicion. Eventually he swallows and says, “She’s going to the local community college.”
“Right, ’cause she had to drop out of Notre Dame because you couldn’t afford the tuition,” Ryan says.
He doesn’t take his eyes away from Cartwright’s face, but he can feel Joseph’s gaze on him, the approval in the small quirk of his lip. He’s overwhelmingly aware of Joseph’s proximity. The two of them aren’t exactly small guys; he’s six feet four and Joseph is only a couple of inches shorter than him, and they’re both crammed into the booth, Joseph’s thigh only
“Phil Cartwright,” he says.
Ryan’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. Phil Cartwright is the former Chief Operating Officer of McNeil Industries, one of Jack McNeil’s highest ranking executives, closest confidantes, and a guy who has been either number one or number two on Joseph’s hit-list for months. If Jack McNeil ever carried out any insider trading, tax fraud, or any other corporate crime, then Cartwright is the most likely person to know about it.
“Seriously? Cartwright’s agreed to testify?” Ryan says.
“Not exactly, but I’ve got a feeling we can convince him.”
“Convince him? How?”
Joseph gives him a look. “Don’t underestimate my powers of persuasion.”
“Oh, okay, so is this going to be some sort of Don Corleone deal,” he says.
For a moment he thinks he’s gone too far, Joseph blinking back at him like he’s seriously not amused, then Joseph breaks into a smile and he chuckles. “Much as I’d like to put a gun to Cartwright’s head and force him to testify, I don’t like breaking the law. It would be pretty hypocritical of me. Now, keep reading.” He pats the file on Ryan’s knees. “I need you to know as much as possible about this guy before we meet him.”
C ARTWRIGHT IS one jumpy fucker. He’s unshaven, his eyes red and twitchy, and he looks like he’s been on a bender for the past six months. He looks nothing like the corporate photo of him in McNeil Industries’ last published Annual Report. The one of him posed on the boardroom desk, smiling genially at the camera and looking like a respectable middle-aged executive with two kids, two dogs, and a place in the country. This guy looks like a New Jersey gangster, dressed in sweats and a gold chain, overweight and sweating profusely when he takes his seat.
“If Jack knew I was meeting with you,” he starts to say, eyes darting between Ryan and Joseph and ending up on Joseph. “He really hates you,” he says to Joseph.
Joseph’s lip curls. “The feeling’s mutual.”
They’re sitting in a booth in the diner where Cartwright insisted on meeting. Ryan and Joseph are squashed into one side, their backs to the door; Cartwright is opposite them. Weak, pallid cups of coffee sit untouched on the Formica table between them.
“Your daughter, Marie,” Ryan says, “she’s eighteen, right? Starting her senior year at high school?”
Cartwright cuts his nervy gaze away from the door and toward Ryan, blinking at him like he’s just noticed Ryan’s existence. “Yes,” he says sharply, “what’s that got to do with anything?”
Ryan spreads his hands, gives him his most sincere smile, his expression open and entirely nonthreatening. “Just making conversation. Does she have plans for college?”
Cartwright keeps looking at him, his eyes dark with suspicion. Eventually he swallows and says, “She’s going to the local community college.”
“Right, ’cause she had to drop out of Notre Dame because you couldn’t afford the tuition,” Ryan says.
He doesn’t take his eyes away from Cartwright’s face, but he can feel Joseph’s gaze on him, the approval in the small quirk of his lip. He’s overwhelmingly aware of Joseph’s proximity. The two of them aren’t exactly small guys; he’s six feet four and Joseph is only a couple of inches shorter than him, and they’re both crammed into the booth, Joseph’s thigh only
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