Swimming with Sharks by Nele Neuhaus

eyes judging her and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
    “How long have you been back in the city?” Mark inquired.
    “Three weeks,” Oliver replied, grinning. “There’s nothing worse than working where other people go for vacation.”
    “Where were you?” Alex inquired politely.
    “The Caymans.” Oliver grimaced. “On business, unfortunately. Luckily, I had the chance to do a bit of diving.”
    “Oliver works for the
Financial Times
,” Mark explained.
    “Really?” Alex was surprised. “So what were you doing in the Caribbean?”
    “A piece about offshore companies,” he said vaguely. “I’m somewhat familiar with the subject.”
    “That’s a gross understatement,” Mark interjected. “Oliver was with Simon, Weinstein & Cooper. He specialized in corporate law. After that, he was a fund manager at Trelawney & Hobbs and managed speculative and high-risk hedge funds.”
    Alex looked at the man with renewed interest.
    “Why are you working for a newspaper now?” she asked. Oliver smiled, but his eyes remained serious.
    “I was simply tired of my job,” he replied. “You are drilled to be a ruthless and unscrupulous machine, and it’s all about more money and financial success. I wanted to preserve a shred of humanity for myself. I like the whole business much better from the outside, and I finally don’t have to keep my mouth shut.”
    “Did you get fired?” Alex asked directly.
    A mocking look sudden flashed in his gray eyes.
    “No.” There was a hint of amusement on his face. “I simply quit, bought a house on Martha’s Vineyard, a loft in the Village, and turned my hobby into my profession.”
    Alex couldn’t understand how someone would trade a position at Trelawney & Hobbs—the world’s largest investment company—for a job at a newspaper, and she suspected that he had been fired after all. “And what’s your hobby?”
    “Uncovering scandals,” Oliver said with a smile, “and making them public.”
    Oliver and Alex sized each other up disdainfully.
    “So you’re a whistle-blower,” she declared, and he became serious.
    “If necessary, I also do that,” he said, “and this is why I advised Mark to quit his job at LMI as soon as possible.”
    “Oliver,” Mark started to say, “how could you say that in front of my boss—”
    “It’s okay, Mark.” Alex stared firmly at Oliver. “Can you explain to me why?”
    “I’d give you the same advice,” he answered. “You still have a good, clean reputation in the industry, but that could change very soon if you keep working at that place. I’ve uncovered some pretty sensitive details that are directly tied to LMI. And this isn’t about market manipulation or tax evasion, but substantial fraud and at least one life lost.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Have you ever heard the name Gilbert Shanahan? No? Just ask Mark about him.”
    Mark’s face looked like he would prefer the earth to open up and swallow him.
    “Imagine,” Alex said, growing impatient, “that I’m not interested one bit in this Gilbert. I have a well-paid, fascinating job, and I have worked very hard to get to where I am today.”
    Oliver gave her a penetrating look.
    “A couple of years ago I had the same reaction,” he said. “It hurts to admit that you are just a cog in the wheel of a giant criminal machine.”
    “Please listen closely, Mr. Skerritt,” Alex interrupted Oliver harshly. “You could get into serious trouble if you keep making insinuations that you’ll be hard pressed to prove.”
    “Shanahan was targeted by the SEC,” Oliver replied, unmoved, “because he moved funds of unknown origin to various offshore tax havens. He was on his way to an SEC hearing when he was run over by a stolen truck with stolen license plates. The truck was found a few weeks later burned out in a parking lot in Vermont. Shanahan’s widow claimed that her husband acted under orders of LMI’s management, which they obviously vehemently deny. At the time, Levy