Read Online The Last Trade by James Conway - Free Book Online Page A

part by stopping by the crime scene on Michaud’s behalf. She asked all the right questions and looked at all the pertinent evidence. She’s here, she decides, because right now everywhere else is worse.
    As soon as Sobieski sees the lawyers, whom she expected, albeit not four of them, as well as Lau’s boss Emily Cheng, she knows that Mo was correct, that the interview will reveal nothing of substance. She might not be a homicide detective, but she knows her way around the paranoid halls of a multinational bank well enough to see that no financial institution is about to open up its records simply to find the killer of one of its entirely dispensable employees. If it were money and not a life that was lost, it would be different. But for this, they won’t even let them go up to Lau’s floor to take a look at his workstation. Instead they’re sequestered in an executive conference room and given tea in fine china cups, and repeatedly told that they will receive “the bank’s full cooperation” while, repeatedly, their requests are denied.
    â€œWas Lau happy?” Mo asks.
    â€œPatrick was a very happy young man,” answers Cheng.
    â€œHad you noticed anything different in his performance . . . any incident with a coworker or trouble with a client?”
    â€œNot at all.”
    Then, Sobieski asks, “Was he having a good year?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œI know the markets have been inching up, and I was wondering if, you know, performance-wise, he was having a good year.”
    Cheng glances at corporate legal suit number two before answering, “I’m afraid that’s confidential bank information.”
    Mo asks, “Have you ever been to Patrick Lau’s apartment?”
    Cheng shakes her head. “I heard it was nice. Overlooking the harbor, correct? But Patrick and I did not socialize.”
    Sobieski glances at Mo, but he has nothing else to ask. Regardless, she presses on. “What about today? Was there any conversation or transaction or client interaction that involved Patrick Lau, your direct report, that seemed at all unusual?”
    Cheng’s eyes narrow as she considers Sobieski the inquisitor. Before Cheng can answer, legal suit number three speaks up. “Excuse me, but is this a U.S. government issue, Miss . . . Sobieski? Because as much as we’d like to . . . I don’t see why or how . . .”
    Sobieski waves off the attorney and stands. No problem. Not my business. Just wanted to let you know that I know you’re stonewalling. “Just one last question, Miss Cheng: Do you know of anything that happened today that would have compelled Patrick Lau to want to celebrate tonight, a Monday?”
    Rather than look at one of her four attorneys or at Sobieski, Cheng looks down at the conference table as she answers. “No. As I’ve said, Patrick Lau is one of approximately fifty traders whom I oversee, and I make it a point to have little to no knowledge of any of their personal affairs.”
    * * *
    As soon as they’re back on the street, she mentions Cheng’s downward glance. “She knows something.”
    â€œAbout the murder? Maybe, but if anything, it tells me they made some serious money there today. How they made it, how much, and with whom, that’s anyone’s guess.”
    â€œI wonder where she made her dinner reservations.”
    They stand looking back up at the massive glass-and-steel tower of the bank as if it can provide answers.
    Finally, Mo says, “This is what I expected from them—a wall. And exactly why I called Michaud, because if we’re to find anything, it’s going to come back channel. I know it’s really not the business of your organization, but if anyone—”
    She cuts him off before something is said that could get either of them in trouble, not that Mo seems to care. She decides, when she gets