A King's ransom

by James Grippando

The “extremely fine” remark seemed calculated to rattle me, but I let it go. “I visited your husband in Managua a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, how’s he doing?”

  “You haven’t talked to him in two weeks?”

  She drew a deep breath, thinking. “Let me see. . no. We’ve played message tag, but I don’t think we’ve actually caught each other.” She sipped the last of her drink. “Has he helped with your father?”

  “At first he was a big help, especially on site in Cartagena right after the kidnapping. Less so as of late.”

  “I would have expected Guillermo to be right in the hunt.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t asked him to do much.”

  “Don’t be shy. I’m sure he’d be happy to do whatever you asked.”

  “I’m a little nervous about asking.”

  “Why?”

  I paused, measuring my words. “I’ve had some discussions with the FBI. Seems the bureau doesn’t have a very high opinion of your husband.”

  “No kidding.”

  The flip response took me by surprise. “Would you like to hear what they told me?”

  “Why not? I suspect that’s the reason you’re here.”

  “They think he’s sitting on a fortune in illegal money. From the looks of where you hang around on a typical weekday afternoon, I’m almost inclined to believe them.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Guillermo’s a cheapskate. I don’t even have a membership here.”

  “Then how do you get in?”

  She glanced at the muscular young lifeguard posted at the entrance to the pool area, then looked back at me. “Let’s just say I give a great. . back rub.”

  “That’s probably more information than I needed.”

  She smiled, as if enjoying the shock value. “I’m not bragging. Just being honest.”

  “Being totally honest, what if I were to tell you that the FBI thinks your husband is hiding drug money to the tune of about ten million dollars?”

  She laughed, as if it were ridiculous. “He’s been dodging those accusations for years.”

  “I’m hoping they’re just accusations.”

  “Guillermo came into a lot of land after the revolution. He also found himself in a nasty divorce with his first wife. Every time he sells a piece of real estate, she’s supposed to get half. It’s a game they play. He makes a sale, he won’t give her the money, she calls her lawyer. Then the race is on. He starts moving the money around from company to company, from bank to bank, trying to hide it like. . well, like a drug dealer. It usually ends with her going to the DEA or FBI, threatening him with trumped-up drug charges that never pan out.”

  The waitress brought our drinks. Gin and tonic with lemon. I sipped mine lightly, since it was a bit too early in the day for me.

  “I’m surprised my dad would let him move that kind of money through the fishing company.”

  “Between you and me, he does it without your dad even knowing it. The plain fact is, your father is a minority shareholder. Guillermo can do whatever he wants.”

  “Just so long as whatever he wants doesn’t include drug dealing.”

  “No way. He would never.”

  “But he would try to cheat his ex-wife out of the money she’s legally entitled to.”

  “The woman’s a bitch.”

  “She’s also the mother of his eight-year-old son and six-year-old daughter, right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’m simply trying to get a feel for what he would or wouldn’t do for money.”

  “Specifically, what?”

  The question stuck in my throat, but at this stage of the game I couldn’t be subtle. “Did you know that it was Guillermo who sent my father to Colombia?”

  “No. But I don’t see how that matters.”

  “This wasn’t a random crime. The kidnappers knew that my father had kidnap-and-ransom insurance, and we think he was targeted for that reason.”

  “Are you asking me if my husband set up your father?”

  “I’d love you to convince me that he didn’t.”

  She took another one of those deep breaths that seemed to help her think. “Seems to me that the issue isn’t whether Guillermo sent your father to Colombia. The key question is: Who knew that your father had insurance?”

  “Are you saying that Guillermo didn’t know?”

  Her expression turned serious. “I’m telling you that he did know.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I was sitting at the same table the day they discussed it.”

  “Where?

  “Right here in Palm Beach. Back in August we met here for a Sunday brunch. Your poor mother had the worst morning sickness I’ve ever seen. On her third sprint to the bathroom I guessed she was pregnant. Your dad confirmed it but swore us to secrecy, since they hadn’t even told you or Lindsey yet. Anyway, that’s when Guillermo suggested he should look into kidnap-and-ransom insurance. A bit of friendly advice. A good thing for a new family man to have.”

  “You mean he bought insurance on Guillermo’s recommendation?”

  “Actually, your father said he already had it.”

  I did a double take. Technically, my father’s telling anyone was enough to void the policy, but as a practical matter it seemed reasonable for Dad to have shared that information with his own partner. “Did he mention the amount of coverage?”

  “A lot. Like three million.”

  I looked toward the pool, sorting things out in my own mind. “This doesn’t exactly lower my suspicions about your husband.”

  “Did you expect me to lie for him, stand by my man?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m through coming to his defense. I know he was sleeping with your sister.”

  My eyes shifted toward the lifeguard she’d pointed out earlier, the one who got the great “back rubs.”

  She said, “He’s a symptom of my marital problems, not the cause. I was faithful to Guillermo.”

  I sensed genuine anger in her tone. I hadn’t planned to be so blunt, but I saw an opportunity. “Do you think Guillermo set up my father?”

  “We all have our theories about what happened.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “A married, fifty-year-old Casanova’s obsession with his business partner’s twenty-something-year-old daughter. Two people were standing in the way of their getting together. Guillermo sends me to Palm Beach and sends your father to Colombia. So long as the shops are open on Worth Avenue, he knows I won’t be headed back to Nicaragua anytime soon. Getting rid of your father was a little more complicated.”

  “I’ve talked to Lindsey. I think you’re reading way too much into her and Guillermo.”

  “Are you sure?” she said, challenging me.

  I looked her in the eye but didn’t answer. She smiled thinly, seemingly satisfied that she’d made her point.

  “Neither of us can be sure of anything, can we, Nick? We weren’t there.”

  I was staring blankly, not really watching as she applied more suntan lotion to her thighs. “I suppose not,” I replied.

  She capped the tube of lotion and said, “Anything else I can help you with, honey?”

  “Not unless you have three million dollars you can loan me.”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes to the burning sun. “You’re so funny.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sardonic smile. “I kill myself.”

  54

  “You and Alex shared the same apartment?” asked Jenna.We were having dinner together, our first opportunity to regroup since my return from Colombia. Over a glass of red wine and an appetizer of steamed mussels, I’d told her all about the trip, and she’d asked intelligent questions. This last one had seemed to leap from her lips, as if she’d finally figured out the sleeping arrangements.

  “It’s a big place, owned by one of her friends,” I said. “Alex had one room, I had another.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”
<
br />   “I feel like I do. You asked.”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I’m your cocounsel, not your. . whatever.”

  The waitress brought us more baguettes, then smiled and said something in French as she left. Le Bouchon in Coconut Grove was one of my favorite bistros. It was a cozy place with wooden tables and chairs, Tour de France posters on the walls, and tasty French food at prices that even a guy who was hard up for three million dollars could afford.

  “Does she ever ask about me?” asked Jenna.

  “Who, Alex?”

  “Yes. She must think it’s strange, your ex-fiancee helping you.”

  “Mmm. She’s never really said anything.”

  Jenna smiled knowingly. “You’re such a bad liar.”

  I smiled back. “Okay, it might have come up.”

  “What’s her take on it?”

  I sipped my wine, tore off a piece of bread, brushed the crumbs away. Basically I was stalling, wondering how she’d feel if I were to tell her that Alex’s first take on Jenna and me was that I’d never really loved her.

  “She definitely had the wrong idea about us at first,” I said vaguely, knowing how completely wrong Alex had been. “But she has a much better understanding now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She thinks it takes a pretty special person to step up and help me the way you have. And so do I.”

  Our eyes locked for a moment, then a moment longer. It had been months since I’d looked so deeply inside her. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

  The waitress politely interrupted and took our plates. Jenna looked away, and by the time the waitress had left, so had the moment.

  “Tell me about Guillermo’s wife,” she said.

  “Uh, sure,” I said, stumbling as I shifted gears. Once I’d refocused, it took only a few minutes to fill her in.

  When I’d finished, she asked, “Are you going to go after him?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You were suspicious of Guillermo before you met his wife. The only missing piece in the puzzle was whether Guillermo knew for a fact that your father had kidnap-and-ransom insurance when he sent him on that trip to Colombia. Now you know.”

  “It still bothers me that in court the insurance company pointed the finger at Lindsey, not Guillermo.”

  “Maybe they suspect a lovers’ pact. Daddy didn’t approve of the May-December romance, so they got rid of Daddy. While they were at it, they split a three-million-dollar insurance policy with the thugs they hired to kidnap him.”

  “There’s no way Lindsey did that.”

  She took a little more wine, then said, “If you’re sure of that, then maybe you’ll like my new idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “First you have to tell me that you’re sure about Lindsey. Because if we go this route and it turns out your sister isn’t squeaky clean, you could end up sending her to jail for a very long time.”

  “I’m as sure as I can be. And I hate to say it, but if I’m wrong, I guess Lindsay deserves what she gets.”

  She leaned into the table, seemingly excited about her pitch. “Tell the government to forget about the immunity that Agent Huitt has been offering you in exchange for incriminating information on Guillermo. Tell them you want reward money.”

  “What kind of reward?”

  “I did some research while you were in Colombia. The Diplomatic Security Service oversees a reward program for informants who come forward with information against international terrorists. Kidnappers are considered terrorists. If Guillermo set up your father, he’s a coconspirator, a terrorist in his own right.”

  “Sounds interesting in theory. But we’re pretty pressed for time.”

  “They might bite fast. The FBI sure seems eager to nail him on something. Terrorism is a lot juicier than just another drug-smuggling case.”

  “Except that our pitch still has holes in it.”

  “Such as?”

  “Start at the top,” I said. “As far as we can prove, the only talk Guillermo and my father ever had about kidnap-and-ransom insurance was at the brunch where Guillermo’s wife figured out that my mother was pregnant. That was back in August.”

  “So?”

  “These policies are country-specific. The trip to Colombia wasn’t even on the map back then.”

  “The original policy didn’t cover Colombia?”

  “Heck no. You don’t buy coverage for Colombia unless you know for certain that you’re going there. It jerks the price way up.”

  “Then how did your dad get coverage for Colombia?”

  “That came later. The insurance company issued a Colombia rider before the trip.”

  “Couldn’t Guillermo have been in on that?”

  “We can’t prove that he was. The policy was issued to my dad, not the company. The only thing we can prove is that two people knew about the extension of coverage to Colombia- my dad and the insurance company.”

  My words hung in the air. We looked at each other, Jenna seeming to read my mind.

  “Maybe that’s enough,” she said.

  “Does it make sense?”

  “Think it through. Why would an insurance company tip off rebels to kidnap one of its own policyholders?”

  “It wouldn’t. But a renegade employee might.”

  She smiled, the proverbial light seeming to go on. “That would certainly give Quality Insurance Company something to hide. Which would explain their scorched-earth litigation tactics.”

  I felt the excitement between us, but it was checked by the daunting reality that we both fully appreciated as lawyers.

  “The question is, how do we prove it?”

  55

  I called Duncan Fitz in the morning, repeatedly. Each time his secretary insisted that he was “unavailable.”

  I knew that Beverly was simply running interference. She had a reputation for being difficult, but this was the same considerate woman who’d literally run me down in the halls of Cool Cash to warn me that she’d “seen the memos” and that I’d better be careful in my ill-fated meeting with Duncan and the henchmen from New York.

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I said finally. “But if Duncan won’t take my phone calls, then let’s assume that I don’t want to speak to him either. Hypothetically speaking, is there any place I shouldn’t go today, just to make sure we don’t run into each other by accident?”

  She paused. I crossed my fingers and hoped that God would reward me for those late work nights with Beverly when I’d smiled and listened politely as she droned on about all nine lives of all seven cats with whom she shared her one-bedroom apartment.

  “Well, hypothetically,” she said.

  “Yes?” I encouraged.

  “I suppose you shouldn’t go anywhere near the inner loop of the People Mover before his three o’clock hearing in federal court. If you were to bump into him on the tram, you’d be trapped and couldn’t get away. Wouldn’t that be awful?”

  “Horrible. Thanks for the warning.”

  “You bet,” she said, then hung up.

  From two o’clock on, I perched myself on the elevated platform at the Brickell Station. With the water table so close to the surface, the city of Miami has no subway, just rubber-tired trams that run on cement tracks elevated anywhere from two to ten stories above the city. I stood to one side of the platform, behind the elevators, watching the trains leave every few minutes. Finally I spotted Duncan climbing the escalator, toting his own briefcase for a change. The tram had stopped momentarily for loading and unloading, both sets of doors open. He entered at the set farthest away from me. I waited until the chime sounded, then hurried out from behind my hiding spot and jumped aboard. The final chime sounded, the doors closed, and the tram left the station. Duncan and I were alone in front.

  “Hello,” I said.

  He seemed surprised but handled it with his usual aplomb. “Mr. Rey, how are you?”

  After working
side by side for over a year, we were now on a last-name basis. “I spoke to Judge Korvan yesterday. She tells me that she was blackmailed off the case.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “It’s true. She said it herself.”

  “I’m not in the business of blackmail.”

  “I’m sure you’re not. But your client would do it behind your back. Quality Insurance Company has something to hide.”

  “Your family defrauded my client. End of story.”

  “No, that’s their story. Ask your client how they got the case taken away from Judge Korvan and reassigned to a judge who sits in your hip pocket. The answer isn’t dumb luck.”

  “Cases get reassigned every day.”

  “Not the way this one was.”

  “Look, I’ve been doing this law thing a little longer than you, junior. Don’t tell me how to represent my client.”

  “Duncan, I wouldn’t have this conversation if I didn’t know you to have a conscience. All I’m asking is that you do the right thing and ask your client the hard questions. It’s no less than you would have expected from me as your protege.”

  He stared out the window of the moving tram, silent. For an instant I thought I was getting through to him, but slowly his disposition changed.

  “You’re the one who should be asking himself the hard questions. I’ve heard plenty from the FBI. Now, stop following me around on trains. Or I’ll tell Agent Huitt to add stalking to your list of indictable crimes.”

  His mind had been poisoned, clearly. It would have been futile to argue my innocence, but I was too angry not to say what I really thought of him.

  “Gilbert Jones killed himself, you know that?”

  “Who?”

  “The overweight cop, the last case we worked on together. After you made him gamble away his settlement money playing ‘Let’s Make a Deal,’ he couldn’t look at his children. He went home that night and turned off his oxygen.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I guess you either know these things or you don’t. Like the first hearing you ever sent me to, when I refused to go into court and argue that one of your other insurance companies didn’t have to pay fifty bucks a week for ‘respiratory therapy’ because it technically wasn’t ‘physical therapy.’ Would that have been a victory in your book, keeping a twelve-year-old kid with cystic fibrosis from loosening the phlegm in her lungs so she could breathe?”