The Ransom

by Nancy Boyarsky

  “You must be Nicole Graves,” the secretary said. “He’s expecting you.” She got up and knocked on one of the doors. If there was a response from inside, Nicole didn’t hear it.

  “Go right in,” the secretary said.

  Nicole was ushered into an enormous office that at first appeared empty. As in the lobby, floor-to-ceiling windows faced west, and the afternoon sun was almost blinding. As her sight adjusted, she looked around and, still seeing no one, fixed her eyes on a gold statue standing on a mahogany table in the center of the room. The statue was a stunning copy of Winged Victory, except that this version was no more than three-feet high, gilded, and—unlike the original—complete with arms and a head. She was gazing up at a wreath she held aloft.

  “Why don’t you take a seat over here?” The voice came from Nicole’s left. She turned and, for the first time, noticed a man sitting at a desk. He had gray hair and was dressed in a light gray suit and tie, which blended into the subdued tones of the office. Except for Winged Victory and a few splotches of color on some abstract paintings, the decor was completely neutral. As in the lobby, the understated décor amplified the bright hues of the beach, water, and sky visible through the big windows.

  As Nicole walked over to the desk, she noticed it was completely clean except for a silver-toned telephone with a lot of buttons. Facing the desk, a high-backed chair awaited her.

  Without getting up, Rexton reached his hand over his desk, and Nicole leaned in to shake it. “I apologize for not standing,” he said, “but, as you can see . . . “

  He left the sentence unfinished because, as she bent forward, she saw that he was in a wheelchair. “Have a seat,” he said, “and we can get started. Would you like some coffee? Water perhaps?” His voice was deep and commanding. Clearly, he was used to being in charge and had no use for small talk. He didn’t smile, nor did he appear bereaved. He betrayed no emotion at all.

  “No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve prepared some questions.” She sat down and pulled a sheet of paper from her purse.

  Rexton nodded, indicating she should go ahead.

  “Jerry Stevens, my boss, said you were suspicious of Ashley from the start,” she said. “Can you tell me why?”

  “To put it bluntly,” he said, “she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d be interested in Bradley. Oh, he was well liked; had a lot of friends—’bros,’ he called them. But he’d never had much luck with women, and she was way out of his league. After my son was murdered, I asked my people to look into Ashley’s background. They couldn’t find much. With all the information available on the Internet, I thought this was strange.”

  Nicole nodded. “I noticed the same thing. She only goes back six years on our databases, but there could be legitimate reasons for that.”

  Rexton went on as if he hadn’t heard. “I sensed something off about her the first time we met. She was excessively demonstrative toward my son—constantly touching him, reaching out to pat his leg or hold his hand, and—God help me—nuzzling him, nibbling his neck and ears. To me, it looked like an act. Later, when I asked her about herself—family, hometown, schooling—she was evasive. She did say her father was in the service and that she was born in the Philippines where he was stationed at the time. The family moved around a lot while she was growing up. She told me she’d completed college online at the University of Phoenix. I had someone check with the university, but they had no record of her.

  “She was shopping—or pretending to shop—at one of those luxury stores on Rodeo Drive when my son met her. I think it was Gucci. He was looking for a watch. She struck up a conversation and proceeded to help him pick one. He was crazy about her from the start and took great exception when I asked about her background.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He knew what I was thinking: that he couldn’t have attracted such a beautiful woman unless she was after his money. You see, he inherited a goodly sum from his grandmother when he was a child. I placed it in an investment account, and it’s nearly tripled. That’s what she was after, but she had no way to get at it. The money is in a trust, which I control. He has—had to get my signature before he could dip into it. My policy was to grant his requests, if they were reasonable. He was to gain full control of the money on his thirtieth birthday, which would have been in three years.

  Rexton was silent before he went on, perhaps thinking about his son’s birthday, which was never going to happen. “I think Ashley imagined I’d sign off on a big withdrawal if she’d been kidnapped and held for ransom. I wouldn’t have done it, by the way, but that’s a moot point.

  “I wish now I’d listened to my instincts and had her investigated in the first place. Now my son is dead, and I could have prevented it.” His voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. “Do you know what they did to him? They left him mortally wounded, and he bled to death.”

  Nicole paused and nodded, silently acknowledging Rexton’s loss before asking, “You think your daughter-in-law engineered the home invasion and kidnapping to get his money?”

  “That’s right, but the police aren’t buying it. Bradley seemed to be under the delusion that she married him for love. In the last few months, he seemed down whenever I saw him. I could tell he was unhappy. When I asked if there was trouble between him and Ashley, he got mad. He was barely speaking to me in the weeks before his death.”

  “Can you tell me anything more about Ashley?” Nicole said. “Anything at all. What about family? Friends?”

  “She said her parents were dead, and she was an only child. So, no family. Her friends were mainly the girlfriends and wives of Brad’s crowd, people she’d met through him. She might have had friends before the marriage, but as far as I know, they never came around. I thought you could go through her address book, call the people listed, and learn more about her.”

  “What about her interests, hobbies?”

  “Shopping. That was her passion. She spent a lot of time in Beverly Hills buying designer clothes. She loved spas and had a daily visit from a personal trainer. She was in some kind of high-roller circle at Neiman Marcus that gave her entry to a VIP dining room. She’d take friends there for lunch. Every month, Brad would come to me asking for fifteen thousand dollars to twenty thousand dollars from his trust. I didn’t have to ask why he was short. It was Ashley’s constant spending.”

  “Did Brad have a job?”

  “He worked for my company as vice president of public affairs. But it was more title than job. He had very little interest in it and rarely bothered to come in. I paid him a handsome salary, believe me.”

  Nicole wondered about Rexton’s feelings for his son. Bradley’s lack of ambition must have been a disappointment. What had been the dynamic between them? Even if they’d had a good relationship, it had fallen apart once Ashley came into the picture.

  “Back to Ashley and the way she spent her time,” she said. ”Did she like to travel? Was there any particular place she liked to visit?”

  “Not really. They went to some fancy resort in Cabo for their honeymoon but came back early. I had the feeling Ashley was bored.”

  “Jerry told me your son and Ashley borrowed your yacht recently,” Nicole said. “Where did they go?”

  “To Catalina and the Channel Islands.”

  “Are they into fishing and deep-sea diving?”

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  “That doesn’t leave much to do except look at the scenery. Did they enjoy it?”

  “I don’t know. As I said, my son and I were barely talking at that point.”

  Nicole was quiet. She had the feeling this was all she was going to get from Rexton. Perhaps it was all he knew.

  She got up and thanked him. As she started for the door, he said, “Wait, I just remembered something.” He used his hands to propel his wheelchair to her side.

  “As a wedding gift,” Rexton said, “I gave them three pieces of art that were
worth a good amount of money. One was a Picasso—not an original, but a rare limited edition lithograph. An unusual piece, very nice. A few months after they were married, they invited me for dinner. Ashley had just finished decorating the house. She’d hung a lot of big abstract paintings on the walls—not a Kandinski or a de Kooning—” He paused to gesture at the art on his walls. “Those were cheap knockoffs, the sort of thing you’d pick up at a furniture store. When I left, my son saw me out, and I asked what had happened to the art I’d given them. He said Ashley had used a decorator, and those pieces didn’t fit in. I told him that if they were sitting in a closet somewhere, I’d like them back.

  “That made Brad bristle. He told me that Ashley had given them to a charity or something. My guess is she sold the pieces. They were easily worth $500,000, if not more. That was when my suspicion really took hold. But Brad was too besotted to believe she was just after his money.” He paused and then added, “Or maybe he was in denial. I want you to find out who she was. That’s all. If it’s relevant to my son’s murder, I’ll turn the information over to the police.”

  “Here’s my email address,” Nicole handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, let me know.”

  Rexton began wheeling himself toward the door, leading her out. He was expert at maneuvering the wheelchair in a way that said he’d been in one for a long time. Nicole, always curious, wondered how his disability had come about.

  “Thank you for taking this on,” he said. “I hope you find out where she came from and what she was up to.”

  He offered his hand again. She shook it, and, after a final glance at Winged Victory, left his office. It struck her that the statue must be a symbol to Rexton. Winning gave his life meaning; it was what made him happy, and he’d succeeded spectacularly—until now.

  Two

  Nicole spent the weekend unpacking boxes and getting settled in her new home. It was a two-bedroom condo, and she was quite in love with it. The building was only a year old. Her unit had a spacious living room and high-tech kitchen. Best of all, it was located in L.A.’s mid-Wilshire district, a short walk from her office. She’d left the apartment she’d been renting in Westwood. The main reason was that her daily commute, a mere five miles, could take up to forty minutes because of the traffic. Mortgage payments on the new condo were a stretch. But she was due for a raise and pretty sure she could manage.

  Monday morning, as she was on her way to the office, her cell phone rang. She kept walking as she pulled the phone out of her purse. It was her sister, Stephanie, and she sounded upset. “I’ve been trying to reach you, Nick. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you got your inheritance.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Nicole said. “The government took it all. You know that.”

  “That tabloid, XHN, is running an item about it. They say Blair’s house finally sold, and you got $2.2 million.” Steph gave a brief laugh. “Funny thing. They ran a photo of the two of us. The story’s also on the L.A. Times website. No picture, though.”

  “That’s crazy,” Nicole said. “I haven’t gotten a cent. Look, I’m on my way to the office. As soon as I get there, I’ll look into it and let you know where they got the information.” She groaned. “Imagine the begging letters I’m going to get. I’ll make them publish a retraction.”

  Once in her office, Nicole went online to check her bank balance. To her astonishment, a deposit of $2,227,300.32 had been made into her checking account the previous Friday and had posted this morning. How had this money turned up in her checking account without her knowledge? Even the amount didn’t make sense. Who had arrived at that figure and why had she gotten it?

  True, she had been left a fortune the year before. Her benefactor, Robert Blair, had been the in-house investigator for the law firm where Nicole was office manager at the time. To Nicole, Blair was just a casual work buddy she occasionally lunched with. Only after his murder did she learn he’d been obsessed with her and had made her the beneficiary of an estate worth $5.2 million. But there was a catch: he’d made his fortune by blackmailing L.A.’s most powerful elite.

  Nicole didn’t want Blair’s money. She regarded it as tainted, dirty. So she wasn’t upset when the IRS had stepped in and put a hold on the estate until Blair’s four million dollar house sold and taxes were collected on his illegal, unreported earnings. Soon after, the state of California informed her that anything left after taxes would go to the state’s Victim’s Restitution Fund, which is what often happens with criminal proceeds. When she learned this, she’d felt relieved, as if a great burden had been lifted.

  She looked on the website of the tabloid XHN, which stood for “extra hot news.” The story Stephanie had mentioned was easy to find, second from the top under a photo of Nicole and Steph. The item was little more than a caption, just a few lines about the inheritance. What upset her most was that both she and Steph were identified by name. It would have been bad enough if Nicole alone had been featured. But she felt much worse about the invasion of Steph’s privacy.

  She decided to call her attorney, Sue Price. Sue would be able to find out what was going on. She was just reaching for the phone, when it rang. The caller ID said it was Olympia Bank, which was on the ground floor of her office building and the holder of both her checking account and her new mortgage. She had no doubt what the call was about.

  “Hey, Nicole. It’s Kevin James down at the bank,” he began. “We noticed something odd about your checking account, and the manager asked me to alert you. It might be a mistake but—”

  Nicole knew Kevin from the times she’d gone into the bank to secure her mortgage. Although he was only in his early twenties, Kevin dressed in a suit and tie and had his own desk, putting him a notch or two above the tellers. He was tall and gangly with a soft voice and mild, affable personality. For reasons Nicole couldn’t explain, he reminded her of a friendly giraffe—perhaps it was his height and hesitant manner. He seemed to take a special interest in her, always stepping over to chat when she came in or they ran into each other in the building’s lobby.

  “Thanks for the heads up,” she said. “I already saw the deposit, and I’m looking into it.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Uh, listen. The manager wants me to let you know that—well—if you’ve come into this much money, you should put it in some kind of investment fund so it will start producing earnings. The bank has a team of private wealth managers. Should I have one call you? It’s only—”

  “Thanks again, Kevin,” she interrupted. “I’ll think about it. Sorry, but I’m in kind of a rush. Bye, now.” She hung up before he could continue. She hoped she hadn’t been rude, but the last thing on her mind was finding a money manager. She needed to know why her checking account had been inflated with this huge deposit.

  When Sue heard the news, she gave a whoop of delight. “That’s terrific! You remember, don’t you, that I contested the state’s attempt to grab the whole estate? We’d already submitted a forensic accountant’s report that showed Blair used his tax-paid wages to invest from the time he began working. He lived frugally, so he was able to accumulate two million perfectly legally.”

  Consulting the note where she’d written down the amount, Nicole corrected her: “$2,227,300.32.”

  “Right. I remember the thirty-two cents. Congratulations! That money is yours.”

  “But the state rejected your petition,” Nicole said.

  “They did at first,” Sue said. “But I appealed, and it appears to have gone through.”

  “I don’t understand. How was the money deposited in my checking account without my knowledge?”

  “You signed a form with your banking information, remember? It was back when we first contested the government’s attempt to grab the estate. It authorized a wire transfer of any amount due you into your checking account if our appeal was successful. Direct deposit is quicker. It also eliminates the danger of a check getting lost in the mail.


  “What great news!” Sue went on. “This calls for some bubbly. Meet me after work and we’ll celebrate.”

  Nicole hesitated. Being on the receiving end of Blair’s money felt like anything but cause for celebration. “Thanks for being so diligent on this, Sue,” she said. “I’d love to meet you, but I already have plans.”

  “Then let’s set something up for another night,” Sue said. “Wait, I have a better idea. We can meet for a celebratory breakfast at the Polo Lounge. That would give your good fortune the proper ‘whoopee.’ Looking at my calendar, next Wednesday’s good. Does that work for you?

  Nicole wondered if she’d feel any better about Blair’s money by then. In any case, she’d have to go along with Sue’s plan to celebrate. Sue had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Nicole got the money, even if she didn’t want it.

  “Sounds good,” Nicole said. “I’ll make reservations for seven thirty. My treat.”

  Sue readily agreed. “You bet, rich girl.”

  As soon as they were done, Nicole called her sister and gave her the news.

  “Gee,” Steph said. “You sure don’t sound very happy about it.”

  “You know I never wanted his money. I don’t care if he did earn it honestly.”

  “Forget that jerk. This no longer has anything to do with him. The money is yours and it’s going to change your life. Let’s meet for dinner. David has to work late, so I’m free.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got work to finish up and, frankly, I don’t think I’ll be very good company. When I’m done here, I’m going home, climbing into bed, and burrowing under the covers. Maybe it’s being back in the tabloids, the fact that they put you in, too.”

  “Don’t be upset on my account,” Steph said. “I adore notoriety, and I love it that you’re now rich and famous. Sleep on it. You’re bound to feel better in the morning. Later!”

  Nicole paused to consider whether a night’s sleep was going to make any difference. She was about to say “later”—their usual signoff—but Steph had already hung up.