by Rickie Blair
But Ruby couldn’t afford to wait for the shareholders’ meeting. She was paying Antony a visit right now, in his office. The last place the police, or Dimitri, would think to look for her.
Pulling into an underground parking space, she checked her appearance one more time in the rearview mirror. A brunette wig with bangs that covered her forehead, reading glasses over blue contact lenses, and a tight pencil skirt to draw attention away from her face. It wouldn’t fool Antony, but it would get her in the door. After that, her husband might pick up the phone and call the police. Smiling, she headed for the elevator. Let him try.
On the seventeenth floor, she pushed open the heavy glass door that led into Carvon & Co.’s wood-paneled executive offices. The receptionist behind a granite-topped desk was speaking into her headset. She smiled at Ruby and held up a red lacquered fingernail.
Ruby raised her eyebrows, pointed to the executive offices, and swept around the mahogany wall that shielded the reception area. The receptionist got to her feet, still talking into the headset, but Ruby was already halfway down the hall to Antony’s corner office by then.
She drew up in front of his formidable executive assistant, who wore a navy suit with three-inch heels, a flawless French manicure, and her signature strand of pearls. Ruby would not have fooled Antony’s assistant in Manhattan, but Jackie hadn’t seen her in over a year.
Ruby smiled.
“I’m Mrs. Capstone. I have a four o’clock appointment.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackie said. “You’re not in the book.”
“I made the appointment directly with Mr. Carver. Perhaps he forgot to tell you?”
“One moment, I’ll check.” Jackie nodded crisply at the secretary seated at a desk beside the door to Antony’s office. The secretary flipped the intercom switch.
“Mr. Carver, there’s a woman here to see you. She says she has an appointment, but Jackie says it’s not in the book.”
“Who is it?”
“Mrs. Capstone.”
“Who?”
“Capstone. Mrs. Capstone.”
A pause.
“Show her in,” Antony said.
The secretary ushered Ruby into the office and left, closing the door behind her. Antony stood at the windows, looking out with his hands clasped behind his back. He turned and looked at her. Then he walked to his desk and sat down, leaned back on his leather swivel chair and stretched his arms behind his head.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pick up this phone and call the cops.”
“I can give you twenty million reasons.”
He brought his arms down and sat up straight.
“What are you talking about?”
“A leather box with twenty million dollars in Cayman bank bonds in it. And a few other items.” She held her breath.
“Where is it?”
“First you have to do something for me.”
Antony gave her an incredulous look.
“I’m doing nothing for you. And you still haven’t given me a reason not to call the cops.” He looked at his watch. “You have five minutes before I have you kicked out and make the call.”
Ruby sat in the chair that faced his desk and crossed her legs.
He glanced at her short skirt and looked away.
“First,” she said, “I know you’re planning to leave the country, and I know where and how. Two, I have your phony passports and I’m betting you haven’t had time to replace them. And three, I have the twenty million meant for the Russian mob.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He picked up a fountain pen and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “The Russian mob? That’s ridiculous.”
“Really, Antony? We have a lot to discuss and there’s not much time.”
He put down the pen and looked at her.
“What happened to Hari? The police won’t tell me.”
“You know what happened. One of your new friends killed him.”
“One of my—?” He frowned. “What?”
“Your friend in the Russian mob. He was on the Apollonis. The bartender, Dimitri?” Antony looked confused, so she added, “He’s been following me, taking pictures. Stalking me.”
He stared at her, his mouth open.
“But you were sleeping with him.”
“No, I wasn’t. Who told you that?”
“His wife. That night on the boat. She came to our suite.” He paused, his face ashen. “So Hari really is dead?”
“I’m sorry.”
There was a rap on the door and Jackie poked her head into the room.
“Mr. Carver, don’t forget your meeting at four fifteen.”
“Postpone it,” he said, without looking at her. Jackie nodded and closed the door.
Ruby bent closer, her eyebrows knitted, and tried to keep her voice even.
“I know all about the accounting lapses, the revenue losses, the books you and Hari cooked. I know what was supposed to happen at the shareholders’ meeting. In some twisted way, I even understand it.” Drawing a deep breath, she leaned back. “But why did you have to take the girls’ money, Antony?”
He sighed and picked up the pen again.
“You know I had a company before Carvon. In the ’90s.”
“Everybody knows. It’s part of the Antony Carver legend, how you reinvented yourself after your first venture failed.”
“It went belly up in ’97, in the crash. Nothing I could do. All those years of hard work—” He scowled and slapped the pen down. “And those people who used to fawn over me? I couldn’t even get them on the phone. The Street considered Antony Carver a worthless piece of shit.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not. Bait in the shark pool, that was me.” He chuckled and then his face grew cold again. “But I’d done it once, and I knew I could do it again. So I cut a few corners the second time around. So what? Those assholes were taking my calls again. Couldn’t wait to hear from me, in fact.” He gave a slight shrug. “And when the market crashed again, I said, ‘Not this time. Not Carvon.’”
“Fraud, I think that’s called.”
“It didn’t start out that way—”
“Hari told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That you’ve been short-selling Carvon stock in other people’s names, including Quentin’s. What I don’t understand is how the mob got involved.”
Antony rubbed a thumb along his eyebrow and sighed.
“Ruby, I had no idea Hari was in danger. Or you, either, for that matter—”
“How did the mob get involved, Antony?”
“A few years back, I went to Kyrgyzstan on a business trip.”
“I remember.”
“It was right around the time our revenues started to drop. The board was on my back. I was supposed to negotiate an oil deal. But when I got there that wasn’t all they wanted. They had assets that needed … handling. They wanted me to do it.”
“Are you talking about money laundering?”
“They already had the money. They only wanted it moved around. I didn’t see the harm. You have to understand. Carvon had cash flow problems. Our stated revenue, that is, the money shareholders thought we were earning, had departed a bit from our actual revenue. We had—”
“Lied,” Ruby said.
Antony scowled.
“—overstated our revenue. It’s an accounting thing. But unfortunately, this occurred at the same time as the market crash. So we had to adjust our revenues to keep the price-earnings ratio in an optimum range—”
“You lied again.”
“—with the result that Carvon developed a cash flow crunch. Which is when I went to Kyrgyzstan—”
“And agreed to launder money for the mob? For heaven’s sake, Antony, what were you thinking?”
He gave her an indignant look and spread his hands.
“I told you. I had no choice. Now the economy has stalled and we can’t mak
e any more revenue adjustments upward without raising red flags. Next week, we have to release our real numbers. They’re not good. And then, it’s over. The whole damn company is going under. I have to get out before that happens.”
“With your take.”
He scowled. “I don’t have a take. I have a little money put aside for a rainy day.”
“Five hundred million dollars? That’s not a little money, Antony. Not to a normal person, anyway.”
“Oh, and what’s your idea of normal? Enlighten me, please. Because you sure as hell thought my money looked good when you married me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“And what about the drinking and the drugs and the carrying on? Were those normal? I just want to know, Ruby. Because I’m not the artistic type like Hari. I’m just trying to earn a living here.”
“Stop it, Antony.”
“I never understood you the way Hari did. I never could measure up. Only Hari—”
“Stop it,” Ruby snapped. “What’s the matter with you? Hari’s dead and it’s your fault. He was your best friend. Don’t you even care?” She looked away to hide her tears. “He told me all about your accounting problems. And he left me the evidence. So if you want the twenty million back—”
“I don’t care about the twenty million.”
“Oh, so you want me to have it.” She turned to face him, sniffling. “That’s sweet, Antony.”
A smile tugged at his lips.
“Okay, you’re right. I do care about the twenty million. At least, the mob cares about it. But I’m not dipping into my nest egg to pay them back. I don’t want them anywhere near my money.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Anyway, you’re sure as hell not getting it.”
“And your blonde friend? What is she getting?”
“Who?” He stared at her, frowning, and then flicked his hand. “Oh. The passport. She doesn’t mean anything to me. She was a diversion in case I needed one to get across the border, that’s all.”
“That’s a little hard to believe.”
Antony picked up the pen again and rolled it in his fingers. Then he put it down, sighed, and looked at her.
“I wanted to take you with me, you know.”
“To South America?”
He nodded. “Would you have gone?”
“I don’t know.”
They both looked away.
“I have your ring,” Antony said. “You can have it back if you want.”
“Keep it. But don’t give it to the blonde, okay?”
“So, what do you want from me then?”
“I want you to pay the Russian mob their twenty million so they’ll leave me alone. And I want you to clear my name and my brother-in-law’s name,” Ruby took a deep breath, “and Hari’s.”
Antony shook his head.
“Hari wasn’t the Boy Scout you took him for.”
“I know. I want you to clear his name anyway.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
She pulled a folder from her tote bag and handed it to him.
“This is an affidavit. Sign it.”
He scanned the document and tossed it back to her.
“That won’t prove anything. I’ll be gone by the time the SEC gets it, and it would never hold up in court.”
“Maybe. But it’s the only way I’ll comply. Or, if you prefer, I can walk out, cash the bonds and throw your fake passports in the lake. Your choice.”
With a shrug, he reached for the folder.
“I’m not signing this until you turn over the box and its contents, and my ride out of here is secure.”
“Deal.” She pulled a business card from her bag and placed it on the desk. “Bring the signed affidavit to this address at ten tonight and we’ll make the exchange. In the meantime, call Viktor and tell him you have his money.”
Antony rose to walk her to the door.
She waved a hand. “Don’t bother. I know the way.”
In the doorway, she turned to face him.
“You know, there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought twice about going with you to South America.”
He flashed the crooked grin that had always melted her heart.
“I know.” His grin faded.
Ruby turned and walked out of her husband’s office for the last time.
Chapter Forty
Dimitri stood under a hot shower until the pain eased. Then he toweled his hair dry, pulled on jeans and a heavy wool sweater, and sat in the waterfront condo’s lone armchair with his head back, pressing an ice pack against his eye as shadows grew across the floor.
When he finally stood up, the room was in darkness. He walked into the kitchen and snapped on the light, took a screwdriver from the toolbox and dropped to the floor. Once the kick boards were off, he emptied the first cavity and piled the contents on the floor beside him.
He sorted through them. Then he sorted through them again.
The leather box was gone.
Dimitri crawled along the floor to check the other cabinets. He yanked out the contents and checked each cavity with a flashlight. The box wasn’t there. Other things were missing, too.
Leaning against the cupboards, he kicked at the broken wood and swore in Russian. He’d been a fool. Now he had less than twenty-four hours to find Ruby and not a single idea where to look. She would be miles from Toronto by now, with the twenty million in bonds that he had to return to Viktor within twenty-four—he checked his watch—no, eighteen hours.
Dimitri paced through the apartment, wincing at the pain in his chest, trying to think. Maybe he didn’t know where Ruby was, but he knew where to find her husband. And if anyone had money, it was Antony Carver. Even twenty million.
* * *
“Do you need a taxi, Mr. Carver?”
“No thanks, Terry. It’s a beautiful night. I think I’ll walk.” Antony smiled at the hotel doorman and stepped onto the street. He carried a leather weekender; not big enough to be noticeable, but large enough to hold a few cherished items. For his last night in Toronto, he had enjoyed a juicy Porterhouse steak at his favorite restaurant followed by a big Havana cigar.
Now he would meet Ruby and, after a quick exchange to tie up loose ends, he would be off. The water taxi he had chartered would collect him at Ontario Place, the closed and deserted amusement park on the lake, at eleven. The repainted and renamed Capstone would rendezvous with the taxi several miles offshore. In a few days’ time, the CEO of Carvon & Co. would land in the Gulf Islands, on his way to Caracas. It wouldn’t be Antony Carver who disembarked, however, but Harry Mortimer, a pharmaceuticals executive on a business trip.
Smiling, he strolled up the street. A man with a black woolen cap pulled over his forehead stepped from the shadows with a notebook in his hand.
“Mr. Carver,” he said. “CNBC. Can I talk to you?”
“Certainly not.” Antony scowled and swerved to walk around him. But as he passed the reporter, something jabbed his ribcage. He looked down.
“What the hell?”
“Say nothing,” the reporter hissed. Glancing back at the doorman, he added loudly, “A few questions, Mr. Carver. It won’t take long.”
Antony looked over his shoulder.
“Need any help, sir?” Terry called.
Antony shook his head. “We’re fine,” he called back.
The doorman nodded and returned to his station indoors. Antony twisted around so he could look at the reporter’s face.
“You’re that bartender from the ship. What do you want?”
“You know what I want. Twenty million.”
Antony gave a snort of derision.
“That’s preposterous.”
Dimitri stepped in front of him. Light from a streetlamp glinted off the gun barrel pointed at Antony’s gut.
Antony’s stomach clenched as he eyed the pistol. He held up a hand.
“Okay, okay. No need for that. Why don’t you take my wallet and leave?” Reaching under his
coat, he pulled out his billfold. He held it up, but Dimitri made no move to grab it.
“I know about the bonds,” Dimitri said.
“What bonds?”
“Don’t lie to me.” He gestured with the gun. “I work with Viktor.”
Antony cast a sidelong glance at the hotel, but the doorman had stepped out of sight. He swallowed hard and turned back to Dimitri.
“I don’t have any bonds. And if you really worked with Viktor, you would know that. You need to find my wife if you want that twenty million in bonds.”
Dimitri closed the gap between them and rammed the gun into his gut. Antony gasped and doubled over.
“Did I say I wanted that twenty million?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want twenty million. I don’t care whose.” Dimitri stepped back.
“You want …?” Antony did a double take. “Viktor doesn’t know you’re here, does he? Why should I give you anything?”
Dimitri leaned in.
“Because yesterday,” he hissed, “I killed your friend. And today, if I don’t get what I want, I will kill you.”
Antony looked at the gun and his chest tightened. Should he try to run? Yell for help?
Dimitri’s eyes were cold.
“If you think you can run, you should know your friend was dead before he hit the ground.”
Antony drew a ragged breath and straightened up. He had to play for time.
“I can’t get anything for you out here on the street. We have to go to my office.”
“Then we will go to your office.”
“Well, yes, we could do that. But there’s another way.”
“What way?”
“My wife has the original twenty million in bonds, right? So if you could find my wife, wouldn’t that be the same as getting twenty million from me?”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I’m meeting her right now. You’re welcome to come along. I’ll transact my business and then you can transact yours. Good enough?”
Dimitri said nothing for a moment and then tucked the gun under his jacket.
