The Last Hedge by Carey Green Read Free Book Online

setting up his workstation and the programs that he was to use, Dylan looked in his mailbox and found several new messages, all with the subject of Welcome! He clicked on each item successfully.
    From: Intransigence
    To: Dylan Cash
    Subject: Welcome!
    New to the hedge fund game? Ever wonder why bad things happen to good people? So do I! You might die working for your present employers. So stay tuned for the latest news on fraud and general larceny.
    There was a link at the bottom of the email, and Dylan clicked on it. It took him to the site: www.bop.gov, the website of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, complete with a working inmate locator. He deleted the email messages by dragging it to the trash can on the screen. Surely it was one of his old buddies playing a joke, typical of the immature Wall Street crowd. At least it wasn’t pornographic. Dylan laughed if off as a first day prank. Nothing could touch him in at that moment. After all, he was employed again.

Chapter 6
     
    The desk groaned under the weight of paperwork and files yet to be digested. Behind the desk sat Dan Highland, struggling to make coherence out of the mounds in front of him. At times it seemed a good thing that his office had no windows. If it did, he often thought, his progress in culling his workload would be less than it already was. He pushed the papers aside as he stared at his screen. Using the laser printer, he printed a document and placed it on his desk to examine it.
    Highland was in his late fifties, with a marine crew cut graying at the sides, his powerful chest attached to fit and conditioned legs. Charles Atlas would have been impressed. He was wearing a short-sleeve shirt that might have been popular during the Eisenhower administration. Despite his appearance, Dan was one of the funniest men in the Bureau. He looked up when Conroy entered.
    If the Army had created an advertisement for casual wear, Tim Conroy would have been the man in the photo. He was a cop incarnate: square jaw, muscular build, and dark hair, always cropped short. His build had gone a little soft. With two kids in school, his only workout was on the rifle range, and a few pounds of soft paunch had settled around his middle. He was stocky without being overweight, though he struck you immediately as someone who you would rather not mess with.
    “Hey, Dan,” Conroy said.
    “Timmy, you got that twenty you owe me?”
    “I forgot my wallet.”
    “Asshole!”
    Highland was the consummate sports pool organizer, toiling season after season through baseball, basketball, and football. It was his badge of honor. Conroy did not follow sports and always seemed to be a season behind in his payments of vig. Conroy took a seat across from Dan as he flopped his notebook onto Dan’s desk. Dan leaned back in his chair with a wide smile.
    “How’s the wife and kids?” Dan asked. “Suzy still playing violin?”
    “Still.”
    “Johnny? How is baseball?”
    “Struck out six just yesterday.”
    “Good,” Dan said with a smile, “Glad to hear it.” Dan always asked about the family.
    From the beginning, Dan Highland had been one of Conroy’s main sponsors, helping him bridge the gap from corporate securities law to the culture of the FBI. It had not been easy. Conroy had not been used to the cliques and procedural formality that were the hallmark of the Bureau. Though Highland was his boss and primary contact, Conroy also considered him a friend.
    “So what you got for me?”
    “I got this,” Highland said, as he smoothed out the piece of paper on his desk. “Dylan Cash.”
    “Sounds like a movie, or at least a T.V. show.”
    “I know,” Highland said with a laugh, “doesn’t it?”
    “Who is he?” Conroy asked.
    “He’s a trader; supposedly one of the best on Wall Street.”
    “Then why are we looking at him?”
    “An interesting question.” Highland leaned back in his chair. “I just printed out this document from the S.E.C. database.” He pushed the piece