Do the Math
They call ahead and are told that both Pat and Bob Gussin are still in their headquarters office and are happy to talk to them.
She automatically likes the little town.
It’s not unlike Malogen, with its shops and signs about holiday concerts and friendly faces wandering around.
Granted, Franklin proper is ten times the size of Malogen, but this small, welcoming downtown, with its holiday cheer and luminous glow, is much like her own.
TGG’s headquarters are housed just off Main Street in a gracious two-story brick mansion that was clearly once a private home.
There are four wide neoclassical columns reaching up to a second-floor pediment with a railing, and coffered moldings along the facade.
There is a plaque to the right of the door designating it as a historical building—known as the Adams House, it dates back to before the Civil War.
They are abutted by law offices on either side, also housed in former antebellum homes.
Drake catches her eye. “Nice digs.”
“Not exactly what you’d expect for a financial conglomerate.”
“They like to be comfortable. I mean, you saw the house. It’s even bigger than this.”
“Yeah, but that was contemporary, almost Frank Lloyd Wright–esque. The is neoclassic with Greek Revival touches. Much more appropriate to the Southern milieu. Complete opposite. Unless you want to assume they’re going for clean lines, then a case could be made that the two buildings have a similar nature. ”
“Way to geek out on me, T-Lee.” Drake smiles. “Let’s go interrogate their architectural taste.”
“I wish that’s all we were talking about,” she grumbles.
Inside, the building’s decor fits the exterior. Oversize oil paintings of sailing ships at war and cracked portraits of unknown historical figures in old-fashioned clothing reside on oak-paneled walls. Thick carpets and discreet lighting give it a hushed air.
An admin meets them at the front desk and escorts them into the back of the building.
In a large office with a double-sided partners desk, Patricia and Robert Gussin sit facing one another.
There are multiple monitors on each side of the desk, and the walls are covered with large flat-screen televisions, each tuned to a different financial channel.
Neither gets up, but Bob waves them in.
“Hello, hello. Thank you for coming to us again.”
“Happy to,” Theresa says, approaching Patricia. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
The woman gives her a forced smile. “Terrible circumstances. We’re heartbroken about Brooklyn.
She’s been through so much. For her to be hit with all of this, and to find out Trey has been stealing from us on top of it .
. .” She sighs. “It’s just such a shame.
She’s gotten her life so on track, and now this. ”
Theresa and Drake take chairs across from the desk. The angle is awkward, but the Gussins twist to face them. “Her life was off track?” Theresa asks, sinking into the buttery leather.
“Well, the situation with her father, then losing the job after Roger Bandolier died, and of course, she ran off to Mexico, and we all were so worried. She went off the grid entirely for a few months, then showed up pregnant and married. Despite the rocky start, everything seemed to be going well. And then Trey messed it all up for everyone. You haven’t found him, I take it? ”
“Not yet, but we are looking.” Drake leans forward. “We’d like to talk about the situation with Brooklyn’s father, Roman Thomas. Want to walk us through their relationship?”
“Oh, Roman.” Pat waves a hand dismissively. “I doubt it’s relevant.”
“It’s rather embarrassing, actually,” Bob says. “Roman and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye about how an honorable life should be led.”
“You’re talking about the drug charges,” Theresa says. “I imagine having a brother in prison for trafficking could hurt your firm’s reputation.”
“Well, we don’t have it listed in our pitch, but TGG is better positioned than you might think. We’ve weathered worse storms than Roman’s screwups. Trey stealing all the money? That is a whole different ball of wax.”
“I’m sure. Has Roman ever been a part of the company?”
Pat swallows a sneer. “Oh, no. No, no, he’s not the kind of person we like to have on staff.”
“Understandable,” Theresa says. “Since we’re here, I have a few more questions about the business. Do you have insurance on the funds?”
“We can’t insure the clients’ funds, so to speak, because as a VC company, risk is inherent in what we do.
But we do have several levels of liability insurance for the officers and partners, a VCAP policy—venture capital asset protection—and a specific crime-fidelity bond to protect the firm itself against just this type of fraud.
Once it’s proven with a forensic accounting investigation—that’s what your people are doing, Agent Sheehan—we pay out our deductible and will be reimbursed to the maximum of the policy. ”
Drake taps his finger on the desk. “So if he stole $40 million, how much of that can you get back?”
“All of it. Minus our $1 million deductible.”
“That’s good news, right? You don’t seem thrilled.”
“It’s going to take a while to work through the entire operation and prove the losses.
It could be years before we’re made whole.
Assuming we don’t find Trey and where he’s stashed the money first. But yes, once all of this is finished, the company will survive.
We’re having to use our own private funds to keep things afloat in the meantime.
And that’s strapped us completely. We don’t carry cash in our portfolios.
Everything must be liquidated and done properly so we don’t incur massive losses. It takes time.”
Theresa’s eyes are glazing over. Financial crimes are complicated. But Drake is leaning forward, completely engaged.
“So, hypothetically, what’s stopping you from disappearing all of your funds, claiming an employee embezzled them, activating your VCAP insurance, getting made whole, then quietly realizing the money isn’t gone and you’ve doubled your asset base?”
Patricia doesn’t like that one. “Are you insinuating we’ve engineered this somehow?”
“Of course not. I’m trying to understand how all of this works. I’m not in forensic accounting, but I do have a bank account. It seems this kind of external private funding is ripe for abuse. Not saying you’ve done it, just asking if it could happen.”
“Well, naturally, insurance fraud is a major problem in the US. We are not doing that. Trey stole from the company, plain and simple. When we realized it, we came to you to try and find the funds. We haven’t even put in for the loss coverage yet, because we believe in the FBI and its ability to do its job. ” Pat Gussin smiles pointedly.
“Sure. Sure. That’s all well and good,” Drake says. “But we have to think like a criminal to catch a criminal. Why would Trey steal from you? What does he have to gain by taking $40 million and going on the run? Can he spend it easily without you noticing?”
Bob nods. “Okay, playing your hypothetical, it depends on how he transfers the capital. Does he use it to buy diamonds, say, which are easily moved, very portable, and hold their value well? Or does he keep it in the crypto market and make gains that way, taking bits of it out as needed? I don’t know. ”
“And there was absolutely no tie-in to your brother Roman and his drug busts?” Drake asks.
“I can’t imagine that to be the case. Though my brother and I don’t talk much anymore, Agent Sheehan, I do know he’s been straight for years now.”
“Six years. He got out six years ago.”
“That’s correct. Married a lovely woman, and they own a small boutique in Fort Lauderdale. He’s out of that world.”
“Hmm.” Drake crosses his legs and leans back in the short leather chair. “And how does Brooklyn tie in to all of this? Do you think she knew what Trey was up to? You said he was systematically stealing for several years.”
“Brooklyn has been very busy with the children. I don’t think she knew, and if she did, well, that would be unfortunate. She is rather furious with us for turning Trey over to the FBI. She won’t let us see the kids, told us to stay away.”
“Can’t blame her for that,” Theresa says. “She loves her husband.”
Pat shakes her well-coiffed head. “We love her and Margot like they’re our own. Her rejection hurts terribly.”
“I bet. Did Trey ever discuss his first wife with you?” Drake asks. “Chloe Barrow? She was murdered eleven years ago.”
Pat and Bob exchange a marital glance. Theresa can practically hear it—“We always knew there was something more . . .”
“Goodness, no. That’s horrible news. Just horrible. Who did it?”
“Well, Trey has always been the primary suspect.” Theresa watches them closely.
“That’s such a strange coincidence. Brooklyn’s serious boyfriend was also killed eleven years ago. But she doesn’t talk about that to anyone.”
“What was his name?”
“Alex something? We never knew his last name, did we, dear?” Pat asks.
“Hmm . . . no, I don’t recall that we did. It was around the time her situation with Roger Bandolier went south, though. Poor lamb. She was devastated by his loss.”
Theresa is now on full alert. “Bandolier? Or the boyfriend?”
“Well, both, of course. To have the deaths happen so close together, the same day—to lose her job, the accusations . . . It was terrible for her.”
“What accusations?”
Patricia tucks a shock of hair behind her right ear and shakes her head. “Bandolier was a drug addict. Brooklyn’s father was a drug runner. You do the math.”
Theresa is very much doing the math.
So is Drake. “Is this just hearsay? Or was there an active investigation?”
“You’d have to talk to the French about that. We really don’t know any more.” Bob pointedly looks at his watch. “So sorry to have to run you off . . . but we have another meeting to attend.”
“One last thing,” Theresa says, pulling out her iPad. “Have you ever seen this man before? His name is Aleksey Durov.”
She has the screen homed in on Durov’s face from the Red Notice.
Both Gussins look at the photo, and she watches for any sign of recognition. Both shake their heads.
“No idea?” Theresa prompts.
“No, Detective,” Pat says. “No idea.”
“Are we in danger?” Bob asks. “Do we need security?”
Theresa half shrugs. “I’m not going to say no, sir. I would hate to tell you everything is fine and have something happen. This man is wanted overseas, and we know he’s here in the US. I would take every precaution.”
They all stand, and Bob walks them to the office door. “Thank you for your candor. If there’s anything else we can do, please don’t hesitate. We just want Trey brought in safely. We love him, too.”
In the car, Drake and Theresa converse quietly, deciding their next steps.
Drake looks up the Bandolier case. “Bandolier died on a shoot in Thiviers, France. The autopsy showed his coke was laced with fentanyl.” He raises a brow.
“Knowing what we know about this Durov character, I’m going to take a leap here.
Extrapolating from Gussin’s insinuation .
. . Think it’s possible Brooklyn Locke gave her boss some bad junk? ”
“Anything about her dad being involved with fentanyl?”
“Half that shit is laced with something. Anything’s possible.”
“And Brooklyn’s boyfriend’s name was Alex something. Think it could be Aleksey Durov?”
“Yeah. I do.”
They sit in silence for a minute.
“I want to talk to Roman Thomas myself,” he says.
“And I want to talk to Brooklyn about her time in France,” Theresa replies.
“Take a run at her, see if I can scare something loose. Divide and conquer? You could drop me off at her house, it’s only a few blocks away.
I can meet you afterward somewhere. Someone from the security team can drive me, or I can grab an Uber. ”
“That sounds good.”
He starts the car and pulls away from the curb. The charming historical houses continue down the block, mansion after mansion, giving way to smaller but no less elegant saltboxes as they turn into the Lockes’ neighborhood.
Theresa looks over at him. “Is it my imagination, or did the Gussins push us hard in this direction?”
He swipes a hand across his hair. “It is not your imagination. After I talk to Roman, I’ll do some more digging into their statements. Something feels off, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she says, watching a young couple push a double stroller across the intersection ahead. “Yes, it does. They always have a convenient answer, don’t they?”
Drake stops the car at the light. He reaches over and takes her hand. She feels like a teenager, sitting there, holding hands with her boyfriend. And suddenly, she doesn’t want to break the connection. She lost him once before. She doesn’t want that to happen again.
“You know what? My gut says we go run this down first.”
“Stick together?”
“Safety in numbers.”
“You think we’re getting played?”
The light turns green. Theresa gently moves her thumb over his fingers. “Just in case.”