Clawback by Mike Cooper Read Free Book Online Page B

ran other people’s money, and they did so
really, really
badly.”
    “Sounds familiar…”
    “And now, they’re all down for the dirt nap.”
    He finally got it.
    “Three dead money managers! They’re
connected
? Shit.” Johnny laughed. “Deranged madman? Or are the peasants finally rising up?”
    “My new client would really prefer Door Number One.”
    “New client—no, forget I asked.” He knew I wouldn’t share the details anyway. “Do the police see it like that?”
    “No idea. Probably not—otherwise they’d have leaked it by now.”
    I knew what Johnny was thinking:
How can I profit from this?
    “So you’re going to find the lunatic,” he said.
    “And persuade him to stop.”
    “Hell, plenty of people, they’d tell you, give him more ammunition.”
    “That’s kind of the problem, don’t you think?”
    Johnny drifted off in thought, staring half focused at his screens. Something caught his attention for a moment, and he tapped a few keys.
    Somewhere a day trader just got wiped out.
    “If you can’t stop him before he does it again,” Johnny said, “maybe you could let me know ahead of time?”
    So he could piggyback on to the killer’s trade. Right. “Don’t be a ghoul.”
    The bullpen had settled down, chairs returned to upright, traders at their desks again. Rain spattered silently on the window glass, the cityscape beyond dim and misty.
    “Hey.” I had a thought. “You pay attention. Ever heard of a financial blog called
Event Risk
?”
    “No, but that doesn’t mean anything.” He went back to the keyboard, and a minute later had found Clara’s journalistic endeavor. “Interesting.”
    “What do you think?”
    “Contrarian.” He read for another minute, flicking down the posts. “Not macro, not trading tips. Analytics. He must have an accounting background—there’s a lot of balance sheet this, income statement that.”
    “She.”
    “Oh?” He clicked around until he found the About the Author page. “Whoa, you’re right. Look at those—”
    “Hey.”
    Johnny glanced over, grinning. “Friend of yours?”
    “She knows me.”
    “I was only going to say, look at those sources. Sounds like she was in the industry.”
    “Just journalism, far as I know.”
    “But hardly any snark. What does she see in you?”
    Johnny was already being pulled back to his trading. The blog disappeared, replaced by a set of charts. Inflection points blinked green and red on dense yellow pattern lines.
    I was lucky to get even ten minutes out of him while the exchanges were open.
    “See what happens on York,” I said as I got up to leave. “I’d sure like to know who had advance knowledge that Marlett was headed to the big trading room in the sky.”
    “Yeah, me too,” said Johnny. “He’d be a good contact.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    L eaving Johnny’s office, I had some free time. I’d caught him not long after the market opened, so it wasn’t even ten a.m. Rain had fallen earlier, and judging from the overcast would be falling again soon, but for now it was all drizzle and mist. The canyons of the financial district were gray. Here and there people stood in doorways, taking cigarette breaks.
    Walking along, I pulled out a cellphone. Oops, wrong one—brand new, and I hadn’t used it yet. I went through my pockets until I found the one whose number I’d given to Clara.
    “Hi, it’s Silas,” I said.
    Some garbled noise, not comprehensible as human speech.
    “Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    This time her voice came back crisp. “No, I was brushing my teeth.”
    And she answers her phone? The life of a blogger. “You’re in the bathroom?”
    “Don’t ask what I’m wearing.”
    “I’ll use my imagination.” And I was, too. “Do me a favor, don’t flush while I can hear it.”
    “Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”
    “I heard something you might want to look into. About Marlett’s business before he died.”
    “Yes?”
    “York Hydro.”
    “I know all about