Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance Read online

  She’s probably just like the rest of the good ones and has a boyfriend.

  Why are all the good ones taken?

  Chapter THREE

  Cynthia

  I’m working with this major geek who has this incredible start-up that will allow baby boomers to stay in their homes longer and have independence without a human caregiver. I want him to allow us to be the sole investor in his company, but he’s playing me a bit.

  He wants a date. I don’t date clients, or potential clients.

  “Jon, I understand this is your baby. I’d love to introduce you to Cameron Newhouse.”

  “Maybe you can talk me into it over dinner and drinks?”

  “I’m happy to set up dinner with Cameron. As SHN’s technology partner, you can share with him your technology challenges and concerns about our being the sole investors in your company.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of it being just you and me, again. Maybe at my place this time?”

  This happens sometimes, and I need to put the brakes on it. I’m not interested in him beyond a professional relationship. Only one other time did I have to ask Dillon to step in and take over a deal when the owner was too aggressive. It doesn’t look good for me professionally, and I don’t want to let it happen again.

  I don’t notice our receptionist, Constance, has entered my office until she hands me a note. “The FBI’s here to talk to you. I put them in the big conference room.”

  I nod at her and begin to wrap up my call. “Jon, you’re quite the flirt. We’ve had dinner and drinks, but you need to start meeting our big guns around here. Think about when you would be available. I can bring our managing partner, Mason Sullivan, and we can all meet at one time. Check your calendar, and I’ll do the same and call you back tomorrow.”

  “All right. I’ll keep you posted.” I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

  “Jon, I have a wonderful friend from college who I’d love to introduce you to. She’s a pediatrician and lives not too far from you. I think you both would like each other.” There’re more men than women in the Bay Area, but they’re either gay or so awkward and shy that it’s difficult for nice women to meet a decent guy. I don’t mind making the introduction. I saw Priscilla last week, and she confided that she was hoping to meet someone.

  I end the call and reread the note about the FBI being in the conference room. Before I walk in and meet with the G-men, I call my lawyer. I knew this day was coming when nine months ago, they closed the venture capital firm I worked for after I anonymously reported the Russian government was most likely involved. Through my lawyer, I answered a few questions, but as far as I was concerned, I did my patriotic duty, turning them in and moving on.

  When they closed my firm, I needed to find something else. I had some money, but given my role with the company was in business development, I received payments based on sales, and if the money wasn’t on the up-and-up, they needed to check. In the meantime, most of my savings were tied up in frozen accounts until they figured everything out.

  I knew CeCe from grad school, and when I started networking, she referred me to SHN and they hired me. I loved them from the start. They had a different model that works well, and they are very profitable because of it. I lost most of my savings with the FBI closure, so I was lucky I had enough money to buy into the partnership because it wasn’t cheap.

  “Hello, Marci Peterson please. Please let her know Cynthia Hathaway’s calling.”

  “I’m sorry, she’s in with a client. May I take a message?”

  My stomach drops. I knew this was a likely scenario, but I still hoped. “Yes, please. She shared this might happen, and I’m supposed to ask you to walk in and tell her the FBI’s here in my offices to most likely interview me about BrightStar.”

  “I’ll alert her right away. She should be there in about an hour.” She doesn’t pause, remaining calm and efficient, and our call ends. Knowing Marci will be here shortly is a relief, but I’m in no hurry to meet with this morning’s intruders.

  I rise, gathering my courage, and walk into Mason’s office. He’s meeting with Dillon, another founding partner. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to alert you that the FBI’s here to interview me regarding BrightStar Investments. It has nothing to do with SHN. I’ve called my lawyer, and she should be here in about an hour tops.”

  Nothing ever stresses Mason out. He picks up his phone and calls Sara, our corporate attorney. “Sara, do you have a minute? We need you in here quickly.”

  Our offices are made of glass, and I follow her path as she swiftly comes in and join us. I also see the FBI agents watching everything going on. The joy of all-glass offices—living in a fishbowl, we call it. But it also means the rest of the office is watching what’s going on and getting curious, and it makes me nervous.

  Sara walks in and asks, “What’s up?”

  Mason looks at me and nods.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I currently know. Less than a year ago, I went out for drinks after work with my managing partner, Ethan Sommers. He had too much to drink and let it spill that some of our investments might be coming from a foreign entity that was not on the up-and-up. I did my research internally and believed my suspicions were correct. Then I went to a lawyer and laid everything out to her, and she helped me report it to the FBI. Those two men in the big conference room are with the FBI, and they’re here to meet with me. They did not call ahead, so I’m not optimistic. And frankly I’m pissed that they showed up unannounced and knowing I’d be without my lawyer. However, my lawyer and I prepared for this, and I’ve contacted her. She should be on her way here as we speak. I apologize in advance about the turmoil this may cause the firm.”

  Sara begins to pepper me with questions.

  After I answer her, and a few questions from Mason, it’s agreed that Sara will accompany me into the conference room.

  We decide we’re going to make them wait and go get drinks in the break room.

  “Thank you for doing this,” I tell her.

  “Not a problem. I was already impressed with you, but knowing what a sacrifice it was to turn in your old company, that’s huge.”

  After taking our sweet time, we finally walk into the conference room. The two men stand and each extend a hand. “Hello, Miss Hathaway. My name’s Chandler Woods, and this is Jack Baron. We’re with the FBI, and we were hoping to ask you a few questions.” It doesn’t slip by me that they dropped the fact that they’re agents. Just because they’ve given me their first names doesn’t mean I’ll open up to them and be friendly.

  “Hello.” I shake their hands. “This is our company attorney, Sara White Arnault. She will remain until my own attorney arrives.”

  “We understand.” He studies me closely. “We saw you talking to a few people.”

  We take seats on the opposite side of the table from them. “Glass will do that.”

  “Yes. What did you tell them?”

  “Only that the reason you’re here is not related to SHN but to Brightstar Investments.”

  “Why did you feel the need to tell them?”

  “You announced to our receptionist that you were with the FBI, and I don’t know if you noticed, but essentially every eye in our office is on us at this moment. There’s some rampant speculation going on, and I felt it was appropriate to assure the managing partner and a founding partner that our conversation is unrelated to work going on here. Call it self-preservation.”

  “I see. So you know why we’re here.”

  “Yes. I’m sure you’ve figured out that I was the person who reported the malfeasance in BrightStar.”

  He sits back and smiles.

  “Had you called either my attorney or myself, I would’ve been happy to meet you at her offices or yours, and we could’ve kept this among ourselves. Your coming here was predicted by my attorney to intimidate me. I only knew what was happening at BrightStar for less than five days—the five days it took me to confirm what was said to
me and to reach out to you.”

  “Miss Hathaway, why did you choose to report it anonymously?”

  Sara interjects, “Agent Woods, I suspect you have many questions, but until Miss Hathaway’s attorney arrives, she won’t be answering any of them. Now, we have almost every kind of drink you might like. While we wait, what can I get for you?”

  They both ask for Cokes, and Sara picks up the phone in the conference room and calls the front desk. “Constance, can you please bring two Cokes into the large conference room, along with glasses of ice.”

  She glances up at them and smiles. What a smooth move. I’m impressed. They were obviously hoping they’d get me alone to pepper me with questions, but Sara curtailed them expertly.

  We sit in silence and wait until Constance arrives with a tray and drinks. The entire office seems to be watching us. I’m embarrassed.

  I watch my lawyer arrive through all the glass, and Constance shows her to the conference room. Marci’s all grace as she extends her hand. “Marci Peterson.” Turning to Sara, she states, “Thank you for making sure our government friends here kept the promise not to interview my client without my being present.”

  Sara stands to leave. “Of course. What would you like to drink? I’ll get it for you.”

  She smiles sweetly, knowing the stall irritates the agents. “A bottle of water, please.”

  Turning to the agents, Sara asks, “Gentlemen, anything else to drink? Maybe a snack?”

  They shake their heads, obviously anxious to ask their questions or share what they’ve come to share.

  “Gentlemen, I told you when you were ready to meet with my client, we would be happy to come in. Did you really need to make a scene in her workplace?”

  “Some information came to light today that we want to pass along,” Agent Baron informs us.

  “Okay, still not sure why you couldn’t have called me. Please tell us what’s so urgent.”

  “Well, through our contacts, we’ve learned the party in question has figured out your client’s level of participation, and we thought she might like to be aware of that,” Agent Woods shares.

  “What exactly does that mean, fellas?”

  Sitting up, Agent Baron emphasizes, “It seems like Ethan has told his lawyer that you shared with him what was going on, not the other way around, and therefore he’s innocent of any wrongdoing.”

  I want to pound my hand on the table and yell, “That’s a lie,” but Marci warned me they might try to bait me and scare me into doing foolish things.

  “I see. What’s his proof in this allegation?”

  “They’ve produced some documents, though from what you provided us, we believe them to be false. However, it does show us the party in question is aware of your belief in their involvement and they most likely know you were the one to report it to us.”

  My stomach drops. The Russian government knows about me? Didn’t they poison a bunch of people around the world for working against their interests?

  Taking notes, Marci looks up and urges, “Please go on.”

  “We’d like to offer you witness protection,” he says.

  Before I can answer, Marci snorts. “Do you think she’s stupid? That would be putting a bull’s-eye on her back.”

  “We don’t agree. We have a safe house down in South San Francisco where she can stay out of sight.”

  Shaking her head, she replies, “That won’t be happening. You already indicated that you have someone embedded in their organization, and I’m sure they have someone in yours.”

  “They do not have anyone in our organization.” He seems exasperated but not surprised. “Okay, fine. We’d like to have the sit-down we were promised months ago.”

  “We’re waiting for you to ask nicely.” Marci gives him a plastic smile with her eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

  He looks at us expectantly.

  Marci repeats, “I said, we’re waiting for you to ask nicely.”

  “We can arrest your client,” Agent Baron stresses.

  “And I can call the TV news stations.” She pauses so what she’s saying can sink in. “What would you like to do?”

  Agent Baron’s quick to cut in. “Miss Hathaway, would you be willing to come into our office and answer a few questions?”

  I nod.

  “Tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.?”

  “We’ll be there at ten,” Marci interjects.

  When they get up to leave, Agent Baron turns to me and, in a condescending voice, says, “Miss Hathaway, you’re pivotal in a criminal conspiracy. We appreciate you having the courage to speak with us.”

  “Stop trying to scare her,” Marci scoffs. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  They walk out of the conference room, and every eye in our office is bugging out and watching. They have no idea what was said, but they believe I’m in some kind of trouble.

  Marci reaches for my hand. “You did great.”

  “Do you think I’m in danger?”

  “Not yet, and if we play our cards right, you won’t be.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “I have everything at my office.” She glances at her phone. “It’s after three thirty. Wrap up here and let’s meet at my office at five thirty. I’ll order us some dinner, and we’ll prepare for tomorrow.”

  I nod.

  She stands to leave, and I don’t get up. My mind is buzzing.

  What the fuck did I do? Why did I get involved in this mess?

  “It’ll be okay.” Marci squeezes my shoulder, then leaves me sitting in the conference room, looking out at Treasure Island.

  Mason peers at me through the glass and I shake my head; he stops in his tracks, retreating to his own office. I gather the glasses and take them to the kitchen, then walk into Mason’s office.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, eyes concerned.

  “I will be. Tomorrow morning I’ll meet with them at their office, and they’ll ask their questions. I’ll head to my attorney’s office after work tonight and we’ll prepare.”

  “What can we do to help?”

  “I hope nothing. I hope they meet with me and send me on my way.”

  “What’s on your calendar for tomorrow?”

  “I have a luncheon with Women in Technology, which I can miss. I was going to call Jon over at Caring to schedule a meeting with Cameron and make another call with Frederick of DribbleDabble to convince him to pass on going out for bid and letting us invest in him instead.”

  “Those both would be fantastic wins.”

  “They both would be perfect for our portfolio. I have a long list of phone calls to return, so I’ll work on that before I go.”

  “Sounds great. Don’t worry about us, just concentrate on what you need to put this all behind you. We’ll support you however we can.”

  “Thanks, Mason.”

  I return to my office and shake off the impending dread that’s filling me like a black hole, trying to concentrate on my work instead. Time passes quickly, and I’m surprised when I glance at the clock and it’s after 5:00 p.m. Packing up my computer, I head downstairs to my waiting rideshare.

  As we drive, I look at the city. The gray buildings, the eclectic people, and the buzz that emanates from the sidewalks of a place to make your own way. I visited here when I was twelve years old on a Girl Scout trip, and I knew then that I wanted to live here and nowhere else. It was exciting, and I hated Dallas, mostly because I hated my mother and all her “volunteer activities.”

  When I arrive, her offices are almost empty, but in the conference room, she’s set up tuna poke bowls for us for dinner. I look at her with my brow lifted.

  “It’s energy. You’ll need it.”

  We spend the next four hours preparing. When I start rambling, she calls it a night. “Let’s meet here tomorrow at nine, and we’ll go over together.”

  After catching a rideshare home, I’m so tired I get into the elevator and don’t even notice the other person inside until he speaks.
“Cynthia?”

  I look up, startled. “Todd? What are you doing here?”

  “I just moved in upstairs.”

  “You did? That’s great. I live on the fifth floor.”

  “I’d invite you up for a drink, but I don’t have any clue where anything is. My life’s still in boxes.”

  “Well, I’m in 5B if you want to drop your things and come down. I have bourbon. If I remember correctly, you were drinking it the night CeCe introduced us.”

  “Your powers of observation are pretty good. I’m impressed. I have an original pressing of Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots if you have a turntable,” he offers.

  I’m tired, but I know with everything going on right now, sleep will be a distant memory. Seeing Todd is a huge surprise and a nice distraction, my heart going pitter-patter. Plus original pressings on vinyl of two phenomenal bands? “I do love me some Nirvana and STP and I do have a turntable. That sounds awesome.” The elevator stops at the fifth floor and I get out. “See you shortly.”

  I quickly unlock my apartment. After pulling on yoga pants and a T-shirt, I survey my apartment for company. It’s a bit of a mess, so I grab the junk mail off the table and throw it into a drawer. Running to my bathroom, I pick up all the dirty clothes off the floor before throwing dirty dishes from breakfast in the dishwasher and the takeout cartons from last night’s dinner in the trash.

  I’m just finishing when Todd knocks on my door.

  Chapter FOUR

  Todd

  I was shocked when the elevator opened at the lobby and Cynthia walked in. I thought she might’ve been here to see me, but when she didn’t look at me or acknowledge me and pushed the button for the fifth floor, I was surprised. Before the doors closed, I had to say something.