Chapter 6: The Man With the Globe
He was exactly where he said he'd be.
Late forties, unremarkable suit, the Boston Globe folded open to the business section.
He had the look of someone who had spent twenty years being invisible in rooms full of important people and had learned to use it.
I sat down across from him without a greeting.
"Who are you?" I said.
"My name is Paul Greer." He didn't offer his hand.
"I was Gerald Holt's personal assistant for nine years.
Until three weeks ago."
"He let you go."
"He found out I'd been keeping records." Greer set the newspaper on the table between us.
"Of certain conversations.
Certain instructions he gave me."
"What kind of instructions?"
Greer looked at me steadily.
"The kind that would end his position at Meridian.
And possibly his marriage.
And depending on how a prosecutor looked at it, possibly more than that."
I waited.
"Holt has been feeding confidential information about your Coastal bid to Meridian's deal team for four months," Greer said.
"Not guesses.
Not analysis.
Actual figures from inside your company."
"I know.
I traced it to an internal memo last night."
Greer nodded slowly.
"Then you know there's a leak."
"I know there's a leak.
I don't know who."
"I do." He reached into his jacket and placed a folded document on the table.
"Three months ago, Gerald Holt met with a woman named Sandra Reeves at a restaurant in Midtown.
I booked the reservation under a false name.
He told me it was a routine industry dinner.
I believed him the first time."
I looked at the document.
I didn't pick it up yet.
"And the second time?" I said.
"The second time he asked me to wire a payment.
Forty thousand dollars.
To an account he gave me verbally.
He told me it was a consulting fee for a research firm." Greer's jaw tightened slightly.
"I processed it.
I shouldn't have.
But I processed it."
"And you kept the wire record."
"I kept everything." He pushed the document closer.
"The restaurant booking.
The wire confirmation.
A voice memo from a call where he told me to make sure the payment couldn't be traced back to him directly.
He didn't know I recorded it."
I picked up the document.
Unfolded it.
Read the first page.
The restaurant booking was dated eleven weeks ago.
The name on the reservation was a shell — but the credit card used to hold it was Gerald Holt's personal Amex.
The wire confirmation showed forty thousand dollars moving to an account in Sandra Reeves's name.
I set the document down.
"Why are you bringing this to me?" I said.
"Because he fired me and threatened to destroy my professional reputation if I talked." Greer's voice didn't waver.
"I spent nine years making his life run smoothly.
I covered things I shouldn't have covered.
When he decided I was a liability, he didn't even make the call himself.
He had his lawyer do it."
"So this is personal."
"It's personal and it's right.
Both things can be true."
I looked at him for a moment.
He met my eyes without flinching.
"I need to verify all of this independently," I said.
"I expected that.
I have digital copies of everything.
I'll send them to whoever you designate within the hour."
"And what do you want in return?"
"Nothing." He picked up the Globe and folded it under his arm.
"I want him to face what he did.
That's all I want."
He stood up.
"Mr.
Greer," I said.
He paused.
"Sandra Reeves has been with my company for seven years.
She built the Coastal deal."
Greer looked at me with something that wasn't quite pity.
"I know.
I'm sorry."
He walked out through the lobby doors without looking back.
I sat with the document on the table in front of me.
My phone was already in my hand.
I didn't call Grace.
Not yet.
I sat for another full minute, because some information needs a moment before it becomes action.
Sandra Reeves had been in my office two days ago.
She'd walked me through the final Coastal timeline.
She'd pointed at numbers on a screen and told me we were in good shape.
I thought about her face when she said it.
I hadn't seen anything.
That was the part that stayed with me as I finally dialed Grace's number.
Not the betrayal itself.
The fact that I hadn't seen it.
Grace answered on the first ring.
"I need you to pull Sandra Reeves's access logs," I said.
"Everything she touched in the last four months.
And I need it before the Holt meeting."
A pause.
"Marcus.
Is it Sandra?"
May you like
"Pull the logs," I said.
"Then we'll know."
