“Nothing right now, but something’ll break. Always does.”
“Thank you, detective,” Wilson said, standing up and waiting to escort Zemke to the front door.
Ignoring Wilson’s attempt to conclude the conversation, Zemke dug deeper. “Apparently, Davis Zollinger was a longtime associate of your father’s.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Wilson said, annoyed by Zemke’s persistence. “I haven’t been involved in my father’s business. I only know a handful of his clients and associates.”
“Your father’s firm helped Dutton Industries sell off some of its divisions. I don’t understand all those financial manipulations, but I’d wager that you
Wilson cringed at the detective’s tone and his choice of words. “I’m a management consultant, detective, not an investment banker,” Wilson retorted, feeling more vulnerable by the second.
“Has anyone ever tried to blackmail your father?” Zemke asked.
“Not that I know of, why?” Wilson said, sitting down again while keeping his eyes fixed on Zemke.
“Zollinger’s daughters tried to get the FBI to investigate their father’s death. Claimed their father was a member of some sort of secret society that was blackmailing him into siphoning money out of Dutton Industries. When their father decided to go to the authorities, he was killed.”
“What did the FBI find?”
“Not a thing. Pretty much closed the investigation after a couple of months. Lack of evidence. Considered it to be one more unsubstantiated conspiracy theory. According to friends of the family, the daughters went into hiding out of fear for their lives. Said they’d received a bunch of threatening phone calls.”
“That explains the phony IDs.”
“Sounds pretty farfetched, huh?” Zemke said, beginning to believe that Wilson indeed knew very little about his father’s business activities.
Wilson didn’t respond to Zemke’s probe.
“We need access to Fielder amp; Company’s files. Any problems with that?”
“Not at all,” Wilson pretended. “Contact Weintraub, Drake, Heinke amp; Redd. They’re the company’s legal counsel,” Wilson said, nervously questioning whether Bill Heinke would be able to restrict the scope of access to Fielder amp; Company’s files afforded to Zemke, the Boston PD, or the FBI. He wanted to prevent a full-blown, asset-freezing investigation into his father’s life and business practices. He needed to go through his father’s files at Fielder amp; Company before they did, cleansing them if necessary. Not because he wanted to obstruct justice, he just needed to slow things down until the estate was liquidated and his loved ones were protected.
“We’ll be in touch.” Zemke stood up abruptly. As the detective was about to leave the house, he turned to Wilson. “Before Boston PD closes the Daniel Redd case, do you have any reason to believe that his death was something other than an accident?”
“No,” Wilson said. Then, with feigned surprise, he asked, “Do you?”
Zemke trained his eyes on him like a hawk ready to snatch its prey, but Wilson didn’t flinch.
“Be careful, Mr. Fielder. Seems your family has chosen a dangerous business,” he said as he turned and walked away.
Wilson watched Zemke stroll to his car, troubled by what an intensified investigation might bring. When he went back inside the house, his mother was in tears. Rachel, Darrin, and Savoy were standing next to her in the foyer hallway. “What’s wrong,” he cried.
“She just received a threatening phone call,” Rachel said, her voice trembling with fear and anger.
“Do we have any idea who it was?” Wilson asked, putting his arms around his mother while looking at Savoy.
His mother shook her head. “No. Just a man’s voice.”
“My team initiated a trace, but the signal was bouncing. These guys are professionals and very serious,” Savoy said.
“What did he say?” Wilson asked.
“He said you were putting the family in danger. They want you to stop asking questions and stop helping the police. He said if you ignore his warning, our family will pay the consequences,” his mother said before bursting into tears.
Wilson could see the terror in her eyes. He wrapped her in his arms again, attempting to console her. But inside his anger was raging, as fifty-two avenues of retaliation flew through his head.
“I think we should call the police right now,” Rachel said, feeling powerless.
“No,” her mother said, emphatically. “Let Wilson do what he’s planned.”
Wilson continued comforting his mother for several minutes before excusing himself. He went to the library. Emily needed to come to Boston as soon as possible. He picked up the phone. The scrambler was attached but not turned on.
After two rings, Emily answered, “Wilson?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Finally. I’ve been worried sick. How’s your father?”
Wilson gave her a brief description of his father’s condition. Then, after telling her to hang on a minute, he turned on the scrambler and said, “Don’t say a word. The phones are bugged. I just turned on a scrambler at my end so they can hear you but not me.”
For the next three minutes he told her about the surveillance, Daniel Redd, Hap Greene, and everything that had happened in the past few days, including the threat to his mother. He also told her about his plan to make the surveillance crowd think they were afraid and distancing themselves from his father’s business affairs. When he finished, he turned the scrambler off again.
“I’m back. Sorry. My mother’s not in very good shape. She received a threatening phone call a few minutes ago from the people who shot my father. They think I’m a threat, which is ridiculous. All I want to do is sell Fielder amp; Company and give my father the best medical care we can find. You and I have a lot to talk about. How soon can you come to Boston? I’d come to you, but there’s too much going on here for me to leave right now.”
Emily remained silent in utter disbelief, but she immediately understood Wilson’s dilemma. She wanted nothing more than to be with him.
“I’ve been so foolish, Em.”
“Oh God, Wilson. We’ve both been foolish.”
“I miss you. More than you know. ”
“You have no idea,” she said before promising to be on an airplane the day after tomorrow, once she’d turned her patients over to colleagues and wrapped up a few other loose ends.
As they hung up, he vowed to never again cause their separation.
15
Wilson — Boston, MA
Wilson stepped into the newly renovated lobby of the Harry Wilson Fielder Building, located on the Charles River in Boston’s Back Bay near Copley Square. His great-grandfather had built the ten-story edifice in 1921. Two security guards approached-not the usual uniformed types, more like undercover agents-quickly recognizing Wilson and escorting him to the elevators. One of them pushed the button to the executive offices on the top floor, while asking Wilson about his father. Wilson responded with a brief update.
Once inside the elevator riding up to his father’s office, he felt strange knowing that the office would be empty. When Wilson got off on the tenth floor he was greeted by another security officer, who seemed to expect him. The guard asked if he needed help finding anything.
“No, thank you,” Wilson answered, heading toward his father’s office. The most secretive consulting firm in America, Wilson said to himself, repeating words from a recent edition of
