by Steve Hadden
With Ike’s help and Joseph Falzone’s revelations, a tsunami of arrests had rocked the city since the FBI swarmed the hangar last Sunday. Conspiracy, fraud, bribery, and conspiracy-to-commit-murder charges electrified the online news outlets and fueled record newspaper sales that hadn’t been seen since the Pens won the Stanley Cup for the third time. Ike’s sense of justice was bolstered by the swift arrests that sidelined two judges, the DA, the assistant police chief, three detectives, and a dozen attorneys. The U.S. attorney had already assigned two assistant U.S. attorneys to help her prosecute the cases. But Ike suspected none of those cases were the focus of those gathered in and around the courthouse today. They were part of the #FreeJack movement that had gone viral on Wednesday when an exposé of the conspiracy was published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.
Ike reached the door of the courthouse and the young sheriff’s deputy at the barrier blocking the entrance stiffened when he recognized him. The deputy moved the barrier and Ike guided Maria to the doorway. The deputy stopped Ike and shook his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Rossi. A real pleasure.”
“Thank you, Deputy.”
Maria gave Ike an I-told-you-so smile as they entered the courthouse. He’d denied her claims that he was a hero. After clearing the metal detector, they climbed the stairs to the second-floor lobby. The lobby was crowded but Ike easily spotted Jenna above the bobbing heads of reporters from around the country. When she spotted him, she smiled and waved him toward the ropes at the base of the stairway. Leading Maria by the hand, he met Jenna at the stairs. She hugged Ike and then Maria.
“Are you ready?” Jenna said.
At that moment, a feeling of weightlessness swept over Ike. He was immersed in a joy that required no thought or analysis.
“We’re more than ready for this,” Ike said, nodding to the deputy holding the rope open and smiling. They ascended the cavernous stairway and Jenna led them down the empty hallway, past a bailiff, and into the courtroom. It was packed like church on Easter and the crowd hummed with excitement.
Jenna led them to the first row and the only two vacant seats in the gallery, just behind the defendant’s table. Maria sat first and Ike took the seat on the aisle. Just ahead, he saw Ed, Lauren, and Jack sitting at the table facing the bench. When Jenna reached the table, she bent down and whispered to Jack. He turned, smiled, and gave Ike a thumbs-up. Ike returned the gesture. He’d spent two days at the hospital with Jack and had seen him each day after. Their connection fed Ike’s thoughts about starting his own family. Thoughts he’d buried with responsibility and the pain of his loss. His few attempts at relationships had convinced him his picker-outer was broken. But Jack and Lauren had changed that view.
Ike looked across the aisle and saw Shannon and Erin Falzone in the front row. Shannon leaned forward, smiled, and nodded to him. Erin, with her neck still bandaged, gave him a small two-fingered wave. Shannon had already taken the reins of the family business and was cooperating fully with the authorities. A team of U.S. scientists from Los Alamos, NASA, and several universities were now studying the seismic data and images. The images hadn’t been released to the public. Ike guessed the government wanted to understand what it had before it made a statement.
Donna Martin, the court clerk who had helped Ike, took her seat and waved to Ike. Her boss, Judge Palmeri, had been assigned the case after the arrest of Judge Nowicki. Without Donna, Ike knew they wouldn’t be there. He threw her a kiss and she laughed.
The bailiff ended her smile. “All rise.”
Judge Palmeri swept in with his robe flowing like a superhero’s. He mounted the bench and tapped the gavel.
“All right. Just a warning—no outbursts from the gallery will be tolerated. Anyone doing so will be immediately removed from my courtroom.” He picked up a stack of papers. “I’ve read Ms. Price’s motion to dismiss and the prosecutor’s response. Ms. Price, please proceed.”
Jenna rose but stayed at the table. “Your honor, statements and confessions received this week from the conspirators have been provided to the court and the acting district attorney. Late yesterday, after our motion was filed, the FBI released the results of a search of Mr. Franklin Tanner’s residence.” Jenna handed a copy to the clerk, who passed it up to the judge. “I’d refer Your Honor to page two of the summary. Paragraph two states that the legal briefcase carried by Mr. Tanner on the morning of his death contained alarm codes for my client’s guardian’s home, a layout of the house, a detailed accounting of her schedule, and instructions that indicated an associate of Mr. Tanner, a Mr. Derek Thorne, aka The Roustabout, was to enter the residence that day and kill my client.” Jenna paused and allowed the judge to read the page.
The judge arched both eyebrows as he read, then set the report aside.
Jenna continued. “Since my client’s actions were in self-defense, the defense moves for dismissal of all charges.”
The judge zeroed in on Jack, and Ike’s tension spun up again.
“Mr. O’Donnell?” the judge said without looking away from Jack.
Ike felt sorry for Assistant District Attorney O’Donnell, who’d been promoted to acting DA less than seventy-two hours ago and deposited into the middle of a Category 5 shitstorm.
“Your Honor, we’ve read the report and the statements, and considering the circumstance, we believe there is insufficient evidence to proceed and are dropping all pending charges against Mr. Jack Cole.”
A rumble ripped through the crowd and Judge Palmeri slammed the gavel twice. “Quiet.”
The gallery quieted and Judge Palmeri settled his attention back on Jack. “Will the defendant please rise?”
Jack eyed Lauren and Jenna, then wobbled to his feet. Jenna and Lauren joined him.
The judge’s eyes softened. “Young man, you have what I hope is a long life ahead of you. Do you understand that going around shooting people is wrong?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I only did it to save my aunt and me.”
“Okay then.” Judge Palmeri focused on the gallery. “You’re free to go, Jack. Court dismissed.” He hit the gavel once and left the bench.
The gallery roared and Ike dropped his head into his hands. In an instant, the nineteen-year-old deep inside himself didn’t feel so alone anymore. Maria wrapped her arms around him
“You did it,” she said. “You did it.”
Ike raised his head and hugged her. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Jack standing in the aisle. The bailiffs were herding the crowd out of the courtroom.
Jack’s smile widened and Ike saw the joy of freedom in his eyes. Ike opened his arms and Jack hugged him, then looked up. “Will you walk me to our car?”
Lauren stepped around the bar and took Ike’s hand in hers. “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done.” She sparkled with delight and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“You already have,” Ike said as he wrapped his arm around Jack’s shoulders and started down the aisle. As they walked, escorted by two deputies, Jack and Ike took turns planning outings to the science museum, a Pens game, and dinner at Jack’s. They descended the granite stairway to the second-floor lobby. The press had been cleared out and the lobby was empty. When Ike spotted the mural of Justice, he stopped and faced it. Jack stopped beside him and Ike felt his gaze. Ike had never studied it over the years, because justice held no meaning for him here. It was just a hollow promise. But today it felt different. Lady Justice sat atop her throne, comforting a woman with one hand and gripping a thick sword in the other. An angel floated to her right, casting out two perpetrators while an angel on her left cradled a victim. Just twelve days ago, on the thick wooden bench in front of them, he’d met Jack.
“Who’s that lady?” Jack asked, examining the mural.
“She’s Lady Justice,” Ike said, staring at her.
“Justice. I guess that’s what we have?” Jack said, grinning.
Ike faced Jack. “That’s what we have today. You ready to go out there?”
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Jack nodded.
Ike turned to Jenna. “You ready, Counselor?”
Jenna offered Ike her hand and he shook it. She held it and said, “Thanks, Ike. Thanks for everything.”
“Congratulations, Counselor. I hope you and your dad can handle all the new business coming your way.”
Jenna laughed and turned for the door. Across the lobby, Ike noticed Shannon and Erin eyeing Jack and him. Ike silently looked at Lauren and nodded in their direction. She gently put her arm around Jack and began to walk over to them with Ike.
“Congratulations,” Ike said to Shannon. “CEO?”
“Yes, we’ve got a lot of work to do to repair the family name.”
Erin nervously eyed Jack with tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry about all of that. I hope you know we weren’t part of any of it,” she said, opening her arms. Ike was surprised when Jack looked to him for his blessing. Ike smiled. “Go hug your grandmother.”
Ike noticed Jenna by the stairs to the doorway.
Jenna tilted her head toward the door. “We have to go.”
Shannon handed Ike her card. “I’d like you to consider joining us. Great perks and we can sure use the help. Name your price.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Ike said. He looked back at Maria. “But we have our own rebuilding to do.” Ike, Jack, and Lauren joined Maria and walked down the stairs to the door.
“Here we go,” Jenna said. She opened the door and Ike saw a sea of people. The cheer was as loud as he’d heard in any stadium and it echoed off the stone façades of the building. Men, women, and families filled the streets. Ike knew many were victims of the same system who’d probably got the same taste of closure he had through Jack’s case and the ensuing arrests.
Jack’s mouth dropped open, and then he grinned. A makeshift podium at the base of the steps held a bouquet of mics. As Jenna made her way down, Ike’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw he’d received an e-mail. He opened the app and shivered when he saw the sender. It was Tom Cole. He read on:
53
3–53+8+23+26–9
25–7+39
16+8+7
Tears welled in his eyes. He turned to Jack and handed him the phone. “It’s for you.”
Ike watched Jack’s eyes scan the message. He knew Jack could translate it as fast as he did, and Jack’s face filled with joy.
53
I
I
3–53+8+23+26–9
Li-I+O+V+Fe-F
LOVE
25–7+39
Mn-N+Y
MY
16+8+7
S+O+N
SON
THE END
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Keep reading for a riveting excerpt from Genetic Imperfections…
November 8th, 1996 …
PROLOGUE
Connor Xavier Wellington’s young life wasn’t supposed to end this way. There was supposed to be a breakthrough—a dramatic last minute cure produced by his father’s three year heroic effort at Rexsen Labs. But David Wellington knew he’d failed. There would be no cure, no last minute miracle, only suffering and guilt.
The decision to move Connor into Saint Michael’s hospice in Irvine was his first admission of failure to his son. David sat anchored next to his wife in the dim glow of the single fluorescent light above the bed. Although they’d been at their eight-year-old son’s bedside every minute for the past week, he could barely recognize him. Pale and melting into the white sheets, Connor’s blue eyes peeked from underneath his eyelids as the morphine drip did its work and masked the pain of the multiple infections and failing organs, courtesy of the genetic imperfection that prevented his stem cells from developing into healthy blood. His thick brown hair was gone and replaced with a Dodger’s bandanna. He hugged his baseball glove while his mother, Linda, stroked the bony outline of his legs. David forced a smile and did his best to hide what they all knew was about to happen. Connor’s eyes lifted for a moment.
“Daddy, are you still working on my medicine?”
The question cut through David’s heart. He glanced at the green numbers on the monitor counting down his son’s last heartbeats and reached deep for another smile. He rested his hand on his son’s head.
“Yes, Sport. We are still working on it.”
David looked at Linda and detected no evidence of blame. He’d quit his job at the investment bank in New York, moved the family to Newport Beach and dumped his seven figure bonus into a fledgling biotech firm in the hopes of finding a cure. But the Director of Research had delivered the bad news a week earlier. Without detailed mapping of the human genome it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Despite three years of research, testing and prayer, David could do nothing to stop his young son’s killer. He’d failed and God didn’t care.
Connor sucked in a deep breath and sighed. “That’s good Daddy.”
Connor closed his eyes and David heard the rhythm of the monitor slow. He reached for his son’s hand. Connor’s skin was still soft, but the warmth was fading. David heard Linda sob and she rose next to David, leaned in and kissed her son’s forehead. David squinted to force the tears back into his eyes. “No, no, no!” he begged through his clenched teeth. The monitor stopped and then warbled a continuous tone that David would never forget. Connor Xavier Wellington, the boy who was going to play third base for the Dodgers, was gone. The nurse quietly slipped in and shut down the monitor. Linda hugged her son and wailed. David wiped his eyes, stood and stared at Connor’s limp body, and then grabbed the glove at his son’s side and dropped it into the trash can on his way out the door.
Fifteen years later …
CHAPTER 1
David Wellington found it hard to believe an imperfection could be so profitable. He didn’t tolerate them in his minions, hated them in his women, and acted as if he had none himself. After fifteen years of excelling at corporate politics and pretending he cared about his diseased and dying customers, the payoff of his life was at hand.
He celebrated, sipping his Hennessy X.O. from a Waterford crystal glass. His Gulfstream V, Rexsen Lab’s newest corporate jet, streaked southeast from San Francisco to Newport Beach 29,000 feet above the chilly Pacific. Equipped with soft leather chairs, inlaid wood cabinetry, and state of the art LCD screens, he was surrounded by the luxury he expected.
The forty-five-year-old CEO had just completed the last of the road shows promoting the most talked about initial public offering Wall Street would launch this year. The FDA was on the verge of approving his company’s first gene therapy treatment for leukemia. The institutional investors had been duly impressed with Wellington’s plans and the solid backing of the company’s seventy-five-year-old founder, Adam Rexsen, who slept peacefully in the seat across the aisle. Rexsen Labs would go public within two weeks, and David Wellington would become Newport Beach’s newest billionaire.
As Wellington tilted the glass and anticipated the warm burn of the last sip of liquor, he felt the plane shudder and dive to the left. The crystal snifter was ripped from his hand as a blast roared through the cabin. Instinctively, he grabbed the leather armrests, locked his arms and braced himself. A yellow oxygen mask fell from the headliner and bounced wildly in front of his face. Paralyzed, his terror refused to allow him to let go and grab the mask. He pushed back hard on the armrests and fought the invisible force trying to rip him out of the seat.
He assessed the situation instantly, and the conclusion echoed in his head.
I’m going to die.
He struggled to get a breath as smoke filled the cabin. The jet’s nose plunged steeper into the dive. For the first time since a genetic imperfection took the life of his son, he thought of his soul
and its ultimate keeper.
Images flashed through his mind. Hell—Sister Theresa had described it as eternal flames and agony. “Heaven or hell—it’s your choice,” the nun had said.
For the past fifteen years he’d chosen money. It was how he kept score. Money was his drug of choice, and he was addicted. Suddenly, he understood the nun’s warning. He’d already made his choice.
He felt the jet’s fuselage start to vibrate. The black smoke thickened. His inner voice summed up the fruits of his time on earth.
I am selfish, greedy, and alone.
He knew the voice; it was the one he never listened to. He tried to ignore it, but it was strong and uncontrollable. Expensive leather briefcases and crystal glassware smashed into the bulkhead. He looked to the right at the old man who wagged his head in disbelief.
Adam Rexsen, the founder of Rexsen Labs, was about to die, but he had dedicated his life to finding a cure for cancer. His life had served a purpose, he’d said so just minutes ago; his wealth was simply a by-product. At the time, Wellington pitied the old man and thought the world had passed him by. Panicking, he now wished he’d listened to his mentor years earlier.
Purpose! What’s my life’s purpose? Shit, it’s too soon, too soon!
Wellington had seen no purpose in his life, at least not since he’d stood by helplessly and watched Connor wither away. His son’s disease was the reason he’d started with Rexsen. He had left his lucrative future as an investment banker and signed on with Adam Rexsen and a team of scientists who were focused on a genetic cure for cancer. He’d decided he’d dedicate his life to finding the sinister imperfections in the human genome that caused so much pain and heartache. But despite being a brilliant businessman with a Harvard MBA who’d built Rexsen into the leader in genetic oncology research, he could do nothing to stop his son’s killer. After three years of research, testing, and prayer, Connor died. God abandoned him in his time of need, he’d concluded, so he’d decided to return the favor. From that point forward, his only purpose in life was to use Rexsen to fill the hole in his heart with money and distract his mind from the pain with self-indulgent behavior.
