by Adam Mitzner
“One of the perks of being unemployed is that every day is a weekend for me,” Toolan said. “So I should be thanking you for coming in on a Saturday.”
“My pleasure. Let’s start, shall we? Benjamin told me that my assignment was to go over with you the testimony that you would give, if you testify.”
“Not if. When,” Toolan said.
Gwen hadn’t ever worked on a trial team before, but she knew from other people’s war stories that clients always wanted to testify. And generally speaking, that was good defense strategy too. There was no better way for the defense to put on its case than by letting the defendant give it straight to the jury.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said. “To prep you for testimony. I thought it was best to start on the day that your wife died. You should use all of your professional skills to paint the fullest picture of that day. No detail is too small. We’ll hone the story and cut what seems superfluous, but it’s important that the jury feel like they’re in that room with you and your wife.”
Gwen usually took copious notes in meetings, but it often meant that she wasn’t truly present, acting more like a scrivener than a lawyer. Of course, that usually didn’t matter because there was always someone more senior present. Today, however, she was the senior lawyer in the room.
“Where to begin . . .” Toolan said, largely to himself. “I had just come back from location. It was six months in Morocco. I had never been so happy in my life. Paradise. Truly. And the moment I walked into my house and saw Jennifer, I . . . just knew I couldn’t go back to my old life again.”
He broke from the narrative. At first Gwen thought he might cry, but that turned out not to be it at all. Instead, he focused on her with much greater intensity than he had just a moment before.
“Can I ask you a question, Gwen?”
“Okay . . .” she said tentatively, already having the sense that it would be something personal.
“Have you ever been in love? I mean, really in love?”
“Yes,” she said, and left it at that.
“So imagine, if you would, the best moment of that relationship. The peak feeling of being in love.” He paused a beat, as if he was conjuring it in his own mind. “Do you have it?”
“I do,” Gwen said, thinking about just last night.
“Imagine that feeling, and then imagine what it would feel like to never feel it again.”
Gwen didn’t have to imagine. She was living it—right now.
“That’s why I decided I had to tell Jennifer. I could have just remained silent and kept on with my life. Except . . . and you know this if you’ve truly been in love . . . I couldn’t do that. I had to be with Hannah. It was a matter of survival for me. Nothing less than that. And that meant I had to tell Jennifer that I was in love with another woman, that I was going to leave her to be with Hannah. I couldn’t wait. I had to do it that second.”
He was good. Gwen had to give him that. The man could tell a story and make you hang on the words. A jury would eat this up.
“So I told her.”
“What, to the best of your recollection, did you say?”
“I said, ‘Jennifer, I have something very difficult to tell you. And I’m very, very sorry. While I was on location, I fell in love with Hannah, and I need to be with her.’”
He stopped and wiped his eyes. Gwen made a mental note to tell him not to do that in the future. A little too over the top.
“Go on,” she prompted.
“I told her that I wanted a divorce. And I remember saying that she could have whatever she wanted—the house, of course. And I’d provide for her, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I didn’t want us at each other’s throats. I said, ‘I’ll give you whatever you want, and I won’t fight you.’” He again made eye contact with Gwen. “I didn’t care about the money, or anything other than being with Hannah. I don’t think I said that to Jennifer, but I might have.”
“Did you mention the movie?”
Toolan looked momentarily confused. Almost as if he wasn’t certain what movie Gwen was referencing.
“Oh, Beautiful Agony. No. I know that there’s speculation that Jennifer would have held up distribution in a divorce, but I didn’t even care about that. I mean, it’s a movie. It’s not the cure for cancer. What difference does it make if it comes out this year or next? Or never?”
“And then?” Gwen said.
“And then, it all happened . . . at first in regular time, then in slow motion, and then all at once. Jennifer didn’t respond to what I’d just said, or at least I don’t remember anything she said, but she walked over to the closet. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but the last thing I would have imagined was that she was getting a gun. I had a permit for guns, and actually had a small collection. Occupational hazard of being involved in so many shoot-’em-up movies from when I started out directing. But I wouldn’t have thought that Jennifer even knew the guns were there. Also, I was kind of emotional. I had just had this epiphany about Hannah and had unburdened myself to Jennifer. I was thinking about how I was going to leave the house right then and jump on the next flight to LAX and ask Hannah to marry me. I don’t think it even registered with me that Jennifer didn’t seem upset. She hadn’t screamed or cursed or said anything. That should have been a warning to me that she wasn’t responding in a rational way to what I’d just told her. But I was . . . I know this sounds bad, and we’ll need to figure out a better way for me to say it at trial, but I was just thinking about myself at that point.”
Gwen was hanging on his every word. “And then?”
“That’s when she turned from the closet. She had the gun, and she was pointing it at me. This is the part where time, I swear, literally stopped. I’m staring at the barrel of the gun, and I’m in disbelief. Not even a second ago, I’m thinking about my life with Hannah and I’m deliriously happy. Now I think I’m about to be murdered. The one thing I do remember thinking about quite vividly at this moment, and again, you and Benjamin will have to tell me if this is something I should say or not, but I remember thinking that if she killed me, Hannah would never know that I had been willing to give up everything to be with her.”
Gwen, of course, knew how the story ended. Still, she wanted him to tell it.
“How long did she have the gun pointed at you?”
“I don’t know. It felt like a long time, I’ll tell you that. But my guess is it was seconds, at most.”
“Did you say anything to her?”
“I don’t remember. I really don’t. I don’t think so. And if I did, it wasn’t anything noteworthy. Maybe Don’t. Or I called out her name. But nothing to try to convince her not to kill me.”
Toolan turned slightly, away from Gwen, so he could take in the view. “That’s when everything sped up to hyperspeed. She moved the gun so instead of it pointing at me, it was against her temple—I’ve wondered if that was intentional. You know, temple . . . Hannah Templeton. Then she pulled the trigger.”
34.
The moment Will arrived at his office on Monday morning, even before he opened his door, Maria told him that Mattismo was looking for him. Will decided he’d best get it over with immediately, rather than wait for Mattismo to come to him. He made the death march down the corridor to Mattismo’s office.
Mattismo’s assistant, a woman named Kylie, had just begun working at Maeve Grant. She looked a lot like his prior assistant, which was to say that she was twenty-three and pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. The fact that she was a newbie to Maeve Grant, and to being in Mattismo’s employ, meant that she had a bright-eyed look that Will fully expected to vanish in short order.
Even before Will said a word, Kylie reached for the phone. “He’s here.” Then a moment later, she said to Will, “You can go on in.”
He opened the door, expecting to see Mattismo sitting at his desk. Instead, his boss was standing in the center of his office. The furniture had clearly been rearranged for this meeting. Mattismo’s two gue
st chairs were now facing away from his desk, toward the sofa. David Bloom occupied one of the chairs, and the same two women from Cromwell Altman that he’d met before sat on the sofa, notepads at the ready.
“Shut the door and sit down, Will,” Bloom said.
The chair beside Bloom was vacant, but Will knew that it was reserved for Mattismo. Will took the seat on the end, which meant that everyone was looking right at him.
Will resisted the urge to ask what this was about. Nothing would be gained by his saying anything. Besides, he already knew what it was about. So he sat in his chair and waited to hear Bloom say it.
At least the wait was short. Small favors.
“I’m going to get right to it,” Bloom said. “The firm has decided to terminate your employment. Effective as of right now.”
“I know this is disappointing news, Will,” Mattismo said. “But I told these guys that you were a professional and there was no need for a big scene with a bunch of security people coming up here. There’s one guy waiting outside the door, and he’s going to escort you out of the building.”
Bloom added, “And, of course, by virtue of your termination, your note becomes immediately due.”
Bloom sounded like he expected Will to pull out his wallet and pay the $10 million on the spot. Will stuck to his plan, however, determined not to utter a word in response. An awkward few seconds passed, and then Mattismo stood. This caused Bloom and his flunkies to do likewise. Will stayed put, however, as if he could somehow keep his career if he didn’t let the meeting end.
“So, shall we?” Bloom said, gesturing to the door.
Will took a deep breath and considered his options one last time. It didn’t take long for him to realize he didn’t have any.
As Mattismo had said, a single security guard was standing on the other side of the door. “After you, Mr. Matthews,” the guard said.
Will walked to his office, looking straight ahead, trying his best to block out the stares from his coworkers. His peripheral vision caught enough, however. It was a walk of shame. Had he been in handcuffs, it wouldn’t have been any less dignified.
Once he was outside, after his escort had turned and reentered the building, Will craned his neck to the sky, peering up at the full height of the Maeve Grant Tower. He knew he’d never be inside again.
Eve was sitting on Will’s living room sofa. The fact that she had once again entered his home when he wasn’t there should have been disconcerting, but after being sacked by Maeve Grant, he found an odd comfort in not being alone.
Still, he had to ask. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured that you might want someone to talk to,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I assumed that you got some bad news at work.”
“How’d you know that I was fired?”
“Isn’t that the logical assumption when someone suddenly withdraws nearly seven hundred million?”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes. What she’d said didn’t make the least bit of sense. How in the hell does Eve know about the withdrawal?
“I needed you out of Maeve Grant, Will. Enough time has passed since Sam’s death. It’s time to get back to work.”
It was as if Eve were speaking in a foreign tongue. Not a word of what she’d said made the least bit of sense.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
He really hadn’t. In fact, he didn’t have the first clue what she was talking about.
“I want you to assume Sam’s duties. Managing my affairs.”
“That’s not funny, Eve.”
She wasn’t smiling. In fact, he couldn’t ever recall her looking more serious.
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do, Will.”
“I really don’t, Eve. And you’re kind of scaring me. I’m really not in the mood for it.”
Eve smiled now, but it was nothing like the come-hither expressions he’d seen before. This one was more akin to the way Robert Wolfe had sometimes bared his teeth.
“In short, everything you thought Sam was, I have always been. His money is really my money. His friends are really my friends. His business is really my business. And it’s time for me to get back to work. But before I can, I need a new Sam. And, lucky me, you need a new job.”
Could this even remotely be true? That Sam was nothing more than a figurehead? That Eve was the one laundering funds? That she was the one with the dangerous friends?
Will’s mind whirred with things he must have missed.
He replayed every scene and was struck by the realization of the role she was playing. It was truly brilliant. There was no better to protect yourself in the criminal underworld than setting someone else up as the head of your organization. Better than having a double or a bodyguard. No one would ever think about killing Eve as long as they assumed Sam was the one in charge and she was little more than arm candy.
Except Sam must have known.
Now Sam’s murder made more sense. He hadn’t tried to throw her off the balcony in a jealous rage. She hadn’t killed him in self-defense. Sam’s death was a cold-blooded hit, mob style. Eve likely also killed Kennefick. Not because he was her lover, which he probably wasn’t, but over some power struggle or business dispute.
Eve had withdrawn the money from Maeve Grant. She had the pass code. After all, it was her money all along.
Will looked at Eve, as if for the first time. She was still just as beautiful, but now far more dangerous, more evil, than he could have ever imagined. How had he failed to see that in all the times they’d been together?
“No,” he said. And then, when he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it aloud or merely imagined himself refusing the offer, in a louder voice he cried, “No!”
She smiled, but now she looked downright sinister. A predator baring her teeth.
“Will, this is not an offer. You don’t have any choice in the matter. Unless you think that living in a jail cell for the rest of your life would be preferable to the very luxurious accommodations you have here in the penthouse.”
“Why would I be going to jail? All it would take is one phone call from me, and you’ll be under arrest.”
She smiled again, this time actually looking amused. “Come now, Will. Do you think I’d give you that leverage over me?”
He didn’t answer, which meant he didn’t.
“As you, I’m sure, now are well aware from the FBI’s role in all of this, for the past several months, you have been engaged in the laundering of hundreds of millions of dollars,” she said calmly. “The source of those funds were illegal ventures, the financing of arms deals mostly, but I also have an interest in several heroin operations in Central America.”
“I didn’t know any of that,” Will said, trying to sound defiant.
“You knew that Sam was dead when you agreed not to call the police and to bury him, Will.”
“Because you told me that he tried to kill you. You told me that his associates—your associates—would try to kill me.”
“I don’t think the police will believe that story. And, just in case you found a sympathetic ear, I took the liberty of making sure that if they did find Sam’s body, and they were ever able to identify him, they’d find the carpet fibers that I very meticulously stuck under his fingernails. Those will tell them that Sam last came in contact with a very expensive Gabbeh rug. A one-of-a-kind, actually.” She waited a beat. “The FBI will want to know what happened to that lovely Gabbeh you bought, Will. It was forty thousand dollars, after all. And I took the liberty of insuring it. That way, if it were ruined for some reason and it had to be thrown out, you could have made an insurance claim. Did you do that when we rolled Sam’s body in it?”
Will could feel the walls closing in. Eve was more than a step ahead of him. That stood to reason, as she had been planning this for months, but he still couldn’t believe he’d been such an idiot.
“What motive would I ha
ve to kill him?” Will said. “I owed everything to him.”
“Me too,” Eve said. “But people do have these business disputes. I’m certain I can convince the FBI that Sam told me that you were demanding a higher cut. Words must have been exchanged, and you shot him. Happens all the time, or at least that’s what I’m told. Besides which, Sam’s been dead for three months and you haven’t missed a beat, have you?”
She was right. If she was willing to say that he had killed Sam, and the evidence supported that, why would anyone believe that he hadn’t?
“If they have the rug fiber, why haven’t they already figured it out?”
“Oh, Will. Think. I’m sure that the CSI folks know that this dead body out in the Pine Barrens must have come in contact with a fancy yarn whose color came from the type of vegetable dyes used in only certain regions of Iraq, and which dated from before the fall of the Shah.”
Will covered his face with his hands, still in disbelief at this turn of events.
He’d always believed that he was a good person. Perhaps not the type who would never bend a rule, but certainly someone who tried his best to do the right thing whenever possible. Even his decision to cover up Sam’s death had, at the time, been motivated by the belief that it was the right thing to do under extreme circumstances. In his mind, it was no different from stealing bread to avoid starvation. Calling the police would have resulted in Eve’s death at the hands of Sam’s criminal associates. He had had no choice.
Of course, he now knew he had been completely wrong. About Eve’s peril and much more than that, it turned out. At every turn, what he thought he was seeing had not been real at all. It had been arranged solely for him to witness it. A lavish production for an audience of one.
And yet he could not deny that at least some of the warning signs had been there, in plain sight. Red flags flapping in the wind. And he blew by them without a moment’s hesitation. To slow down and take heed would have diverted him from the destination he so desperately wanted to reach. Sam Abaddon had promised to make his dreams come true, and Will’s greatest mistake was not his inability to see Eve pulling the strings, or to realize that Sam’s murder had been in cold blood, but his belief that his dreams could actually come true.
