The Chosen

him on edge. But why? she kept wondering. If The Inn is legitimate, what’s he so distracted about? It was a good question, and one that continued to occur to her throughout the meal. Select clientele, money-laundering, Mafia, she repeatedly thought. Earlier she’d found these implications amusing. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure.

And if it was so “preposterous,” why did Feldspar keep bringing it up? “I suppose I should go and speak to him,” he said next, quite by surprise.

“I’m sorry?” Vera said.

“This…policeman.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Vera said. She paused. Careful, girl, careful Perhaps it was the champagne, which was gone now, unraveling her better judgment. Or perhaps it was her own suspicions. “But may I ask you something?’’ she said next.

“Of course,” Feldspar granted, and then very inappropriately ordered a bottle of 1983 Montrachet.

Just what I need, Vera thought. More booze. I’ll wind up getting sloshed in front of my boss. I’ll be asking him how he got his start washing money for drug lords. “It just seemed a little curious,” she said. “When Chief Mulligan asked to see you, Kyle said you went to the airport.” She paused once more. “Why did he lie?”

Feldspar nodded, stroking his trimmed goatee. “A sound query, Ms. Abbot, and one to which you are entitled a sound answer.” He sipped the Montrachet, peered at it in the fine Cristal d’Arques glass. “I have somewhat of an aversion to police. And I’m sure you’ve been wondering, quite understandably, if I’ve ever been in any trouble with the law.”

“Oh, Mr. Feldspar, that’s not what I was thinking at all,” Vera…lied. Of course she had. Deep down she knew she’d been wondering about that all day. But—

“The answer, I’m afraid, is yes.”

Vera blinked. Holy shit, she thought. Now I’ve really done it! Next time keep your big mouth SHUT!

Feldspar didn’t seem at all fazed by the alcohol—he never did. Vera didn’t believe that it was the champagne and wine that had loosened his personal armor. Feldspar wasn’t a man to go blabbering on drink. Vera knew that type—the typical general manager. Feldspar’s high rank in the chain of command didn’t allow him to confide in anyone. So why is he confiding in me? she wondered.

“Quite some time ago, I held a similar post for an investment company quite like Magwyth Enterprises. It was an identical operation to what we’re doing here, and it was very successful. And I’m ashamed to have to admit, however, that it wasn’t entirely…clean. Money corrupts, Ms. Abbot, just like power. In many ways they’re very much the same.”

“Mr. Feldspar, you don’t have to tell me your personal b—”

“One thing led to another,” he went on. “Improprieties…I’m not creating excuses for my conduct, mind you. What I did was wrong.”

What! Vera thought with fervor. What did you do! She couldn’t ask, of course—that would be uncouth. But—Goddamn!—she wanted to know.

Feldspar smiled meekly across the table. His rings glittered as he poured more wine. “You’re wondering—naturally. I can tell. Who wouldn’t be, under such circumstances?”

“Really, Mr. Feldspar, I don’t—”

“I’m afraid I was accused of the very same offenses that our ever dutiful Chief Mulligan has