The Last Thing He Told Me, Laura Dave [graded readers txt] 📗

business. But their privacy software, the game changer Avett was touting, wasn’t functional yet, right? They couldn’t start selling it. But it was far enough along that they could do demos for potential large buyers. Tech firms, law offices, that sort of thing. And then when those companies showed interest, they put it down as a future sale. Max says it’s not dissimilar to what Enron did. They declared they were making all kinds of money on future sales, to keep the stock price rising.”

I’m starting to understand where she’s driving.

“And to buy themselves some more time to fix the problem?” I say.

“Exactly. Avett wagered that the contingent future sales would turn into actual sales as soon as the software was functional. They were using the faux-financials as a stopgap to keep the stock nice and healthy, until the software was fixed,” she says. “Except they got caught before they got it there.”

“And there’s the fraud?” I say.

“And there’s the fraud,” she says. “Max says it’s massive. Stockholders will lose half a billion dollars.”

Half a billion dollars. I try to wrap my head around that. It’s the least of it, but we are large shareholders. Owen wanted to put his faith in the place he worked, in the software he was working on. So when the company went public he held on to all of his stock options. He even purchased more stock. How much were we going to lose? Most of our savings? Why would he put us in the position to lose so much if he knew anything bad was going on? Why would Owen invest our savings, our future, in a faulty operation?

It gives me hope that he didn’t.

“So if Owen invested in The Shop, that must mean that he didn’t know, right?”

“Maybe…” she says.

“That doesn’t sound like maybe.”

“Well there’s also the possibility he did what Avett did. That he bought the stock to help inflate the value with the idea that he’d sell before anyone found out.”

“Does that sound like Owen to you?” I say.

“None of this sounds like Owen to me,” she says.

Then she shrugs. And I hear the rest—what’s rattling around in her mind, what’s rattling around in mine: Owen is the chief coder. How could he not know that Avett was inflating the value of the software that he was working on, the software that wasn’t yet working? If anyone would know, wouldn’t it have to be him?

“Max did say that the FBI thinks most of the senior staff were either in on it, or complicit in looking the other way. Everyone thought they could fix the glitch before anyone caught on. Apparently, they were close. If not for this one tip to the SEC, they might have pulled it off.”

“Who tipped them off?”

“No idea. But that’s why the raid. They wanted to shut it all down before Avett disappeared. With the two hundred and sixty million dollars’ worth of stock he’s quietly been off-loading…” She pauses. “For months now.”

“Holy crap,” I say.

“Yep. Anyway, Max found out ahead of time. About the raid. So the FBI cut a deal with him. If he agreed not to break the story before they went in, they’d give him a two-hour lead on the raid. The Chronicle beat everyone. The Times. CNN. NBC. Fox. He was so proud of himself that he had to tell me. And I don’t know… My first instinct was to call Owen. Well, my first instinct was to call you, but I couldn’t reach you. So then I called Owen.”

“To warn him?”

“Yes,” she says. “To warn him.”

“Why are you feeling badly about that? Because he ran?” I say.

It’s the first time I have said it out loud. The obvious truth. And yet saying it out loud makes me feel better somehow. At least it’s honest. Owen ran. He is running. He isn’t, just simply, gone.

Jules nods and I swallow hard, fight back against the tears rising up.

“That’s not on you,” I say. “You could have lost your job warning him. You were trying to help. How on earth would I be mad at you for that? I’m just mad at Owen.” I pause, considering that. “I’m not even exactly mad at Owen. I’m more numb. And just trying to figure out what he’s possibly thinking. How he thinks this isn’t bad for him, to take off like this.”

“What have you come up with?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe he is trying to exonerate himself? But why not do that from here? Get a lawyer. Let the system clear you…” I say. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, you know? I’m missing what kind of help he is looking for.”

She squeezes my hand, tightly, gives me a smile. But she doesn’t look at all like we are on the same page, which is when I realize she isn’t telling me whatever it is that is beneath that look. She isn’t saying the worst of it.

“I know that look,” I say.

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she says.

“Tell me, Jules.”

“The thing is, and I can’t believe it myself exactly, but he wasn’t surprised,” she says. “He wasn’t surprised when I told him about the raid.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I learned this early on from my father. Sources can’t hide it when they know something. They forget to ask the obvious questions they’d want to know, if they were as in the dark as you were. Like, the questions you just asked me about what exactly happened…”

I stare at her, waiting for the rest, as something starts shifting in my head. I look through the glass at Bailey. She is lying against Bobby’s chest, her hand on his stomach, her eyes closed.

Protect her.

“The thing is, if Owen didn’t know anything about the fraud, he would have wanted more information from me. He would have needed a lot more information about what was going on at The Shop. He’d have said something like, Slow down, Jules. Who do they think is guilty?