A King's ransom

“Notice of Death” were the three words that caught my attention. Alone at my desk, I read the caption on the pleading twice to make sense of it.

After the meeting with Agent Huitt, I’d driven straight down I-95 to my law firm. I quickly dismissed the idea of asking Duncan Fitz for advice on how to handle the government’s accusations. My supervising partner would have been utterly unamused to hear that my father and his business partner were on the FBI’s radar screen. Nevertheless, I rode up the elevator and went straight to my office, with no real purpose other than to be alone there. As my ex-fiancee had finally come to realize, my career was my cocoon. Bad news, a crisis of any sort- retreating to my cubbyhole and immersing myself in work could make just about anything seem to disappear. Countless times Jenna had begged me to crawl out of my cave and talk out a problem with her. Eventually I would emerge, usually with the proud announcement that I’d figured out everything by myself and that there was nothing left to talk about. It used to make her crazy.

And here I was again, going through my stack of mail, as if that would fix everything with the FBI. It wouldn’t, of course, and what made the whole exercise even more absurd was that I didn’t even need to be there. Duncan had arranged for another associate to review my mail while I was on personal leave for the week. Anything that was deemed bland enough to remain in my in-box until my return was about as compelling as reading the phone book, with the exception of the latest pleading filed by the plaintiff’s counsel in the Med-Fam Pharmaceuticals case. A simple one-page “notice of death” advised the court of the sad turn of events.

Gilbert Jones was dead.

He had died of respiratory failure the morning after Duncan talked him into playing “Let’s Make a Deal.” We all knew he was going to die. No one expected it to happen this soon. He’d given up. Duncan had snatched away what little he had left to fight for in his life. Having met Gilbert, I felt bad enough. Dad’s being kidnapped made me feel that much worse. Gilbert’s death made me realize that everyone had a breaking point, maybe not the stomach to pull the trigger or jump off a bridge, but certainly the ability to act-or, more precisely, not act-on the realization that there was no escape and that pushing forward was utterly pointless. That Gilbert had reached his point of despair so soon after Duncan’s ploy made me terribly depressed. The thought that Dad might someday follow had me downright distressed. Even the strong could snap at the hands of abusive kidnappers.

I pushed the mail aside. Being alone wasn’t the answer. I needed to talk to someone.

I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I found myself dialing Jenna’s phone number. My mother had planted the seed in my head yesterday when she’d suggested that I tell her about the kidnapping. It had sounded like a bad idea then, and in some ways it didn’t sound any better now. I was down in the dumps, however, and for some reason I wanted to hear her voice.

“Hello,” she answered.

I almost hung up, but I knew that her cell phone had Caller ID. She’d think I was stalking her.

“Hi, it’s me. Nick.”

“I know. I recognized the number. How are you?”

“I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Your dad, I know. I’m sorry.”

“You heard?”

“I saw Duncan Fitz at the courthouse yesterday. He told me.”

Jenna was a trial lawyer at a small firm in Coral Gables. As she used to rub it in, lawyers at smaller firms actually had their own cases and got to see the inside of the courthouse, unlike the young paper pushers at law firms like Cool Cash.

“Well, I’m glad he mentioned it,” I said. “I wanted you to know.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should call you or not. I wrote a little personal note to your mom. I know this might sound hollow, but if there’s anything I can do, just call. I mean it. I feel terrible that this has happened.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I paused, not sure where to take it from there. We’d been best friends and lovers for almost five years. How weird it was to think that if my father hadn’t been kidnapped we might never have uttered another word to one another. My heart was pounding. I was nervous and confused. I felt guilty, too, thinking that in some way I’d used my father’s crisis as an excuse to reconnect with Jenna, however briefly. Calling her had accomplished nothing. Or maybe it had proved too much. The mere sound of her voice had only confirmed that I wasn’t over her.

“So, how are you doing?” I asked.

She said something beyond “Good,” but it was garbled. The connection was breaking up.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said.

Her response was pure static. The connection was even worse.

“I think I’m losing you.” As soon as I’d said it, the line went dead, and I realized the irony of my words. I placed the receiver in the cradle, sat back in my chair, and stared blankly off to the middle distance.

“I’ve definitely lost you,” I said softly.

My cell phone rang. I snatched it from my pocket, thinking it was Jenna. It was my mother.

“Good news,” she said.

“What?”

“I’ve been worried sick ever since Guillermo told us how those kidnappers think of your father as a gold mine. All I’ve been able to think is, What if we can’t pay the ransom?”

“I know. We’re all worried.”

“Well, our worries are over.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we have to, we can pay a gold mine and then some.”

“How?”

“Your father once told me that if anything ever happened to him on one of his trips, I should check a special safe-deposit box he opened at Brickell Trust. The last couple of days I’ve been putting it off. I was afraid I would find a letter of good-bye or something on that order. This morning I finally went. You won’t believe what was in there.”

“Stop right there, Mom.” On the heels of Agent Huitt’s accusations, I was suddenly concerned that Mom and I might not be the only ones on this phone line.

“But this is really good news.”

“We’ll talk about it when I get home. I’ll be right there.” I hung up before she could say more.

I had no idea what she’d found, but I surely didn’t want her blurting it out if there was any possibility that the FBI had tapped our lines and was eavesdropping. I returned the notice of Gilbert Jones’s death to the top of my pile, then quickly headed out the door.

10

As a lawyer, I was embarrassed to admit it. But I couldn’t lie to my own mother. I’d never heard of kidnap- and-ransom insurance for a fisherman.

That was exactly what Mom had found in the safe-deposit box: a K amp;R insurance policy issued to my father. I’d seen that type of coverage before, but only for the big multinational conglomerates. For companies with employees abroad, it certainly made sense to shift the risk of an abduction to an insurance company. The insurer was then on the hook for paying the ransom and, even more important, hiring a private security consultant to negotiate a safe release. When I thought about it, the concept made even more sense for a small business. A half-million-dollar ransom would do much more damage to Rey’s Seafood Company than would a ten-million-dollar hit to a Fortune 500 company. Until now, however, I’d never realized how affordable it was even for the little guy.

I read the entire policy carefully, first page to last, while seated at the kitchen table with my mother looking over my shoulder. I was at once proud of my old man for thinking of it and excited as hell that he’d actually followed through and bought it. Hot damn! Dad was insured.