12. Griffin #2
“I…Thank you for telling me this,” I say, trying to sound calm while my entire financial future collapses around me. “Please keep me updated on the investigation.”
Bruderlin and Showalter exchange a look that makes my stomach clench.
“Actually, Mr. McGregor,” Bruderlin says carefully. “We were hoping for more than just your acknowledgment. We need your assistance.”
I blink. “ My assistance? I’m just a hockey player,” I protest. “I don’t know anything about offshore accounts or shell companies.”
They’re either giving me too much credit or not enough, depending on how you look at it.
“That’s precisely why you’re valuable to us,” Showalter says, leaning forward.
“What could I possibly do that the Federal Intelligence Service can’t?”
“We believe you may be the best way to infiltrate his inner circle,” Bruderlin says. “Chase trusts you. You have access he doesn’t give to just anyone.”
“What…what exactly would you need from me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Information, primarily,” Bruderlin says. “Your relationship with Chase, details about his interactions with the team, any patterns you might have noticed in his behavior or business practices.”
“And your discretion,” Showalter adds firmly. “This investigation is ongoing, and we’d prefer Mr. Chase remain unaware of our interest in his activities.”
“Malcolm Chase is hosting a black-tie event in Zermatt this weekend,” Agent Showalter explains. “It’s an exclusive gathering for his select investors and business associates.”
“And since you’ve invested in his stock,” Bruderlin continues, “your presence at this event would not raise any suspicions.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Are you asking me to spy on Malcolm Chase? At a fancy party in Zermatt?”
“You’re the closest significant stockholder in proximity to Zermatt,” Showalter says, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. “You’re a practical choice to infiltrate the party and gather intelligence.”
I stare at them, waiting for the punchline. When none comes, I let out a short, nervous laugh.
“Is this a joke? Am I being pranked right now?” I look around for hidden cameras. “Did Sven put you up to this? Because this has his sense of humor written all over it.”
“This is not a joke, Mr. McGregor,” Bruderlin says with the patience of someone working for the Department of Motor Vehicles.
“So you’re seriously asking me to be…what? Your secret agent?” I can’t help the excitement creeping into my voice. “Like James Bond? Because I have to tell you, I look damn good in a tux.”
Showalter’s expression remains impassive. “We’re asking you to attend an event you’d reasonably be invited to anyway and keep your eyes and ears open.”
I laugh nervously. “Wait, you’re serious? You want me to spy on Malcolm Chase? At a fancy party?”
“We wouldn’t characterize it as spying ,” Bruderlin says, looking mildly offended. “Think of it as…assisting an investigation.”
“By spying,” I counter.
Showalter sighs. “By observing and reporting back. Nothing more.”
“Why don’t you just send in your actual spies?” I ask. “You know, people who are trained for this kind of thing?”
“There will be FIS presence at the event,” Bruderlin assures me. “But you won’t know who they are.”
“We believe Malcolm Chase won’t think twice about seeing you there,” Showalter adds. “He might even be open to discussing additional business opportunities with you, which could provide valuable intelligence.”
“So I’d be like a hockey player by day, secret agent by night?”
I immediately picture myself in a tuxedo, ordering martinis shaken not stirred. McGregor. Griffin McGregor. License to spy. I’m not entirely sure if I’m joking anymore.
Bruderlin sighs. “Mr. McGregor, this is a serious matter. Hundreds of millions of euros are at stake, including your own investment.”
I sit back in my chair, trying to wrap my head around this surreal conversation. Here I thought the biggest crisis in my life was watching Anika fall for someone else, and now I’m being recruited for an undercover operation by the Swiss intelligence service.
“What exactly would I have to do?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Attend the event. Mingle. Listen. Observe who Malcolm speaks with, what they discuss. Note anyone who seems particularly close to him or who might be handling financial matters,” Bruderlin explains.
A slight thrill runs through me. “Do I get spy glasses with a tiny camera and a watch with a laser beam?”
Bruderlin’s expression suggests he’s reconsidering his life choices. “No, Mr. McGregor. This isn’t a film.”
“Right, of course not,” I say, trying to sound serious despite the adrenaline now coursing through my veins. “But you do understand that I’m a hockey player, not a spy? My idea of stealth is trying to sneak an extra dessert past our nutritionist.”
“We’re aware of your occupation,” Showalter says dryly. “That’s precisely why you’re perfect for this. No one would suspect you.”
I consider the proposition. On one hand, it’s absolutely insane. On the other hand…Well, it’s still insane, but it’s also kind of exciting. Plus, if Malcolm really has stolen millions from my teammates, I want to help take him down.
“What about the team?” I ask. “We have games this weekend.”
“We’ve already spoken with your coach,” Bruderlin says. “As far as anyone knows, you’ve been selected for a special NHL European ambassador event in Zermatt. Your absence has been cleared.”
Of course they’ve thought of everything. These guys are professionals.
“So,” I say. “If I agree to this—and I’m not saying I am yet—what happens after the party? Do I just go back to normal life? Pretend none of this happened?”
“If all goes according to plan, yes.” Bruderlin nods. “Though we may need your testimony later if the case goes to court.”
As the agents begin to outline the details, I can’t help but wonder what Anika would think of all this. At the very least, it would make for a better story than “I spent three hours at the gym trying not to think about you.”
Plus, I’d get to wear a tuxedo and infiltrate a fancy party in Zermatt. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to living out my James Bond fantasies.
I’m suddenly struck by a thought that should’ve occurred to me immediately.
“Wait. Is this dangerous? I mean, if Malcolm is running some massive financial scam and I start poking around…”
Bruderlin holds up a reassuring hand. “Mr. McGregor, your safety is our priority. We’ll have several agents at the event, keeping eyes on you at all times.”
“That’s…comforting, I guess?”
“From a discreet distance, of course,” Showalter adds. “They’ll monitor the situation without compromising your cover.”
“So basically, I’ll have my own security detail, but they’ll be invisible?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around all this.
“Precisely,” Bruderlin confirms. “They’ll be circulating throughout the party as guests, staff, security personnel. All positioned to intervene if necessary.”
“You won’t even know who they are,” Showalter adds. “But they’ll be ready to act if necessary.”
I nod slowly, processing this information. Then another thought hits me, and I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips. I promised Anika I’d take her somewhere fancy, where she could dress up.
“Before I agree to any of this, what about a date?” I ask. “Would I be allowed to bring someone with me?”
Both agents look momentarily thrown by the question.
“A date?” Showalter repeats, as if I’ve just suggested bringing a pet rhinoceros.
“Yeah, you know. Wouldn’t it look suspicious if I showed up alone to something like this?”
The agents exchange glances. Bruderlin’s brow furrows. “We hadn’t accounted for that variable.”
“Most of these guys bring dates to these things, right?” I press. “It would seem weird if I didn’t have someone on my arm.”
Showalter looks skeptical. “The fewer people involved, the better.”
“But consider this,” I say, channeling every negotiation tactic I’ve ever used with coaches. “Having a date gives me a natural reason to move around the room, introduces me to different social groups, and provides cover for conversations.”
The agents share another one of those silent communication glances.
“Who did you have in mind?” Bruderlin asks cautiously.
“Just…” I clear my throat. “Just a friend. She’s been wanting to dress up and go somewhere swanky. This would be perfect.”
“Is this ‘friend’ someone we should be concerned about?” Showalter asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“No, no. She’s just…someone I know.” Someone I’m hopelessly falling for while helping her pursue another man. But I keep that part to myself.
The agents step aside for a moment, conferring in hushed German that I can’t quite catch.
After what feels like an eternity, they return to the table.
“We will permit you to bring a date,” Bruderlin says, his tone making it clear this is a concession. “But we will run a thorough background check. If anything raises red flags, you go alone.”
“Understood.”
“This person must be completely trustworthy and discreet. They cannot know the true nature of your attendance.”
“Absolutely.” I nod vigorously. “She’s the soul of discretion.”
Showalter interjects, his tone stern, “As far as she’s concerned, this is simply a high-end party you’ve been invited to as a team investor.”
“You got it,” I agree quickly, trying not to look too eager. “She won’t suspect a thing. She’ll just think it’s a fancy date.”
A date with Anika. An actual, proper date! Even if she doesn’t know that’s what it is. Even if she’s still hung up on Thomas. Even if I’m technically working as an undercover agent for the Swiss intelligence service.
Yeesh, my life has taken a strange turn.
“So we have an agreement?” Bruderlin asks, extending his hand across the table.
I look at his outstretched palm, considering one last time what I’m getting myself into.
“I guess I’m in,” I say, extending my hand. “Agent McGregor, reporting for duty.”
Bruderlin slides a small card across the table. “This has the details of the event. We’ll be in touch with more specific instructions.”
I pick up the card, feeling the weight of it and what it represents in my fingers.
“So I guess I’m officially a spy now, huh?” I can’t resist saying it out loud.
“You are a concerned civilian assisting with an investigation,” Bruderlin corrects me firmly. “Not a spy.”
“Right, got it. Concerned civilian. Not a spy.” I give them a wink that I immediately regret when their expressions remain deadly serious.
“We’ll be in contact soon,” Showalter says, gathering his documents. “Remember, absolute discretion is essential.”
I give them two thumbs-up as they file out of the room. They’re probably already regretting coming to recruit me in the first place.
Welp. Too late now. Move over Sean Connery.