Chapter 8: What Grace Found
Grace Okafor had been a securities attorney for nineteen years, and she had the particular quality of very good lawyers — she never sounded surprised.
She met me and Daniel at her office on Sunday morning, a cardboard coffee cup at her elbow and a yellow legal pad in front of her, and she listened to everything without interrupting once.
When we finished, she wrote two words on the pad.
Then she turned it to face us.
*Obstruction.
Tampering.*
"The SEC referral was already sufficient for a civil enforcement action," she said.
"Wire fraud, falsified audit reports, misappropriation of company funds.
That's a significant case on its own." She tapped the pad.
"But if Marcus contacted a potential witness and attempted to coerce a false statement, that is a separate federal matter.
And it is considerably more serious."
"Can they prove he made the call?" Daniel asked.
"Petra Alderman has her father's phone.
The call is logged.
Duration, timestamp, originating number." Grace picked up her pen.
"I spoke with her last night.
Her father is prepared to cooperate.
He's retained his own counsel, and they've already been in contact with the enforcement division." She paused.
"He's also prepared to provide a full account of the original Alderman fund structure and Marcus's involvement in adapting it."
I looked at Daniel.
"Marcus thought he was silencing a witness," I said.
"He was," Grace said.
"He just called the wrong one."
She set the pen down and folded her hands.
"I want to be honest with you both about what comes next," she said.
"This process will be slow.
Federal investigations move at their own pace.
Marcus will have excellent legal representation and he will use every available mechanism to delay and complicate.
There will be moments — probably many of them — where it looks like nothing is happening.
Where it feels like he's going to find a way through." She looked at me directly.
"He won't.
But I want you to be prepared for the distance."
"How long?" I asked.
"To a formal charge?
Possibly a year.
To a resolution?
Longer."
I nodded.
"And in the meantime," Daniel said, "he's still out there."
"He is.
But he is no longer in the building." Grace allowed herself a small, precise smile.
"The board formalized the leadership transition on Friday.
His access to company systems was revoked at close of business.
His parking space has already been reassigned." She looked at me.
"Your appointment as acting director of strategic oversight is effective Monday.
The full successor designation will follow the audit completion."
I hadn't known about Monday.
"I thought the formal appointment was still weeks away," I said.
"The board moved it forward.
They felt, given the circumstances, that a clear signal was warranted." She picked up her coffee.
"Marcus will hear about it.
He may attempt to make contact.
If he does, you refer him to me.
You do not speak with him directly.
You do not respond to messages.
You do not accept calls from numbers you don't recognize."
"He already tried through Bray," I said.
"I know.
Bray is a good attorney.
He will advise Marcus to stop making unforced errors." A pause.
"Marcus may not listen."
She was right.
Three days later, he didn't listen.
I came out of the building after my first day in the new role — tired, cautiously glad, carrying more files than I should have tried to manage alone — and Marcus was standing on the pavement outside.
No Bray.
No Vivienne.
Just him, in a coat I recognized, looking smaller than I remembered.
"I just want to talk," he said.
I shifted the files in my arms.
"You need to call Grace Okafor," I said.
"You have her number."
"Rebecca—"
"Marcus." I met his eyes.
"I'm not angry at you anymore.
I want you to know that.
But I cannot speak with you.
And you standing here is going to cause you a great deal of additional trouble that your attorney will not thank you for."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Did you ever think," he said quietly, "that I didn't know?
About Alderman.
About what it would become.
That I was in it before I understood what it was?"
It was the closest thing to a confession I had ever heard from him.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you understood exactly what it was by the time you replaced my documents.
And I think you made a choice." I paused.
"Call Grace."
May you like
I walked to the car.
He didn't follow.
