The Tainted Trust

by Stephen Douglass

  Visconti turned his gray Mercedes onto the Long Island Expressway, then turned to Kerri. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she replied, still trembling. “The further we get from Brian the better I’ll be.”

  “I mentioned earlier that you should seriously consider changing your name forever… Aside from considering it, could you actually divorce him?”

  “In a heart-beat. I don’t want another thing to do with that man for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to do anything about it.”

  “Wrong. You can’t afford not to do anything about it. It’s probably not possible to forget it completely, but you should get rid of it so you’re not constantly reminded of it.”

  “Louis, I can’t just wave a magic wand. Divorcing Brian will cost money I don’t have.”

  Visconti reached for Kerri’s hand. “I’ll make a bet with you.”

  “On what?”

  “I know a lawyer in the city. She’s a very good friend. I’m willing to bet you that she can have a comprehensive restraining order slapped on Brian, get you a divorce plus alimony, and have Brian pay for the whole thing. If I lose, I’ll pay her fees. If I win, Brian pays. Win or lose, you win. You interested?”

  “Sure I’m interested, but I told you I don’t want any money from Brian.”

  Visconti rolled his eyes. “Okay, we’ll tell her to forget the alimony. Now, do we have a bet?”

  “We have a bet,” Kerri agreed, showing a hint of a smile as she shook Visconti’s hand.

  “Good. Then I’ll call her on Monday and set up an appointment. You can walk to her office. She’s less than a block away from yours.” Visconti glanced at Kerri again and shook his head.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You continue to amaze me. Your husband has gone out of his way to ruin your life. In addition to drinking excessively, abusing you physically and running off with a stripper, he entered your home tonight and attempted to attack you. In spite of all that, you still insist on taking nothing from him. That’s why you amaze me.”

  “There isn’t anything amazing about it. Taking money from him is like descending to his level. That’s something I won’t do.”

  “What about the legal fees? Technically you would be accepting money from him if you allowed him to pay them.”

  “No. I would merely be asking him to return the two things he took from me.”

  “What things?”

  “My freedom and self-respect. I had both before I met him and it’s his responsibility to give them back to me. If the process of returning them costs him money, so be it.”

  Again Visconti was reminded of the elements of Kerri’s personality to which he was so attracted. “You’re one in a million,” he said, placing his arm on her shoulders and drawing her close to him. “Brian’s a fool. Maybe one day he’ll wake up and realize what he’s lost.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Visconti followed Kerri into his apartment on the sixth and top floor of a gray vine-covered building on Fifth Avenue. The residence was thousands of miles and millions of dollars away from her mother’s apartment in Vancouver. Brian Pyper had brought her to the suburbs of the crucible of American capitalism, but Louis Visconti had taken her to the nucleus. The aging, almost institutional appearance of the building’s exterior gave scarce hint of the effort and treasure spent by some of the city’s wealthiest inhabitants on their respective segments of the interior.

  Kerri walked gingerly, almost on tiptoes across the polished Florentine marble floor of the foyer. She stopped to gaze around the enormous living room. Its two story high walls were adorned with large and expensive oil paintings. The far wall featured a floor to ceiling, cathedral-like array of windows embracing a massive cut-stone fireplace, and framing a stupendous view of Central Park. The oak floor was covered by a thick and expansive Persian rug. Blue, gray and beige tints of the rug complemented a single large sofa, covered in navy blue velvet and facing the fireplace.

  Filled with wonder and amazement, Kerri turned to face Visconti. “This is incredible!” she declared. “It’s hard to believe people actually live in places like this. But to own it and not live in it is beyond comprehension.”

  “You really know how to hurt a guy.” Visconti frowned and stared pensively at the fireplace. “In retrospect, I should have sold it two years ago. Like so many other people who had made enormous paper profits on real estate in the eighties, I foolishly assumed the game would continue forever. This place was a shrine to what I thought was my intelligence. If it was worth twice what I paid for it, there seemed to be no reason why it wouldn’t double again.”

  “Would you lose money if you sold it now?”

  Visconti nodded. “My glass is always half full, never half empty. I’m confident that if I hold on to it long enough, the market will eventually come back. A lot of people have told me I won’t live that long, but I’m absolutely convinced I will.”

  Kerri regarded Visconti’s bold admission as a sign of strength, an ability to understand his mind and to express it without fear of criticism. She was suddenly closer to him, even drawn to him.

  “Would you like to take the dollar tour?”

  “Lead the way,” she replied without hesitation, happy to be where she was, happy to be safe, happy to be with Louis Visconti.

  He led her through four thousand square feet of opulent luxury. The tour began in the large high-ceilinged dining room which dwarfed a long polished mahogany table, adorned with gold-plated settings for twelve. The two proceeded to the kitchen which appeared to be the control room for a five star restaurant. Its sparkling white tiled floor was surrounded by expensive stainless steel appliances. A gigantic, black marble-surfaced food preparation island occupied the center of the floor. Beyond the kitchen was the study, expensively furnished and subtly decorated with masculine taste.

  The tour ended near the top of a sweeping spiral stairway leading to four lavishly, yet tastefully decorated bedrooms. Visconti stopped and turned to face Kerri at the first door. “This room is yours for as long as you want it,” he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I hope you like it.”

  “Aren’t you going to show it to me?”

  “I want you to discover it yourself. If I were condemned to be confined to one room for the rest of my life, I couldn’t imagine a better place to serve my sentence.” Visconti tugged the lapel of his tailored gray pinstriped suit. “While you’re exploring this small slice of heaven, I’ll be taking a shower and getting out of this monkey-suit.”

  “I hope you’re not planning to leave,” Kerri said, insecurity now biting.

  Visconti shook his head. “I told you I’m not going to leave this apartment until you do.” He pointed to the door of the adjacent bedroom. “I’ll be in there with the shower door closed… Now, go inside and look around. I’ll get your bag and leave it right here. If you need me, or anything, shout. I’ll be right next door and I’ll be there for as long as it takes me to have a shower and change. Then we’ll have nightcaps in the kitchen. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  Relieved by Visconti’s assurances, Kerri turned and entered the bedroom. She saw immediately why Visconti wanted her to discover it. Her sneakers sank into an ocean of lush deep white broadloom as she walked through the sitting area. Two white velvet covered reclining arm chairs flanked a massive entertainment center, complete with built-in television, state of the art sound system and well stocked bar.

  Kerri continued to the bedroom. First to catch her eye was a king-sized bed, covered with a pale green silk spread and perched on a white marble pedestal. She mounted the pedestal and flopped backward onto the bed. After relaxing on the bed for several seconds, she rolled off and continued her discovery. She entered the en suite bathroom, with a floor area exceeding that of her entire apartment at Dennis’s house. Excited, she removed her sneakers and stepped into the sunken Jacuzzi, large enough for four people, its rim stacked with large white fluffy towels, its fixtures glitter
ing with gold-plating. Steps from the Jacuzzi was a large shower stall, surrounded by frosted bevel-cut glass. Adjacent to the shower stall was a solid clear cedar door leading to a large sauna.

  CHAPTER 63

  Refreshed, she joined Visconti in the kitchen.

  Now dressed in a red velour track suit, no shoes or socks, he was busily engaged in the preparation of a large jug of ice cubes, orange juice and vodka. He waved and smiled, then resumed his focus on the contents of the jug. He poured the entire concoction into a blender, held the cap on top with one hand and plugged the machine in with the other. When he was certain the blender had done its job, he turned it off and filled two crystal wine glasses with the finished product. “I’m sure there’s an official name for this,” he said as he handed one of the glasses to Kerri. “I call it a vodka slushy. I hope you like it as much as I do.”

  Kerri took a minuscule sip, then licked her lips. “Delicious. I can’t even taste the vodka.” She took a larger sip to confirm her initial report.

  “Then I’ve done it right.” Visconti pointed to the bar. “Let’s sit up there and talk.” He helped Kerri climb into one of the white upholstered captain’s chairs, then hoisted himself into the one beside her.

  “Do you mind answering a personal question?” Kerri asked.

  “Hell no. Go ahead.”

  “How did you get so rich?”

  “I don’t really know… I guess it was because I hated being poor. Maybe I was just lucky.” He gave Kerri a mischievous grin. “How would you define luck?”

  “Let me think about it,” Kerri said, then drank more of her slushy. “I think luck is a fortuitous event.”

  “Very good,” Visconti said, then poured another drink for himself and refilled Kerri’s. “Do you have any idea when luck occurs?”

  Kerri giggled, unaware that alcohol had begun to affect her. “That’s a tough one. Give me some more time.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  “… I think luck occurs when preparation meets opportunity.”

  “Brilliant! I couldn’t imagine a better way to express it. Do you think it’s impossible for luck to occur without a collision of those two factors?”

  “I don’t really know. I think luck is a subjective thing. One person might think he’s lucky to be alive. Another person takes his health for granted and never thinks about it.”

  Visconti nodded. “Maybe you have to consider the degree of preparation and the size of the opportunity.”

  “Why?”

  “Somewhere along the path of a healthy individual’s existence, he must have prepared himself for the opportunity to survive.”

  Kerri nodded, then took another sip.

  “We could carry the argument to the infinite level of resolution, but that’s not why I introduced it. I did it because I wanted to give you a better answer to your first question.”

  “Okay,” Kerri said, then took another long sip. “What was my first question?”

  “How did I get so rich.”

  “Right. How did you?”

  “For the longest time in my life I considered myself unlucky to have been born to poor parents. Later, I thought I was unlucky not to have married into wealth. When I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself, I realized that the only way I was ever going to be wealthy was to prepare for it. So I did.”

  “How did you prepare for it?” Kerri asked, fascinated.

  “Most people who knew me thought I had the world by the tail, a lovely wife, a good education and a great job with Green-Waltrum, one of the biggest houses on the street. They were wrong. The world had me by the tail. It was confiscating every dime I could make, and I knew it would continue to do so unless I got off the treadmill. I think that was the beginning of my preparation. The opportunity came when Gerry Mara and Allen Greisdorf invited me to fly with them. At that very moment, an opportunity collided with preparation. The rest is history. We started managing other peoples’ money at a time when it was like taking candy from a baby.” Visconti refilled Kerri’s glass. “You could say I was lucky.”

  “May I ask you another question?” Kerri asked, astounded that she would even consider asking it.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll understand if you’d rather not answer it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll answer any questions you have.”

  “Miles told me that you lost a half a billion dollars of one client’s money in the crash of eighty-seven… Is that true?”

  Visconti frowned, clearly indicating that Kerri had introduced a very sensitive subject. “It’s true,” he said, frown persisting. “Why did you ask that question?”

  “I’m sorry. Obviously you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sure I do. Why did you ask that question?” Visconti insisted, tightening his lips and facial muscles.

  “I had difficulty understanding why you took that big short position on crude oil.”

  “So what are you getting at?”

  Kerri looked away, desperately trying to think of a way out, then took another drink. “I don’t even know why I brought it up. Can we change the subject?”

  “No,” Visconti said with an intense icy gray stare. “We can’t change the subject. I want to know why you asked the question, and I’m not going to let it go until you tell me.”

  “It just seemed to me that you were betting an awful lot on one horse.”

  “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I have no right to doubt the investment decisions of someone with your experience and track record. I was just curious to know the reasoning behind your decision.”

  “My track record is no accident. I have it because I wasn’t afraid to follow my first instinct. Whenever I did, I won big. Whenever I second-guessed myself, I was almost invariably wrong.” Visconti’s eyes appeared to burn with resolve. “My decision to short crude oil was a first instinct. I’m absolutely convinced I’m right. If there ever was an immaculate case of preparation colliding with opportunity, that’s it.” He smiled and raised his glass in the direction of Kerri. “Will you join me in a toast to five dollar crude oil?”

  Kerri lifted her glass and clinked it against Visconti’s. “To five dollar crude,” she said, relieved, then took another gulp of her slushy. “How did you explain the loss to your client?” she asked, unaware of the enormous significance of her question.

  “Fortunately, I didn’t have to. I pulled out all the stops after the crash. I took some enormous risks and was able to recover most of the loss before I had to send a year-end report to the trustees. They didn’t miss what they didn’t know.”

  Visconti’s explanation was so convincing that Kerri believed his story without question. She had no idea he was lying through his teeth, or that her question had been tantamount to driving a stake through his heart. To that moment, she had correctly assumed his breathtaking plunge into crude oil futures was a desperate attempt to recover the loss his client had sustained in the crash of eighty-seven. “You can’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “I was wrong. I thought saving face was your motivation.”

  Visconti glanced at the empty jug. “My goodness. The slushies are gone. Time to make another batch.”

  “No,” Kerri retorted, her head spinning. “That stuff is delicious but it’s lethal. I think I’m smashed. I can’t even form my words.”

  “Then they worked.”

  “What worked?”

  “The slushies. They took your mind off what happened to you tonight.”

  Visconti was right. Kerri had, for a brief wonderful interval, actually forgotten her ordeal. She raised her empty glass and smiled. “Thanks to you.”

  “We should get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

  Kerri welcomed the suggestion. She climbed from her stool and watched as Visconti placed the glasses and jug in the sink, then turn and reac
h for her hand.

  “May I walk you to your door?” he asked.

  A sudden wave of consternation swept over Kerri. All evening she had assumed Visconti would sleep in a separate bedroom. Perhaps her assumption was wrong. Maybe he was planning to sleep with her. She stiffened as she accepted his hand. He led her up the spiral staircase and stopped at the door to the master bedroom. “I’m serving breakfast in the kitchen at nine. Would you like a wake up call?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I’ll be there on time.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Just knock if you need anything. I’ll be right next door. Sleep well. You’re safe now.” He kissed Kerri’s forehead, then turned and walked to the door to the adjacent bedroom.

  Within minutes, Kerri had washed, brushed her teeth and removed all of her clothing. Happy and naked, she climbed into the warm comfortable bed. She reached to turn off the final light, one of the two beautiful, cut glass lamps flanking the bed, then flopped her head onto the fluffiest of the many pillows. Sleep was seconds away.

  CHAPTER 64

  Kerri awoke to a glorious morning. She leaped from the bed, hurried to the windows, pushed aside the drapes and exposed her naked body to the skyline of the Upper East Side and sections of the East River beyond. Sunlight poured onto her and into the most beautiful bedroom she had ever seen. Stretching and breathing deeply, she felt wonderful, revitalized. She was going to see Manhattan today. With her bare feet sinking into the deep soft carpet, she turned and hurried to the lavish bathroom, to pamper herself and prepare for a day she planned to savor against her palate and swallow like a rare wine.

  Thirty minutes later, she entered the kitchen, looking radiant in her pink Lizsport. The smell of burning bacon and toast invaded her nostrils. She found Visconti on his knees and attempting to clean up a splattered egg. “Looks like you could use some help,” she said with a sympathetic grin.

  “Obviously I’ve got everything under control,” Visconti retorted with a pained grin, then continued his cleaning.