Chapter 94: Not Worth It
Bobby Axelrod didn't immediately launch a full-scale hunt for the truth.
He waited.
For a predator, patience isn't a virtue—it's instinct.
And soon enough—
the moment arrived.
Dan Margolis was a former employee of Bobby Axelrod.
A good one.
He had later moved to a global asset management firm in Sun Valley—a clean, amicable departure. Handshakes, well-wishes, no bad blood.
So when Dan walked into Bobby's office that afternoon, everything seemed perfectly normal.
They exchanged pleasantries. Talked about the market, old colleagues, those years when "money came easy, but sleep didn't."
Dan smiled. "I kind of miss everyone."
Then added casually, "Lately I've had a few ideas—pretty interesting ones. Thought I'd run them by you."
Bobby didn't respond immediately.
He simply looked at him—as if calculating something.
"Next time," Bobby said. "Come by tonight. We'll get some steak and talk it through."
Dan nodded, his smile effortless.
As he stood to leave, Bobby suddenly spoke again.
"If you ever want to come back—"
He paused, then continued,
"The doors of Axe Capital are always open to you."
Dan froze for a fraction of a second, then smiled even wider. "I'll remember that."
The door closed.
Silence returned to the room.
Bobby didn't go back to work.
He sat there for a moment, then stood and walked to the safe built into the wall.
Password. Fingerprint.
He pulled out an unmarked phone.
And dialed.
The call was picked up almost instantly.
"Hall," Bobby said, "I need to see you."
—
The underground utility level of a large shopping mall.
Dim. Narrow.
The hum of escalators filtered down from above, broken and distant.
Footsteps of the crowd above were dulled by layers of concrete, reduced to faint vibrations.
Pipes ran along the walls. Exposed cables hung like frozen veins.
The air smelled of metal, oil, and dust.
Bobby Axelrod walked in, carrying a black duffel bag.
Hall was already there.
He was Bobby's most reliable—and most dangerous—source of information.
The direction of government winds.
Movements within federal agencies.
Which investigations were forming.
Which names had just appeared in internal briefings.
All of that—
Hall knew before it ever reached the news.
More importantly, Hall didn't just provide information.
When necessary—
he could influence outcomes.
Slow an investigation.
Redirect attention.
Or quietly suffocate something before it ever took shape.
Hall stood beside a row of aging electrical panels.
He was dressed plainly—a dark coat, no tie—like a mid-level manager called in to inspect equipment.
They didn't greet each other.
Just stood in the same patch of shadow, as if by coincidence.
Bobby glanced around. "Cozy place."
"Safe place," Hall replied flatly.
Bobby set the duffel bag down.
It landed with a dull, heavy thud.
Hall spoke first, his voice low. "I checked my contacts in Washington. There's no active case against you."
He paused.
"But Dan Margolis has been arrested."
Bobby's eyes narrowed.
"He's already been bailed out by his lawyer. Arraignment delayed."
"What does that tell you?" Bobby asked.
"That he's cooperating with the government." Hall looked at him. "How did you spot it?"
"His eye contact," Bobby said. "Too much of it. Barely blinking. And his heart was racing—like he'd just finished a marathon."
"You did the right thing staying calm," Hall nodded. "The SEC is nothing. Fines are just part of doing business in finance."
"What you really need to worry about… is the Department of Justice."
Hall then began listing, one by one, the loose ends that needed to be… cleaned up.
Hall finished with a line Bobby knew all too well:
"You don't have to swim faster than the shark—you just have to swim faster than the guy next to you."
Bobby frowned, clearly reluctant. "You want me to do that?"
Hall looked at him. "Do you remember what you said you feared most when we first met?"
Bobby's voice was low. "Guys in trench coats."
"Guys in trench coats," Hall echoed, mimicking the tone, "walking into your office and saying—step away from your computer."
Bobby's gaze sharpened. "And you promised me that wouldn't happen."
"Then let me keep that promise."
Hall pulled out his phone and opened a photo.
Bobby glanced at it. "Steven Birch?"
"Either him—or you."
Bobby was silent for a moment. Then he bent down, picked up the duffel bag, and handed it over.
"He plays the part of my best friend," Bobby said coldly, "but somehow forgot how his long positions crushed my shorts last year."
Hall took the bag. "Then let's begin."
He turned to leave.
"Hall."
Bobby's voice stopped him.
Hall turned back.
"There's one more thing."
Bobby's tone had changed.
"I have an employee," he said. "Pancreatic cancer."
Hall didn't respond immediately.
"Recently, I've been looking into something," Bobby continued. "James Whitmore. Alzheimer's diagnosis."
The moment that name landed, Hall's expression froze—just for a split second.
"I don't know anything about that," he said.
Bobby stared at him. "You don't know—or you can't say?"
Hall was silent for a few seconds.
Then he spoke slowly.
"I can only tell you one thing."
"This isn't just some billionaire's secret. And it's not a buried medical miracle."
"The government found something. And then… certain people noticed."
"Different factions. Different interests."
"They chose to work together—to bury it. To help the government hide it."
Bobby's breathing remained steady.
"Now, even people inside the government can't retrieve that information anymore," Hall said. "That tells you how important it is to them. No room for error."
Bobby asked bluntly, "How much would it cost to dig it out?"
Hall didn't name a number.
He simply shook his head slightly and lifted the duffel bag in his hand.
"That price," he said, "isn't something one person could carry."
"And it's far beyond anything I can do."
He paused, then added, his tone unusually serious:
"Here's some advice."
"If this is just about finding a doctor for your employee—it's not worth it."
"If it's for yourself… or if you're looking to add another card to your hand…"
"Then maybe—it's worth considering."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Leaving Bobby Axelrod alone in the dim underground machinery level.
(End of Chapter)