Espresso machines steamed and hissed, the clinking of ceramic mugs competing in volume with the cacophony of voices in the busy coffee shop. The morning rush was at its peak, the mayhem of post-dawn New York City swirling around an unperturbed Danny Lawrence. He sat at his usual small high top table in the eye of the storm, calmly sipping his cappuccino and reading the Times.
No matter what else was on his docket, Danny’s mornings always began with this ritual. The frantic bustle was oddly calming, as the pandemonium in no way affected him. He also appreciated anonymity in the chaos, which was further supported by his “every man” look of jeans and a simple button-up shirt.
Danny’s reading was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. He grimaced as he read the text, not only from the content, but because it meant an end to his solitude. He gathered up his paper and briefcase, nodding a swift goodbye to the barista as he placed his mug in the receptacle on the counter and headed for the door.
Even at this early hour, it was easy to tell today was going to be another hot one. With a long stretch of consistently hot May days, the city didn’t have a chance to cool down overnight, leaving the streets smelling acrid and humid, which did nothing to improve Danny’s mood after having his morning cut short. A warm breeze blew scattered trash across the gutter and up onto the sidewalk, tangling briefly with his sneakers as he walked toward the office.
Texting as he walked uptown, Danny responded to the message he received, letting the sender know he was on his way. Within a few minutes he walked into The Cole Building, where he worked as the in-house lawyer for Frank Cole’s real estate development company. While this was the flagship building in the Cole empire, it was but one of several they owned in Manhattan alone.
Taking the elevator to the 40th floor, he stepped off into the beautifully decorated foyer. Smelling of fresh orchids and old money, the opulence is immediately apparent, from the marble flooring and Eames lounge chairs to the moonlighting-as-a-model receptionist. These trappings were a business necessity. To be perceived as successful, one had to look...nay, scream the part.
Striding to his office, Danny found Nevill Jackson waiting for him. In a company as sizable as Frank Cole’s, it was prudent to not only have attorneys on staff, but to employ one's own investigators. Nevill was one of their best, not only when dealing with lawsuits and the ramifications of questionable business practices, but also to keep ahead of any potential issues that might affect the company. The latter is what brought him to Danny’s office on this particular morning.
Nevill stood as Danny walked into the room.
“Good morning,” Danny said as he took a seat behind his desk. He gestured to a chair, inviting Nevill to take a seat.
“Morning, Mr. Cole,” Nevill replied.
“Let’s get right to it,” Danny began. “From your text this morning, I gather you discovered a problem with several of our ongoing projects.”
Nevill nodded. “As you know, I have contacts in various departments across the city. One of them reported a noticeable increase in one person’s activity at the city planner’s office. Apparently Kirsty Anderson, a judicial intern for Judge Clinton, has been requesting contract details on a number of our projects, including specifics on the negotiations, other bidders and the names of those involved in the discussions. Once I started looking into it, I found out she’s filed a couple Freedom of Information Act requests as well.”
“Do you know which projects specifically she’s been investigating?” Danny asked.
Nevill reached across the desk, handing Danny a list with several names on it.
“So many? Ok. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Nevill nodded, rose and left the office.
Danny sat, pondering briefly before he started emailing several project leaders, telling them to send him all their information regarding the bidding on various contracts and which companies had been used to place the bids. Frank Cole’s dynasty was the parent company for a plethora of smaller, boutique firms and shell corporations, some used only to shuffle money, bankrupt in the case of massive lawsuits or disappear altogether when under too close of scrutiny.
While Danny waited for their replies, he pushed a button on his desk that made the glass walls surrounding him turn opaque. He swiveled his chair, rising to slide a painting of Central Park aside, revealing a small safe. The combination was the date of his divorce, chosen as a reminder to never again put himself in such a vulnerable position.
Once it was open, he shuffled under some loose pages and pulled out a small black notebook. Inside, carefully coded to prevent anyone else from deciphering the content, was a list of projects, elected officials and how much the real estate developer had paid each to win a bid. He took the list Nevill gave him and placed numbers next to each project, corresponding with which official they’d provided financial incentive to choose their proposal. A couple names appeared multiple times, as did several of Cole’s construction companies.
Email responses began to trickle in. Danny scanned the details of each, adding to his notes on Nevill’s list. Fortunately two of the companies Kirsty Anderson had made inquiries about were no longer in business, having to close abruptly due to “financial difficulties.” When that happened, all official records were conveniently lost when they moved out of their temporary workspaces. None of the other enterprises or main players overlapped ventures, limiting the connections one could draw between them. There were a few foremen who worked on multiple sites, but they just did the work and weren’t involved in contract negotiations.
Danny breathed a little easier. From what he could tell, nothing led directly back to them. The officials were compensated from offshore accounts managed by the entities in charge of the individual contracts, which were several layers removed from the main Cole conglomerate itself. It would take a fair bit digging for anyone to even figure out some of these particular companies even had ties with The Cole Group.
After replacing the notebook in the wall safe, Danny called up to the 45th floor. Frank’s secretary, Alice, answered the phone.
“The Cole Group, Frank Cole’s office. Alice speaking.”
“Good morning, Alice. It’s Danny. Is Frank in?
“Yes, but Mr. Cole is on a call.”
“Would you let him know I’m on my way up? It’s important that I speak with him.”
“Certainly. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”
“Thank you, Alice. See you in a minute.”
Armed with his research, Frank walked back to the elevator, grabbing a lemon poppyseed muffin from the generous spread laid out daily in the reception area. The bell dinged and he rode up five floors to Frank Cole’s main office.
Highly polished wood paneling adorned the walls, giving the vestibule to the executive suite a lavish atmosphere. Alice also lent the space a refine air, with her perfectly quaffed blonde hair, conservative skirt suit and librarian glasses.
“Good morning, Mr. Lawrence,” Alice said as he disembarked the elevator. “He’s ready for you.”
“Thank you, Alice,” Danny replied, setting the muffin on her desk as he walked by and toward Frank Cole’s office. He rapped on the door once out of courtesy and strode into the office without waiting.
With an impressive 180 view of the city, Frank Cole’s office was designed to impress. With a more minimal style than one would expect, everything screamed expense and was specifically designed to draw one’s eyes to Frank’s desk and his empire - the city - behind him.
Frank rose as Danny entered the room, walking around to the front of his desk. He was a few inches taller than Danny and, while his Armani suits lent an impressive air to his person, his obvious enjoyment of sumptuous fare was also apparent by his comfortable and well fed physique.
“Good morning, Frank,” Danny said.
“Morning, Danny,” he replied, shaking his hand in a friendly greeting.
“Do you have a minute?” Danny asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing Frank’s desk.
“Certainly. I assume it’s important, given the early hour,” Frank replied, leaning back to half sit against his desk.
Danny shared the details of his meeting with Nevill and the result of his inquiries that followed. Frank shifted uncomfortably, interrupting to ask questions throughout Danny’s account. Once he finished, Frank sat down in the chair opposite, sighing audibly as he settled in.
“The important question is, how worried should we be?”
“Not much at all,” Danny reassured him. “While there’s always a chance that someone we...reimbursed for their assistance has a twinge of conscience and feels the need to unburden themselves, none of it ties directly back to us. We planned ahead for this eventuality, layering companies on companies, creating an endless quagmire to prevent anything untoward leading back to The Cole Company.”
Frank nodded. While among the business community his shady dealings were a poorly kept secret and served as a means to bolster his reputation as a ruthless operator, he had always been meticulously discreet on paper.
“Good. Good. Well, I’d say have Nevill keep an eye on the Anderseon woman so we can be prepared for any eventuality. Not that some intern is likely to get the best of me. But “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail,” he quipped, quoting H.K. Williams.
Danny nodded and rose, shaking Frank’s hand before walking out. He noticed as he passed Alice’s desk that the muffin sat undisturbed. As he rode the elevator back down to his office, he couldn’t help but wonder if her dismissal of his attentions were personal or a general integrity, which was relatively foreign within the walls of this modern temple to industry and progress.
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