Chapter 5 - WHAT RICHARD PRINTED
Richard did not remember the printer.
The printer remembered him.
Or part of him.
Bennett Alder's current compliance chief, Lena Morris, found the old print-management archive on magnetic backup.
Nobody had thought to search it in 2005.
The firm had been migrating systems.
The printer stored internal job codes separately from network-user authentication.
Daniel's terminal initiated the print.
But the copier required a second four-digit release code.
The code used:
4186
Assigned to Richard Hayes.
Richard stared at the screen.
“I don't remember doing that.”
Lena replied:
“That doesn't change the log.”
The print job contained twenty-two pages.
Public comps made up fourteen.
The remaining eight came from Daniel's open project window.
Northstar exposure appendix.
Restricted.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“I may have printed the whole queue.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was rushing.”
He looked at Walter.
“Daniel had documents open. I selected print-all from recent files.”
Lena said:
“You'd still have received them at the printer.”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice?”
Richard thought.
Then:
“I remember pages I didn't need.”
“What did you do with them?”
“I don't know.”
That answer lasted forty minutes.
Then someone found an old expense record.
Beacon Hill Club.
Richard hosted two analysts for drinks that night.
One:
A college friend named Julian Mercer.
At the time, Julian worked for Kessler Rowe, the hedge fund whose trading triggered the Northstar investigation.
Richard's attorney stopped the interview.
Good.
Everyone needed lawyers now.
The next morning Richard returned voluntarily.
He looked like he had not slept.
“I remember the folder.”
Ethan sat across from him.
Richard continued.
He had shoved all twenty-two pages into a leather portfolio.
Did not sort them.
Went to Beacon Hill Club.
Met Julian and another friend.
The meeting was partly social.
Partly career networking.
Richard was unhappy at Bennett Alder.
He wanted out from under Thomas Hayes.
He showed them his public comps.
Not the Northstar pages.
“At least I don't remember showing them.”
Dana asked:
“Did the portfolio leave your control?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Richard went upstairs to take a call.
Left the portfolio on the banquette.
Ten to fifteen minutes.
Julian remained.
When Richard returned, the papers were inside.
He did not check.
The next morning he brought the folder back.
Later that day, Northstar positions began moving strangely.
“Did you tell Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
Richard swallowed.
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I used Daniel's terminal and accidentally printed internal pages.”
“Beacon Hill Club?”
“No.”
“Julian Mercer?”
“No.”
Ethan stared.
“You let your father investigate my dad without telling him you carried his confidential pages into a room with the exact hedge fund later accused of using them.”
Richard's face flushed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was twenty-four.”
Ethan laughed.
“So?”
Richard's eyes hardened.
Then softened again.
“No excuse.”
Good.
He continued.
When Thomas asked whether Richard had shown anyone confidential material, Richard said no.
Technically he believed that.
He did not remember showing it.
He did not say the pages had been left unattended.
Thomas discovered Beacon Hill later through an expense report.
Richard's face changed.
“How do you know that?”
Dana slid an email across the table.
Thomas to his personal attorney.
Two months after Daniel was fired.
Richard's club meeting makes me less comfortable with our conclusion than I have admitted to Walter.
Walter read it.
Again.
Then lower:
Parker violated enough policy that termination remains defensible. But I can no longer say with confidence that he was the source of the market disclosure.
Walter's face drained.
Thomas knew.
After the firing.
Maybe before the final appeal concluded.
And he never corrected the record.
Ethan looked at Walter.
“What did he tell you?”
May you like
Walter answered quietly:
“That the appeal changed nothing.”
