With her own mounting and potentially all-consuming problems— with the SEC, her clients, and Sarah Guzman—Stenman thought nothing of Peter. He wasn’t even a blip on her radar screen, and would stay that way for the foreseeable future. He was the forgotten man, and that was what he hoped to remain.
On the personal side of the ledger, Peter originally had intended to keep the story of Jason Ayers and his father to himself. It was one of those things, he had thought, better left buried in the past. But with all that had occurred, he understood he had to tell Kate.
“Our fathers were best friends and roommates in college,” Peter began, during the first chance he dared be alone with Kate. He told her everything he had learned. That her father had a gambling problem in college, bet on games, got in over his head, couldn’t repay his bookies. “His career was going to be ruined before it began. If exposed, he could never have gotten into law school, much less become a lawyer.”
“This is about a gambling debt, forty years ago? That’s what brought on all this misery?” Kate asked.
“Your father was in a jam, and kept doubling up on his bets. Then he said something that changed everybody’s lives. He told his bookie that his best friend was Matthew Neil, star wide-receiver. If it became necessary, he said, he could ask my father to help with a bet.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Point shaving. Jason intimated he could get my dad to drop a few passes, keep his team from covering the point-spread on a game. He hoped the boast would buy him time. But New York money, interested in betting on a sure thing, told him to put up or shut up. He approached Dad.”
“And your father agreed?”
“Dad said no. Jason then told him that the bets were already down, that his own reputation and life were on the line. Dad never admitted anything, not even to your father, but he dropped two passes in the end zone that Saturday. Had he made either catch, the point-spread would have been covered. The school quietly investigated, but with no money changing hands, they cleared Dad.”
“He saved Father, then.”
“Jason told me he was certain that those dropped passes were the reason Dad never turned pro—shame and concern that one day he’d be asked to help fix another game.”
“That’s awful, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“So was Jason, all those years. That’s why he was always trying to make it up.”
“All he did was make things worse, though,” Kate said. “Why did our fathers have a falling out later?”
“While my father was failing financially, Jason was becoming a supersuccessful attorney, with loads of money. One night, when all of you came to our house for dinner, Jason, who knew of Dad’s financial problems, tried to give him a check for fifty thousand dollars. Dad threw him out of the house and never spoke to him again.”
“Why? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you knew Dad. He had given up his professional football dream for the sake of a close and important friendship, but never even spoke of it. When Jason later offered him money, he trivialized my father’s sacrifice, or so my Dad thought. He would never have done what he did for money.”
“I think I understand,” Kate said.
“Then try and understand your father as well. Jason lost a son. Always felt my dad’s cancer was the result of anxiety and guilt that he had caused. Then, when Guzman and Nuñoz murdered Mom, he fell apart. He began drinking and became afraid he’d lose you and your mother. I’m not saying he was faultless. He wasn’t, but he had reasons for what he did, and his demons were very real. That’s why he planned his own death. Aiming a starter’s pistol at a known killer amounted to suicide.”
“He did that to protect Mother and me, didn’t he?”
The way she asked the question made it seem rhetorical, which it was. She knew. Peter nodded anyway. “I’m certain of it. He understood that if he were dead, there’d be no advantage in anyone going after you or your mother. He couldn’t have predicted Sarah Guzman’s murder or that Carlos Nuñoz would disappear and end up in the middle of nowhere with nobody caring about his civil rights.”
A moment passed as they held hands and digested what they’d shared. For the next ten minutes, they sat and spoke of related matters while Peter gathered courage. “Kate,” he finally said, softly.
“Yes?”
“Your father told me you broke off your engagement. He also said I needed to work at regaining your trust. I want to. I’d like us to start over, and this time, I’ll get it right. I’m not saying I won’t make mistakes. I will. What I’m saying is I won’t make the same ones all over again.”
Kate took Peter’s hand and squeezed. “More than friends?” she asked.
“Definitely,” Peter answered. This time they shared a meaning.
They kissed, then spoke for another minute. In mid-sentence, Kate interrupted herself: “How stupid of me. I almost forgot.” She reached into her purse. “A present for you.”
“A present? From you?”
“No. From the DA.”
“You mean Hanson? I’m afraid of what it’s going to be. After all, he was ready to personally punch my ticket.”
“He’s not such a bad guy, Peter.” Kate tried to keep a straight-face, but her mouth twitched and stretched into a grin. She then completely gave in and laughed. It was a short laugh, but healthy and real. “He’s got a good heart and he had a lot of reasons to doubt you. Hard to blame him. Here.” Her face glowed with anticipation.
She held out her hand and opened her palm, one finger at a time. When she had completed the dramatic unveiling, Peter couldn’t contain his surprise. Or delight. “My moonstone. I can’t believe he gave it back. Wasn’t it booked into evidence?”
“He owed you, and they didn’t need it to make their case. I told you, Hanson isn’t such a bad guy.”
“Tell him I said thanks.” Peter took the small oval and enveloped it in his fist. But, for the first time he could remember, he did not feel the need to rub it. He slipped the gem into his pant pocket, where the slight weight and heft again felt natural.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
Kate nodded.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is natural that the headlines we read focus on people who abuse investors — that’s what sells newspapers and jacks up TV ratings. It is also natural that a novel like Man in the Middle contains its share of fictionalized bad apples — that helps sell books and moves the story along.
It is also a truism that evil people abound in the financial markets. I’ve seen them, been in the same rooms with them, fought trading battles with them (won some but lost a lot, too), and watched, sometimes in awe, at their criminal aplomb. Sad but true, they got away with it in 99 percent of the cases.
I can now say it: My Street experience brought me plenty of good with the bad. It was filled with friends and acquaintances who did their jobs the right way, plugging away, day after day, year in and year out, fighting the fight with the rulebook tucked tightly under their arms. Many of these individuals deserve recognition for the example they set, and the friendship and inspiration they provided me — then and now.
This is also a chance to encourage their email contact. Ten years is a long time to neglect friends and those whom I held in high esteem for so long. My dropping out was one thing, but a decade of no-contact is far too long. (I encourage contact through my new webpage at www.financialthriller.com.)
First, my belated thanks to those who worked with me and whose memory I continue to carry in my heart: