The Sexy Series: The COMPLETE SERIES Box Set

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I put the gravity of what I have to do on the back burner and send an e-mail to Pete with the video attached. I write, “For your records. Let’s discuss tomorrow morning with John. Arrange the meeting. I have an appointment with Sidney, the bank manager, this morning. Will update you.”

  8:26 a.m.

  “You’re early,” Sidney says, flashing me a toothy smile.

  We shake hands.

  “Of course, and thank you for seeing me on short notice,” I say.

  Her smile expands. “That will never be a problem as far as you’re concerned.” She’s looking me straight in the eyes as if she wants me to extract a secondary meaning from what she just said.

  Sidney is tall and slinky. Her makeup is perfectly applied, and her hair looks as if she stepped off the front page of Maxim magazine. One look, and it’s hard not to appreciate how attractive she is. When she first started handling our family’s account, she wore a wedding ring, but for two years, I’ve haven’t seen it on her finger. Married or unmarried, she’s always been flirtatious. I’d thought about probing into her personal affairs to find out if she’s still attached, but I always ran into a mental block. She reminds me too much of Kelsey. The next go-around, I want a gal who’s deeper than the average woman. I want a sharp sense of humor and a woman who can appreciate how sunlight rests on top of a frozen lake and makes the landscape appear as if a bevy of diamonds have been strewn across it.

  I return the smile but make sure I keep it and my tone all business. “Thank you.”

  “Okay, well, let’s go to my office.”

  The bank isn’t busy today. We pass the big Christmas tree, and I’m reminded that this was the first Christmas I spent without my dad. I was four and a half when my parents divorced. Ever since then, we’ve had an arrangement: I spend Thanksgiving with my mother and Christmas with my father. It was only after I turned twenty-one that I skipped Thanksgiving with my mom and spent both holidays with my father. Bill was like a magnet to everyone who knew him. He was great to be around. He never had an agenda and always gave great advice. He was a great listener, too. I could’ve chosen to be a clown who juggled in front of supermarket, and if that made me happy, then he would’ve supported me in that decision. He was a great man, and that Christmas tree reminds me of that fact.

  We make it to Sidney’s office. I sit across from her, and she starts shuffling nervously through a stack of papers that are stapled together.

  “I have to tell you, Nolan, I did some probing, and I can’t find where Bill made a large purchase a month ago. My assistant even searched his account from the last year, and there were only land purchases, which you signed off on. See?” She hands me a stack of documents.

  I go through them. She’s right. I’m already aware of each purchase. I was hoping I would find exactly what I was looking for during this one trip to the bank, but apparently, I have to dig deeper.

  “Well, thank you.” I hand the papers back to Sidney.

  She takes the other end. Her face is flushed. “You can keep them.”

  “I already have copies.”

  She nods and takes the pages. “So, Nolan,” she says before I can excuse myself.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your divorce. I’m divorced, too. It’s a tough process to go through.”

  I try to think of some similar circles Sidney and I may run in, but I can’t think of one. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you hear?”

  She turns redder. “Um, your ex-wife was here yesterday. I didn’t speak to her directly…” She shrugs. I can see by the look on her face that she’s panicked that I’ll ask who told her and she’ll have to admit to gossiping.

  “Do you know why she was here?” I realize how severe my expression is, so I loosen it to make her feel at ease.

  “Um, no,” Sidney says.

  Another question is on the tip of my tongue, but my time is limited. My goal is to catch a rascal by his toe, not figure out what Kelsey has going on. Suddenly, I’m struck by illumination.

  “Have a nice day, Sidney,” I say.

  “Well, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, but thank you for the time.”

  Sidney’s mouth falls open just as I shoot to my feet and head out the door. I have a feeling she wants to continue chitchatting, but I’m on a mission that can’t be delayed.

  10:12 a.m.

  I go back to my father’s house to see if I can rustle up a clue. I use my remote control to open his gate. I know for a fact that Betty, his current wife, who happens to be Liza’s mother, is in Eugene, Oregon, for at least a month. Bill’s death also took her by surprise, and she couldn’t handle being in the house without him. So she packed a suitcase and went to go stay with her sister for a while.

  I open the door to the six-car garage and park next to a red Rolls-Royce that has only been driven twice since my dad bought it eight years ago. Bill wasn’t a flashy man, but he liked to acquire a toy every now and then, not to show off for the world but to keep hidden and admire in private. I take a moment to regard the car’s rims and classic body shape. One thing’s for sure, after we’re gone, it’s just another inanimate object that’s going to collect dust.

  I use my key to let myself inside the house and disengage the alarm. I stand in the silence and emptiness of the wide-open foyer. The floors are made of handcrafted French terracotta tile. I head to the office and commence my search. I look through every single drawer on his desk and the solid-wood file cabinets. Nothing. I go upstairs to the sitting room and take the Dexter Ingram mural my dad bought while on vacation in London off the wall. I struggle a little because the painting is large and heavy. It takes a few minutes, and I nearly knock a hole in the wall, but I get it down and lay it flat on the floor. I’m sweating like crazy, so I take off my jacket, which I should’ve done before struggling with that ugly painting of a man pruning roses in a field under the blistering sun.

  I’m relieved to see that the safe is still in the wall. My dad and I were the only ones who knew of its existence. I enter the passcode, and the door opens.

  “Shit…”

  It’s empty.

  I close the safe and hang the painting back on the wall. Thank goodness it was easier to put back up. I sit on the red silk couch and stare at the painting. I’m still not close to figuring out which account my dad used to buy John’s new toy. For some reason, the tile in the foyer comes to mind. On the day the tile was installed, my father called me while I was in Chicago. I was frustrated, driving at a crawl, trying to get through the Circle, where the I-290 and I-90/I-94 intersect. He kept me on the phone for the entire half an hour or so, calmly giving me a play-by-play of how the carpenter was laying down each piece. Some things—like that Rolls-Royce, his flooring, his furniture, and even the watch he wore—he wanted to show off, but somewhere in his rearing, he was taught that being ostentatious would be like committing three of the seven deadliest sins—gluttony, greed, and pride. To the average human eye, my dad was a modest man, but those of us who could read him knew Bill liked to hide his flashy and exquisite things. So of course the account he used to purchase John’s expensive hotel wouldn’t be at the bank where they know him as the sensible, modest, and smart businessman.

  I snort, amused as I visualize myself patting my own back, especially for what I’m remembering now. When I was a kid, my dad used to hide the stuff he didn’t want Betty to find in the glove compartments of his cars. I knew the one place she would never go looking—the glove compartment of his Rolls-Royce.

  “That’s it!” I shoot to my feet, grab my coat, and race downstairs.

  I run to the garage and pull open the door handle to the luxury car, praying isn’t locked.

  It’s locked!

  I look around the garage and force myself to think like Bill. My sight lands on a black cabinet. Tools. Keys.

  I run to the other side of the garage and open the bottom drawer. “Shit.”

  On
top are a few letters from Citizens Midwest Savings and Loans. I laugh, surprised and delighted by chance. I read the slip. It gets better. The letter is a welcome from the account manager, Valerie Janis.

  1:15 p.m.

  My throat is scratchy, and my head hurts. I’m in my car, in the parking lot of the bank. I stretch my stiff neck from side to side then place a call. The phone rings.

  “Good afternoon. Citizens Midwest Savings and Loans; Sara Mills speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hello. I would like to speak to Valerie Janis,” I say.

  “Who’s speaking?”

  As I drove over, I decided to give something a try. “John Sharp,” I say.

  “Please hold,” the woman says.

  After a few seconds, another woman says, “John, hi!”

  I hang up and sniff bitterly. Of course… I suspect that he is, or was, fucking her, too. I put my hand inside my pocket and touch the flash drive that contains the security camera footage. Unfortunately, another heart is about to bite the dust.

  2:25 p.m.

  I walk into the bank and stand at the table where customers sign up to speak to an account representative. I don’t have to wait long. A pretty and petite blonde is on her way. She’s smiling as though it’s her birthday.

  “Hi, how can I help you?”

  She wants to flirt, and I need to play that card in order to get what I want. I read her nametag and smile. “Good afternoon, Sara. I would like to speak to Valerie Janis.”

  “Sure!” she says in a high-pitched tone. She can’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old.

  I wink at her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” After a brief hesitation, she struts off, displaying for me perfect posture and swinging hips. I feel terrible about leading on a woman I’m not remotely interested in. I don’t flirt often, but when I do, I’m effective.

  After a moment, Sara walks out with a beautiful blonde who’s at least six inches taller and ten times sexier. I can tell Sara gave her a report about me because she’s watching me curiously.

  “Hi, I’m Valerie Janis. How can I help you?”

  We shake hands. She’s wearing a wedding ring.

  “My name is Nolan Patrick. My father, Bill Patrick, maintained an account here.”

  I see a flash of panic in Valerie’s eyes, but she quickly hides it. She touches Sara’s shoulder. “I can take it from here. Thanks.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mr. Patrick,” Sara says, still smiling.

  Valerie glares at her. She looks at Valerie and heeds the warning.

  “This way please, Mr. Patrick.” Valerie’s expression remains taut. She leads me to her office.

  After we both sit, she tilts her head. “Did you just call, claiming to be John Sharp?”

  I cross my legs and sit up straight. “Do you know John Sharp?”

  She studies me with narrowed eyes. The look on her face says it all.

  “Of course you do,” I say. “So does William Patrick maintain an account at this bank?”

  She folds her hands on top of her desk and straightens her posture to meet mine. “I’m sorry, but that’s confidential information, Mr. Patrick.”

  I glare at her. I can tell that she’s hoping I’ll give up and go now, but she’s prepared to fight just in case I stay and battle her. I take the letter out of my briefcase and put it on her desk. “I found this. Isn’t that your name?”

  She looks down reluctantly. “Yes.” She forces herself to smile.

  “Then William Patrick does have an account at this institution?”

  “I can’t give you any of his account information.”

  I snort facetiously. “You might not think so, but we’re definitely getting somewhere.”

  “Mr. Patrick—”

  “I figure that you let me into your office because you’re curious. I suspect you’ve done something illegal and you wonder how much I know.”

  Valerie breaks eye contact and reaches around her desktop as if she’s looking for something but doesn’t know what it is.

  I put my hand on top of hers. “This is your chance to help me before I send my legal team to officially look into my father’s account and his transactions. I’m precisely interested in a wire transfer he made on November twenty-fourth.”

  She coughs as if she’s choked on her own saliva. I wait until she clears her throat. “We did nothing illegal,” she struggles to say.

  “When you say ‘we,’ do you mean you and John Sharp?”

  “I meant I did nothing illegal.”

  “Did John do something illegal?”

  She folds her arms defiantly. “Unless you have something concrete that I personally have to answer for, then you can leave my office.”

  I narrow an eye. “Are you protecting John?”

  She shakes her head. “I have nothing further to say. You may leave, Mr. Patrick. Now.”

  “Because if you are, then you’re a fool. I will initiate a thorough investigation into my father’s account. I am the executor of his will. Don’t hesitate to think that John won’t throw you in front of the speeding bullet train, because he will. He’s a user, Mrs. Janis. Do you know he’s married?”

  She shrugs coolly. “He’s getting a divorce.” I don’t think she meant to say that.

  I sneer. “He probably will now that you’ve helped him get what he wanted. But don’t think you’re going to factor into his plans for eternal bliss.”

  She frowns as if she’s confused by what I just said.

  “You’re not the only woman he’s used.”

  “John and I are just friends.”

  I narrow one eye suspiciously. “John doesn’t have ‘just friends.’”

  She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

  I take the flash drive out of my pocket. “Mrs. Janis, can I please show you something?”

  She looks a little confused. That’s a good sign. Valerie clears her throat and stares into my eyes. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me to go eat shit.

  “Please. It’ll only take a minute,” I say.

  She sighs and throws up her hands.

  I take that as an invitation to proceed and hand her the flash drive. “Put that in your computer and open the Security 2 file.”

  Valerie takes it and does as I ask. “It’s a video?”

  “Hit play.”

  She looks at me questioningly.

  “Go on; do it,” I say.

  She clicks her mouse, and the video plays. I watch her eyes grow wider as the scene progresses. Deep down inside, I’m jumping for joy. The heated look in her eyes says I’ve got her just where I want her.

  The video ends. Valerie peers at me. Her face has turned beet red, and her lips are clenched. “Okay, Mr. Patrick. Speaking of videos, I have something you might be interested in seeing.”

  4:58 p.m.

  After what I saw on video, I don’t want John anywhere near the North Star Holdings building or any other place that Liza or I may own. The sooner he’s out of our lives, the better. And I’m steaming mad, so much so that I have to remind myself to drive sensibly. Snow is still on the roads.

  I sent everything I have on John to Pete, who thought we should meet with John and his lawyer sooner rather than later. He made a call to John, and he agreed to meet us at Pete’s office today at five o’clock. I’m stuck in rush-hour traffic, which could be worse if it wasn’t for the holidays, but I’m five minutes away.

  I contemplate calling Abby. I don’t have much time, but it would be great to hear her voice and to let her know that I’m still thinking about her. She starred in my fantasy last night and the night before. I was thinking about taking a quick trip to St. Kitts and joining her for New Year’s Eve. I would love for her lips to be the first I kiss next year.

  Traffic lets up, and I drive at a normal speed. I press the phone button on my steering wheel. “Call Abby.”

  “Calling Abby, cell,” the system says.

  The call buzzes once and
goes straight to voicemail.

  I sigh forcefully. She doesn’t even have a personal greeting on her voicemail system. It’s the standard automated ‘you’ve reached this number now leave a message’ greeting. If only I could hear her voice, that, at least, would be something.

  I drive into the parking lot and park next to John’s candy-apple-red Mercedes Benz. I get out and slam my door shut. The guy is such a tool. John is from a small town in Florida. He grew up very poor but managed to make it to college. He met Liza at Nebraska State University. They have been married for five years, and by far, Liza got the short end of the deal. From the very beginning, he’s been a hack. In the early days, he and Liza would go out to dinner with Kelsey and me at least twice a month, and the guy had the worst case of roaming eyes. He liked to talk about how well our business was doing, hoping to convince me to let him in. I refused to give him any role in North Star Holdings, and Bill strongly agreed. There’s no way my father changed his mind about that snake in the grass.

  I walk into Pete’s office. His receptionist, a pretty redhead in her early twenties, looks up at me.

  “Good afternoon, Nolan,” Carrie says.

  I close the door behind me. “Afternoon, Carrie,” I say, failing to smile, mostly because I can smell John’s heavy cologne.

  “They’re in the office. You know the way.”

  “Thanks.” I go right in.

  As soon as I enter the office, John sneers at me and looks at his wristwatch. “You’re late.”

  I sniff disdainfully and sit down right next him, purposely getting too close for his comfort.

  John loosens his shoulders and rolls his chair a couple of inches away from mine. “And what’s this all about anyway?” He points at the data projector set up on the table.

  “It’s about you being a busy boy,” I say.

  “I am busy. So get on with it.”

  Pete and I look at each other. I nod, giving him the floor.