The Zurich Conspiracy

stopped short, seeing Isabelle, his assistant, at the door. “Paul, some people want to say goodbye to you,” she announced.
    He waved her off. “Tell them I had an unavoidable, urgent long-distance call, we’re talking about a job worth millions,” he said without a second’s delay. “And get their names, I’ll call them myself later.”
    Isabelle left without batting an eyelash.
    Paul glanced at Josefa to see if she’d gotten the message: You’re more important to me than anybody else.
    She didn’t budge.
    “This psychiatrist divides them into three categories: con men—like somebody who pretends he’s going to marry you but only wants your money. Then there are the puppeteers, who manipulate people to get at somebody else. They’re more powerful than the con men because they stay hidden. Then there are the intriguers, the troublemakers, the trap-setters.” He rubbed the fingertips of his right hand over the tabletop nervously. His tension was palpable.
    “Psychopaths have three motivations: They’re looking for a thrill. They’ve got a pathological need to win. And they enjoy exercising their power over others, even if it means hurting people. Many white-collar crooks are psychopaths—executives who dupe investors, brokers who manipulate stock prices, driven by financial greed.”
    Josefa listened with rapt attention in spite of being in a daze. She felt that her feet had turned cold, but her cheeks were hot, her hands moist.
    All this analysis must have been going round and round in Paul’s head. He must have found a significant explanation in those words.
    After a brief pause, he turned and looked straight at her. “I think Schulmann’s a psychopath, Josefa. A mixture of puppeteer, intriguer, and pain in the ass. And I wanted to do everything to keep you out of his reach, but I didn’t know how to.” He spread his hands wide like a preacher. “You loved your job at Loyn above everything else. And you’re stubborn, Josefa, I know that. If I’d told you about Schulmann, you’d probably have thought me a bellyacher filled with resentment.” He looked into her eyes for some response, for some hint of understanding. “You’d have tried to prove to me that he couldn’t bully you. And you’d probably have thought I’d describe Schulmann as the embodiment of evil just because I wanted you to work for me.”
    He swept his right hand over the table. His voice was firmer now; he seemed to be nearing the climax of his confession. “But most importantly, I was in no position to tell you how he humiliated me at Harckmüller.”
    “Why not?” Josefa blurted out. “Did you prefer to humiliate me with those e-mails?”
    “I didn’t want to humiliate you. I wanted to raise your level of awareness.”
    “Raise my awareness? Am I hearing you right? You scared the hell out of me!” Josefa said bitterly.
    “OK, granted I wanted to frighten you. Fear is sometimes the most effective defense against danger. It’s made you alert and cautious, activated your distrust. That was the only way to protect you against Schulmann’s viciousness.”
    He pushed his chair back violently and stood up, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles bulged. “I’m going to tell you about the experiences I’ve had with him, and you’ll understand me better.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Five years I worked for Harckmüller, and Gerhard Harckmüller wanted to make me partner because he was so pleased with me…Then Schulmann came into the company, and things soon changed. It all began when some of my clients’ data became public knowledge. The clients complained, naturally, and thought I was the source of the leak. But I suspected that they were the source. There didn’t seem to be any other conclusion. Nobody had access to the data except me and them. But a relationship based on trust was now well nigh impossible.”
    There was a pause. Paul’s lips moved without making a sound, as if he could not—would not—say out loud what followed. Josefa watched him, fascinated; she’d never seen her old friend like this.
    “Then somebody downloaded some child porn onto my computer. And this somebody made sure a colleague would discover it and pass it on to the boss. At first I was able to convince Harckmüller that somebody—maybe a hacker—had got into my system illegally. Somebody had cracked my password, so from then on I kept changing it. And then two women I worked with received suggestive