by Davis Bunn
“Maybe. Better safe than sorry.”
“Abigail thinks this is the coolest thing since they invented Häagen-Dazs. She can’t wait to show off her security detail at school. Samantha can’t decide how she feels about it. And their mother is definitely worried about the company I’m keeping.”
Esther had no idea how to respond except to change the subject. “What are you doing now that your exams are finished?”
“I’ve got four and a half weeks off. I have a paper to write. Otherwise I was mostly planning on keeping three sophisticated ladies entertained. Why?”
“Do you want a part-time job?”
“I wouldn’t say no. Do you have a lawn that needs cutting?”
“My hedge fund now holds a hundred and nineteen million dollars. I put initial trades into place yesterday, but that was only for the first twenty-five. I have an assistant who will coordinate the actual deals. But I need somebody I can trust to handle the books. I was wondering if you would be able to help out. Call yourself a temporary external auditor, consultant, whatever—”
Esther did not realize Craig had her on the car’s speakerphone until she heard the girls reply together, “Please, Daddy! Tell her yes!”
Esther found a calm reassurance in the transformation Doris was making to her face. The ashen weariness was gone now, replaced by a woman who looked extremely alert. Esther knew there was nothing that could be done about the sense of bruised fragility. In fact, she decided it actually fit the day. “Your work is amazing.”
Doris flashed a smile at the mirror. “Had a good canvas to work with.”
“How much longer?”
“Five minutes.”
“I’m not rushing you. I just wanted to know if I have time for another call.”
“Then give me ten. I want to try something new with your hair.”
Esther hit the speed dial for Jasmine. Her assistant answered with, “It’s a crying shame I’m so honest. Otherwise I’d waltz outta here with a few million and vanish like a hungry ghost.”
“Ghosts don’t exist, and you’re the most honest person I’ve ever met.”
“Must be why I spend so much time alone. I don’t know when or how to lie.”
Esther did not have time for Jasmine’s version of casual conversation. “You’re monitoring our accounts?”
“Hundred and thirty-one million.”
“I was told one nineteen.”
“Just got another ten-five. And Esther . . .”
“What?”
“Talmadge passed along a call from the fund managers for state employees. They wanted to discuss an investment.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty million was mentioned. There. I said it out loud, and I didn’t crash to the floor.”
Esther breathed in and out. Getting used to the idea of handling not simply a very large amount of money, but the trust that the money represented. “I want you to start putting the funds into action.”
“Wait. Okay, I’m recording.”
“You have traders on call?”
“Standing by.”
“Not with CFM, I hope.”
“Oh, puh-leese.”
“All right.” Esther shut her eyes and focused on the data stream in her brain. “Here goes.”
51
When Esther finished passing the trading instructions to Jasmine, she cut the connection and opened her eyes to discover that Doris had done her hair in a French twist. The effect was astonishing. Her neck looked like an alabaster vase rising to a surprisingly strong jawline. Her eyes looked enormous. “Wow.”
“That’s the reaction I like,” Doris said, applying a final mist of hair spray. “Nothing beats a good wow factor.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You are most welcome.” Doris pulled the paper bib away. “Got to take care of my investment.”
Esther rose from her chair before she realized what the woman had said. “You put money into my fund?”
“Twenty-two thousand, three hundred and eighteen dollars. Everything I could get my hands on.”
“Wow again.”
Doris had the cantilevered smile of a woman who had seen more than her share of hard knocks. “You really struck a chord around here. Everybody’s in.”
Her morning had been too full of shocks. That was the only reason for the sudden desire to weep. “Suzie too?”
“Hon, that lady has given you every cent she has.”
Esther thanked Doris once more, then stepped from the room to find Suzie standing in the corridor. The newscaster was having an intense conversation with Chuck, the station director, punctuating every few words with a tap on his forearm. Esther walked up and wrapped her arms around her.
When Esther released her, Suzie asked, “What was that for?”
“Trusting me.”
Chuck cleared his throat, “Actually, I could use one of those myself.”
Other than anger, Esther had never been comfortable with public displays of emotion. Yet this had been a season of change in a whole host of new directions. She reached out and hugged the smiling station manager. “There. Better?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Suzie asked, “Ready to go on air?”
“Not at all.”
“Tough.” She pushed open the studio door. “It’s show time.”
Not ten minutes into the interview, Suzie signaled to the production booth. She swept a hand back and forth in front of her neck, then turned to Esther and said, “This isn’t working.”
Esther nodded glumly. “I sound awful.”
“You sound flat,” Suzie corrected. “You’ve always had a spark that ignites even the boring bits. Today you’re—”
“Disconnected,” Esther said. “I agree.”
“What can we do about that?”
“A week off would be nice. Sleep in my own bed. Arrest the hit men from Bermuda.”
“I mean,” Suzie said, “what can we change about things under our control.”
Esther stared at the microphone on the table. “That is the big question.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we here?” Esther replied. “It can’t be just to wave a red flag in the bull’s face. We need to focus on what we can change.”
“So let’s start with the obvious,” Suzie said. “What do you need to change here in the studio?”
The answer could not have been clearer if it had been scripted on the monitor. “Are we going to be doing this on a regular basis? I don’t mean for the next couple of days.”
“Chuck and I were just discussing that. We got over three hundred calls and maybe two thousand tweets this morning alone. We need to make this a semipermanent structure. The number of other stations feeding—”
“Let’s table that discussion. What I mean is this. If we’re going to be doing this for a while, I’d like to take over an empty studio. You have one here, right?”
“This station dates back to when a lot of on-air programming was local. There are several that haven’t been used in years.”
“Let me lease one. Set up our hedge fund’s office here. Hook into your satellite feeds. Run our data stream through this place. When we do a broadcast, we show the trading office in the background.”
Suzie’s expression changed to highly engaged. She glanced back. “Chuck?”
“I’ll have a word with Talmadge. Sounds good to me.”
Suzie asked the station manager, “What about bringing in monitors and setting them up behind us? Show the markets while we talk?”
“I like that,” Esther said. “A lot.”
They immediately rearranged the set so the monitors played behind them. Then they taped one long session that Suzie said could be split into several segments. Suzie paused the cameras a number of times, coaching Esther on her responses, then repeating the question and having Esther respond again. Doing some takes four, five, six times. Esther found she did not mind. They helped her to stay focused
, to push away all the unknowns and deal with the immediate.
After an hour they took a break. When Esther came out from under the lights, Craig was at the back of the studio, smiling a welcome. “You done?”
“Not even close. Will you do something for me? Go to Talmadge’s office. Meet Jasmine, my number two. Start building a formal accounting structure. Bring in Talmadge’s people if you want, especially on the tax side.”
“Esther . . .”
She rushed over whatever protest he might have been forming. “I know you haven’t agreed to work with us yet. But this is moving at the speed of sound. I desperately need—”
“Yes.”
“—somebody to . . .” She stopped. “Yes what?”
“Yes, I’ll help you. Yes, I’ll get started this afternoon.” He grinned. “I wish you could see your face.”
“I can’t kiss you now,” Esther said. “There’s probably a camera on us somewhere, and Doris spent hours on my face.”
Suzie called, “Esther, we’re on in two.”
“I don’t mind being owed a few of those,” Craig said. “I’m an accountant. I’m good at keeping records.”
“Esther!”
“Go,” Craig said. “I’ll go meet . . .”
“Jasmine.”
“Right. And see what a mess I can make of your accounts.”
The rest of the taping took almost four hours. When it was done, Esther felt burdened by the fatigue and banked-up stress. She almost fell asleep in the makeup chair while Doris cleaned her face. She returned to the lobby to find her security detail waiting for her by the front entrance. Esther asked, “Do you think we could stop by the clinic again?”
The woman said, “We can go wherever you want.”
“In that case, I’d like to visit with my brother.”
Once in the rear seat, Esther leaned her head back and watched the sunset play through the trees and buildings as they drove. Her thoughts came and went in a blur. She could still sense that looming threat just beyond the horizon. She knew she needed to work out what that might mean. She needed to do a hundred different things, but just then she was too tired.
Thankfully, the doctor’s office was dark when she arrived. The duty nurse offered her the standard professional greeting. Esther entered her brother’s room and shut the door.
Nathan was turned away. His closed eyes and slack features were painted with the sunset’s rosy pastels. For the first time, Esther saw his body’s position not as a response to her presence, but rather as his search for the light. At some core level, perhaps this was all he could react to now.
She picked up her chair and settled it on the bed’s opposite side, so that her back was to the window and the gathering dusk.
Esther found herself talking softly to Nathan about their early days. About the times when they were a family. When happiness was a normal part of their existence. She talked about how she had started remembering things from those times, especially before she went to bed. She confessed that for the first time in years, she was not waking up in the middle of the night from dreams she couldn’t remember, her pillow wet with tears she didn’t recall shedding. She told him about the dreadful experience she had just endured, then falling asleep in a strange bed, and waking up from a dream of laughter. Her own, as a child. She and Nathan playing in the back garden. She remembered it like it had happened yesterday.
Then she began talking about the bad times. She apologized for never having thanked him. Because he had been a great brother. The best ever. And she should have been a better sister. She should never have raged at him like she had, as though all the bad things were his fault. She thanked him for forgiving her. For understanding even when she did not. She talked until she wept, then she leaned over and settled her face on her arms, there on the bed beside her brother. And she slept.
She had no idea how long she remained there. When she finally lifted her head, the room was dark except for the medical monitor’s faint glow. But the light was enough for her to see that Nathan held her hand.
A single glance at her brother’s face was enough for Esther to know her brother was gone.
They all came to be with her.
Craig arrived with his daughters, who were sleepy but crushed by the weight of sharing in their new friend’s grief. Patricia came with Lacy. Donald drove over from the hospital. Talmadge brought Jasmine. Rachel and her husband. Suzie and the station director. All of them lining both sides of the clinic’s hallway as Nathan’s body was brought out. They each talked with her, held her, supported and cared and wept with her.
Then Patricia and Lacy took her back to Esther’s own home. Esther assumed security was there somewhere, but they had the grace to remain unseen, on the periphery of this shattered night.
Patricia settled Esther into her own bed and stayed there in the rocking chair as she drifted away. Esther carried the sound of the rocker into her dreams. Comforted by the knowledge that her home was empty no longer.
52
FRIDAY
Another day, another disposable phone. Reynolds had lost count of the number of phones he had used once and then tossed. He was parked in the guest lot of his golf club. To his right, dew glistened on the emerald-green ninth tee. The trees shielding him from the clubhouse swayed gently in the dawn breeze, as though nature saluted his audacity.
Sir Trevor was fretting. “I heartily dislike moving forward with that Larsen woman still in the wind.”
Reynolds had never heard Sir Trevor in this condition before. The man sounded as nervous as a groom before his wedding. By contrast, Reynolds was flooded with an icy calm. He decided this was how a professional sniper must feel that instant before he pulled the trigger. All the world receded to a vague distance. Everything became focused on the point at the center of his target.
Sir Trevor, on the other hand, was frantic. “I fail to see how it could prove so difficult to dispose of one troublesome female.”
“Her partner in the hedge fund is a local business leader by the name of Talmadge Burroughs,” Reynolds replied evenly. “He and I have had our previous run-ins. Burroughs can be difficult in the extreme. He’s surrounded Larsen with professional security. Ditto for her brother and various friends.”
“So the shooter’s failed attempt has raised his risk level. Tell him to try harder. The man is certainly being well paid.”
Reynolds waved the air before his face, a silent urge for them to move on. “The police now have an APB out for him. We can’t risk an arrest. He knows Jason. Besides which, he and his crew are essential to cleaning up our loose ends in Bermuda.”
“Surely something can be done. We’re almost out of time!”
Reynolds allowed a hint of the lash to enter his voice. “Which is precisely why we need to move forward.”
“But Larsen—”
“Forget about the woman!”
Sir Trevor must have tried for outrage, but failed. “How dare you speak to me in that tone—”
“How dare you endanger two years of planning with your last-minute jitters!”
“I would hardly consider—”
“Let’s review what we actually know. Larsen has resigned from her position at the bank. She has parlayed herself into a local celebrity status with a regional television business report.”
“One with national reach. She has even been mentioned in the UK!”
“Yes, she has a growing audience. But for what? She predicts a severe downturn. So do a dozen more well-established pundits.”
Sir Trevor went silent.
“She actually plays to our hand. Let’s set aside our fears and focus on what we know. She has not come close to uncovering our aims. She is predicting—”
“I am well aware of what she is predicting!” The petulant tone had returned.
“—that the global economy is going to enter meltdown and drag America with it. Which is precisely what is going to happen. So she predicts it. So what?”
“But wh
at if she realizes our aims?”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“She’s an analyst. She calculates risk. But she’s also limited to reality. We’re not. We’re manipulating reality. She might comprehend our actions later, but by then it will all be after the fact.” Reynolds gave that a beat, then continued, “Our take, as of this morning’s positions, will be just shy of two billion dollars. Each. I would say that justifies the risk one woman might or might not—”
“All right.” Sir Trevor sighed. “You win.”
Reynolds smiled. “Timing is everything. You will confirm the plans with your ally in China’s central bank?”
“Yes, yes. They’re standing by. You’re certain about Brazil?”
“I received confirmation from our source an hour ago,” Reynolds said. “His final payment is dependent upon holding to our agreed-on schedule.”
Sir Trevor turned silent again. Reynolds watched the clock set into the walnut-burl dash. The second hand clicked softly, each tiny movement bringing him one step closer to his ultimate aim.
Sir Trevor said quietly, “This is it, then.”
“It is indeed.”
Trevor cut the connection without further comment.
Reynolds placed a call to Jason and ran through the final set of instructions. Then he started his car and drove to where the club’s valet waited to greet him. He was struck by something his father had once told him. Back in the savings-and-loan debacle of the eighties, his father’s bank had almost gone under. Afterward, he told his son that in times of crisis there were only two alternatives to abject and crushing defeat. Either you are first off the starting block, his father had said, or you cheat.
Reynolds tipped the valet and entered the club, wondering what his father might have said now, when Reynolds had found the third option. Which was to combine the two.
Reynolds smiled at the greeting from the club pro and decided his father would be very proud indeed.
53
Whenever Esther looked back during the days and weeks that followed, she had the distinct impression that she had known what was coming before she even opened her eyes that morning. Before the first alert arrived. Long before the initial phone call.
