Pieces of the Puzzle by Robert Stanek Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Stanek
Miami—a few hours
in rush hour, but they were meeting at two. Obviously she wanted to arrive fresh, and maybe she didn’t want to worry about
being late—or early. If that were the case, she’d come by cab, he knew it. He had only to pick the right vantage point to
see her arrival.
As he walked around the financial center, he started thinking. Why Miami, why not just meet in Boca Raton? Why two o’clock?
Why the Southeast Financial Center? It seemed the answer was so obvious that he was overlooking it because it had to be right
there in front of him.
He stopped walking, looked at the people around him, then asked himself again. Why Miami, why not Boca Raton? Was it Miami
International? But that wasn’t enough, whoever Ms.
Wellmen was meeting could have caught a commuter flight to Boca Raton.
Crowds? Maybe.
Crowded—easy to blend in? Yes… Why two o’clock? Was the answer the same? Everyone would be coming back from lunch—crowds.
Why the Southeast Financial Center? Any place in Miami during midday was crowded. Why here? Was there an office in the center
Wellmen owned?
No, even if he owned the whole damned thing, that wasn’t it. The point was that John Wellmen didn’t own office space here,
because if he did they would just conduct business in a private office somewhere and if they were going to do that, why not
in Boca Raton? No, Jessica wasn’t a team player. She was a wild card.
Scott thought back to the drive from the motel. What had he seen? What had he been looking for—a ninety-five-story building.
He chuckled. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Whoever was coming didn’t know Miami but knew how to find a tall building—just
look up. But why come to a crowded place in a city you’re not familiar with and to a place where you have no control?
He thought about this for a moment. The answer seemed suddenly clear, obvious—Ms. Wellmen wasn’t just a wild card, she was
holding the cards. She had something they wanted and she knew she was in control.
His question became: Was she in danger because of that and what would they do to get what they wanted?
Around quarter to two a taxicab pulled up to the curb. He looked on impatiently. Taxies had been coming and going all day
and more so since noon. He saw high heels first, a flash of stockings, and as the woman moved away from the cab, black slacks,
white blouse and a black business jacket. The woman was wearing sunglasses, and her brown hair was in a tight bun. He looked
back down at the Miami Herald .
The front page was pretty grim:
CHILLED FINANCIAL MARKETS
FAIL TO WEATHER STORM:
CRISIS IN MAKING
But the accompanying article showed no one was really paying attention and the hustle and bustle at the Southeast Financial
Center only backed this up. It was as if no one noticed that global financial networks were without a pulse during the outages—as
if the financial storm would all blow over after the New Year. But he wasn’t as optimistic as those around him. He remembered
the crash of October 1987, the dizzying fall of September 2001, and everything that followed.
For fifteen seconds the world had been without a pulse. And in those few precious seconds, billions of dollars of market capitalization
disappeared. Anyone playing heavy in the short end of the market came out richer. Anyone playing heavy in the long end of
the market came out poorer. Couple the damage. Topple corporations. Make and unmake multibillionaires.
How do you attack democracy and win? How do you take control and keep it? How do you overcome immeasurable odds and survive?
It wasn’t by stockpiling nuclear weapons. It wasn’t by dropping bombs. It wasn’t through acts of terror. It was through the
one thing that fuels economies and drives our world.
Even Fidel Castro’s Cuba couldn’t survive without it and this fact burns deep in hearts and minds. Marx had his communist
doctrines, Lenin his socialist doctrines.
in rush hour, but they were meeting at two. Obviously she wanted to arrive fresh, and maybe she didn’t want to worry about
being late—or early. If that were the case, she’d come by cab, he knew it. He had only to pick the right vantage point to
see her arrival.
As he walked around the financial center, he started thinking. Why Miami, why not just meet in Boca Raton? Why two o’clock?
Why the Southeast Financial Center? It seemed the answer was so obvious that he was overlooking it because it had to be right
there in front of him.
He stopped walking, looked at the people around him, then asked himself again. Why Miami, why not Boca Raton? Was it Miami
International? But that wasn’t enough, whoever Ms.
Wellmen was meeting could have caught a commuter flight to Boca Raton.
Crowds? Maybe.
Crowded—easy to blend in? Yes… Why two o’clock? Was the answer the same? Everyone would be coming back from lunch—crowds.
Why the Southeast Financial Center? Any place in Miami during midday was crowded. Why here? Was there an office in the center
Wellmen owned?
No, even if he owned the whole damned thing, that wasn’t it. The point was that John Wellmen didn’t own office space here,
because if he did they would just conduct business in a private office somewhere and if they were going to do that, why not
in Boca Raton? No, Jessica wasn’t a team player. She was a wild card.
Scott thought back to the drive from the motel. What had he seen? What had he been looking for—a ninety-five-story building.
He chuckled. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Whoever was coming didn’t know Miami but knew how to find a tall building—just
look up. But why come to a crowded place in a city you’re not familiar with and to a place where you have no control?
He thought about this for a moment. The answer seemed suddenly clear, obvious—Ms. Wellmen wasn’t just a wild card, she was
holding the cards. She had something they wanted and she knew she was in control.
His question became: Was she in danger because of that and what would they do to get what they wanted?
Around quarter to two a taxicab pulled up to the curb. He looked on impatiently. Taxies had been coming and going all day
and more so since noon. He saw high heels first, a flash of stockings, and as the woman moved away from the cab, black slacks,
white blouse and a black business jacket. The woman was wearing sunglasses, and her brown hair was in a tight bun. He looked
back down at the Miami Herald .
The front page was pretty grim:
CHILLED FINANCIAL MARKETS
FAIL TO WEATHER STORM:
CRISIS IN MAKING
But the accompanying article showed no one was really paying attention and the hustle and bustle at the Southeast Financial
Center only backed this up. It was as if no one noticed that global financial networks were without a pulse during the outages—as
if the financial storm would all blow over after the New Year. But he wasn’t as optimistic as those around him. He remembered
the crash of October 1987, the dizzying fall of September 2001, and everything that followed.
For fifteen seconds the world had been without a pulse. And in those few precious seconds, billions of dollars of market capitalization
disappeared. Anyone playing heavy in the short end of the market came out richer. Anyone playing heavy in the long end of
the market came out poorer. Couple the damage. Topple corporations. Make and unmake multibillionaires.
How do you attack democracy and win? How do you take control and keep it? How do you overcome immeasurable odds and survive?
It wasn’t by stockpiling nuclear weapons. It wasn’t by dropping bombs. It wasn’t through acts of terror. It was through the
one thing that fuels economies and drives our world.
Even Fidel Castro’s Cuba couldn’t survive without it and this fact burns deep in hearts and minds. Marx had his communist
doctrines, Lenin his socialist doctrines.