TPG

by The Perfect Game (mobi)

  So he had the driver cross through Central Park and take him to Amsterdam. There were enough people milling around on the Upper West Side that he’d be able to find a match easy enough. He’d just follow someone down one of the side streets, the blocks usually empty enough at that time of night that he could slip away without too much of a problem. It wouldn’t be the cleanest operation, but it would suffice.

  He had the cab stop at Eighty-third and Amsterdam and stepped onto the sidewalk into the throng of stragglers outside the bars, some puffing away on cigarettes and others just passing by. His dulled senses were immediately awakened with an array of spikes, telling him there were plenty of matches in the area. At first it was difficult for him to focus, his weakened body too flustered by the prospect of getting right again and his sluggish mind finding it too difficult to separate the loads of sensation. He took hold of a tree at the corner to steady himself and concentrate on the focus he needed. As he stood there taking deep breaths, a stroke of luck swept in just as he started to gain a handle on the signals.

  There was a tall woman walking a Bichon turning west onto Eighty-third.

  She was a match.

  He let go of the tree and followed her, forcing his tired and confused muscles to keep pace as the woman and her dog strolled quickly along. The woman was older than what he’d been used to lately, in her mid to late forties, perhaps even older. She had a large diamond ring on her ring finger, which made him wonder why her husband or kids weren’t walking the dog. Perhaps her husband was away, he thought. And maybe she didn’t have children. Or maybe they were too young to walk a dog, or too old and had already moved out. But it didn’t really matter why. None of her personal life mattered. All that mattered was that he needed the hit and that she was a match. He had to simply burrow away any thoughts about who she was, about who would be losing her as a wife or a mother. Just like he always did.

  But it was tough to keep up with her. The dog was pulling her quickly, almost forcing her into a jog. He strained to quicken the pace and close the gap, but it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t going to catch her. He started to slow down, his breathing heavy, his muscles growing even more tired.

  But then his fortunes turned.

  The woman stopped. Her dog was lifting its leg against the base of a pole three quarters up the block.

  He rushed to take advantage. The dog looked back at him, his tiny white snout snarling and flaring its teeth, perhaps sensing the danger his owner couldn’t.

  He didn’t care, though. It was a Bichon. How much fight could it have? The woman didn’t turn around. Her eyes were glued to her phone as she tugged at the little dog to hurry up and continue up the block.

  He was only about twenty feet away, his body already being reinvigorated by the energy that grew stronger, readying to replenish his tired limbs and frayed nerves. He took a few more steps, closing in, when someone grabbed hold of his collar from behind. He didn’t have time to turn and see who it was before his body was unmercifully thrown toward a stoop.

  His side smacked against the concrete steps of a brownstone, his already unsteady balance easily felled. He looked up and saw a man standing over him, but couldn’t get a clear view of his face.

  But the two simple words the man uttered were as clear as could be.

  “Hello, Hillier.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  There was much less fanfare this time than during the first session. There were no presentations, no initial meetings, and the insurance company didn’t even send O’Brien. Instead, they sent a much lower level claims rep. The groups were assigned to different rooms the entire time, so Kyle didn’t even see Ricker or anyone from the Trotter family all morning except for the awkward run-ins while using the restroom.

  Kyle didn’t talk much during the course of the morning. His thoughts meandered back to his conversation with Sheila the day before. To how it seemed like he finally had struck back, finally gotten some things off his chest. Not everything, but it was a start. And everyone had to start somewhere.

  The meanderings took a quick backseat once Seybert came back into the room. The man had a different expression this time, a bit confused and puzzled.

  “Trotter wants to talk to Kyle,” he said.

  Paula’s eyes popped up from her smartphone. “Henry’s father?”

  Seybert nodded.

  Kyle stood up, but Paula quickly stopped him from going any further.

  “Whoa, whoa,” she said, holding her hand out, motioning Kyle to sit back down. “What’s going on here? He wants a private meeting with just Kyle?”

  “Yes,” Seybert said. “Just the two of them. Not me and not with any attorneys.”

  Kyle was still standing. He looked at the surprise on Paula’s face. “Is this unusual?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Paula said, her focus still on Seybert. “It is. Why does he want to meet with him? What’s their new demand?”

  “They don’t have a new one,” Seybert said. “And I have no idea why he wants to meet. He asked, so I’m asking.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Kyle asked. “I’ll just meet with him and hear what he has to say.”

  Paula turned, her expression as serious as he’d ever seen it. “The big deal is that we’re dealing with Ricker here. He hasn’t budged much from his pie-in-the-sky demand, and knows the insurance company doesn’t want to budge either. He knows O’Brien isn’t here today, so he understands the authorization we have to settle this thing is capped. So he needs a new tactic to get his point across and get us to budge, and he’s going with the bad faith claim. But he can’t talk to you directly, so he’s trying a sneak attack. Sending in the family patriarch to do his dirty work.”

  “If I may interject,” Seybert said. “I didn’t get that sense while I was in there. Trotter’s request seemed to have been made on his own. In fact, Ricker was not only surprised by it, but openly, and adamantly I might add, counseled against it.”

  “It’s an act,” Paula dismissed the comments.

  Seybert shrugged. “Maybe it is. But it didn’t come across that way. I think it’s Trotter’s idea alone.”

  “If that’s the case,” Paula said, “then what’s Trotter’s angle?”

  “Don’t know. He’s a pretty quiet guy. I haven’t gotten a good read on him during the process. He doesn’t say much while I’m in the room.”

  Paula remained quiet, contemplating the situation, then asked, “Were they on the verge of a new demand before Trotter made the request?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. We didn’t get that far.”

  “But they could’ve been talking about it internally.”

  “I’m sure they were.”

  “So it could also be they were going to cave, or come down significantly and this guy wants his last opportunity to tell Kyle off. An opportunity to blame Kyle for his son’s death.”

  “But he could do that anytime,” Kyle said.

  “It’s not that easy,” Paula told him. “He has the stage set now and he wants to grab the opportunity while it’s there.” She tapped her pen against the legal pad. “Right now he holds the cards. He knows it’s his best shot.” She looked over at Seybert. “Tell him no deal. We won’t agree to the meeting. I’m not going to allow Ricker the opportunity to have someone else do his dirty work, and I’m not going to allow Trotter the opportunity to berate my client. Not going to happen.”

  Seybert said he’d tell them, but Kyle told the mediator to wait.

  “I want to hear him out.”

  “There’s no need,” Paula said. “Let’s just flush out whatever card they’re holding.”

  “No, I want to meet with him. I think I’m intelligent enough to see through Ricker’s ploy. But I don’t think it’ll be like that. Henry talked about his father. The man isn’t a lackey. He’s an honest, straight-shooting, hard-working type. I don’t think he’d be the one that Ricker would use to do his dirty work.”

  “You’re wrong, Kyle,” Paula said.
“For that reason alone, he’s exactly the one Ricker would use. And remember, this guy may be a good guy, but he’s also suing you for millions of dollars. He thinks you caused the death of his son. He thinks you murdered him. Nothing good can come out of meeting him like this.”

  “I don’t care. I want to listen to what he has to say. If he needs to get something off his chest, if that’ll help, then I’ll do it. I’ll listen.”

  Paula drew closer to him. “Trust me, Kyle,” she said, “you do not want to do this.”

  Kyle thought back to how he had turned his back on Liam and the young victims who were going to pile up. Even with Bree’s life at risk and the rationalization that the police already knew everything he did, it simply killed him to stand by and do nothing.

  Talking to Henry’s father wasn’t going to hurt anyone. No one but him.

  So he ignored Paula’s advice. If the man wanted to dress Kyle down, so be it. If he wanted to berate the man he thought had murdered his son, Kyle would take it. He’d give the man that small drop of relief.

  He wasn’t going to hide. Not from this.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kyle followed Seybert a few turns down the corridor to another conference room. Inside was Jim Trotter, Henry’s father. Alone. Seybert gave Kyle one more glance, making sure he was okay with the arrangement. Kyle nodded, and Seybert told them to let him know when they were done talking, then left.

  Jim Trotter was in his mid-sixties. He was a retired UPS truck driver who had moved down to Boynton Beach, Florida about five years ago. Not too far from Kyle’s own parents, actually. During their lone session together, Henry had told Kyle the man was the model father growing up, the perfect husband. And even though Henry had wildly surpassed the man in salary, making more in one year than Jim Trotter earned in ten, Henry felt he hadn’t lived up to his father’s expectations. He never became the man his father was. If Henry hadn’t died a few days after their first session, it was a subject Kyle knew would have become the topic of many future sessions.

  Jim Trotter was already standing when the door shut. He was wearing a suit, even though everyone else at the mediation, including Kyle, had taken Seybert up on his advice that, given the summer heat, they dress casually at the next session. Trotter wore wire-rimmed glasses and had thick, white neatly coiffed hair and an equally white moustache. He was a slender man, a bit on the short side, but had a rigid strength that helped convey a larger frame.

  He shook Kyle’s hand with a firm grip, then took a seat. Kyle did the same, sitting across from him at the conference room table.

  “They didn’t want me in here with you,” Jim Trotter started off the conversation. “Just wanted you to know that.”

  “Seybert told me.”

  “But I felt it was necessary.”

  “I understand.”

  Trotter leaned back, relaxing tense muscles. “Things get lost in a setting like this,” he said. “You hear the stories of people’s lives, but it’s all for dollars. It’s not about who they really were, it’s about what’s going to convince you to pay more money. It isn’t bullshit, but it’s not real either.”

  Kyle nodded, but stayed quiet. He was pretty certain this wasn’t going to be a Ricker ploy to get more money. It was going to be Jim Trotter venting his anger. And Kyle was prepared to sit and take it.

  “You’re a smart man,” Trotter said, “so I’m sure you figured all of that out already.” His eyes narrowed. “This is about something else. This is about holding someone accountable for the death of my son.”

  Kyle hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to hear Trotter utter those words. He hadn’t known what it would feel like to stare into the smoldering eyes of a father who believed him to be the cause of his son’s death—but he did then, feeling the man’s intense pain cling to his every fiber, burning its way into his core.

  “I’m not a litigious man, Mr. Vine. Never have been. Not saying there isn’t a need for it, but I understand how it’s been abused. I understand the real motive of people like Ricker. They’re like politicians. They take their natural born gift of persuasion and use it to satisfy their own selfish needs. They’re not driven by morals, they’re driven by ego and greed. Not saying they aren’t right some of the time, or even most of the time, I’m just saying I’m not a fool. I understand how things work. I can see past the bullshit.” Trotter paused as he took a sip from the coffee cup in front of him. “If the D.A. had decided to prosecute you, we wouldn’t be here. Like I said, we didn’t want the money. We don’t need it and it isn’t going to bring my son back. But they didn’t prosecute.”

  “I understand,” Kyle succinctly said, letting Trotter vent and say his piece.

  “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. If we settle for six figures, your insurance company writes a check and you never go on trial. And if we don’t lower our demand, you either get out on some technicalities or we go to trial because there’s no way you’ll settle. That’s the way it’s been described to us.” Trotter paused, looking at the door, as if someone were behind it listening. “Ricker, for all his bluster and greed, thinks we should take six figures. He thinks you’ve got a good shot at walking.”

  The realization struck Kyle that he and Jim Trotter had been on the same path. He wanted what Kyle had initially wanted—their peers to determine whether Kyle had caused Henry’s death. But Kyle had moved on from that, realizing what a handful of randomly selected strangers thought based on the performance of his attorney wasn’t going to change things. Their decision wasn’t going to matter. He was the judge and jury of his own morality, and the decision wouldn’t be made in a few hours, or even a few days. It would be a decision he’d continue to make every day for the rest of his life.

  “So it’s up to us now. We either end this today, or we take this thing as far as we can take it and let your actions be tried before a jury,” Trotter said. He let the last few words linger before continuing. “But before we let you know our decision, I want to hear from you, Mr. Vine. I want to know why you wrote that letter to the Board. Why did you ask them to investigate your actions?”

  Paula warned him to be careful about saying anything at the mediation. She said even though anything said was confidential and couldn’t be used at trial, attorneys often found ways to get the information in through other means. But Kyle ignored the advice and didn’t hold back simply because of legalities. He gave the man what he wanted to hear and answered the question as honestly as he possibly could. “Because I thought maybe I should’ve questioned your son more about Ms. Basking’s state of mind.”

  Trotter studied him, taking in the bold declaration. “And what do you think now?”

  “My opinion hasn’t changed.”

  “Do you think you’re the reason my son is dead?” Trotter swallowed back his emotions as he asked the question.

  “Do I think I’m the reason?” Kyle repeated. “That’s something I ask myself every day. And I don’t know if me asking that question would have changed things. I don’t know if my advice would have been much different, and I don’t know how much your son would have revealed. I also don’t know what was inside Ms. Basking’s head. I don’t know what she was thinking. All I know is I wish I had asked the question because there’s a chance things would have turned out differently if I had. But I honestly have no idea if it would’ve made a difference or not. So,” Kyle said, slowly, “to go back to your initial question—do I think I’m the reason your son is dead?” He straightened his focus and cleared his throat so the next words would come out clearly and crisply. “No, sir, I do not.”

  Trotter removed his glasses and wiped a tear away from his eye. “I didn’t know about his affairs, you know. Henry never told me.” He placed his glasses back on. “He told a few friends, but not many. And none of them knew about Ms. Basking’s prior suicide attempts. The attorney found all of that out. But I should’ve known that stuff. I’m his father.” He looked into Kyle’s eyes, his focus latching on. “I saw signs
. He wasn’t happy in his marriage. I knew that. A person can tell these things. You pick up on little comments. But I never asked. I didn’t think it was my place.” Trotter looked away, shaking his head. “I’m his damn father, yet I didn’t think it was my place.” He turned back to Kyle, his face red. “What kind of bullshit excuse is that? That’s exactly my place. I should’ve been the one to ask, I should’ve been the one there for him, helping him. But I didn’t. I let him struggle on his own, only giving advice when asked.”

  “It’s a tough balancing act. It’s not easy to know when to pry into your child’s personal life. He was a grown man.”

  “I’m his father, for Christ’s sake,” Trotter said, his calm façade melting as he raised his voice, his eyes red and watery. “It was my place. It was my job to not just stick my head in the sand and not offer advice, but to be there for him to talk to, good or bad.”

  Kyle was sure Ricker would not be pleased with what Jim Trotter was telling him.

  “You know,” Trotter said as he rubbed his misty eyes and cleared his throat, fighting to compose himself. “My granddaughter showed me a rambling email my son sent her about a week or so before he went to see you. He didn’t say what he’d been doing, or even why he was sending the email. He just said that he wasn’t perfect, and he didn’t expect her to be either. Or the little ones. But he did expect them to always try and do the right thing, even if he didn’t.”

  “He was trying to turn his life around.”

  Trotter nodded. “He was. But he still had to live with the mistakes he made. And that’s what cost him his life,” Trotter said, standing up. “His mistakes. And I think Henry would agree with that if he were here today. I think he was beginning to realize he had to start owning up to his actions, and I think that’s exactly why he went to see you.” He wiped away another tear and narrowed his eyes. “But I don’t think you’re any more at fault here than I am. He came to you because he wanted to make a bunch of bad decisions right. But you can’t do that overnight. It takes time. But you,” he cleared his throat, “you did what was needed. You told him to make it right. You started him on the right path, the path he wanted to be on. I can’t condemn a man for that. I agree with you, Mr. Vine. You are not the reason my son is dead.”