“ButI’ll have enough left to make the payments, even if I don’t get the big NHLcontract next season.” Beckett sat forward and planted his elbows on his knees.“Tell the Delgados I agree to their terms. I’ll call Blake and have himtransfer the money over.”
Tomstared at Beckett a moment, his mouth slack.
“Whatis it, Tom? Did you just think of more bad news?”
“What’sBlake’s last name?”
“It’sBeaufort. Blake Beaufort. Why?”
Tom’scolor seemed to drain from his face. “And he’s your financial advisor?”
“Yeah.Why? Shit, Tom, you’re scaring me.”
Tomtapped on his keyboard. “You need to see this.”
Beckettrose slowly, his stomach knotting, and he moved behind the desk to read overTom’s shoulder. The screen displayed the Fox News logo in one corner, but itwas the headline that drew Beckett’s eye: “Financial Advisor to the StarsArrested on Multiple Counts of Fraud.” The subheading said something about atwo-year FBI investigation into Blake Beaufort’s dealings, or rather hisalleged theft of his clients’ millions. Beneath the devastating words wereothers, like “fake hedge funds” and “fraudulent wire transfers.” There werealso two pictures: one of Blake Beaufort’s luminescent-white smile, the pictureBeckett had seen countless times in all the slick marketing pieces, and theother of Beaufort, his head bowed and his arms bound behind him, being escortedby suits in sunglasses who could have been poster boys for FBI recruiting ads.
Beckett’sheart dropped into his clenched gut. He read it again and gaped at Tom.
“Thisisn’t a joke?”
Tom’sexpression told Beckett it wasn’t. “Shit, Beck, I wish it was. I was justreading about this before you came in. How much money was this guy managing foryou?”
Beckettstumbled back to his seat and sat down hard. “All of it,” he croaked.
Tom’seyes flew wide open. “Everything?”
“Excepta few hundred grand in a money market. No wonder he hasn’t returned my calls oremails. I thought the fucker was on vacation.” Beckett’s pulse was racing, hisbreathing irregular.
“Yeah,he’s going on vacation all right. To federal prison. Jesus, Beck, how the fuckdid you get mixed up with this snake oil salesman?”
Beckettlooked out the window with unseeing eyes. “People I knew in LA swore by thisguy. They’d invested with him for years. Partied with him. Hell, I partied withhim. I moved everything over to him before I came to Denver. I never saw anyred flags.”
Tomscratched the back of his head and blew out a breath. “Well, fuck. This changeseverything, Beck. I need to go back to the drawing board on the Delgadosettlement.”
“And Ineed a drink.”
Seated ata bar with Tom an hour later, Beckett tossed back his second Breckenridge onthe rocks and signaled the bartender. “You sure you don’t want another one,Tom?”
“Nah,I’m good. You’d better take it easy, though. You can’t afford Breckenridgeanymore.”
Thefresh drink arrived, and Beckett twirled the glass on its paper coaster.
Tomsqueezed his shoulder. “You gonna be all right?”
“Yeah.”Beckett sipped his drink.
“Look,I gotta get home. The wife’s making something special for dinner.”
“Then fuckyou,” Beckett muttered.
“No,I’m going home and letting my wife fuck me. Take my advice and call one of yourgirlfriends and do the same. And lay off the booze.”
Beckettgave him a sidelong glance and snorted. After Tom left, he stared at themirrored wall that rose behind the bar to the high ceiling. You can’t affordBreckenridge anymore. His eyes wandered over the top shelves and rested ona bottle he’d never be able to afford again: Pappy Van Winkle’s bourbon. Hismind followed, landing in a LoDo loft. He asked for the check and pulled thecrumpled card from his pocket.
.~ * * * ~.
Weeks later, the Hawks’ season over and his association withthe Blizzard organization permanently severed, Beckett was back in Denverfull-time, heading into a coffee bar when his phone vibrated. He was genuinelypleased to see Cooper’s number—a friendly voice on the other end for a change.Maybe he was in town and they could grab a bite, catch up. It had been toolong.
“Littlebro! Where you at?”
“Hey,Beck. I’m home in San Diego. What’s up?”
“I’mgood, I’m good,” Beckett lied. “So what you been up to, man? Everything okay?”Beckett mouthed “double espresso” at the barista and handed over his last giftcard. She gave him a bright smile and went to work on his order.
“Yeah,everything’s great. I, ah, have some news.”
“What?Did you finally make it to the top of the most wanted list?”
“Funny,Beck. Nothing that criminal. No, I … I’m getting married.”
Thebarista slid Beckett’s espresso across the small counter. She pointed to thesaucer and widened her smile. He barely noticed as he picked up his order andtucked his phone between his shoulder and ear. After stepping outside, heplopped into a wire chair on the coffee shop’s patio. It was one of the firsthot days of the summer, and the chair scorched his hand.
“Beckett?”
“I’mhere. Shit, my baby brother getting married. That is criminal.”
“Onlyyou would think so.” A pause. “I’m no baby, and neither are you.”
“Whatthe fuck does that mean?”
“Justsayin’. We’re both getting older, and settling down … Well, I’m lookingforward to it. You might want to try it.”
Beckettsnorted. “Funny, little bro. Seriously, man, I’m really happy for you.” He tooka sip, burning his tongue in the process. “Fuck!” he hissed.
“What’sthat?”
“Hotcoffee. Ah, what’s her name?”
“Emily.Emily Stanton.”
“Haveyou been dating her—Emily—long?”
“Eightmonths now.”
Huh.How did I not know this? “Youdidn’t mention her last time we talked.”
“Yeah,well, that was five months ago, and I didn’t know where this thing was going.Besides, you were going through the Minneapolis thing.”
Stillam. “Kindasudden, isn’t it?”
Cooperlet out a sigh. “I was ready to marry her a week after I met her. I didn’t wanther to get away, but I had to work up the courage to ask. She’s ‘the one,’ youknow?”
“Huh.”Beckett didn’t know. He gingerly tried another sip. A woman who looked like atall Kim Kardashian watched him from another table. He turned away.
“So,Beck, I, ah, have a special favor to ask.”
“Sure,anything.” He fingered the napkin on his saucer. The barista, who apparentlywas called Joanie, had written her name and number on it—with a little heartover the i. Cute.
“Um,it’s a really small wedding. Her folks are down-to-earth, you know,conservative, and we’re only gonna have about forty people there. Rob’s my bestman, ’cause, you know, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”
Thatstung. Hell, I’ve known
