Chapter 37

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Just when Michael thinks the day—the week—can’t get any worse, he turns on the local news.

The anchor reads the copy in a somber tone. “The Academy community is mourning a series of tragedies today. Last night, the home of the school’s headmaster, Leslie Pendleton, caught fire, killing the fifty-eight-year-old head of the elite private school. Officials initially deemed the fire suspicious, but the fire inspector has since reevaluated the scene and designated it an electrical fire. The incident has sent shock waves through the school community. Now, we have reports of another tragedy: Two Academy students were found unconscious. Both were rushed to the emergency room, where they died of what sources say appears to be a fentanyl overdose.”

Taylor appears in the kitchen, and Michael scrambles to turn off the television. But she’s holding her phone—which undoubtedly has blown up with texts delivering the same news. Her knees give.

Michael races over to her on the kitchen floor.

“Dylan’s gone. So is Gabrielle.” She sobs uncontrollably. Gabrielle is Dylan’s girlfriend, another one of Taylor’s friend group. Another from the Anthony O’Leary video.

Michael helps Taylor off the floor and guides her to a chair. He tells her to take deep breaths. That everything is going to be all right. It’s a long time before she stops sobbing, appears to regain control. He has her drink some water, gives her some Advil PM to help her sleep, then guides her back to bed. They were supposed to go to Anthony O’Leary’s funeral today, but he decided against it.

The chime of his phone nearly makes him jump. But it’s the name on the caller ID that causes a noticeable shake in his hands: Shane O’Leary.

He grips the phone as it chimes for the third time. Michael steadies himself and swipes the device. “Mr. O’Leary,” he says. He keeps his tone steady, tries to sound normal.

“Michael, how are you?”

“Fine, sir. I’m so sorry we missed the service. I don’t know if you saw, but there have been tragedies at the Academy, and my daughter’s been upset and—”

“I understand, Michael. I’m calling about something else.”

Michael feels the acid crawling up his throat. O’Leary didn’t ask the natural question What tragedies?

“So I need you to run some transactions,” O’Leary says. “You got a pen?”

“Yes, absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

O’Leary hesitates. “It seems my companies have been infiltrated by a corporate spy. I need to move some assets to make sure they’re secure.”

Translation: O’Leary thinks there’s a rat—someone talking to the Feds. He wants to hide his money somewhere else.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Especially with all you’re going through. What do you need?”

“Write down these account numbers.” O’Leary lists eighteen accounts. Michael recognizes them as Swiss bank configurations. O’Leary wants him to move all of his money to these new accounts.

“This is a lot of movement and high amounts,” Michael advises him. “It’s going to take a little time to do this so there are no inaccuracies.” In other words, so it won’t raise red flags with regulators.

“Whatever you gotta do. My wife and I are headed out of town for a few days. I’d really like it done before we return.”

“Will do.”

The line goes dead.

Michael stands staring at nothing, thinking. The call was unnerving. One, if there’s someone talking to the Feds about O’Leary and his accounts, it could implicate Michael. Two, and more troubling, O’Leary wants his money transferred to accounts that Michael doesn’t control. That means he has someone else helping him manage his funds. Someone to maintain the accounts in the event something happens to Michael…