Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake Read online

  ‘But you need to find him first, genius.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I need your help. You’re the closest person to him.’

  Bachmann’s eyelids flickered downwards. ‘He’s not returning my calls.’

  ‘Please help me. I can turn this around.’

  Bachmann’s patience finally snapped. ‘Turn this around? Do yourself a favour and stop talking! I don’t have time to listen to psychotic fantasists.’

  Minnie backed off immediately. Better to leave of her own free will than to be forcibly ejected; a routine that was threatening to become hauntingly familiar.

  Minnie was never more glad to get back to the safety of her motel room. She immediately brought Angie up to speed on Skype.

  Minnie Chase: She called me a psychotic fantasist

  Angie Buckingham: It went well then (winking)

  MC: She arrived in a Wienermobile

  AB: WHAT?!?

  MC: Campaign bus shaped like a hotdog on wheels

  AB: (Rolling on the floor laughing)

  MC: Hotdoggers contribute generously to the campaign (dollar sign), apparently

  AB: Priceless

  MC: She plans to run for Governor of California (shocked face)

  AB: Wowza. Fierce (winks)

  MC: See what I’m up against?

  AB: I need a photo of that bus

  MC: I need to eat that bus (hungry face)

  AB: (wait) photo first

  MC: (smiley face with tongue out)

  It appeared that Parker Bachmann wasn’t going to lead Minnie to Greene. Minnie understood that politicians are taught to master the art of evasiveness but, in this instance, Bachmann genuinely didn’t seem to know where her fiancé was. It didn’t bode well for a high-profile couple who were supposed to be getting married in eight weeks’ time. Minnie never thought that her own broken relationship could possibly have an upside but she had found one. At least she had the privacy to mourn its agonising demise without the whole world clamouring for updates and wading in with relationship advice.

  Minnie knew she was probably the last person on the planet Greene wanted to see but she wasn’t the only person who wanted to know where he was. When a CEO shows even a hairline crack in his health or his judgement, shareholders quickly demand an explanation. Sympathy seems to be sidelined when more pertinent issues are raised such as how the illness will affect turnover and what the Game Plan is.

  Minnie was responsible for the whole hideous Parkinson’s exposure that forced Greene into hiding, she would not willingly be responsible for bringing down his business empire, too.

  While time is often hailed as a great healer, it was definitely powerless here. Minnie didn’t have a second to lose. She needed to find Greene sooner rather than later otherwise there could be no reversal of his situation. She likened the search to looking for a needle in a haystack, to which Angie cheerfully replied in her latest phone call, ‘This is a good start, Minnie. You’ve narrowed the search down to haystacks.’

  Time and haystacks aside, Minnie reasoned that Angie did have a point. When someone wants to retreat, there is no place like home. She had done it often enough herself, burying her head under the covers. Greene had properties around the world but was born and raised in San Francisco. Minnie didn’t necessarily need to upend the whole world to find him, she just needed to focus primarily on identifying which private residence meant the most to him.

  Mapping out the city on her laptop Minnie sighed. She had to pinpoint an area of land approximately 49 square miles, thank goodness it wasn’t 50. But she had the outer perimeter of the search, all she had to do now was nail the specific coordinates.

  Greene wasn’t the type to welcome people into his home through the pages of glossy magazines such as Architectural Digest and Hello!, so Minnie had to dig deeper. She discovered that he entertained at a place called Harbor Heights, which was a members only club in the centre of the city. Minnie attempted to join the club under an alias but her application was declined. It made Minnie wonder how this unknowable man managed to maintain his anonymity with the very public powerhouse Parker Bachmann and the exposure she courted. This thought brought Minnie back to Bachmann. The politician couldn’t resist bringing Greene into conversations and interviews namely because they created ‘a stronger emotional connection together’. Surely, somewhere, she would have mentioned time spent at one of Greene’s exclusive residences.

  Minnie trawled through transcripts of interviews observing wryly how much this woman liked to talk and talk. If someone could get elected as Governor of California through column inches alone, Bachmann had it nailed. The woman was, however, surprisingly, guarded when it came to her private life with Greene. There were no holiday snaps on Instagram or a sneak peek into her weekend world. She did, however, let down her guard in one interview and talk about ‘precious time’ spent with friends at Pacific Heights. At first glance, Minnie thought she was talking about Greene’s private members club. Then she realised that her search had just been narrowed down to a specific area of the haystack. A very prestigious, very private enclave to the north of the city by San Francisco Bay. It was an exclusive enough neighbourhood with its stately mansions and iconic 20th-century architects but perhaps it was too obvious a choice. No, she decided that for a super-wealthy someone who considers privacy paramount and had millions to invest in San Francisco, Pacific Heights was as good as it gets.

  The next step was the easy part for someone with Minnie’s skills. Ironically, she found Greene because he was the best hidden. The high-tech elite, who had made their fortune through companies focused on social media and commerce, were more than happy to be photographed in the living rooms of their Pacific Heights home. Minnie managed to access detailed real estate information on who was buying, renovating and redesigning. Then there were the extravagant house parties that doubled up as fund-raisers and high-profile CEO dinners, which made it effortless to access the names of the hosts. Minnie name checked and fact checked, matching streets and house numbers to residents. She compiled an impressive list of names with one notable absence: Greene. She studied the list again, checking for connections to Bachmann. Finally, she noticed a purchase, some ten year ago, of an old five-storey warehouse that one would dismiss at first glance. Further research online revealed the place had been granted planning permission to turn it into a luxury private residence. She read through the small print and discovered that someone had undertaken the mammoth task of turning the warehouse into an exclusive retreat complete with gym, Olympic-size swimming pool, 125-person dining room, eight bars and 22 bedrooms. It could be a boutique hotel or it could be Greene’s home. Further digging and title deeds confirmed the latter.

  She tapped the location into Google Earth confident in the knowledge that if she could zoom to different galaxies and go to the canyons of the ocean, she could definitely take a closer look at this warehouse. She now had a street view and an aerial view of the building. It lacked the obvious ornate architectural grandeur of its neighbouring houses but there was undeniable opulence surrounding the place. The original brick and timber exterior was gone, replaced by thick stone walls and marble embellishments. The plot itself was huge, enabling the warehouse to be set well back from the road, and prying eyes. She studied its layout carefully – it truly was a vast property. Hello, Pacific Heights, thought Minnie. So this is where billionaires sleep at night.

  She pulled up the security details on line, which confirmed what she already knew: it would be impossible to sneak into a place like this. Minnie had worked with some of the world’s wealthiest clients and Greene’s locked-down lifestyle didn’t surprise her. It was a case of, the bigger the bank balance, the more bulletproof glass.

  Angie had playfully suggested that Minnie should smuggle her way in with the laundry. Minnie was now beginning to think that wrapping herself in a bed sheet was the only option she had.

  She needed to get into the house and command an audience with Greene. The plan had to be
as simple as possible and it had to happen soon. And, as it was unrealistic to think she could break in through a window or hide inside a pillow case, she would have to simply walk in through the front door. KISS, she exhaled.

  8

  Hello, Dr Levchin

  Minnie walked down Grant Avenue, one of the oldest streets in Chinatown, and stood for a moment to watch the traditional lion dancing. People banged on cymbals and drums, which encouraged the dancers and their fancy footwork. The elaborate lion masks and bodies with bright bristles and fur captivated the crowd. Minnie watched the swivelling heads as the dancers inside the lion costumes leapt and sprung about the street. For an absurd moment, she considered the lengths Greene would go to hide. She actually peered at the yellow-fur feet that pranced on the pavement.

  The crowd started to follow the dancers down the street but Minnie remained where she was, slumped against a dragon-entwined lamp post. As the noise and music subsided, Minnie’s escalating panic seemed to confirm that Greene wasn’t the only one who was lost.

  She eventually peeled herself off the lamp post and continued her walk through Chinatown. She picked up a local newspaper and found a bench – more delay tactics. She didn’t want to return to her motel room just yet. She didn’t really feel like catching up on local news but reading would pass some time. Then a headline caught her eye. The Mavericks Invitational Surfing Champion was taking place and Snowflake Jackson had been invited to take part, which, according to the columnist, was a big deal.

  Minnie now had a reason to text him. Never one to abbreviate words or abandon capital letters in SMS communication, she wrote:

  Congratulations re the Invitational.

  Sincerely Minnie Chase.

  She had barely put her phone back in her pocket when Jackson replied.

  Well hello, Sincerely Minnie Chase!

  I’m stoked…where u at?

  Minnie studied the text and translated ‘stoked’ as ‘exhilarated.’ She wasn’t so sure about the rest. Did he mean her motel address, exact location right now, or current state of mind? She paused and tried to work out a light response. In the end, she stuck with the KISS principle and replied with accommodation information:

  Columbus Avenue, near the Art Institute.

  Jackson immediately responded:

  Wanna meet me at the Silver Star Grill?

  Minnie obviously paused too long before replying because Jackson sent another text:

  Not suggesting egg fertilisation, just a $6 burger ;)

  Minnie blushed and was glad this was not a face-to-face conversation. It sounded infinitely better than eating alone again. Common sense prevailed though. She told herself that she had some work to do and, rather reluctantly, she declined.

  Perhaps another time. Thank you. Minnie Chase.

  Jackson signed off in his signature relaxed style:

  No worries, Sincerely Minnie Chase, just say when…

  Minnie reread the messages and smiled. A burger in the Silver Star Grill with Jackson did sound like fun. Then her smile evaporated. She wasn’t in San Francisco to have fun.

  Minnie reluctantly left the colourful distractions of Chinatown behind and headed back to the motel that she was beginning to think of as ‘home’. This alarmed her. It was as though her mind was moving on from the house she had shared with James George in London, but her heart was refusing to let go.

  The afternoon sunshine had turned her room into a warm and bright space to work. This encouraged her and she felt up to the challenge of more research. Minnie knew that if Greene had real concerns about his health, he would throw money at the best expert around to assess and solve the problem.

  She started with a simple Internet search: top Parkinson’s researchers in the world. The shortlist comprised ten names – two women and eight men. The names included short biographies including research posts, residences at universities and notable career embellishments.

  Minnie’s plan was to find the doctor or professor who was offering counsel and support to Greene. Greene would expect a personal consultation and this is where she would be able to access more information.

  Dr Lana Brahms, chief of staff, Pennsylvania University, seemed like a good fit. She excelled in her field and was prolific when it came to publishing papers on Parkinson’s. Perhaps too prolific and high-profile for Greene, who operated under the radar. One thing was for certain, Greene wouldn’t go to Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania would have to come to him.

  Minnie called Dr Brahms’s secretary on the pretence that she needed to talk with Dr Brahms urgently to discuss a speaker’s event. The secretary informed her that Dr Brahms was unavailable because she was on her honeymoon in the Maldives.

  Minnie wryly thought that it wasn’t past Greene to insist that someone cancel their honeymoon but when she hacked into the flight manifest, yet more illegal activity in the pursuit of Greene, Brahms was officially Maldives bound.

  Deflated but not defeated, she considered the next person on the list. At the same time, a Skype message came through from Angie wanting to know how the search for Greene’s Parkinson’s specialist was coming along.

  Angie Buckingham: Waving or drowning?

  Minnie Chase: Swimming in circles

  AB: Need more chutzpah

  MC: Need a plan aaaaaah

  AB: Roar like a lion

  MC: Minnie Mouse (worried face)

  AB: Be authoritative. Demand answers

  MC: I’m not good on the phone

  AB: Then pretend to be someone else

  MC: Who?

  AB: Someone close to Greene

  MC: Parker Bachmann?

  AB: Closer

  MC: His mother?!

  AB: Nah, his secretary

  MC: Meredith Lockhart?

  AB: Brilliant

  MC: I’m not sure

  AB: Demand answers

  MC: Squeak (worried face)

  So, following Angie’s advice, Minnie reinvented herself as Meredith Lockhart – the woman who had access to Greene. Minnie decided she would begin each telephone conversation by referring to the doctor’s flight details to San Francisco. Those who hadn’t a clue what she was talking about would be immediately struck off the list. She tried not to think about horribly embarrassing herself.

  As she considered what she was about to do, a text pinged through from Angie who told Minnie to ‘go on the offensive.’ She added, ‘Get them on the back foot and they will crack easier under interrogation.’

  This made Minnie nervous. She was quick to reply that there would be no pulling out teeth or fingernails in the process of information extraction.

  Minnie worked through what she was going to say and targeted the next name on the list. The rehearsed script went along the following lines – the doctor hadn’t confirmed his flight details to San Francisco, which he had been instructed to do as he was boarding the plane. Greene’s security team needed these details. The driver collecting the doctor at the airport also needed to be kept in the loop. It sounded reasonably credible. As far as offensive goes, Minnie adopted a clipped and controlled voice that put great emphasis on certain words. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Six calls didn’t produce any leads. Minnie simply succeeded in baffling the people on the other end of the phone who clearly didn’t have a clue about any travel itinerary details that were needed to facilitate security measures.

  No one appeared to be travelling to San Francisco.

  Minnie was down to three names on the list.

  Dr Maximilian Levchin at Columbia University in the city of New York was next on the list. His secretary immediately apologised for the oversight. She sounded annoyed at herself – possibly someone with a track record of perfection who was good at her job. Yes, Dr Levchin had boarded the Boeing 438 flight and would arrive in San Francisco at 4.15pm. No delays reported.

  Sorry, Minnie silently mouthed down the phone. She didn’t feel comfortable duping the woman. On the upside, Minnie now had a name.
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  Minnie worked through her to-do list. She had to sort out an airport transfer that didn’t involve a Dragonet driver. Her personal credit card took the hit as she organised a chauffeur-driven Mercedes to drive them to the Greene residence at Pacific Heights.

  Then she had to suss out who this Dr Maximilian Levchin was. She studied his profile picture online. He wore a serious expression with unreadable eyes. His large forehead was a distinguishing feature and was further exaggerated by a deeply receding hairline. He looked as though all his brains had been packed at the frontal lobes instead of being distributed evenly around his head. And those brains looked to be storing a lifetime’s research and opinions. He looked clever. He looked as though he would see through Minnie’s flimsy plan in an instant. He also looked intimidating.

  If this was the man who could lead her to Greene, she needed to get some idea of who she would be dealing with. He was the key to her master plan and she needed to make sure that she could turn him.

  She watched a couple of YouTube videos that captured Dr Levchin giving a keynote address on the development of dystonia. He came across as a serious academic who was passionate about his subject. He could talk the talk but it didn’t tell Minnie much about him as a person. She wanted to know if this stranger, the man behind the professional mask, would be sympathetic to her cause.

  To get an idea of personality as well as performance, she clicked on Rate My Doctor, which allowed patients to share their experience at the hands of a health professional.

  It took just seconds for Minnie to see that there were few if any positive remarks about Dr Levchin. His bad time keeping – an average wait of two hours – seemed to be the least of his problems. Other comments criticised him for being a ‘dinosaur when it came to new research’. His junior assistants were said to be terrified of him while others ranted that he was prone to ‘poking and prodding’ patients to encourage movement. It was frequently commented that he was brutally blunt with his diagnosis, sarcastic in his answers and intolerant of people who had made no effort to study the complex workings of the mind. One irate reviewer even said Dr Levchin accused him of ‘faking’ his illness and that the symptoms were all in the head. Clearly, Dr Levchin’s bedside manner needed some work.