by Van Fleisher
Insured: Anna Belikov
Beneficiary: Alek Belikov
Amount: $100,000.00
Alek was puzzled. He didn’t have a policy for his wife’s death, and he couldn’t figure out how she would have one either without him knowing about it. There was no phone number on the check, and it was late, but he’d call tomorrow to find out what it was all about.
***
As soon as Alek reached his office, he looked up and called the number of the law firm that had sent the check. He was quickly put through to Peter Annikov, the attorney in charge of insurance and wills. Mr. Annikov was immediately familiar with the situation, offered condolences, and explained that Anna’s job as a teacher carried with it a basic life insurance policy. He assured Alek that the claim had been validated and approved.
Alek thought that maybe this was a sign that it’s time to sell the house and move on, at least a little. The money would allow him to make a down payment on a condo without having to rush with the dreaded clean-up job at home.
He stopped by his bank to deposit the check, had a regular 9-5 day at work, and then met a real estate agent to look at a few condos. Alek was highly motivated to move, so after seeing the second condo, he asked the agent to make an offer. It was in a new building and wouldn’t be ready for a few months. That was fine with him, and he told the agent that he would make a $100,000 down payment if his offer was accepted. He stopped at a diner for dinner, and even before he’d finished his dessert, the agent called with news that his offer had been accepted. Alek returned home, went to bed, and had the best night’s sleep he’d had in months.
***
He was awakened from his sleep by the sound of his doorbell and urgent banging on the front door. He pulled on a robe and still half asleep, carefully descended the stairs. He opened the door to see two men in suits holding up badges, demanding to know if he was Alek Belikov. Right then, it was possibly the only question he could have answered, and he let them in. What came next shocked him into a full, wide awake mode.
Thomas Sheehan had been found dead in his cell.
The detectives asked the usual questions repeatedly, but in different ways, testing him for consistency. Where was he yesterday, last night? Did he know anything about it? What kind of scientist was he? Did he know anyone who’d want to harm Sheehan? Alek thought that was a stupid question as they must know he would. Only after the police finished with their rapid-fire questions was Alek able to ask one of his own.
“How did he die?”
The detectives were vague but stated that it appeared he was poisoned. He asked if they knew who had done it, but then quickly realized that they thought that was a stupid question. That’s why they were questioning him.
The men gave him their cards and told him to call if he thought of anything that might help. They also told him not to leave the State.
Alek showered, dressed, and went to work, although he spent most of his day thinking about Sheehan – happy he was dead and that Vik’s examples of how he might have gotten off were laid to rest. On the other hand, he felt cheated out of seeing him found guilty, even though capital punishment was not an option in Massachusetts.
He wound up working late so he could accomplish something before making his way over to Sully’s to self-medicate, his mood a whole lot different than the previous night’s.
Vik Vasin was at the bar, and Alek pulled up a stool alongside him. Vik greeted him, ordered a round, and asked, “Did you hear ‘bout Sheehan? It was just on the news,” pointing up at the TV on the wall. “Didn’t say how it happened, just that it’s under investigation.”
Alek thought that perhaps coming to Sully’s wasn’t such a good idea. “Yeah, I heard.”
Vik looked at him seriously, “You didn’t do it, did ya?”
Alek blurted out, “No. Of course not!”
Vik laughed, “Just joking. But that should take a load off your mind.”
“I guess. Would’ve liked to see him take a beating in court and put away for life.”
“Yeah, but like I said the other night, there are no guarantees. Now it’s done. Did the cops talk to you?”
Alek expressed surprise, “How did you know that?”
“Just guessing. You’d have to be pretty high on their list.” Vik waved for another round.
“Yeah. They know I’m a scientist and wondered what kind. The cops think he was poisoned.”
“That so?” And then he turned and looked Alek straight in the eyes and said, “Well, it seems like someone did you a favor."
Alek shivered and knew he had just received a message, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He reached into his pocket to pay and leave, but Vik put his hand firmly on Alek’s shoulder and said, “Don’t go. I wanna ask you somethin’,” as he waved for another round.
Alek repositioned himself on the stool, creating a little more distance between the two of them.
“OK.”
“The other night we was talking about the ‘Notice’ guys. You know, the ones that the watch tells them they’re gonna die.”
Alek nodded and mumbled, “Yeah.”
Vik turned to look directly at Alek again and asked, “How hard would it be to get the names of some people who get the notice?”
Alek was taken aback by the question. “You mean for anyone to get it? That’s very private and sensitive information. People wouldn’t like to have that made public.”
“But you could get it?”
“Well, sure. But why would anyone want information like that?”
“Maybe so they could help, you know, wit’ hospital costs, house payments, kids …”
Alek was both on high alert and moved by the notion that someone would do that. “Who would do that?”
Vik returned to his full-on direct eye-to-eye position. “Ya’d be surprised, but I know a guy that has made so much money that he wants to, how you say it … ‘give back’ … to people not so lucky as him. Could you help him do that, as … a ... favor?”
Alek squirmed on his stool and tried to look away from Vik’s face as he stammered, “I couldn’t just do it on my own. I’d have to get an OK from someone.”
Vik demanded, “Who?”
Alek scrambled around in his mind, questioning whether he would actually go to anyone with this request and, if so, who? Vik’s direct and increasingly menacing stare didn’t help, and he blurted out, “Vijay Patel.”
“Who’s that? You have to ask an Indian guy?”
Alek explained that Vijay was the inventor of the watch.
“OK. Ask the Indian and let me know.” He handed Alek a napkin with a phone number written on it, adding, “Soon.” Vik descended from his stool without another word and left.
***
Alek woke up the next morning and wished he hadn’t. Although he’d made up his mind, last night, to lie to Vik, the intensity of Vik’s stare was etched firmly in his mind. On the other hand, he knew the answer would be “No,” regardless of whom he asked or if he asked. He’d never do something like this on his own. So, he waited until mid-morning and called the number on the napkin.
Vik answered, at least he assumed it was Vik, “Yeah.”
Alek had rehearsed what he would say. “I spoke with Vijay, and he said, ‘No.’ He felt that it was an invasion of privacy and would hurt sales.” He started to apologize, but the dial tone told him how well Vik had received the news.
He thought about possible consequences coming from his refusal to help Vik. He thought about the hundred thousand dollars, and he was pretty sure Vik was involved, or maybe that guy who wanted to ‘give back.’ He’d used it to make a down payment on the condo, but he thought he could get it back. Could it be from an insurance policy? He tried to call the lawyer, Annikov, but when he did, he was told that Annikov didn’t work there any longer and that they hadn’t hired his replacement yet. Nobody else knew anything about it.
He decided that the condo was a huge opportunity for him to begin the process of movin
g on, and he reasoned that if anything ever happened to the insurance money, he could use the proceeds from the sale of his house to cover the loss.
He also decided to give Sully’s a permanent miss. All in all, he felt OK – which, for Alek, translated to pretty good. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was finally ready for the next chapter of his life.
***
CHAPTER 6 – JENNIFER
Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts. Marriage, motherhood, and money made for a very satisfying life, although to be fair, Jennifer could have done with a lot less of the latter if she had to. Still, it did make life a lot easier. Unlimited nanny services for Karima, decorating and furnishing their new home, and helping to support various local and national progressive organizations were all products of the significant money that Vijay had made with his sale of VitalTech.
The young couple loved their beautiful home in Chestnut Hill, outside of Boston. The custom, red brick, colonial-style house had been remodeled to provide lots of natural light, spacious rooms, a Japanese-style spa, which included a large soaking tub, and shoji screens separating a meditation/exercise room. But their favorite place was a real chef's kitchen, where Vijay and Jennifer took turns as head chef and sous chef – Vijay specializing in Indian cuisine while Jennifer cooked up everything else – typically adding a healthy Californian touch. They had made a number of friends and enjoyed entertaining in their sunny formal dining room or on the large deck beyond the French doors, dining alfresco, as often as the weather permitted.
Their daughter, Karima, had come into their lives almost two years ago. She represented pure joy for both of them, despite the sleep deprivation and dirty diaper duty that came with the package. Karima had Vijay’s jet-black hair, light honey-toned skin, and Jennifer’s grey eyes, due, no doubt, to some hushed-up British ancestry in Vijay’s family in the distant past.
As important as all of that was, what she cherished most was her relationship with Vijay.
For most of her life – until she met this brilliant, exotic man – she felt perceived as the ‘pretty blond,’ and treated like a brainless ‘Barbie Doll.’ It didn’t matter that she excelled in school. Most of the boys couldn’t get past her long slim legs, sculptured figure, and beautiful Nordic face. And if they did, her brains intimidated them.
Even more painful, many of the other girls were jealous and aloof. Her response had been to turn inward and push herself even harder academically. But this only served to make her appear to be a snob. So, often alone and filled with conflicting emotions, she took comfort in the solitary sport of running and became an exceptional distance runner at Stanford.
After graduation, she continued to run marathons and other distance races. That was how she met Vijay and somehow, despite their diverse backgrounds – or maybe because of the differences – he really ‘got’ her. He knew she was intelligent as well as pragmatic. He knew she was compassionate, despite her privileged upbringing. He loved her wry sense of humor and independent view of the world. And he loved how she loved him and how they just … fit.
It all seemed idyllic to most outsiders, but Jennifer and Vijay both “pushed the envelope” insofar as their interests and activities were concerned, causing both of them to continually question and re-evaluate their priorities. Neither one of them could get enough time with Karima, and Jennifer could not get enough time with Vijay, either. As with many geniuses, Vijay was laser-focused and driven. He spent long hours working on ways to mitigate the Final Notice recipient murders – in his home office, at the VitalTech offices, and recently, in D.C., to consult with Zoe Brouet. He was also VitalTech’s representative to the FDA and Department of Health and Human Services.
For her part, Jennifer worked tirelessly, putting in as much time as she could and funding many local initiatives with organizations such as REACH, The Brady Campaign, EveryTown for Gun Safety, Newtown Action Alliance, and Moms Demand Action.
She spent a lot of time speaking at women’s groups, especially to create awareness of domestic abuse and to offer herself as a resource to women who were having issues. She even served as a type of loan officer, assisting women to become more economically independent through micro-loans that she and Vijay funded.
As if all of those activities couldn’t keep them busy enough, their workout schedules, alone, were enough to exhaust most people. Vijay was up before the light of day and covered ten to fifteen miles in an hour to an hour and a half. He also worked out three to four days a week on his home gym machines. Jennifer covered the same distance in almost the same time after the nanny arrived, had three advanced MMA (mixed martial arts) sessions a week, and an occasional shooting range session and discussion group with the Boston Police.
The shooting range activity began with her outreach to the police concerning guns and domestic violence. A lieutenant on the force asked her if she’d ever shot a gun. She hadn’t and expressed an interest in knowing more about guns and the fascination that so many people seemed to have with them. She was invited to a target practice session, and from that, informal discussion groups evolved, with the various participating officers at the practice sessions. Jennifer learned a lot about guns and also heard a lot of stories from the officers, who had collectively seen more than anyone should.
Vijay had gone to D.C. earlier in the day, planning to return the following afternoon. The nanny had left, and Jennifer had fed, bathed, and put Karima to bed, hopefully for the night. Sleeping through the night had become a more and more common occurrence, and she and Vijay were happily getting used to it. She sat down at her computer in the office she shared with Vijay, to deal with new mail while she munched on yesterday’s leftover tandoori chicken and vegetables, compliments of Vijay. A glass of California chardonnay rounded out one of her favorite meals.
The doorbell chimed, and as she made her way toward the front door – still preoccupied with her emails – she realized that the house had become fairly dark in the late autumn evening, so she switched on some lights along the way. The slight delay made the caller impatient, and the doorbell chimed again, causing her to open the door hurriedly. The caller was a well-dressed man in his late twenties-early thirties wearing a suit, white shirt, and tie.
He spoke first. “Good evening, Mrs. Patel?”
Immediately after Jennifer replied, “yes,” he surprised her by aggressively stepping toward her, causing her to step back into the house. At the same time, he produced a gun and coldly, almost robotically, stated, “Keep your mouth shut and don’t make me use this.” He thrust the gun towards her making her step back further into the house, and he shut and locked the door.
His next words were even more chilling, “I will follow you to your bedroom.”
They ascended the stairs as Jennifer led him to her and Vijay’s bedroom. He told her to sit on the bed and remove her clothes. Jennifer’s mind raced with thoughts about what she could do, but with a gun pointed at her and Karima just next door, her first goal was to stay alive. She removed her pullover and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Her slow-motion routine drew a “hurry up” from the looming figure standing before her, whose eyes never wavered.
Blouse off, she hesitated, but that just earned a jerking of his weapon as he growled, “Everything.”
She continued removing her clothes and now, completely naked, with fear rising fast, her tormentor, sweating and with a strained voice, told her to lie back. Jennifer was often described as “drop-dead gorgeous,” and she noticed a telltale bulge in his trousers. She processed this, and her state of anxiety rose a couple more notches. As she followed his command, he took a step closer. With his dark robotic voice, although now a bit more constricted, he said, “You tell your husband that we want Final Notice names or next time, this won’t just be a strip show.”
Jennifer was a Stanford grad with a Harvard MBA, but she wasn’t just book smart. Despite the horrific position she had found herself in, she had been continually assessing and processing all aspects of her situation: the gunman�
�s motives (which were now more clear) … the type of weapon and whether or not the safety was on (She knew from her police shooting range experience that it was a Ruger LCR 357, a deadly weapon that did not have a safety switch.) … and most importantly, the safety of Karima, and whether there was anything she could do to neutralize the intruder.
Suddenly, Karima cried out from her room, adjacent to where Jennifer was lying, naked on her back, feet almost touching the floor, with a gun pointed at her less than three feet away. The gunman instinctively turned toward the sound, and as he did so, the gun muzzle moved slightly away from Jennifer. That gave her an opening, and she was ready. She brought her right leg up, as she had been trained to do in MMA and landed a powerful and perfectly aimed strike to the bulging crotch of the gunman, who doubled over in pain. Instantly, Jennifer was on her feet and slammed the guy’s face down onto her rising knee. The man and the weapon crashed to the floor. She grabbed the gun, took a few steps to her chest of drawers, and traded the gun for two pairs of pantyhose.
