by Nesly Clerge
“I respect people who make things happen.”
“Glad I could help. Now, about Kayla. I received papers from her attorney. She wants half your business and half of all assets acquired throughout the marriage.”
Anger heated Starks’s face. He slammed a fist against the table. “That whore isn’t going to get it. Sure, she had a job, for a while. But it was me who worked my ass off seven days a week to provide a life of luxury for her and our kids. She repaid me by… No need to tell you what you know. She gets fifteen thousand a month for the children. She’s getting the house, all the bills paid, her Ferrari. I’m being more than generous.”
Parked held up a hand and said, “I know. And I told her lawyer to shove her demand up both their asses. It’s not going to happen. This is a formality, anyway. The negotiation process has to start somewhere. Even if they want to ignore ethics, there are laws in the state of Massachusetts. For one thing, you’re no longer an owner of your business, so she can’t touch that. She’s dreaming.” Parker cast his eyes downward. “Also, Kayla changed her no-fault petition for divorce to fault, citing adultery and abusive treatment.”
“Fucking bitch.”
“I know this is hard to hear, Starks, but let me continue before you get too wound up. State law allows the petitioner and respondent to submit a property division agreement. We’ll attempt an agreement, but let’s prepare ourselves for that not happening as easily as we’d like, just in case. She’s going to get something, one way or another. If an agreement can’t be reached, the Court will decide for you.”
Starks flung himself back in the chair and crossed his arms. “And they’ll screw me over big-time.”
“Not necessarily. The Court takes a lot of things into consideration in order to make an equitable property division, and the law here states that this does not mean an equal division.”
“What considerations?”
“Length of marriage, health of both parties, how much each spouse contributed to the marriage, their ages, station, earning abilities, sources of income and so forth. Even their conduct while married.”
“Then I am screwed.”
“Not necessarily. Your criminal trial was publicized. The recorded testimonies are available to the Court, and I’ll insist they review them. Kayla admitted to adultery with Hessinger but was accused by a reliable witness of long-term sexual behavior with many others. You were accused of adultery, but no proof was given.”
“Kayla knew about Michelle. She had me end the relationship over the phone, while she listened.”
“I see. That could be a problem, if she mentions it. But the Court may see your one proven infidelity as nothing compared to Kayla’s numerous ones. However, if they spend the funds to dig, they could likely find proof of more; though, I doubt they’ll do that. Whether Kayla digs or not is another matter. Additionally, you’re in a maximum security prison. That fact may work to your advantage or disadvantage. My question is, What specifically do you want me to do?”
“I’d like to hear your thoughts first.”
Parker rested back in the chair. “You and Jeffrey legally transferred your interest in the business to your mother, who’s now a silent partner, and you’ve been removed from the board. And, you’re in prison. You’re not obligated to pay anything to Kayla at the moment.”
Starks shook his head. “My kids and their well-being are a priority. I’m not cutting off funds for that.”
“Of course not. But, technically, you aren’t earning income at this time or for the remainder of your sentence.”
Starks’s shoulders sagged. “Only fourteen and a half years left to go.”
“And because of this particular situation, custody isn’t currently an issue. I say that now. It could be, if the Court sees Kayla as unfit. Right now, she seems to be involved solely with Bret, and behaving, for her, that is. Sorry to bring custody up. I felt it important to mention, but you don’t need to concern yourself with that.”
“I’m not worried. They’d live with my mother, if they had to. You asked what I want to happen.” Starks tapped a forefinger on the tabletop as he made each point. “I want Jeffrey to stop all payments made directly to Kayla. He’s to make them to my mother. Anything Kayla needs for the children will have to be approved and paid for by my mother. I don’t want Kayla to get another fucking cent directly from company-related funds.”
“We’ll go with that, until the Court intervenes.” Parker jotted a quick note onto a tablet. “There’s the matter of assets. Kayla wants to liquidate the home, stocks, mutual funds, and so on.”
Starks chuckled. “We purchased the house when the market was high. What we paid three million for is now worth less than two. Make her keep it for now. Tell her to refinance it and take my name off the loan. Let her and her loser lover worry about the payments. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“What about the three condos?”
“The one in Hawaii was bought for my mother and is in her name. Kayla can’t touch it. The other two were bought for half a mil each. They’re valued at half that now. Sell them and give the bitch her share. My share goes to my mother to put into an account in her name, with me listed as beneficiary.”
Parker kept up with his note-taking. “Bank accounts?”
“There was around four hundred thousand in the main one when I came here. She can have half of what’s in that one and the few smaller ones. They’re joint accounts. For all I know, she moved every damn cent into one or more accounts in her name. Better check that. However that turns out, considering her spending habits, she’ll go through that money in less than a year, if she hasn’t already.” Starks shifted forward. “Also, update my will. I want twenty-five percent of any funds I have to go to Emma. Fifty percent is to be divided among my children. The remaining twenty-five is to be divided among any of my surviving maternal family members. Make sure that maternal part is clearly stated. My father’s side of the family has no rights. He abandoned me and my mother, and so did they. And put it down somewhere that Kayla isn’t to show her face at my funeral. My kids can go with my mother.”
Parker stopped writing, removed his glasses, and looked straight at Starks. “I’ll take care of this, of course, and we’ll have more to discuss as we move forward, but this adjustment to your will… Should I be more concerned about you than I already am?”
Starks’s eyes met Parker’s gaze. “Anything can happen at any time in here, or anywhere. Best to take care of these matters as quickly as possible.”
“Starks—”
“Parker, if I have anything to say or do about it, nothing will happen to me for a very long time.”
CHAPTER 29
STARKS ITCHED FOR a fight, but one he could win without breaking a sweat or skin or bones. He needed a win. Before prison, it was all about the win. It still was, only wins were much harder to come by these days.
He turned left out of the conference room and made his way to the infirmary.
The nurse practitioner looked up when Starks shoved open the door. His face was ashen when he asked, “Can I help you?”
“I want to see Troy.”
“I’ll tell him.”
The nurse hurried to the private office, shutting the door behind him when he entered.
Starks heard raised voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said. About two minutes later, Troy and the nurse entered the waiting area.
A blast of air from the cooling vent lifted Troy’s sparse comb-over like a tattered sail. He slapped it back into place and barked, “Here to gloat after whining because the bad doctor didn’t give you a lollipop?”
Starks’s smile stopped at his lips. “You took an oath to help others. That didn’t exclude anyone from getting proper care and right treatment from you.”
“You’re all so arrogant. You commit crimes and end up in prison. Then you holler about your rights. None of you considered the rights of your victims. Hypocrites, the whole goddamned bunch of you.”
“You’re out of here, Troy.”
“That’s Dr. Troy. And let me remind you, you smug sonofabitch, as a doctor, I’ll always have a job. You’re lecturing me? That’s a laugh. Look at yourself in the mirror. Literally and figuratively. You may have been a somebody before, but now you’re just disgusting. The whole damn bunch of you is a waste of taxpayer dollars.”
“Don’t feel so secure about always having a job. Word has a way of getting out on the Internet these days. The media’s always looking for someone to aim their laser at.”
Troy worked his jaw for a few seconds. “That would violate the privacy agreement. Yeah, the warden told me.” He jabbed Starks’s chest. “You blab, and your ‘arrangements’ will go down the toilet. You’ll screw up everything. On second thought, go ahead and talk. I can work in any country anywhere that needs doctors. But you’ll be stuck here with inmates who’ll kick your ass, or bury it. Now, get the hell out of my infirmary.”
“I’m going, but there’s one last matter. Sign off on the referral for the CT scan my attorney set up. Take care of it immediately, or risk finding out what happens if you don’t. Now,” Starks smoothed down the lapels of Troy’s lab coat, “after you take care of that, enjoy packing your shit. And don’t worry about another job. You’re right. A good-looking, charming guy like you won’t have any problems getting a paycheck. As for getting women?” Starks shrugged. “That’s another matter. Better stick to sheep.”
Starks left the trembling, red-faced doctor. His pace was slow along the corridor; he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go next. It felt good to deliver revenge that was deserved. Perhaps he’d be able to stick it to Kayla in a similar manner. He’d never hurt her physically; that was a rule he honored with regard to women, but she deserved to feel some of the same measure of pain she’d caused and still wanted to cause him.
Maybe she had felt that way when she found out about his affair-turned-to-love with Michelle. Maybe everything she’d done since then, and now, was her way of taking revenge.
If she ever found out about Cathy and Kyle…
Lost in thought, he turned into an unfamiliar corridor and halted his steps. The muted sound of metal banging on metal was one he hadn’t heard at Sands before. He followed the hammering to a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. The door was ajar.
He stepped across the threshold.
CHAPTER 30
THE L-SHAPED ROOM was cluttered with metal, wood, tools, and bits of furniture in need of minor and major repair. Their material scents mingled with that of strong glue and soldering. Starks edged his way through the items littered around the concrete floor, following the banging sound. He turned the corner and stopped. Pounding a piece of metal was an older man, bearded, with thinning white hair plastered to his sweaty scalp.
The man wiped his face on a shirtsleeve and saw he wasn’t alone. His eyes raked over Starks. He laughed silently and leaned against the work table, hammer in hand. “Frederick Starks. Been meaning to meet, but you were either in the Hole or the hospital whenever I felt like making the effort.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Gabriele Bianchi.”
Starks’s surprise was obvious, and he didn’t miss the fluid Italian pronunciation. “Mr. Bianchi—”
“Gabe.”
“I didn’t realize you were here.”
“There’s a lot you don’t realize.”
Starks stiffened his posture. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gabe laughed. “I amuse you, old man?”
Gabe pointed the hammer at Starks. “Your name does. Now my name means God-given strength. Nothing else to say about that. But Frederick? Means peaceful ruler. You’re anything but. You’re like one of those scrappy yapping dogs that could fit into a Christmas stocking.”
“I was peaceful before I came here.”
Gabe shook his head. “You lie to yourself. Most people do. If you want to see who and what a man really is, put him in a difficult situation.” He made a fist. “Put the squeeze on him. You’ll see soon enough what’s inside.”
“I’ve been in plenty difficult situations and proven myself.”
“They weren’t difficult enough. Not until the one that got you sent here. And when you got here,” Gabe shrugged, “you took to violence the way a fly takes to manure. You may know who I am, but I know about you. We’ve got a lot in common.”
“I’m nothing like you. For one thing, I’m against organized crime.”
Gabe guffawed. “You’ve done nothing but organize it since you got here.”
“You’re full of shit.” Starks turned to leave.
“And you’re a driven man, Starks.”
“Damn right.”
“Driven by emotions. You wear ’em on your sleeve,” Gabe grinned, “and on your head and arm. No shaved head or tattoo is gonna prove who you are, to others or yourself. Only your choices can do that.”
“You’re not so smart, Mr. Mafioso. You’re here, just as I am. For longer, if I recall correctly. Didn’t your law degree teach you how to avoid that?”
“Law degrees don’t make a difference when you’re set up.”
“You’re saying you didn’t kill your wife’s lovers or that other guy?”
“Like I said, we got things in common. I can see that makes you uncomfortable. The truth does that. You’re as hasty with your judgment as you are with your temper. You’re one of those ready, fire, aim types when you get angry. That’s a good way to get into trouble. You’d think you’d’ve figured that out by now. But you keep doing the same thing, thinking the result’ll be different.”
“A philosopher. Just what this place needs.”
“Sometimes philosophy is all you got.”
Starks glanced around. “What is this place? Looks like a repair shop.”
“In-house. My grandfather taught me how to fix things. They let me fix whatever needs it.”
“I’m amazed they trust you with tools and sharp objects. Lots of weapons available. Anybody can get in here.”
“Only reason that door was open is because it needs a repair. Was fixing the piece when you came in. Now you’re gonna leave and I’m gonna fix the door so it stays locked like it should.”
“I’ve been kicked out of better places.”
“That’s one difference between us. Nobody ever kicked me out of any place.”
“Not if they wanted to live.”
Gabe laughed. “You’re safe. From me, at least.”
“Small comfort.”
“You gotta learn to take it when and where you can get it.”
*
The next several days were as uneventful as a day in prison can be. Starks was relieved in one way—everyone needs downtime, he told himself. But the energy inside the prison and in the summer-sweltering yard crackled like the proverbial calm before the storm.
He considered visiting Gabe. He didn’t like the old man’s comments about them having things in common, but the fact was that Gabe was the only man at Sands who could relate to a wife’s infidelity in such a publically humiliating way, betrayals of others, and the loss of wealth and luxuries. No one else understood that at the same level.
Gabe also reminded him of his grandfather in some ways. The age and white hair, of course, but also the straight-talk. Ryan Morgan may not have always been right with his advice, but he’d always been as honest as he could be with Starks. Gabe would probably be as honest as he dared to be, if the old guy ever let him in the room again, that is.
It bothered him that he wanted to trust Gabe Bianchi, to confide in him as he would have his grandfather. That was foolish, and Gabe would probably say the same thing. Both of them understood that loyalty was more often than not a matter of dollar signs or a what’s-in-it-for-me mentality. The aging Mafia don knew that as well as he did.
Still, he believed he could learn from him. All he had to do was not piss the guy off.
CHAPTER 31
STARKS COULDN’T MOVE. Gabe had him strapped to a table in th
e workroom. The old guy talked to himself, sometimes laughed aloud, as he prepared a piece of metal then soldered it over Starks’s mouth, muffling his screams of terror and pain. Starks, eyes squeezed tightly shut, writhed against the constraints, but he was trapped. His nearly silent screams stopped when he heard his name shouted over and over. He opened his eyes. Instead of Gabe, he saw a wide-eyed Jackson leaning over him.
“Shit, Starks. Everyone in the whole damn block has their heads poking out to see what the fuck’s going on in here. I thought your nightmares had eased up.”
Panting hard, Starks swiped sweat from his forehead. “So had I.”
“Maybe you need to see the counselor. You think the guys in here, especially the bad-asses, are gonna want to follow a leader who screams in his sleep?”
“I don’t need a counselor. I’m fine. Besides, I’m not the only man in here who screams, sleeping or not.”
Jackson plunked into his chair and shoved his feet into his shoes. “Yeah, you’re just peachy.”
Starks sat up. “Change the subject or get the fuck out of here. You’re annoying me.”
Jackson waved his hands in the air. “Ooh, I angered the dragon. I’m so scared.”
Starks scowled and said, “Jackson.”
“Count’s in two minutes. Get yourself organized. I’d appreciate it if His Nibs would sit with me at breakfast so I can talk with you before my shift starts.”
“What about?”
“Always so impatient. I’ll tell you at breakfast.”
“Whatever.”
Starks’s last shoe went on as the count was called over the loudspeaker.
