by K. Marie
“His plane ticket was to Fort Lauderdale; which is less than an hour from here. We can’t say for certain he came to Miami, but it’s highly probable,” answered Hernandez.
“You say you didn’t see Mr. McKellan when he was in Florida, but did he attempt to contact you?” Detective Broggs doggedly persisted.
By now, I recognized that Detective Hernandez is the good cop in their duo, while Detective Broggs was obviously the bad cop. He didn’t believe me.
“I’m no liar, detective. If John had attempted to contact me, I would’ve stated so,” I answered testily.
I might not have been completely forthcoming about John’s and my previous communications, but on this, I was telling the truth.
“My apologies, Mrs. Vidov; it wasn’t my intent to accuse you a liar,” Broggs said, sincerity lacking.
He’d meant exactly what he said. The question is, why? Why would Detective Broggs think me a liar? They couldn’t seriously believe me responsible for John’s disappearance.
“You said John was in Florida about two weeks before his disappearance, can’t you track his movements through his credit cards or something?” I asked hopefully, the thought having just occurred to me.
I’m a huge fan of cop shows like “Law & Order”, I’ve learned a thing or two in the process.
I saw the detectives give each other a quick unspoken look. “What? What aren’t you telling me?” I asked with unease.
“Be careful Mrs. Vidov, you don’t want to do the detectives jobs for them. Leave them something to figure out on their own,” Michael said in deliberate insult.
I looked over at him in amazement, suddenly seeing why the attorney and Garland worked so well together. Both men shared a low tolerance for incompetence, and a scathing sense of humor.
“Actually, that avenue was investigated. However, other than the purchase of the plane ticket, Mr. McKellan left no other paper trail,” Hernandez admitted, pointedly ignoring Michael’s jab.
“How long was John here? Did he fly back to Michigan?” I asked next, still trying to wrap my brain around it.
Could he have truly come here because of me?
“He was here three days before his return flight back to Michigan,” Hernandez confirmed.
“So then…he disappeared right after he got back to Michigan,” I surmised, more so to myself than anyone else. None of it made any sense to me.
“I don’t understand. If you believe John to have been here in Miami because of me, why would he go back to Michigan without having tried contacting me?” I questioned in confusion.
Why would John bother coming all the way to Miami just to leave without a word? He certainly hadn’t sent any emails to that effect.
“Perhaps that’s a question best answered by your husband,” Broggs responded.
I looked at him in surprise.
The detective stared back at me coolly, confirming I hadn’t misheard him.
“Careful detective, you’re crossing a fine line,” Michael warned. “Now, since Mrs. Vidov has given you detectives the tools and clues you need to do your jobs, we’re done here,” he said dismissively, moving to get to his feet.
But, his blatantly rude comment went ignored, as Detective Broggs and I sat eyeing each other.
“Why would you say that? What does Garland have to do with any of this?” I asked, feeling the hair on the back of my neck start to rise.
It was a peculiar thing for him to say. Had the detectives found out about our dirty little secret?
“Because people tend to disappear around your husband,” Broggs stated as fact.
“That’s quite enough, detective! Mr. Vidov is an upstanding businessman, who’s never been accused or convicted of any crime. If you value your badge, I suggest you veer away from libelous accusations and old petty grudges,” Michael rebuked in an officious manner.
“Detective Broggs, please refrain-,” Hernandez started, but got cut-off.
“Did you know McKellan had a history of stalking?” Broggs asked challengingly, talking right over him.
I stared back at him in disbelief, speechless.
What?
“I didn’t think so. You seem like a nice lady, Mrs. Vidov, but with an unfortunate taste in men. I suggest you look a little closer to home if you want to know what happened to your ex,” Broggs said; determinedly speaking over both Hernandez and Michael’s objections.
“You are completely out of line, detective! You can’t accuse a man guilty merely on the strength of you not liking him,” Michael boomed; having sprung-up out of his chair in outrage.
“Mrs. Vidov has answered all the questions she’s going to. Her husband is right outside that door if you’d like to make your ridiculous and egregious claims to his face. But, we both know that you won’t,” he said scornfully, words cutting.
Michael moved to pull back my chair and to help me to my feet, I followed his lead automatically, still too stunned to object otherwise.
“Mrs. Vidov has been fully cooperative. Unless, and until you uncover evidence that involves her directly, any further questioning will be considered harassment,” he cautioned brusquely, before ushering me toward the door.
As soon as we exit, I see Garland leaning against the wall opposite the door, attention focused on his phone. He’d ignored the two hard-looking wooden chairs that sat right beside him.
His eyes met mine instantly, as he pushed away from the wall to meet us halfway.
“You okay?” he asked in concern, taking my hand in his.
I must have looked like I wasn’t, okay, that is. I felt as though in a daze, both confused and shaken by Detective Broggs words. I simply didn’t know what to make of them.
“I’m good,” I managed to say.
Garland’s eyes went hard as he averted his gaze over my shoulder, focused on the two detectives who’d followed our exit.
“You should contact Mr. Fieger if you have any further questions. But be warned, there had better be sufficient cause or it will result in a call to the Mayor,” he threatened frostily.
A brief awkward silence ensued, before Detective Hernandez nodded in the affirmative.
“Understood,” he allowed; before addressing me. “Mrs. Vidov, thank you for your time.”
I’ve barely nodded my acknowledgment, before Garland’s tug on my hand had me pivoting and walking away.
Fifty-Three
G A R L A N D
“Have you forgotten my abhorrence to being kept waiting?” the man asked after I’ve exited the car, having just pulled into my private hangar.
We regarded each other silently, the slamming of car doors echoing loudly around us, as his preemptive challenge for authority served as greeting. I hadn’t expected him personally; assumed he’d send one of his emissaries. I was taken by surprise when one of my men called to report who’d gotten off the private jet just minutes ago.
It’s been almost a year since I last saw him, but he didn’t look much changed.
“You’ve taken quite the risk in coming here,” I said, ignoring his reproachful statement.
It would be an error to ever show weakness in his presence, to ever concede even an ounce of authority on my own turf. He respected strength above all else, and ruthlessness.
“I judged the risk worthwhile,” he returned in Russian, as if everyone here didn’t already speak the language.
“Come,” he told me, “We’ll leave the others to do something useful.”
I led him past the aircraft, and to the small office that my pilot and mechanics used.
“You look well,” I told him, after shutting the door behind us.
“Did you expect that I would be a frail, weak old man?” he questioned dryly.
“Old, yes. Frail and weak, no,” I replied with a straight face.
Ours was a complex relationship; but never one born of animosity or lack of respect. Even as strained as it had become, and even in my absence, he’d steadfastly refused to relinquish my title and po
sition. Both of which, I never wanted.
“I pray you live to be as old as me,” Romanovich said with a grudging smile.
“Why are you here?” I asked bluntly.
He examined me thoughtfully, green eyes so like my own, staring back at me as if I’d asked the obvious.
“I’m here because some things are too important to not oversee personally,” he said simply.
Though, there was nothing simple about it. He knew how I’d react to him coming here, to his interference.
“In case it’s gone unnoticed, I’m a big boy, I can handle my own shit,” I told him, keeping my anger in check.
“Your shit is my shit; our problems are one!” Romanovich barked, infamous temper flaring in insult. “Did you think I would just sit passively by? Anyone who dare threatens the life of my son, threatens me. Don’t let your goddamn hubris cloud your judgment,” he admonished.
We stood glaring eye to eye, both our height and stubbornness well matched; neither of us willing to give an inch on our positions. It was an old battle with us, one given to both tests of will, and of power. The harder he pushed, the harder I pushed back. My father is a hard man, a powerful man, growing up as his son hadn’t been easy. But to his everlasting consternation, his only son turned out to be not so easily tamed, not so easily bent to his will.
“Son, a man hasn’t truly lived, until he’s had something worth dying for. I know this to be true, because I stand here at this moment before you. But, you too now have something worth dying for; I’m certain we can put our differences aside for a greater purpose,” Romanovich finally said, proving to be the bigger adult.
He’s always had a way of doing that, of somehow making me feel chastened like a boy. It’s always pissed me off, no matter how old I got. But, in this he was right—I would die a thousand deaths to protect my family, but I need not do it alone. My father had greater power and resources than I, and a virtual army at his disposal. I might not want his help, but I would be a fool not to accept it.
“You’re growing sentimental in your old age,” I told him in concession, knowing that small vulnerability he’d just revealed would never be exposed outside of this room.
The truth is, he could have taken care of my problem without my involvement at all. But, he understood man must fight his own battles, personally go after his own enemies. He knew I was more than capable, after all, it’s partly why I no longer resided in Russia. However, he also knew that he had a grandchild on the way; he apparently wasn’t risking him or her being fatherless.
Romanovich eyed me soberly, acknowledging our silent agreement. “I don’t have long to be here, so let us sit, and plan our move,” he told me.
C A M R Y
“Are you not hungry?”
I lifted my head at Garland’s question; to find his eyes focused on my hand. I’d been pushing the pasta around on the plate with my fork instead of eating it. I was hungry, the chef had prepared my favorite seafood pasta dish for dinner, but I now found it difficult to concentrate on eating.
“I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” I answered.
I had waited for him to arrive before eating, so it was a couple of hours later than our usual dinner time. Autumn was already asleep for the night.
“Considering you’re pregnant, that statement was just full of irony,” he said in humor.
I gave him a dry look in return, my sense of humor not at its best just now.
My stomach was in a jumble with nerves, and my indecisiveness had given me a headache. I deliberated over it all day; found it hard to focus on anything else, so finally steeling my resolve, I laid down my fork.
“Tell me about your time in Russia, before you moved to Miami,” I told my husband.
He didn’t talk much about his past, and the times I’d asked, he always gave the impression that it was a subject to be avoided. Naturally, I backed off, knowing it was a painful topic for him. Well, I was now done backing off. There could no longer be any gray areas in our marriage.
“What would you like to know?” Garland asked neutrally.
“Everything, what did you do for work when you returned from college? When did you meet and marry your wife—why was your family killed? Everything,” I answered determinedly.
Silence shrouded us for what felt forever; my request hanging out there like a live wire to be carefully navigated around. Garland sat simply gaping at me; eyes searching mine, and I’m certain what he found, told him I wouldn’t be put off this time. I stubbornly waited him out.
“I returned home from college an ambitious twenty-year-old, international finance degree in hand, and ready to take on the world,” he wisely started. “The expectation was that I would go to work for my father, but I had other plans. I wanted to be my own man; to make my own way in the world, to not be under my father’s shadow. That didn’t go over so well with my father, of course. So, it wasn’t until nearly a year later that I finally went to work for a good friend of his, Alexei Novetsky. Alex was Chairman of the Management Board of Russia’s second largest bank at that time—and gave me a position that I was grossly unqualified for. But, I’d always had an aptitude for numbers, so I quickly excelled in my position,” Garland recounted.
The man was being way too modest, he was an absolute genius with numbers.
“By the time I’d been there two years, I amassed enough capital to finance my first business venture; a failing metals company. The company had been horribly mismanaged, and needed an influx of cash to stay afloat,” he continued.
“So, you made your first business investment at age twenty-three?” I asked, duly impressed.
“Yes. And that investment turned out to be a wise one, it allowed me to purchase my very first company one year later,” he confirmed.
“That was quite an ambitious undertaking for a young man of your age,” I remarked.
“I guess so, but I worked hard for every penny I made. Plus, I was determined to prove my father wrong, to not live up to his expectation of failure. He believed me to be merely rebelling; expected that I would eventually come slinking back to him in defeat.” Garland said dryly.
“Do you and your father not get along?” I took the opportunity to ask.
“My father and I haven’t always seen eye to eye,” he affirmed, brusque tone indicating the subject closed.
I decided not to press the issue for now, I didn’t want him becoming distracted from my main goal.
“When did you meet your wife?” I asked next.
“I had been dating a girl that I’d known as a teen, Zinaida, and we eventually married. Our son was born a year later,” he answered evenly.
I gritted my teeth in annoyance, trying desperately to hold onto my patience. Was he seriously going to make me pull all of this shit out of him?
I hated making him talk about it; knew that he avoided talking about his past because the heart-wrenching tragedy was an integral part of it. But, I had to harden my own heart and forge on, I needed to hear this.
So, giving him an expectant look, I silently waited him out.
“I was ambitious and driven, but also arrogant and naïve. I was high off of my own success and believed myself invincible. The company I purchased belonged to an unscrupulous businessman, who was known for his ties to criminal enterprise. And though the company had failed and was being taken by the bank, the original creditor, he’d used every underhanded tactic to try and hold onto it. But, I had favor with Alex; my former employer, and also the creditor. The note for the company was eventually awarded to me, and I unwittingly earned myself an enemy in the process,” Garland explained.
My heart sank at his portentous words, knowing only nightmarish things happened after that.
“You see, to add insult to injury, I learned that same man had also been interested in buying the metals company I invested in. He had in fact, been pressuring the desperate owner to sell it to him for almost nothing. He viewed my undercutting him on both accounts a personal slight,
a deliberate insult by a mere twenty-five-year-old kid. Though for me, it was only business. I ignored the intimidation tactics and threats, I wasn’t deterred by his reputation. I was too naïve to understand that men like him never played by the same rules as regular people, that they operated by a different code. I wouldn’t realize that until it was too late…you know what happened after that,” Garland said despondently.
I shook my head in astonishment, unable to comprehend something so outrageous. The real world didn’t operate like a gangster movie.
I caught a flash of anger in Garland’s eyes, before he lowered them to stare down at the marble of the island, and my heart squeezed with regret. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the horror that must replay constantly in his head.
“You’re angry at me,” I said softly, wondering if he resented me for making him remember.
I’ve never seen Garland angry before, not truly angry. I’ve seen him displeased, coolly indifferent and mildly annoyed, but never angry, and especially not directed at me.
“I’m sorry Garland. I know talking about this isn’t easy for you, but there can be no gray areas in our marriage. Your past can’t be a complete void between us,” I told him, hoping he understands.
“My anger isn’t at you,” he muttered, eyes still trained on the marble.
Tense seconds ticked by as I watched him warily, unsure of how to proceed, when he finally spoke again.
“They came for me, but-” he started, but seemed unable to get the rest of the words out.
And I ached for him, for the sheer torment that I could hear in his voice.
“I was the one who found them,” he murmured after a moment. “A man should never have to witness something like that…it changes you,” he said, voice just above a whisper.
I got to my feet and went to him, wrapping my arms around him in consolation.
“I’m so sorry that happened, I wish I could take your pain away,” I told him, eyes brimming with tears as I buried my face into the side of his neck.
