by Adam Gittlin
I look at the Perregaux—6:44 p.m. I keep my gait strong, purposeful. The evening air is raw, the dimming gray sky helping ease crisscrossing New Yorkers into night. My mind is spinning from everything happening. I’m wired. I’m exhausted. I see a bodega. I grab three Life Fuels, down one on the spot, and put the other two in my pocket. I keep moving.
I take out both phones. I Google NYPD Precincts on the iPhone. Once a comprehensive list comes up I go with the Thirteenth Precinct on East Twenty-First Street. Yes, Lovell was in Scott Green’s office, but I’m guessing he’s from the precinct closest to Green’s home. I dial the number into the disposable and hit send. I replace the iPhone in its rightful pocket.
“NYPD,” a gruff, female voice answers.
“Hi, I’m looking for Detective Lovell,” I say. “Is he in?”
“Let me see. Give me one second.”
I wait.
“I’ll transfer you.”
I wait again.
“Lovell.”
“Detective Lovell, I’m going to speak for sixty seconds. So I suggest you begin writing.”
“What? Who is this?”
“I’m guessing you were following up on Scott Green’s suicide as a matter of protocol, making sure there was no foul play due to the odd nature of the circumstances. His conservative history, a loving family, alone in a houseboat in Amsterdam, all of it.”
“Who is this?” he asks again.
“Scott Green did in fact kill himself. But he was driven to it. He sacrificed himself to save his family. You want to worry about how, or do you want to worry about my name?”
“Wait—wait—”
I hear fumbling around. He’s grabbing a pen and paper.
“Okay. Tell me what you know.”
“Go to Scott Green’s home. His wife, Anne, is expecting you. You are the only one she is going to speak with. Tell her you want to see everything on her husband’s computer in his study. Make sure she shows you the VivRecord.com account. Then, make sure she shows you the e-mails with the photo attachments.”
“Viv what?”
“VivRecord.com,” I repeat, then spell it for him. “It’s an audio file storage site. One for the purpose of recording and storing telephone conversations.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Yes. After that, go to the home of a Julia Chastain,” I continue, giving him her address. “In the kitchen, under the tray holding the silverware in the silverware drawer, there is a tiny flash drive. On that flash drive are conversations between Ryan Brand, a colleague of Scott Green’s, and Enzo Alessi, the man on the other end of the conversations you’ll be hearing on Scott’s home computer. A man the U.S. government is very interested in. Got it?”
“Flash drive. Conversations. Ryan Brand. Enzo Alessi. Got it.”
“Julia Chastain is also a colleague of Green and Brand. Unlike Anne Green, Ms. Chastain is unaware you will be visiting, and I’d keep it that way. She’s fucking Brand—a married man—and she may or may not be involved in all this. I’ll leave that up to you to determine.”
There’s a brief pause. I figure Lovell is finishing up his notes.
“Got it. Anything else?”
“You have a busy evening ahead of you, Detective. Good-bye.”
6:54 p.m.
I walk into the GlassWell headquarters building, stop at the security desk, and get my temporary badge. I head upstairs and straight to Julia’s office. I let myself in and stop in front of her desk.
“Where the hell have you been?” she yells at me, jumping from her chair. “What the hell are you fucking people trying to pull, Ivan?”
“Sit down, Julia.”
“Excuse me? Really? You think you’re going to—”
I take the gun from my pocket. I point it at her face.
“Sit down. Now.”
Her arms still at her side, like her elbows are attached to her sides, her hands flare out.
“Holy shit, Ivan. I … I—”
“Sit down now,” I say again.
She does.
“What the hell are you doing, Ivan?”
“Where’s Brand?”
“Ryan? I … I don’t know … I mean, he probably—”
“Get him in here,” I cut her off. “Now.”
“I … I’ll try. I mean, he may be—”
I drop a fist to the desk. I lean forward.
“I’m guessing with his deal cratering the way it is, he’s available. And if he’s not—I don’t care if he’s in fucking Dubai. Find him. And get him in here. Now.”
She tries his office. No answer. Then she calls his cell. He’s in another colleague’s office just down the hall. He’s on his way.
“What’s going on, Ivan?” asks Julia. “Why are you doing this?”
“Did you know?” I respond with a question of my own.
Nothing.
“Did you?” I press.
“Did I know what?”
The door opens.
“Janse, what are you doing here? We closing this deal or what?”
“Close the door,” I say.
He does. Then I show him the gun.
“Sit down. Now.”
He looks at Julia.
“What don’t you understand about sit down?” I growl.
I step to him and put the gun to his head. I hear a scared shriek come from Julia behind me.
“Okay,” he concedes. “Okay.”
He takes a seat facing Julia’s desk. He sheepishly turns to me.
“What’s going on, Janse?”
“Fuck off, you lowlife. I’ll be asking the questions as well as making the statements. If I want to hear from you, I’ll ask. Understood?”
He nods.
Standing to the side of the office, where I face both Julia behind her desk and Brand in front of it, I drop the gun to my side.
“I want you to both know that I get it. And that while you almost pulled it off, this is all happening because—well—you didn’t—”
“You’re not making any sense, Ivan,” Julia says.
“I know Alessi was strong-armed into leasing the Annex with a promise from you to help pay his tax bill with GlassWell funds. As much as I know he has zero intention of honoring that lease, which we all know destroys the property’s financial viability.”
“What?” says Brand, doing a terrible acting job.
“You heard me.”
Brand’s expression goes from fake surprise to fake serious.
“You’re delusional, Janse. Do you realize what you’re saying? What you’re doing?”
On the contrary, Ryan Brand.
Do you have any idea who you decided to fuck with?
“What are you talking about, Ivan?” Julia chimes in. “That’s crazy.”
“Ah, so you two want to play games, is that right?” I ask. “Is that right?”
The video of Green blowing his head off plays in my head.
I calmly walk over to Julia.
“Let me ask you something, Ryan.” I go on. “You ever seen a head blow up? Like what must have happened when Scott Green took his own life?”
Neither says a word. Then, I grab the back of Julia’s head like a cantaloupe with my left hand, gripping it tight.
“Open your mouth,” I tell her.
“Ow! Ivan, you’re hurting me,” she says, her words rife with shock.
“You have no idea what pain is, Julia. Now open your fucking mouth. Or I’m going to open it for you.”
Brand stands up. I point the gun straight between his eyes, no more than a few feet away from me. He stops dead in his tracks. I see him swallow.
“Sure you want to play hero?”
He sits.
I return my attention to Julia.
“I’ll say it one last time. Open your fucking mouth.”
Adrenaline and caffeine are coursing through me so violently I feel my veins throbbing. I’m boiling.
Finally Julia listens.
And I jam the
gun in her mouth.
“Open wider!” I demand.
Tears are flowing from Julia’s eyes. Some of them are mixing with the snot bubbles under her nostrils and running onto the shiny metal in her mouth.
I move my eyes to Brand as I keep talking.
“That’s right, Sweet Julia—take it deeper.”
I push it in farther.
Fear is pouring from Brand’s eyes.
Fear of what happens next.
“What do you want?” he says quietly, almost in a whisper.
“What’s your bigger fear right now?” I go on, disregarding his words. “That Julia will actually feel pain—maybe die—or that no matter what comes from all this, it’s a guarantee your wife, your kids, everyone you have ever known in your entire life is going to learn all about what a piece of shit you are?”
He’s about to say something, but stops. Now I see something else in his eyes. An understanding.
“I have the conversations between you and Alessi. All of them. Green may have been afraid of you fucks, but you underestimated him. He had more fire in him than you realized. And now you’re all going to pay for what you did.”
Brand says nothing. He looks at Julia.
“Because of what you did a life was lost,” I go on, “a family was ruined.”
“Look, I—” Brand starts, “it—I never wanted any of this to happen. Really. It just—everything got so, so—”
An image of my father goes off in my brain like a firework. I look at Julia. She’s a crumbling mess, her makeup running everywhere.
“And Julia,” he continues, “Julia, I mean, Julia knew we were pushing him but, but, I mean—she had nothing to do with how, you know, how—”
My eyes are reaching deep into Julia’s. She’s genuinely scared for her life. I take the gun from her mouth. I step away. Sobbing, she collapses forward into her own lap.
“This man—this was a simple, family kind of man. A man his kids were lucky to grow up with. A man whose wife loved him. Because of you—because of your fucking selfishness about your fucking building you took him from all of them. You took him from himself. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I walk toward Brand. I look at Julia, waving the gun in her direction.
“I keep wondering if you knew about all this, or if you got pulled in because of the guy you’re fucking—behind his wife’s back, apparently,” I go on. “And you know what I decided? I have no idea. Nor do I care. If you really knew nothing, the cops will come to that conclusion. And I promise you—they’re coming to look. Right in your backyard.”
I stop in front of Brand. I look down at him.
“Get on your knees.”
“Oh, God,” I hear from Julia behind me between sobs. “Ivan, stop. Don’t.”
“Please,” begs Brand. “Please.”
“On your knees. Now.”
“I—look—”
I put the tip of the gun to his knee.
“Three, two—”
“Okay! Okay!” he says, jumping from the chair.
He does as I order.
Now I put the point of the gun to his temple.
“Was it worth it?” I ask. “The threats? The following and taking pictures of this poor man’s family? Was it worth it, all in the name of business? Was it worth driving this poor fucking man to blow his own fucking head off because he felt this was his only fucking option?”
“Please! Please! I didn’t follow him or his family or send those pictures—it—I wasn’t responsible for that.”
Alessi sent the pictures. Not Brand.
I glance at the Perregaux.
Enzo Alessi.
See you soon.
“But I know that doesn’t make any of this right. I never wanted for this to happen! I swear! I swear! The whole thing—the whole thing just got so out of fucking control…”
I take a step back, gun still pointed at his head.
“Take out your phone.”
“What? Why?”
“Just take it out.”
He does. I grab it from him. It’s an iPhone, and it’s locked.
“Code.”
“One, one, one, seven.”
First I go to the Alarm Junction app. Alarm Junction is the firm that handles security for all the GlassWell properties. These days, everything can be handled for these types of systems remotely via applications or the web—real-time monitoring, camera angle adjustments, cameras being turned on and off, everything. The system is very much like the one we use in The Netherlands. And because we’ve been in the process of buying the building, and have scoured every aspect of this target up and down, I’m very familiar with what I’m looking at. I even have the username and password I need tucked in my brain, but it isn’t necessary as Brand’s already logged in. With only a few taps and touches, I turn all the security cameras at the Annex off.
“What are you—”
“Shut up,” I cut him off.
Next I go into the contacts and find Enzo Alessi. I text him.
I NEED TO SEE YOU IN YOUR OFFICE. NOW. IT’S URGENT.
“Ivan,” I hear Julia say behind me through chokes and sobs, “Ivan, please. There has to be—”
Her words may as well be in Japanese. Done with her. I put the gun back to Brand’s head. Thirty seconds later, I get the return text from Alessi.
WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE, BUT WILL WAIT FOR YOU. WHAT’S UP?
I drop Brand’s phone to the ground. With three quick, hard stomps I destroy it.
I lean down. And whisper in his ear.
“Boom.”
Brand starts crying.
“The biggest mistake you made? Trying to fuck a guy like me. Trying to fuck a firm like de Bont. Thank your lucky stars, Ryan Brand. Had you actually succeeded—had you actually sold us that building—you’d be leaving here today in a body bag.”
I snap back up and kick Brand square across the face with everything in me. In agony, he rolls onto his back. Blood is coming from his nose, from his mouth and cheek. That’s when I drop my heel into his face again for good measure, causing both of them to scream.
I lock eyes with Julia.
“The Spencers treated you like family,” I say. “Some sister and daughter you turned out to be.”
Then, I’m gone.
CHAPTER 41
NEW YORK CITY
2013
After stopping at the hotel and grabbing my belongings, I have my car stop at the Freedom Bank Building before heading east across town to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. Before opening the door to get out, and going upstairs to see Alessi, I get a text. It’s from Ernst Bjerg.
YOU NEED TO CALL ME, IVAN. 305 IS GOOD. APPARENTLY, NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
“Right on cue,” I say to myself.
One thirty a.m. in Berlin. Ernst, though pushing it, has the green light to make a deal.
Sensing eyes on me, I look up. The driver is staring at me in the rearview. I turn and look out the window at the Freedom Bank Building. At the Annex.
“Why am I here?” I ask myself. This guy—these fucks—they’re all going to get what they deserve for what they’ve done. Their families, their careers, they’ve all lost more than they even realize yet. I should be on my way to the airport.
Right?
Damn, my chest feels tight. My skin feels warm under my suit. My nerves are shredded.
Yet those same nerves are as steely as ever.
Yeah, they’ll all get what’s coming. But will they ever really feel it? Scott Green blew his head all over a room after dealing with what must have been days, weeks of pure anguish. Alessi, Brand, Julia if she needs it—they’ll all load up on high-powered attorneys, and it will be ages before any of them face any music. When they do, will they even really feel it? Once all the charges through fancy litigation and maneuvering have been watered down? Will they ever really feel it? Will they ever feel even an ounce of the pain Green did?
A flash goes off in my brain—my father’s gunshot-riddled body on
a gurney.
Then another—the starburst of Green’s head, brains up on the wall.
I should go to the airport.
I look at the Perregaux.
“Sit tight,” I say, gathering myself. “I won’t be long.”
The Annex, like I mentioned, is like its own property affixed to the main building. Therefore it has its own entrance, one much less complex and with less security than the main property. People who work exclusively for the Alessi operation come and go with a cardkey access system. They wave their card in front of the card reader on the wall next to the entrance. So, I’ll just wait until someone exits—hopefully—so I can slide in.
Seven thirty p.m.
I’ll never make wheels up. I dial Cobus.
“Ivan.”
“I figure you know, but I wanted to mention that I have made it clear to GlassWell we’re not closing. They get it. As I said they would.”
“And Berlin?”
“Working on it.”
The door opens. A great-looking, tall, slender woman with dark everything exits the Annex draped in a tight-fitting, chocolate-colored Armani overcoat. I act as if I’m simply a guy on the street talking on the phone, perhaps waiting for someone, as I watch the door. She gives me a quick up and down, smirks, and moves on.
“So why the call, Ivan? You could have told me this when you arrived.”
“I, uh—”
She’s ten feet ahead down the sidewalk, her mind most likely already on wherever it is she’s going, when I sneak the toe of my shoe between the closing door and doorframe. I slide inside.
“I need a little more time. There’s one more stop I need to make.”
Cobus pauses.
“Ivan.”
“Cobus.”
“I sent Arnon back commercial. I decided this was probably best once I learned you decided we will be returning to Amsterdam via Moscow.”
Damn.
“Cobus. If I—”
“As you know, these flights are not as easy to change—either time or destination—as you are treating them. Nine p.m. Ivan. We’re wheels up at nine with or without you. My advice? Make it.”
