clawing her way out of a watery grave, come to exact her revenge.
Wallerman was spinning a table knife on the tablecloth, a fitful effort at smothering his euphoria. All those years spent dreaming of getting back at Jack, years of digging and hoping and waiting, finally the moment was here. Morgan admired the way Wallerman dragged this out; the impulse to blurt everything, to stuff it all in Jack’s face had to be killing him. Hold on to it as long as you can, he wanted to say; let Jack contemplate all the ugly possibilities. Let him stuffer and stew.
Eventually, Lew informed Jack, “After you left, I went through everything. Your files, your computer records, your client statements. You were good, Jack. You left nothing behind.”
Jack seemed to relax. “Too bad, you wasted your time. You always were a jerk.”
“Well, almost nothing,” Wallerman continued, still spinning the knife, still ignoring Jack’s face, but carefully dropping one little note of concern. “A few months later I was sitting in an investing conference, bored out of my mind, when I got a fresh idea.”
“Oh, come on, Lew. You cheated your way through Princeton and stole investing ideas at Primo. You wouldn’t know a fresh idea if it sat on your lap.”
Wallerman smiled at the insult. “Is there anything Jack might’ve forgotten? Anything he overlooked? You see, you had become a fixation for me. I couldn’t get you out of my mind-you ran with all those millions and left me in a lousy firm filled with greedy scum, backstabbers, and liars.”
“Think about this, Lew. Maybe you belonged there.”
Again, Wallerman seemed to enjoy the insult. This was his moment of triumph, and he wasn’t about to let Jack spoil the fun. “Then it hit me.”
“This is fascinating. Tell me what you think I forgot.”
“Your travel records. The second the conference ended I raced back to the firm travel office. I scoured the records for hours. You made plenty of overseas trips during those years old Edith was supposed to be on that boat.”
“Now you’re boring me.” He didn’t sound bored, though.
“You went to Copenhagen the week before Edith arrived. In fact, you stayed in the same hotel she later checked into. You even billed it to the firm. What were you doing there, Jack?”
“Good customer relations. Making arrangements for Edith’s trip.”
“How thoughtful. You sure burned through a pile of cash on your charge cards. Over twenty thousand on women’s clothing, another five thousand for luxury luggage. I’ve got copies of the receipts, in case you’re interested.”
“I’m not. Are you through?”
“Hardly. See, I asked myself, why would Jack be buying all those clothes and luggage for an old broad with all that dough? Then I answered myself-you weren’t.”
“Now you’re speculating, Lew.”
“The nurse you hired to take Edith’s place, she needed to look the part. She had to show up in fine clothes, hauling fancy luggage, looking like she could buy the damn boat.”
Jack managed to produce a nonchalant shrug. It was unconvincing. He never dreamed he’d be hearing these words.
“Then, about twice a year, you continued to make trips to a variety of locales spread around Europe and Asia. I’ll admit, Jack, I didn’t get it. Not until I plotted all those locations on maps did it make sense. They were all seaports.”
“I like seafood and sunshine. Are you through now?”
“Almost, Jack, almost. Next, I contacted Vermillion Shipping Lines, the company that owned Edith’s cruise ship. They were kind enough to check the log. You know what?” He paused to stare at Jack’s face, as if searching for a true answer. “Yeah, I guess you know. The dates and locations of your trips were an exact match to the days Edith’s ship visited those ports.”
Out in the parking lot, Morgan couldn’t tear his eyes from Jack’s face. Not for a second; he didn’t want to miss a single grimace, a single erratic shift of the eyes, a single pained mood swing. He was stuffing popcorn into his mouth, chewing violently, enjoying himself immensely. Jack seemed to sink lower in his chair. He began rubbing his temples, as if his head was splitting. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Mr. Cool and Calm was wilting before Morgan’s eyes, every twitch and pregnant pause being recorded in digital, high-definition color by the tiny cameras hidden in plain sight in the center of the table. Wallerman was masterful. Morgan greatly admired the performance.
Lew paused for a deep gulp of gin and tonic. A little dribbled out the corner of his mouth, and he sloppily wiped it on a sleeve of his new two-thousand-dollar suit. “You just had to be sure your imposter was playing you straight, didn’t you?”
Morgan now was watching the flames from the fireplace play across Jack’s face. Hooded eyes, lips drawn tight-perhaps it was the flickering light, but he looked almost saturnine. “Is that all you have?” he asked Lew in a low, menacing voice.
“You wish, Jack. Once you know the basics, the whole fraud comes apart. I have a mountain of evidence. Did you know there’s no statute of limitations on murder?”
The waitress arrived to take Wallerman’s dinner order. “Get lost,” Jack barked at her, very rudely. One quick glance at his face and she scuttled away from their table. “What do you want?” Jack growled.
“What does any man want?”
“You tell me. That’s why you’re here, after all.”
“World peace. A rich, beautiful nymphomaniac who owns a beer factory. A billion dollars in the bank of my choice. Can you give me those things?”
“Out of my price range. What do you want from me?”
“Well, you see, Jack, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Jack leaned across the table. His face was inches from Wallerman’s. “Indecision can be an unhealthy thing, Lew.”
Wallerman replied with a quick smile, “Look over in that corner.” He pointed gleefully to the far end of the room and Jack spun around and looked. Two men in dark suits smirked at him. One flipped the bird; the other settled for a sarcastic wave. It was their debut and they hammed it up for all it was worth.
Wallerman wouldn’t agree to this meeting without a safety blanket, and TFAC had obliged, providing the pair of happy thugs now smiling and glowering at Jack.
“In case you’re wondering,” Lew mentioned-now all bravado-“the Rottweilers are mine, and armed to the teeth. Don’t dream of doing anything stupid.”
Jack collapsed back into his seat. Staring at the tablecloth, he pleaded, “we can work this out, Lew. Just tell me what you want.”
Wallerman stood, picked up the cell phone off the table, stuffed it in a pocket, and walked around until he stood beside Jack, who seemed frozen to his chair. He bent over and, about two inches from Jack’s ear, whispered, “I’ll be in touch, pal.”
The meeting would be brief and unnoticed, as usual. Harvey Crintz waited till the yellow cab rolled to a stop by the curb, peeked inside to be sure it was the right one, then scurried to the rear door and hopped in.
“How’re you doing?” the driver asked without turning around.
Crintz spent a moment getting comfortable. He pulled his pants out of his crotch and sat back. “Glad you got my message,” he said. The cab began rolling.
The driver, Tim Paley, peeked at Crintz’s face in the rearview mirror. Paley was a midlevel flunky in CG’s government contracts division. He was ambitious, hungry, and more than willing to do a little dirty work if it furthered his professional advancement.
Crintz was an old friend, one who for the past five years had been bought and paid for by a special slush fund-a hidden pile of cash created for the worthy purpose of buying CG friendships in a city filled with underpaid midlevel bureaucrats.
But Crintz, a Christian of the born-again variety and a dedicated family man, would never take cash to fix a contract or favor a bid. That would be a gross violation of his professional ethics and the law. He provided inside scoops and tips, nothing more-also a breach of the law, just not as serious.
Five thousand a month in the Bahamian bank of your choice only bought you so much loyalty.
