Fool Me Forever (Confidence Game)

by Ainslie Paton

  Even knowing his secrets, the risk of Halsey Sherwood was too high a price to pay.

  They’d begun with breaking things, and broken was how they ended.

  “Miss Bradshaw?”

  She turned to the sound of her name. There was a black town car at the curb, the driver holding the door open. She looked back for Halsey, to tell him she was sorry for how they’d come to this end, but he was gone, as if he’d never been in her life. As if she’d conjured him up and then lost her mind and forgotten he was a dangerously addictive substance she was allergic to.

  The city was a haze of neon stars through watery eyes from the back of the car. When her phone rang she didn’t answer it. When it kept ringing, she pulled it from her purse intent on turning it off, but it was Mom and she was sobbing.

  Easton had been arrested in a police raid and charged with drug trafficking, fraud, and money-laundering offenses.

  He needed a lawyer, and Lenny would need to find a way to pay.

  Now the full horror was here, and all she had left inside was grief.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was cold inside the impressively large foyer of the Sixth Street building. All that Greek Revivalist stone. But Halsey’s shiver owed more to nerves than architecture. Behind him in the three rooms they’d commandeered as their stage for New York’s oldest, most exclusive, and all-fake Evergreen Club, assorted members of the Sherwood, Robins, Archer, and Johns families were dressed and ready to go, impersonating the wealthiest of the world’s most private people.

  None of them were shivering. They were having a grand old time drinking coffee and playing cards, reading their social feeds and one-upping each other with the stories of their latest cons and not-for-profit works. The minute it was show time, it would be top-shelf booze, loud pontificating about their best investments, and a steely readiness to freeze the notorious newcomer out in a way that could only make him feel like he needed to conquer them.

  Once the newcomer rocked up to this last act of Operation Green with Envy, that was.

  “Quit looking like your dog died and come inside,” Zeke said.

  “I’ll come inside when I know he’s on the move.”

  Halsey had moved on Cookie Jar at his hotel the day after the gala, in a fit of temper he didn’t have to manufacture. It’s a wonder he had any body hair left and it hadn’t all burned away, so hot was his blood. At least that anger had prevented him worrying about whether confronting the prime minister in public had fucked with the con. He detested the man, and he hated himself for having been played and the damage that did to Lenny.

  In their meeting, he pledged to track the forger down, providing a faked police report, and introducing Cookie Jar to a cousin playing the role of private investigator. He pledged a fake donation, denied the prime minister his bitcoin, but reluctantly offered to speed through an invitation to Sonny to join the Evergreen Club. Then, he’d surprised himself by insisting the man write to apologize to Lenny for maligning her publicly. Not that it would help, but it made him feel vindicated to see prime ministerial letterhead used for something worthwhile, even if Lenny used it to wrap trash.

  “I hate fieldwork.”

  He should’ve appreciated how badly he’d wounded Cookie Jar’s ego. Should’ve known not to leave Lenny’s side, and that the private backstage meeting the prime minister requested was a ruse to separate them, to leave her vulnerable. Cookie Jar had outsmarted him, read what he hadn’t been able to hide—his love for Lenny—and used it against him.

  It was a rookie fieldwork mistake.

  “He’ll show,” Zeke said.

  “I know.” Because he’d tailor-made this setup to appeal to the man’s ego. Greed would motivate him. It was one of the only things he could be sure of after what happened with Lenny. That, and the fact Halsey was retiring from fieldwork for all time after this. There were too many variables. Too much that could go wrong, in too many ways to hurt someone he cared about.

  Cookie Jar showing and then letting Halsey con him again were too different things. “He could refuse to pay the fee. Turn it into a misunderstanding to humiliate me over the painting all over again.”

  If that happened, he’d never manage to snare the prime minister in his fake investment scheme before he quit New York for Ossovia, and the fake painting scandal alone wasn’t enough leverage for Baiba to challenge for the leadership.

  He looked through the big double doors to where Sherin was standing in her sleek black suit, with her discreet Evergreen lapel pin, ready to give the action command to everyone inside. This was a whole other level of deceit in action, and when he’d failed so shockingly with Lenny, it was impossible to see how this could turn out the way he needed it to.

  “We’ll work it out.” Zeke meant they’d think on their feet.

  Now Halsey was cold. Cold enough to shove his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting and pace the length of the foyer.

  He was all out of ability to think on his feet. That’s what led to the awful public confrontation with Cookie Jar. A rush of fear and dread in response to the attack on Lenny so overpowering it nearly locked his jaw and made his brain crackle. A hasty, knee-jerked decision to act like an impervious bastard while not killing the con.

  A better field operative would never have made the mistakes he had.

  A better field operative would never have risked his partner’s safety by falling in love with her.

  Lenny had known best about them. She’d called it up front. It was impossible for her to ever trust him. She’d gotten in that elevator and had never looked back. He was the one who’d screwed it up. He’d acted impulsively that night in the rain and then again when he’d agreed to her attending the gala. Impulsivity had never worked out for him, and regret was the least of what he was feeling.

  From behind him, Zeke said, “Do you want me to go check on her?”

  Lenny would be fine. She was strong, resilient. Lord, he needed to believe she’d be okay. Lost sleep over it. He’d failed her twice, letting her get too close to a dangerous despot and hurting her reputation and not protecting her from an even closer threat in her brother.

  “Halsey, where the heck is your head?”

  “Right here. I’m thinking about how badly Cookie Jar needs the cryptocurrency deal.”

  “You’re trying to work out what you got wrong with Lenny.”

  “I know what I got wrong with Lenny. I fucked it up, royally.”

  “It’s never a fuck-up to fall in love.”

  “That’s not— It wasn’t.” He stopped moving and closed his eyes.

  He loved her, and he couldn’t deny it.

  When she stopped hating the essence of him, Lenny would figure it out. She’d realize he’d been ham-fistedly trying to fix the damage he caused. Not that it would matter. Whatever grace he’d earned with her by accident was all used up, and they were terminally finished.

  Zeke zipped his jacket, the sound echoing on all the stone. “Things can get wild when you step out from behind your big desk and kiss a woman.”

  “Yeah, well, I won’t be kissing Lenny again.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  He turned to face Zeke, who was disguised as a maintenance man wearing overalls, a cap, and glasses. The beard was stuck on, and he was struggling not to scratch at it, hands going from his jaw to the zip on his jacket.

  “If she had a murdering bone in her body, I’d be wearing cement boots and decaying at the bottom of the Hudson.” Right next to Easton.

  Zeke rolled his eyes. “You desk jockey types are so dramatic.”

  Two seconds later, Sherin opened the inner door, a hand to the concealed earpiece she wore. “He’s on the move.”

  “Go get this bastard,” Zeke said, and made for the stairs.

  Halsey had fifteen minutes to get his head in the game. That was how long it would take for Cookie Jar to walk from his hotel. If he fucked this up, everything he’d put Lenny through would be worthless. />
  “Places,” Sherin called.

  He buttoned his suit coat, unbuttoned it. Looked at Sherin. He was completely out of his depth.

  “You can be heartbroken later,” she said.

  “I’m—” Oh, forget it. You simply couldn’t fool a Sherwood. “I’m coming.”

  She pushed the door open wider, and he stepped inside the room they’d set up as a reception area. “Don’t be nervous,” she said.

  “That’s like telling me not to get a tattoo.”

  She laughed and went to take her place at the desk while Halsey moved through the room they’d set up as a lounge. It was stepping into another world full of rich, entitled, and privacy-obsessed one percenters until Dad winked at him.

  In the area visible beyond was a bar and an area set up as a restaurant. Mom was out there with a bunch of cousins enjoying a high tea that another cousin acting as waitstaff would serve.

  Everything beyond what you could see was a giant construction zone, on its way to becoming a luxury hotel, but they’d created the illusion this was a vast complex, not just a bunch of rooms they’d taken over for the day, by having people come and go through doors as if they were arriving from accommodations, meeting rooms, the gym, or the pool.

  Cookie Jar would come through the main doors, leaving his security detail in the foyer. Sherin would greet him with refreshments and provide a glossy prospectus of the club, detailing its facilities and history, as well as a list of prominent members. It was all suitably high quality, designed to make Cookie Jar feel flattered.

  She’d present the paperwork he needed to sign, which included a bank transfer of the million-dollar annual fee that ensured all manner of imaginary access, honors, and privileges. Lastly, she’d show him to the lounge and summon Halsey to greet him and begin the process of vouching for his membership.

  Should Cookie Jar try to explore farther than the rooms on show, Dad would distract him, and if that failed, Zeke would be there to block his way, claiming a maintenance issue, and beyond that, triggering a fire alarm.

  Halsey’s job was to present his prospectus, this one for the cryptocurrency investment. That was home turf. He might not be behind his desk, but selling fake exclusive, large-scale investment opportunities was his idea of a good time.

  “Five minutes, everyone,” said Cousin Rory, taking him by the arm. “Come on.” She led him through a side door where they had to duck under scaffolding and plastic sheeting.

  Rory plowed her wheely suitcase into a ladder. “What kind of a jet-setting trillionaire heiress flies anywhere with an empty suitcase? Should’ve weighed this down,” she said. “It got away from me.”

  He knew how she felt. This whole thing had gotten away from him. He should’ve stayed in his lane. Especially where Lenny was concerned. She was the calculation that didn’t add up, the percentage that didn’t fit, the red line he knew to avoid but stepped over anyway. She was too big to fit inside any single box, and she’d made him want to loosen boundaries and relax the rules.

  If he thought about any single moment of their glorious weekend together, or the way she’d reacted when he’d shown up at her apartment, wet and deranged, just as needy and senseless as she’d been, he’d need Rory to shake him until he was focused again. If he thought about his failure to protect Lenny from Cookie Jar and Easton, the state of his own heart wasn’t even relevant.

  “Are you okay? If you want to talk, I’m here,” Rory said.

  That was a useful jolt. “Goddamn, does every single person in the world know I’ve got a broken heart?”

  Rory smiled. “I’m kind of an expert in broken hearts.” That was true. When Cal broke her heart, she’d blown his cover and skittled a large con. “And yes, everyone knows because you look like you haven’t sleep in a week.”

  He threw out a hand. “I’ve been working around the clock on this.” It wasn’t easy to transform a derelict building site into a passable luxury club. It was a lot more involved than getting a few paintings forged, and burying himself in the detail had kept him from going insane.

  She grabbed for his hand and squeezed it. “Getting your heart broken strips you back to your base coat. It’s like preparation for the rest of your life. You won’t choose just anyone next time; you’ll choose the right person. Someone who loves you for the color and finish you choose, not what they can paint over you.”

  He shoulder-bumped Rory. “Next to Zeke you’re a prophet.” Because as much as he loved Lenny, as much as he’d failed her, he’d always known he’d need to be a different man for her to choose him. It was just that somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten that, even speculated there was a way around the fact he was the last friend and lover she would ever need.

  It felt like forever before his phone rang. “Mr. Sherwood, Prime Minister Ozols is here to meet you. If you’d be so kind as to come to the member’s lounge.”

  “Did he pay up?”

  “That is correct, Mr. Sherwood.”

  That was the confidence shot he needed.

  Cookie Jar was going down.

  He gave Rory the thumbs up and said to Sherin, “You’re my favorite sister,” then opened the door and walked into the lounge.

  Cookie Jar was seated in the far corner by design. It took Halsey a good five minutes to work his way across the room, fielding greetings from other club members, including Rory, who went by with her suitcase, and an uncle with damp hair tossing what was meant to be a locker key.

  Mom made a big show of coming to hug him and talking loudly about her bitcoin investment. Dad waved him over and under cover of his newspaper, asked if he was free for family dinner Sunday night, adding, “This is a bang-up effort. I’m proud of you, son,” which made the smile Halsey wore genuine.

  By the time he got to Cookie Jar, his nerves had settled.

  The prime minister was predictably on edge. Exactly where they wanted him. He felt slighted because he’d been made to wait, hadn’t been treated as the most important person in the room, but he was intrigued, needed a way to make up for the loss he’d taken on the painting, and he wanted what Halsey had held out as the ultimate prize badly enough for greed to overwhelm pride.

  “Mr. Sherwood.” Cookie Jar didn’t stand, didn’t offer a hand. “I trust you will take care of the membership.”

  Interesting word that—“trust.” It was like the words “truth, justice, honor.” There were shades to it. “I will of course vouch for you, Prime Minister.”

  “Hmm. Can I count on that?” The implication being the last time Halsey had vouched for him, he’d been ripped off to the tune of 155 million dollars.

  “As I mentioned, I’m distressed about what happened. We will get a resolution, but it’ll take time. As a further consideration, I have a proposal to make.”

  Cookie Jar gestured to the plush seat opposite, and he sat.

  “I can offer you a place in my latest cryptocurrency investment round. Unfortunately, that round closes today, and we’d need to do the deal now.”

  Cookie Jar gave him a look of distaste. “I would not do such a hasty deal with you.”

  Halsey put his hand to his forehead, a signal to interrupt. Within seconds, his youngest sister, Tresna, dressed like Sherin in a black suit with a lapel pin, was at his side. “Excuse me, Prime Minister. Mr. Sherwood, we have a call from Mr. Trusk for you.”

  “Please tell Elton I’m unavailable.”

  “Mr. Trusk said you might say that. He said to tell you, he has called your cell phone five times already, and you’re holding up a rocket launch and the future of the planet depends on you letting him invest in this round.”

  Halsey shook his head as if that was an enormous bother. “Put the call through to one of the private conference rooms,” he instructed then focused on Cookie Jar, coming to stand as he said, “If you’ll excuse me, Prime Minister. I believe our business is done. Enjoy your membership. I will keep your office in touch on the investigation, and I hope to see you again.”

  �
�I’m sure your Mr. Trusk and his rocket ship will wait for you.”

  Inside, Halsey’s smile was bright enough to chase shadows away. What he’d learned screwing up his encounter with Easton Bradshaw, he’d put to good effect with Sonny Ozols. He’d pushed Easton into wanting to punch him. He’d encourage Cookie Jar to the edge of a cliff, suggest he jump, and do nothing to break his fall. Lenny would have this victory if nothing else from their time together.

  Outwardly, he frowned. “With all due respect, I have no interest in negotiating with you, and I don’t have a shortage of investors.”

  “I want in, and I accept your terms.”

  If this were a game show, the moment Halsey sat again would be when the set transformed into a party with balloons and streamers dropping from the ceiling, music blaring, and lights flashing. Instead, it was a quiet moment where the corrupt tyrant of a struggling new nation bankrupted himself and gave his political opponents the ammunition they needed to see him disgraced, replaced, tried, and jailed.

  When the paperwork was complete, when Sherin gave him a signal to say Cookie Jar’s investment money had been received, Halsey stood again, shook the prime minister’s hand, and as soon as the man was outside, used a burner phone to call Baiba.

  “It’s done.”

  There was a silence heavy with inarticulate murmurs of relief at Baiba’s end, and then she said, “I trust you and Miss Lenore will visit Ossovia soon. I look forward to showing you all the progress we’ve made.”

  It wasn’t until he tossed the cell phone in the crackling fire that the room erupted into applause.

  Balloons might well have dropped from the ceiling, a brass band marched by. He’d have traded every congratulatory thump on the back and high five, every cheek kiss, hug, and hand pump, as well as the knowledge that Cookie Jar’s corrupt reign would soon be over, for one more chance to hold Lenny in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lenny eyed the banana that Mallory had smashed onto toast, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, and slid across the kitchen counter to her. “Are we out of cereal?”