Julia took Todd with her back to her office in case Dammerman came after her. She was frightened of not only what he was capable of doing to her but of the entire plan and her involvement with it.
When she thanked her IT tech and dismissed him, she got on her cell phone and searched for the number of the reporter Betty Ladd had told her about.
A man answered on the third ring. “What is it?” he demanded. He sounded drunk.
“Mr. Wren, I’m Julia O’Connell, and I’m trying to find out about Reid Treadwell. I think that he’s mixed up in something that concerns me. You were the journalist who wrote an exposé on him.”
“Treadwell? He cost me my job, my career, my marriage, my kids, everything. Now I live in a tiny shithole above a Chinese restaurant. Me and a few dozen roaches. He and his pal Clyde Dammerman framed me for insider trading. Said I was front-running a merger announcement. Hell, I never even owned a share of stock, but they faked records to show I was lying. So I served time.”
“I’d like to see the material you gathered on him.”
“I know who you are. You work for him at Burnham Pike. Why’d he put you up to this? Hasn’t he already screwed me enough?”
“Yes, I work for him, and he’d be angry to learn I called you. But I’m leaving the firm, and I have to know what I’m dealing with.”
“Even if you’re telling the truth, who cares? He got a court order to seize all my material, and now it’s under permanent seal somewhere. They even threatened my publisher with a multibillion-dollar lawsuit, and the coward caved, even though my proof was solid. The paper ran a retraction, took the story off the web, and fired me.”
“I managed to dig up a copy. Your story documented how Treadwell framed Ted Partridge, his rival for a big job at BP, and the man went to jail for front-running, the same as you. And your story seemed solid to me.”
“So what do you need from me?”
“I want to know if you came up with anything else.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. The guy is smooth and classy on the outside, but it’s only a cover. In fact, he’s nothing more than a sociopath. No empathy for anyone. All he cares about are his good name and his career. I found out that when he was a kid—for fun, mind you—he used to blow up frogs with firecrackers. And in college he framed a professor who was bringing cheating charges against him. His climb up the path to success is littered with enough bodies to put Macbeth to shame.”
He disconnected, and Julia sat back with the single thought that she was next on Treadwell’s list.