House Odds Read Free

information to make a profit or avoid a loss, it’s called insider trading.”
    “Maybe she didn’t know that what she was doing was illegal.”
    “She knew. Reston’s corporate policies specifically prohibit their employees from buying stock in companies they’re working with—to prevent insider trading. In an amateurish attempt to avoid discovery, Ms. Mahoney set up a new e-mail address, a new bank account, and established trading accounts with five different online brokers. Then, over a two-week period, she bought Hubbard stock in increments, buying ten or twenty thousand dollars’ worth of stock at a time. She apparently thought that by using multiple brokers and buying the stock in small batches, her half-million-dollar purchase wouldn’t be noticed. She sold her shares through these same online accounts and the cash was electronically deposited into her new bank account. In other words, no paperwork, no links to her old e-mail addresses and old bank accounts, no personal checks and, obviously, no visits to the brokers’ offices.”
    “Then how do you know she even bought the stock?”
    “Because the brokerage and bank accounts are in her name, with her Social Security number.”
    “So maybe somebody stole her identity or rigged her computer in some way, and whoever did this set up these accounts.”
    “It wasn’t her computer,” Kiser said. “Again, in an attempt to deceive, Ms. Mahoney used a computer at an Internet café.”
    “Well, hell,” DeMarco said. “Then anybody could have done this.”
    Kiser shook her head as if she felt sorry for DeMarco. “I would suggest,” she said, “that her lawyers adopt a different defense strategy.”
    “Look, there are millions of stock transactions every day . . .”
    “ Really, ” Kiser said.
    “. . . so how’d you happen to spot Molly’s trades out of all those other transactions?”
    “Because that’s what the SEC does, DeMarco. That’s our job. That’s my job.”
    In other words, Big Brother is always watching. Or in this case, Mean Big Sister.
    “But where in the hell would Molly get half a million dollars?” DeMarco asked. “She’s not rich, not that rich.”
    “I don’t know,” Kiser said, and she looked momentarily less confident —but she recovered quickly. “And I don’t care. Half a million was deposited into this new checking account she established, and she used the money to buy the stock.”
    “But who deposited the money?”
    “Her partners.”
    “What partners?”
    Kiser ignored the question; she was good at ignoring his questions. “And it would be in her best interest to name those partners immediately. It could reduce her sentence.”
    So Kiser thought Molly had partners but didn’t know who they were. “Are you promising her immunity if she cooperates with you?” DeMarco asked.
    “The U.S. Attorney will not give her immunity. I’ll make sure that never happens. The best she can expect is a reduced sentence.”
    DeMarco decided that Kay Kiser was more likely to set her own head on fire than show Molly any leniency.
    “Has anyone talked to Molly yet?”
    “Her father called her while we were waiting for you to get here. And her lawyers have been notified.”
    Kiser uncrossed her long legs and rose from her chair. DeMarco rose with her. She was taller than him, by at least two inches.
    “I’m leaving now,” she said, brooking no argument. Her boss may have forced her to kiss Mahoney’s ass, but DeMarco wasn’t Mahoney. Then Kay Kiser marched through the door without a “goodbye,” her back as straight and rigid as a steel rod.
    Javert, DeMarco thought as he watched her go.
    He’d seen Les Miserables in New York a few years ago, and that’s who Kiser reminded him of: Javert, the French cop who hounded poor Jean Valjean to the ends of the earth for stealing a loaf of bread.
    God help Molly Mahoney.

3
    “The driver’s name is Gleason,” Gus said. “The good news is Donatelli doesn’t like him and