The Deadliest Option by Annette Meyers Page A

Luwisher Brothers, Les.” Silvestri reached behind him and pulled the worksheets from the corkboard. He took his notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flipped through pages until he found a blank one. “Give us a picture of the company.”
    “I can’t tell you too much about the company itself except that it was started by the three sons of a German Jewish immigrant named Nathaniel Luwisher, who made a killing in cotton during the Civil War.” She looked over her shoulder at Metzger, who seemed to have tuned out, more interested in the scenic view of Mo Ryan’s bosom. “The actual operation of the company passed out of family hands, I think, after World War II. The only one of the descendants interested in running Luwisher Brothers was killed in the war. The others went into the arts, politics, and medicine. I think there’s a Luwisher who is active in environmental issues, organic food or something like that.”
    Metzger yawned without covering his mouth.
    Silvestri’s phone rang. He picked it up. “Yeah?” Listened intently. “Okay.” He hung up and nodded at Metzger almost imperceptibly. “Go on.”
    Wetzon crossed one leg over the other, feeling sweat accumulating behind her knees, and took a swallow of the cooled-down coffee. “I don’t know where you want me to go with this. There may be a Luwisher descendant with the firm who doesn’t have the name anymore. I wouldn’t know about that. Interestingly enough, I think the first generation and the second produced nothing but sons and only one or two daughters. After that, there were scads of daughters and very few sons.”
    “So who owns the stock?” Metzger asked.
    “I don’t know. It’s a private company. The employees who became partners do—certain of them. Luwisher descendants, possibly. Goldie Barnes did, of course. They don’t have to make anything public, neither their stock ownership breakdown nor their financial statements. But it’s easy enough, I would think, for you guys to find out who is who.”
    Silvestri made a note in his black notebook. “How exactly do you get to be a partner there?”
    “Again, I don’t know. I can give you an idea. To make partner, you’d have to be a top producer, say over a million dollars in gross production, in other words, the broker’s annual total of commission charges to clients.” She thought for a minute. “And the broker would have to have a squeaky-clean record, I’m sure, which means no compliance problems.”
    “Run that by us again, Les.”
    “You mean compliance?” He nodded. “Every brokerage firm has a compliance department, which works with the New York Stock Exchange to oversee market activity and to make sure trading complies with the SEC and Exchange regulations. Get it?”
    “Got it.” Silvestri waved his hand. “Go on.”
    “Partnerships get awarded to the big deal makers like John Hoffritz, who bring business into the firm through M and A, mergers and acquisitions. “ She caught herself wondering if Twoey inherited stock or whether the partnership had to buy Goldie’s back from Twoey and Janet.
    “Was Goldie Barnes related to the Luwishers?” Mo asked. She took a battered pack of Kents from her shirt pocket, rustling cellophane, and shook out a cigarette.
    “Not that I know of.” She watched Mo jot a note in her little book. They would check that out, but Wetzon was fairly certain they wouldn’t find a connection. Goldie had come to Luwisher Brothers bare-ass naked, as he used to say, right after leaving the army. “Anything else?” The room was stifling. She got up and reached for her jacket. Mo snapped her yellow lighter and lit up, splaying cigarette fumes into the turgid air.
    “Not so fast, Les. You can give us a quick thumbnail on the players here.” Silvestri sorted through the worksheets and spread them out on the desk.
    Sighing, she sat down. “I’d like to know how Goldie was killed, if I may?”
    “I’ve already told you. He was