Free The Insider by Stephen Frey Page A

avoiding Oliver’s question.
    “All of them?”
    “All of them,” Vogel confirmed. “Particularly Torcelli.”
    “But there’s no way we can get caught,” Oliver protested. “There’s no money trail. It’s perfect.” He sniffed loudly several times in quick succession. “Besides, we can’t stop. You know that.”
    “We can do anything we want.” Vogel hesitated. “It might be time to cash in.”
    “What?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you saying—”
    “You know exactly what I’m saying.”
    Oliver’s jaw clenched involuntarily. “You’ve gone off the deep end this time, Tony. Way off.”
    “We think this would be a neat way to wrap up the whole affair and get our money out at the same time. This way we cut all ties and cover our tracks.”
    “Give me the envelope, Tony.” Oliver patted Vogel on the shoulder, then snatched the envelope. “Why don’t you go down to the Oak Bar and have a drink on me? A nice stiff one.”
    “Oliver, I—”
    “You what?” Oliver’s temper suddenly careened out of control. “You fucking what?” he exploded.
    Vogel realized he’d pushed too far. “I—I mean we—”
    “You little bastard.”
    “Look, I’m sorry.” Vogel’s tone turned deferential, then apologetic. “We’re looking out for our best interests. And yours.”
    Oliver snorted. “You and the others go behind my back, make a bunch of unilateral decisions, and expect me to fold like a pup tent and go along. I’m the one taking the monster risks. I’m the one dealing with the pressure.” He was talking quickly, like a man possessed. “I set the whole thing up. You four are simply along for the ride. You don’t make the decisions. I do.”
    “We provide the information,” Vogel protested.
    “Big deal. I could replicate the system with four other people in less than a week.” Oliver smiled. “And where would that leave you, Tony?” His smile faded. “Nowhere. That’s where.” He tilted his head back. “Or maybe you’d take me out, too.”
    Vogel held his hands up, palms out. “Never, Oliver.”
    “Shit, you wouldn’t even know how to go about it.” Oliver laughed. “Why should I worry? All four of you are from lily-white backgrounds. Where are you going to get the guts to commit murder?”
    “I don’t know.” Vogel’s head dropped down.
    “Exactly.” Oliver shook his head. “Get out of here right now and I might be willing to forget we had this conversation.”
    Vogel swallowed. He was well aware that Oliver wasn’t going to take this well. But he had been instructed to make the sentiments clear. “The others aren’t going to be happy, especially Torcelli.”
    “You tell the others to call me,” Oliver said evenly. “Especially Torcelli.”
    Vogel glanced at the white powder spread out across the glass-topped coffee table in four six-inch lines. “Okay.”
    “Good.” Oliver opened the suite door and gestured toward the hallway. “Don’t let the door smack you in the ass on the way out. And keep your head down. Don’t look anyone straight in the eye.”
    “I was just the messenger, Oliver,” Vogel mumbled as he darted through the doorway. “Please remember that.”
    Oliver slammed the door, then moved to the couch in front of the coffee table, put the envelope down, picked up a short red straw, leaned over, and inhaled the powder. After finishing the first line, he paused for a breath. When he had finished the second one, he dropped the straw on the coffee table and leaned back slowly until his head came to rest against the couch. He sat there for a few moments until he began to feel the familiar nasal drip at the back of his throat and the medicinal taste in his mouth. Then he shut his eyes, groaned softly, and smiled as euphoric sensations of supreme power, absolute control, and total confidence overtook him. He was a man who controlled vast amounts of money and had many people at his whim, and he loved it. He was bulletproof. He was untouchable.
    Oliver