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Jessie got half her wish.

By the time that she and Ryan returned to Central Station at 7:30, the researchers had collected a fair bit of information on the Vegas. Nothing about it jumped off the screen, but at least it was something to work with.

“Elena Vega was an interior designer,” Jamil said, when they arrived in the research office, “but Marcus Vega, like James Whitaker, worked in the investment world. He was a senior vice president for a venture capital firm based out of the Bay Area called Golden Gate Capital Ventures. He was their primary L.A. representative.”

“So we’re thinking that there might be some connection between him and Whitaker?” Ryan said hopefully.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t found any overlapping clients or co-workers so far,” Beth said. “We were just about to do the same thing we did with Whitaker and see if any of Vega’s clients had filed complaints against him. I thought that if they did, maybe they’d have the same lawyer or something.”

“That’s definitely worth looking into,” Jessie said, impressed with the idea, “why don’t we dive in and see if we can help?”

Beth handed her a file. She took it, sat down on the couch at the back of the office, and settled in to study some bureaucratic language.

***

Unlike James Whitaker, Marcus Vega didn’t have very many complaints filed against him. Whether that was because his business practices were more honorable or simply that the VC world was more opaque, she couldn’t tell. But in total, Vega only had eight formal complaints. She, Ryan, Beth, and Jamil split them up.

It only took about ten minutes for Jessie to determine that neither of her cases were worth pursuing. Each complaint was over two years old and ended with a settlement that likely satisfied the former client. While she waited to hear results from the others, she did a web search, hoping something might pop. Within a few minutes, she found something interesting.

About a month ago, Vega's firm had flirted with entering into a deal with a Southern California investor named Daniel Forrester. The only reason she knew that was because when the deal blew up, Forrester didn't file a complaint. Instead, he went to the local press to badmouth Vega and his team. That was a week ago.

“Jamil,” she said, looking up, “can you check the databases for any criminal record for a guy named Daniel Forrester? He runs an investment firm based out of Hollywood called Forrester Holdings.”

Jamil had started typing even before she completed the request. Beth and Ryan both stopped reviewing their files, curious as to what he might find. It didn’t take long.

“Daniel Forrester, 46 years old, has run Forrester Holding for the last six years after bouncing around among several other firms. Public records indicate that his company had profits of about $37 million last year. Divorced twice. Has one child, a son from his first marriage, who is now nineteen. Forrester has been arrested three times. Once for driving under the influence eleven years ago. Then for drunk and disorderly. That was at a Dodgers game eight years ago. Finally, he was charged with assault after punching a colleague at a bar six years ago. He was let go by that firm, Creighton Partners, and started his own shop a few months later. He pled down in each case and never served time for any of the incidents. It seems like the guy he punched wanted to pursue the case. But from the looks of things, he backed off.”

“My guess is that the higher-ups at Creighton convinced the ‘punchee’ to back off to avoid any more bad press,” Jessie surmised.

“Well, whether he served time or not,” Ryan noted, “the guy’s clearly got a temper and apparently a grudge against Vega. Want to pay him a visit?”

“Absolutely,” Jessie told him, happy to have somewhere to focus the roiling pit of rage inside her that had yet to subside. She gave her file back to Beth and was getting set to head out when she had a thought. “Definitely keep looking for other potential folks who had beefs with Vega, but maybe one of you can see if Forrester has any connection to James Whitaker. That would elevate him on the suspect list.”

This time she was out the door first and Ryan was the one who had to chase after her.

“You seem pretty riled up,” he noted as they hurried down the hallway.

“Let’s take the stairs. I don’t want to wait for the elevator,” she said, shoving open the doors. “And yes, I’m looking forward to having a chat with Daniel Forrester. Let’s see if he wants to get disorderly with me,”

“Where’s that coming from?” Ryan asked as they started down the stairs.

Jessie paused before answering, not wanting to sound too vindictive.

“It’s just that whoever is doing this is repellent in any number of ways, and if it turns out that Forrester is our guy, I wouldn’t mind if bringing him in required a little extra force.”

Ryan put his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Okay,” he said with a frown, “I understand where you’re coming from, but you get that if he is our guy, then he’s incredibly dangerous and we should proceed with extreme caution, right?”

“Of course I do, Ryan,” she said. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just checking,” he said, seemingly unconvinced.

“Can I continue down the stairs now?” she asked sharply.

He held his hands up in the air, as if in surrender. She tried not to scowl as she started down again, but she couldn’t even fight that off.