Shadow Account

( 5 )

Overview

His novels of big money and murder in the world of finance have earned New York Times bestselling author Stephen Frey a richly deserved reputation as a master of suspense who always delivers a high yield. Now he raises the stakes, and the risk factor, in a new thriller that pits a young Wall Street player against corporate conspiracy and White House intrigue—in a dangerous game of double crosses, dirty tricks, and deadly consequences.

An investment banker in the maverick firm ...

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Overview

His novels of big money and murder in the world of finance have earned New York Times bestselling author Stephen Frey a richly deserved reputation as a master of suspense who always delivers a high yield. Now he raises the stakes, and the risk factor, in a new thriller that pits a young Wall Street player against corporate conspiracy and White House intrigue—in a dangerous game of double crosses, dirty tricks, and deadly consequences.

An investment banker in the maverick firm Phenix Capital, Conner Ashby is doing all right for himself. At twenty-seven, he’s practically the right-hand man of the company’s founder—a wealthy old pro looking to make a big comeback on The Street while grooming Conner for a place at the top. Between his career and his gorgeous girlfriend, it’s a good life, with every indication of getting even better—until a wayward E-mail crosses Conner’s computer, and plunges his near-perfect world into a terrifying downward spiral.

“The ‘operation’ is way out of hand. If we don’t do something, it’s going to detonate.” It’s a communication not meant for Conner’s eyes, between people he doesn’t know, about a company he’s never heard of—a company that’s engaged in corporate fraud on a massive scale. With no way to trace the E-mail, it’s impossible for Conner to act on the volatile discovery. But with millions of dollars at stake, high-powered careers in the balance, and hell to pay if the truth comes out, whoever clicked the “send” button by mistake isn’t about to take any chances. And for Conner, the evening that began in the arms of a beautiful woman ends in a harrowing race for his life.

As he follows a twisting trail of misdeeds and misinformation that stretches nationwide, Conner slowly uncovers a shocking plot as undeniably real as the gunshot wound in his arm. Now, surviving will mean struggling to expose the truth as relentlessly as his shadowy enemies seek to conceal it— and fighting for his life as ruthlessly as those determined to end it.

At every unexpected turn, Shadow Account deftly reveals Stephen Frey’s many and considerable gifts: his genius for plotting, his mastery of suspense, and his unmatched insight into the dark territory where finance meets felony, money meets mortality, and profit and loss are matters of life and death.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“HARROWING . . . Stephen Frey enlivens finance the way Patricia Cornwell does forensic science and the way Dan Brown (The Da Vinci Code) does medieval studies.”
—Forbes

From the Hardcover edition.

Publishers Weekly
Frey's latest pecuniary adventure follows his formula of extremely complicated plots spun around illegal, high-level financial shenanigans. He's used it with variations before (The Takeover; The Legacy; The Insider; etc.), and despite clunky writing, implausible situations, lucky coincidences and untied threads, it proves perfectly serviceable once again. Investment banker Conner Ashby is checking his e-mail while beautiful girlfriend Liz Shaw lounges nude on his bed when he accidentally intercepts an interoffice memo that refers to improprieties in an entity named Project Delphi. The wayward communication states that this company is engaged in rampant corporate fraud: "Big expense accounts, undocumented loans, and tons of in-the-money option grants. Plus, the senior guys are hiring executive assistants who look like centerfolds but can't spell their own names." Shortly after Conner receives the message, an intruder breaks into his apartment and starts shooting. Conner is out the window and on the run; Liz is dead. The plot encompasses a mysterious presidential chief of staff who is out to either save his boss or do him in, a secretary of the treasury who has cashed in big time on ill-gotten corporate shares, and quite a few women who either want to be Conner's girlfriend or want him dead. It's all very tangled, but Frey has the undeniable ability to explain complex financial transactions while at the same time providing plenty of action and nuggets of insider money lore. Those readers who like their financial fiction fast and furious will be perfectly happy as long as they don't pay too much attention to the details. (Mar.) Forecast: Advertising in the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times and USA Today will alert Frey's fans to his latest. They'll do the rest. Look for it on bestseller lists. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
After accidentally receiving an email detailing serious corporate fraud, Conner Ashby has an even ruder shock: his life is in danger. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Money-melodrama in which characters join conspiracies the way they once pledged fraternities. Nobody wants to be left out-accountants, stock mavens, bankers, cabinet members. And Potus? You betcha. The feds? Goes without saying. Ordinary folk? Just ask them. If you're past the age of puberty in the sneaky old land of Frey (Silent Partner, 2003, etc.) and not in a conspiracy, it's as if you've been blackballed, shunned, and condemned to sociological skunkhood. Exception: hunky investment banker Connor Ashby. But then poor Connor's the one being done to. Consider: he leaves gloriously naked Liz in his bed, sent by her to fetch a pack of cigarettes, and returns, not 20 minutes later, to a world revamped beyond recognition. Yes, of course, blame the conspirators. For reasons best known to themselves-and, on the implausible side, to anyone else-they've done for stunning Liz and totally wrecked Connor's apartment. Connor himself gets chased by the murderous intruder, who takes potshots at him-wings him, in fact. Connor barely eluding him by slithering down the fire escape. But the conspirators have only just begun to torment. When Connor returns this time-cops in tow-it's to find order where once there'd been chaos, including a bed now entirely devoid of blood-spattered blond. Well, what's it all in aid of? And why Connor? Is it just because, in addition to being stunning in his own right, he's as smart as investment bankers ever get? Or just because he's so gosh darn upright he won't conspire unless manipulated silly? A yes nails it. The conspiracy involves multinational corporations, billions of dollars, and a prime selection of bad guys snatched from the corridors of power. But withoutConnor it's all just another small-time con. Plotting that swings from absurd to soapy, pasteboard people, and pedestrian prose: it's enough to give conspiracy a bad name.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345457592
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 3/1/2005
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 694,311
  • Product dimensions: 4.30 (w) x 6.80 (h) x 0.90 (d)

Meet the Author

Stephen Frey is a principal at a Northern Virginia private equity firm. He previously worked in mergers and acquisitions at J. P. Morgan and as a vice president of corporate finance at an international bank in Midtown Manhattan. Frey is also the bestselling author of Silent Partner, The Day Trader, Trust Fund, The Insider, The Legacy, The Inner Sanctum, The Vulture Fund, and The Takeover.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Read an Excerpt

1

“What are you looking at?”

Conner Ashby glanced up from his computer. “Did you say something?” He made it sound so sincere. Gave her that distracted tone and that puzzled expression. He had the routine down to a science, and he enjoyed playing with her head. It was one of those things they had in common.

Liz Shaw stood in the doorway of his cramped bedroom, hands on hips. She wore just an oversized blue-and-orange New York Knicks T-shirt that fell to her knees. “You’re impossible,” she said. “Answer me.” From the doorway, she couldn’t see the screen.

Conner grinned, impressed by Liz’s ability to make casual cotton as sexy as black lace. She was gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever been with. “I’m looking at my Schwab brokerage account.”

“You’re lying to me, Mr. Ashby.”

Conner winced. It wasn’t the accusation that bothered him. It was the fact that Liz never used his first name. Her means of maintaining a subtle yet effective distance. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have a Schwab account anymore.”

Conner fished an ice cube from a Bronx Zoo cup sitting beside his computer on the old desk, and ran it slowly across his bare chest. The air-conditioning had gone down a few hours ago, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts. “How do you know that?”

“I was on your computer last night before you got home. You closed your Schwab account. You, Mr. Ashby, are now an Ameritrade customer.”

“Hey, as modest as this hovel is, it’s my hovel,” he reminded her, trying to sound annoyed. “I pay the rent here and you had no right to go snooping around my computer.”

“Guilty as charged,” Liz agreed, moving to the foot of the bed. “But I did. So I know you’re lying.” She gestured at the monitor. “Come on. What are you looking at?”

He glanced out the open window beside his desk at the lights of Manhattan’s Upper East Side. They were burning hazy holes in the humid August night. “Some surf shop Web site. I’m gonna buy another board so I can—”

“I bet you’re looking at smut.”

Conner’s eyes flashed to the screen. On it, a woman lay across a couch wearing a see-through teddy. She bore a strong resemblance to Liz—blond and slim with full, firm breasts straining at the frilly material.

“Turn the monitor this way,” Liz demanded, crawling onto the bed.

Conner clicked back to his screen saver, a panoramic shot of a surfer emerging from the pipeline of a huge wave. But he was a second late.

“I knew it,” she said triumphantly, kneeling upright as she reached the edge of the mattress. She’d caught a glimpse of the image on the screen. “Aren’t I enough?” she asked, slipping the T-shirt over her head and dropping it in his lap. “Or are you like most men? Obsessive about enjoying as many of us as possible.”

Conner let out a long, slow breath, admiring the work of art now on display. His eyes flickered down to the sapphire dangling from a gold ring in her navel. A body piercing seemed like the last thing a society girl would have, which was why he loved it. “I’m like most men,” he confessed.

“At least you can admit it,” she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

Conner laughed softly as their lips parted.

“What’s so funny?”

“What your father would say if he knew you were here.”

“He’d be horrified.”

“So he still thinks you’re gonna marry Mr. Wonderful over at Morgan Sayers?”

“I still am.”

She was always so damn blunt about it. At least she usually remembered to remove the other man’s three carats when she was here.

“Morgan Sayers is one of the world’s top investment banks, and Todd is one of its top investment bankers.” She said the words as if they were a mantra. “Todd is what my father wants. He’s the perfect son-in-law.”

He hated it when Liz said the other man’s name. He’d never laid eyes on Todd, but he could still picture the bastard. A tight-jawed, suspender-wearing snob who’d never really had to work for anything. “Then why are you here?”

Liz’s expression turned distant. “Because of those beautiful blue eyes of yours, Mr. Ashby. Because you sing those Elvis songs to yourself all the time, even though you couldn’t carry a tune if your life depended on it.” She sighed. “Because you gave me flowers last month when I was sick, and Todd didn’t even notice I had a cough. Because every time Todd makes love to me, I want it to be you.” She hesitated. “Because you’re what I want.”

“Then why don’t you tell Todd to—?”

Liz cut him off with another kiss. “I can’t,” she murmured, running her fingers through his jet-black hair. “I’ve told you that so many times.”

“But you’ve never told me why.”

“I just can’t,” she whispered, pulling him down onto the bed with her. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“The wedding’s still a year away,” she reminded him. “Besides, this won’t end after I’m married. I could never be without you.”

He’d known early on what the deal was. She hadn’t tried to hide her engagement. Their affair had begun as an instant physical attrac- tion across a crowded room. Something he had no commitment to, and, he assumed, would end quickly. But it had lasted now for three months, and he couldn’t figure out how. He didn’t usually waste time on dead ends.

“I’m going to order out for Chinese,” Liz announced, reaching for the cordless phone on the nightstand. “There’s a place over on Second that’s still open.”

He caught her hand. “I’m tired of eating in front of the TV. Let’s go out.” He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they’d been out in public together. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Liz.”

“No!”

“Dammit!” He rolled onto his back, frustrated.

She curled up next to him. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“If you were sorry, you’d do something about it.”

Her expression turned sad. “I wish I could spend every night with you.”

“You could. Just tell Daddy you’ve found somebody else. Tell him you don’t want to marry that hemorrhoid at Morgan Sayers. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”

“Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he doesn’t love me.”

“All the more reason to live life for yourself. Not for him.”

“There’s another thing,” she kept on, ignoring Conner’s irritation, “I’d be cut off from the money.”

“So what?”

“Would you love me if I didn’t have money?”

Conner rolled his eyes. “You must not think much of me if you have to ask.”

“I’m just being realistic. If there’s one thing I learned from Daddy, it’s that you have to look at everything that way. Even love.”

“Hey, I grew up in a run-down, three-bedroom ranch house a couple of blocks from a trashy beach. There was a 7-Eleven next door that got robbed once a week and a couple of sets of railroad tracks that ran right through my backyard. I mean, come on.”

“Which is exactly why you wouldn’t want a woman like me. I could never earn serious money. I don’t have any real skills.”

“Stop it,” he ordered, pressing a finger to her lips. He hated it when she did that. “I just want . . .” His voice trailed off.

“You just want what?”

There it was. His inability to acknowledge how badly he wanted something. In this case, her. But badly enough to have her end the engagement? “I just . . . I just want you to admit that I do have a nice voice.”

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, you do. As long as you don’t try to sing.”

“Hey, lots of people tell me I—”

The phone rang.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” she asked when he didn’t pick up right away.

“Nah, it’s probably just some telemarketer. Or my boss.”

“You can’t let a phone ring like that, Mr. Ashby. It’s driving you crazy not to know who it is.”

He reached for the phone. She was getting to know him too well. “Hello.”

“Conner, it’s Jackie.”

“Hi there.” He raised up on one elbow, turning his back to Liz. It was always nice to hear Jackie Rivera’s voice. “How are you, Jo?”

Jackie had explained over a glass of wine one evening that she’d been named for Jacqueline Onassis because her mother had admired the former first lady very much. So he’d started calling her “Jo,” short for Jackie O.

“I’m doing all right. But we haven’t gotten together in a while. It’s been almost a month. I miss you.”

He’d been bad about keeping in touch with friends since meet- ing Liz.

“I left you a message at the office yesterday, Conner.”

“I know. Sorry about not getting back.”

“It’s okay,” she said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

“I have. So, what’s the thought for the day?” He asked her this question almost every time they spoke.

There was a short silence. “When the door doesn’t open right away, do you pull harder, or push?”

Conner chuckled, thinking about the times he’d pulled harder when all he had to do was push. Understanding the deeper meaning. “Good one.”

“Thanks. So, when are we getting together? I—”

“Let’s— Ouch! Dammit!” Conner spun around on the bed, wrenching himself away from a painful pinch.

“Get off the phone,” Liz hissed, staring at him with a steely expression.

Conner brought the receiver slowly back to his ear, still gazing into Liz’s angry eyes. “Jo, let me call you tomorrow.”

“Sounds like this might be a bad time.”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” Jackie agreed with a sigh. “Talk to you then.”

“What was that all about?” he demanded.

“You’re with me right now, not her.”

“Christ! You’re the one who’s engaged.”

“I don’t care. I don’t like her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s after you.”

“What! How can you say that?”

“Woman’s intuition.”

“Why would it matter to you if she was after me anyway?”

“Because I’m a jealous bitch.”

Conner shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Liz murmured, kissing him. Almost savagely this time. “I want you,” she whispered, sliding one hand to his shorts.

But the phone rang again.

“Hello.”

“It’s Ginger. Is Lizzy there?”

Conner let out a frustrated breath. Ginger and Liz rarely had short conversations.

“It’s Ginger,” he said, holding the phone out.

“Oh.” Liz brightened. “Thanks.”

But he pulled the receiver away. “If you’re so worried about your father or Todd finding out about us, why give my phone number to anyone?”

“Ginger would never tell a soul,” she assured him, leaning across his chest and grabbing the receiver.

“Sure she wouldn’t.” But Liz hadn’t heard him. She’d already reclined onto the bed and started talking.

Liz and Ginger worked together at Merrill Lynch, entertaining the firm’s wealthy international clients when they visited New York City. At least, that was what Liz had told him. She never allowed him to come to the office.

Liz didn’t really have to work, but her father believed everyone ought to have a job—at least until they were married. Conner had heard that many times. He’d heard about her trust fund, too. Left to her by her grandfather and controlled by her father until her fortieth birthday.

From the Hardcover edition.

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First Chapter

1

"What are you looking at?"

Conner Ashby glanced up from his computer. "Did you say something?" He made it sound so sincere. Gave her that distracted tone and that puzzled expression. He had the routine down to a science, and he enjoyed playing with her head. It was one of those things they had in common.

Liz Shaw stood in the doorway of his cramped bedroom, hands on hips. She wore just an oversized blue-and-orange New York Knicks T-shirt that fell to her knees. "You're impossible," she said. "Answer me." From the doorway, she couldn't see the screen.

Conner grinned, impressed by Liz's ability to make casual cotton as sexy as black lace. She was gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever been with. "I'm looking at my Schwab brokerage account."

"You're lying to me, Mr. Ashby."

Conner winced. It wasn't the accusation that bothered him. It was the fact that Liz never used his first name. Her means of maintaining a subtle yet effective distance. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't have a Schwab account anymore."

Conner fished an ice cube from a Bronx Zoo cup sitting beside his computer on the old desk, and ran it slowly across his bare chest. The air-conditioning had gone down a few hours ago, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts. "How do you know that?"

"I was on your computer last night before you got home. You closed your Schwab account. You, Mr. Ashby, are now an Ameritrade customer."

"Hey, as modest as this hovel is, it's my hovel," he reminded her, trying to sound annoyed. "I pay the rent here and you had no right to go snooping around my computer."

"Guilty ascharged," Liz agreed, moving to the foot of the bed. "But I did. So I know you're lying." She gestured at the monitor. "Come on. What are you looking at?"

He glanced out the open window beside his desk at the lights of Manhattan's Upper East Side. They were burning hazy holes in the humid August night. "Some surf shop Web site. I'm gonna buy another board so I can—"

"I bet you're looking at smut."

Conner's eyes flashed to the screen. On it, a woman lay across a couch wearing a see-through teddy. She bore a strong resemblance to Liz—blond and slim with full, firm breasts straining at the frilly material.

"Turn the monitor this way," Liz demanded, crawling onto the bed.

Conner clicked back to his screen saver, a panoramic shot of a surfer emerging from the pipeline of a huge wave. But he was a second late.

"I knew it," she said triumphantly, kneeling upright as she reached the edge of the mattress. She'd caught a glimpse of the image on the screen. "Aren't I enough?" she asked, slipping the T-shirt over her head and dropping it in his lap. "Or are you like most men? Obsessive about enjoying as many of us as possible."

Conner let out a long, slow breath, admiring the work of art now on display. His eyes flickered down to the sapphire dangling from a gold ring in her navel. A body piercing seemed like the last thing a society girl would have, which was why he loved it. "I'm like most men," he confessed.

"At least you can admit it," she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

Conner laughed softly as their lips parted.

"What's so funny?"

"What your father would say if he knew you were here."

"He'd be horrified."

"So he still thinks you're gonna marry Mr. Wonderful over at Morgan Sayers?"

"I still am."

She was always so damn blunt about it. At least she usually remembered to remove the other man's three carats when she was here.

"Morgan Sayers is one of the world's top investment banks, and Todd is one of its top investment bankers." She said the words as if they were a mantra. "Todd is what my father wants. He's the perfect son-in-law."

He hated it when Liz said the other man's name. He'd never laid eyes on Todd, but he could still picture the bastard. A tight-jawed, suspender-wearing snob who'd never really had to work for anything. "Then why are you here?"

Liz's expression turned distant. "Because of those beautiful blue eyes of yours, Mr. Ashby. Because you sing those Elvis songs to yourself all the time, even though you couldn't carry a tune if your life depended on it." She sighed. "Because you gave me flowers last month when I was sick, and Todd didn't even notice I had a cough. Because every time Todd makes love to me, I want it to be you." She hesitated. "Because you're what I want."

"Then why don't you tell Todd to—?"

Liz cut him off with another kiss. "I can't," she murmured, running her fingers through his jet-black hair. "I've told you that so many times."

"But you've never told me why."

"I just can't," she whispered, pulling him down onto the bed with her. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, sure."

"The wedding's still a year away," she reminded him. "Besides, this won't end after I'm married. I could never be without you."

He'd known early on what the deal was. She hadn't tried to hide her engagement. Their affair had begun as an instant physical attraction across a crowded room. Something he had no commitment to, and, he assumed, would end quickly. But it had lasted now for three months, and he couldn't figure out how. He didn't usually waste time on dead ends.

"I'm going to order out for Chinese," Liz announced, reaching for the cordless phone on the nightstand. "There's a place over on Second that's still open."

He caught her hand. "I'm tired of eating in front of the TV. Let's go out." He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they'd been out in public together. "Come on."

"No."

"Liz."

"No!"

"Dammit!" He rolled onto his back, frustrated.

She curled up next to him. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"If you were sorry, you'd do something about it."

Her expression turned sad. "I wish I could spend every night with you."

"You could. Just tell Daddy you've found somebody else. Tell him you don't want to marry that hemorrhoid at Morgan Sayers. If he loves you, he'll understand."

"Maybe that's the point. Maybe he doesn't love me."

"All the more reason to live life for yourself. Not for him."

"There's another thing," she kept on, ignoring Conner's irritation, "I'd be cut off from the money."

"So what?"

"Would you love me if I didn't have money?"

Conner rolled his eyes. "You must not think much of me if you have to ask."

"I'm just being realistic. If there's one thing I learned from Daddy, it's that you have to look at everything that way. Even love."

"Hey, I grew up in a run-down, three-bedroom ranch house a couple of blocks from a trashy beach. There was a 7-Eleven next door that got robbed once a week and a couple of sets of railroad tracks that ran right through my backyard. I mean, come on."

"Which is exactly why you wouldn't want a woman like me. I could never earn serious money. I don't have any real skills."

"Stop it," he ordered, pressing a finger to her lips. He hated it when she did that. "I just want . . ." His voice trailed off.

"You just want what?"

There it was. His inability to acknowledge how badly he wanted something. In this case, her. But badly enough to have her end the engagement? "I just . . . I just want you to admit that I do have a nice voice."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh, you do. As long as you don't try to sing."

"Hey, lots of people tell me I—"

The phone rang.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" she asked when he didn't pick up right away.

"Nah, it's probably just some telemarketer. Or my boss."

"You can't let a phone ring like that, Mr. Ashby. It's driving you crazy not to know who it is."

He reached for the phone. She was getting to know him too well. "Hello."

"Conner, it's Jackie."

"Hi there." He raised up on one elbow, turning his back to Liz. It was always nice to hear Jackie Rivera's voice. "How are you, Jo?"

Jackie had explained over a glass of wine one evening that she'd been named for Jacqueline Onassis because her mother had admired the former first lady very much. So he'd started calling her "Jo," short for Jackie O.

"I'm doing all right. But we haven't gotten together in a while. It's been almost a month. I miss you."

He'd been bad about keeping in touch with friends since meeting Liz.

"I left you a message at the office yesterday, Conner."

"I know. Sorry about not getting back."

"It's okay," she said cheerfully. "I'm sure you've been busy."

"I have. So, what's the thought for the day?" He asked her this question almost every time they spoke.

There was a short silence. "When the door doesn't open right away, do you pull harder, or push?"

Conner chuckled, thinking about the times he'd pulled harder when all he had to do was push. Understanding the deeper meaning. "Good one."

"Thanks. So, when are we getting together? I—"

"Let's— Ouch! Dammit!" Conner spun around on the bed, wrenching himself away from a painful pinch.

"Get off the phone," Liz hissed, staring at him with a steely expression.

Conner brought the receiver slowly back to his ear, still gazing into Liz's angry eyes. "Jo, let me call you tomorrow."

"Sounds like this might be a bad time."

"Yup."

"Okay," Jackie agreed with a sigh. "Talk to you then."

"What was that all about?" he demanded.

"You're with me right now, not her."

"Christ! You're the one who's engaged."

"I don't care. I don't like her."

"Why not?"

"She's after you."

"What! How can you say that?"

"Woman's intuition."

"Why would it matter to you if she was after me anyway?"

"Because I'm a jealous bitch."

Conner shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Maybe," Liz murmured, kissing him. Almost savagely this time. "I want you," she whispered, sliding one hand to his shorts.

But the phone rang again.

"Hello."

"It's Ginger. Is Lizzy there?"

Conner let out a frustrated breath. Ginger and Liz rarely had short conversations.

"It's Ginger," he said, holding the phone out.

"Oh." Liz brightened. "Thanks."

But he pulled the receiver away. "If you're so worried about your father or Todd finding out about us, why give my phone number to anyone?"

"Ginger would never tell a soul," she assured him, leaning across his chest and grabbing the receiver.

"Sure she wouldn't." But Liz hadn't heard him. She'd already reclined onto the bed and started talking.

Liz and Ginger worked together at Merrill Lynch, entertaining the firm's wealthy international clients when they visited New York City. At least, that was what Liz had told him. She never allowed him to come to the office.

Liz didn't really have to work, but her father believed everyone ought to have a job—at least until they were married. Conner had heard that many times. He'd heard about her trust fund, too. Left to her by her grandfather and controlled by her father until her fortieth birthday.

Copyright© 2004 by Stephen Frey
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 9 of 6 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 29, 2004

    An exciting thriller.

    Investment banker Connor Ashby has a great job at Phenix Capital. At twenty-seven, he has a loving girlfriend, a great boss and the opportunity for a position at the top of the company. Everything is going good until he receives an email meant for someone else. In the email the sender warns of trouble and explains the 'operation' is way out of hand. After reading the email, Connor runs to the store while his girlfriend remains in his apartment¿upon his return his girlfriend lies dead and the killer waits to finish off Connor. Uncovering the truth will be difficult as Connor has to unravel a mystery of lies and deceit while a killer tracks his every move. As he races to find answers, as well as save himself, Connor realizes everyone has something to hide and someone is willing to kill to keep their secrets safe. `Shadow Account¿ is a complex financial thriller with plenty of twists and turns. Fast pacing and well drawn characters are to be expected in a Stephen Frey novel, but it¿s the original plot that will keep readers turning the pages. Every turn of the page reveals a new twist in a heart racing novel that explodes in a surprising climax. Stephen Frey has crafted another great thriller that will surely be a best-seller and please his legion of fans. Nick Gonnella

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2003

    Great financial thriller

    In Manhattan, Connor Ashby is in his apartment with his wealthy engaged to someone else girlfriend Liz Shaw when the email addressed to a Victor arrives claiming major wrong doings at an unnamed firm. Connor realizes the email he received was an error, but before he can decide what to do Liz sends him out to buy cigarettes. When he returns Liz looks dead, the place is trashed and a goon tries to kill him, but he escapes. However, when he returns with the cops, his apartment is clean with no corpse as if nothing happened.................................... Connor knows that the cops think he is a con artist. He also believes Liz is dead and these guys will kill him to erase a problem. Thinking of playing Chicken against unknown assailants, he decides to make inquiries, but if he succeeds in uncovering the truth and lives to tell it, the scandal reaches as high as the president¿s cabinet.............................. SHADOW ACCOUNT is the typical Stephen Frey financial thriller (see THE INSIDER) that takes an everyman financial expert and places them in the midst of conspiratorial environs in which their life is an accounts payable. Though Connor seems like a low rent David up against several Goliaths with no chance of triumph, the tale hooks the audience from the moment Connor brings the cops to his neat as a pin apartment until the final High Noon like climax. As usual no one takes complex financial issues and explains them inside an action packed plot as well as Mr. Frey does. Fans will better understand some of the recent meltdown scandals like Enron........................ Harriet Klausner

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Sort by: Showing 1 – 9 of 6 Customer Reviews

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