Donovan’s cell number, which she had memorized, was bypassed for the main line at HPD headquarters. He would answer his cell and make an emergency run to the tower or send a barrage of officers in his place. Messages left at his office, marked urgent, were immediately forwarded to him. This, hopefully, would be just the right timing.
“Sergeant Donovan, it’s Steely. Mr. Keaton is about ready to turn himself in. He’ll confess and name names. Please meet me in his office. See you in a few.”
Steely pressed an indention on the side of her phone to stop all sounds. Vibrating was the only alert it would be making until after she had talked with Keaton. She slipped it into her pocket, locked the closet, and took off for the stairs. The elevators weren’t the best mode of transportation. They could stop on any floor and could possibly pick up the wrong person. The stairs were isolated, rarely used; even when going up or down one floor, occupants used a lift.
No one was around to see her enter the stairwell, close the door behind her, and bend her knees. “Father, I’ve prepared all I know how to prepare. Please help me get the truth from this man. That’s all I want is the truth, Jesus.” She lifted herself up and took off for the forty-five-flight climb.
Every costly step echoed up and down the steel structure. Her job as an executive trainee was over. She hoped that would be the worst of the consequences. Accusing the CEO of murder was not specifically mentioned in her employment contract, but Keaton had Jack fired using the company as leverage. It was the time to use that same leverage on Keaton. He had to go. The tables had turned. Hopefully they wouldn’t turn back.
She rubbed her eyes and pressed on. Her emotions were fully caffeinated. She picked up stride, running up another dozen floors before taking a break.
On the thirty-eighth floor, her cell rattled. She ignored the number. It was not one she recognized. It vibrated again. She thought about the handful of people who had her number. What if Miss Bea was in trouble? She cautiously answered.
“Hello?”
“Miss Paupher…Hunter…Whatever you call yourself, my name is Chevoski.”
Steely stopped short. She leaned over the rail and scanned below. Then she looked up as far as she could see. No one was there. He wouldn’t be calling if he knew she was alone in an enclosed stairwell.
“I need proof my money is on its way back in my accounts by six o’clock tonight. I’m giving Nick and Keaton the same demand. One of you has it. Today I’m taking care of Keaton.”
She began moving faster up the next flight.
“He’ll cooperate. I hope you have sense enough to respond in the correct manner. I’ll take care of the big mouth, Beatrice Hunter. If the money still hasn’t shown up, I’ll make a jigsaw puzzle out of you. I’ve never had anyone not cooperate after the first cut. Six o’clock tonight is the deadline.”
She ended the call and took off.
Her thoughts gained speed, along with her pace. Bea had left for Grey Canyon with Pepe. No one would find her there. Chevoski must not know where Nick was, or he wouldn’t be calling her. Donovan should arrive in a few minutes. Her focus was back to cracking Keaton.
It was time for Steely to be combative. Her nature was anticombative. It was a desirable quality. One of her best traits had to take a backseat for the next few minutes. She was confronting Keaton.
She stopped for a few seconds and caught her breath. For the most part, her argument would be factual. Some of it would be deduction, substantial at best. She hoped her assertions were correct. Keaton would have to deny the truth to argue.
Her emotions, high with anticipation, carried her all the way up to the forty-ninth floor. Her cell rattled again. This number she knew.
“Donna, I’m almost there.”
“Mr. Qualls just left. He was bleeding badly. Somebody shot him!”
“Is that right?”
“He said the cartels are after them because some money disappeared! Don’t come up here.”
“I’m on forty-nine.”
“Did you take cartel money?”
“Be there in two minutes.”
“Don’t come here. Mr. Chevoski is after you. Mr. Keaton is packing his bags. Don’t come! I’m leaving too.”
“I’m here.”
The door to the fiftieth floor sprung open outside Nick’s old office. She gazed at it before moving down the hall. There was no time for reflection. No time for good or bad memories. She had to focus on the man who had ripped the pictures of Jack and Bea off of the walls. He was about to bolt. The door to Keaton’s suite was in sight.
Chapter sixty-three
Donna was standing outside Keaton’s door, shaking.
Steely checked her phone. Time wasn’t on her side.
Donna flashed her eyes at Steely. “Cartels?”
Steely’s brow rose. “Speculation, at first.”
“They’re going to come in here and kill us all!”
Steely put an arm around her. “Go on home. Sergeant Donovan should be here any second.”
Donna grabbed her purse. “Let him fire me! I’m never coming back. This place is too dangerous. Cartels after them.” She took her nameplate off the desk and threw it in the trash. “You come with me.” She ran and pushed a button and an elevator popped open. She held it. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“I have to talk to Keaton first.”
“Come on,” she whispered.
“Go on.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please go on.”
Donna hesitantly let go of the door.
Steely stuck her head in Keaton’s office. He gripped a duffel bag and raced around the room, picking up useless plaques and framed photos.
She took a deep breath and boldly entered. “Mr. Keaton, I’m Steely Hunter. We need to talk.”
He glanced over at her and kept moving. “Ms. Hunter, if you or Nick took their money, you better put it back before there is a massacre.”
Steely swished her head from side to side. “It won’t be the first.”
Appearing at a loss for words, Keaton stared at her for a few seconds. Then he swung back into motion, picking up magazines, books, and artifacts.
Her carefully planned spiel needed to be even more condensed.
“Mr. Keaton, you’re partly responsible for the murder of my dad.”
Keaton paused, dropped his chin to his chest. “I…I don’t know anything about that.”
“You knew about Mr. Chevoski.”
He shook his head and moved faster. “He is a businessman. That’s all I knew.”
“Everyone in town knows what he does. You knew people weren’t just scammed but murdered. It will go better for you if you’re the first one to confess.”
Keaton yanked a pen set off his desk and crammed it into his bag. “I don’t have anything to confess except my poor judgment in trusting Alexis. She introduced me to Chevoski. I only agreed to make the company temporarily look bad. What’s the big deal? I moved some assets around and then put them back.” Keaton stuffed a paperweight into his bag, along with two framed photos from his desk. “Things just got out of control.”
“Out of control? The game went lethal the day my dad was murdered. This is no petty crime, Mr. Keaton. Look out the window.” Steely leaned in that direction. “Take a look.”
He stared at her and then at the window.
“Go on and see! You better help yourself while you can and tell the truth, or you’ll die in prison.” This was a risky move. If Donovan wasn’t down there, with at least one car flashing its lights in the street below, Keaton’s glance would be benign.
Keaton’s face reddened. His eyes protruded as he dashed to the window. The show of force from three cruisers, their lights wildly flashing, briefly paralyzed him.
Steely exhaled and confidently moved closer to him. “Mr. Keaton, they’re here for you.”
Keaton turned away. “They have nothing on me.” He recklessly bounced around the office, gathering framed documents with meaning
less scribbles.
Steely stayed on him. “You set up hundreds of bank accounts for phony subsidiaries of JHI. Then you allowed drug and prostitution money to pollute the company assets. Technical name is money laundering. And that makes you part of the conspiracy that resulted in the murder of my dad.”
“I didn’t know about your dad until after it happened. Same thing with Jack and David. No one was supposed to harm them. I can’t control other people.”
“There are only a handful of people who know the truth about what happened to Jack and David. You, Mr. Keaton, were not one of them.”
Keaton inhaled and tightly closed his eyes. “I didn’t know until after the fact. I’m telling the truth.”
“A polygraph hooked up to you would be exploding.”
He went back to his desk and did what he does best. He deflected. “Vince Dichiara set up the subsidiaries with Nick’s help. Maybe you need to talk to them.”
“Everything Nick and his dad did was legit. You made two hundred thirteen million in reserves disappear. That’s called embezzling.”
He pulled out drawers for a second look. “I was investing operating capital in our subs.”
“Your venture capitalist group consists of murderers, human traffickers, drug dealers, and money launderers. They’re not upstanding members of the chamber of commerce! Do you know how many of these crimes are solved?” Whether this was a rhetorical question or not, he wasn’t answering. “You follow the money. The money trail, Mr. Keaton, leads to you.”
Keaton circled over to the window. He took another disturbing glance down. He flipped back around, zipped up his loot, and continued his exodus.
“Did you know the DA released Mr. Rios? All charges were dropped.”
Keaton shot his view downward and made a dash for the door.
“He’s going to sue you and Mr. Qualls for framing him.”
“I had nothing to do with that.” He gripped the bag tightly.
“Mr. Keaton, you can’t prop yourself up in Jack’s chair and take no responsibility for what happened. You pointed the finger at Jack. Remember, you even agreed that the CEO is responsible for what goes on around here.”
Keaton paused at the door. His recollection of the past had been recreated in his mind to forget what he couldn’t erase. But his narcissistic bent hadn’t left him totally unscathed. His eyes glassed over. His body trembled. Facing the truth was something he hadn’t done for most of his life. He was a thief. A sleaze. A lazy leech. But worst of all, he was jealous of Jack Hunter. And now he was being destroyed for it.
Chapter sixty-four
Saint Stephen’s Bank had a Polynesian flare. Pink stucco, clay roof, and palm trees blowing in the wind surrounded the property that was stumbling distance from the beach. The interior decor was made of twine-tied bamboo. Anyone unfamiliar with the island might perceive the bank as the perfect place for a heist. Their assessment would be dead wrong. The islanders were an independent people whose rule of law made international standards look feeble. Law enforcement was swift, and punishment, harsh. A perpetrator would risk being shot on the spot if the bank president, Sheila Farnsworth, was in her office.
Nick Dichiara stood angled in a back corner. Farnsworth gave him the signal.
The first customer had arrived.
The possibility of spending the rest of his life in a federal prison hadn’t deterred Nick. He had accomplished something no one else could: he’d ripped off the crooks. And now he was ready to bag his first one.
His risks were far from over. He could still be the one convicted of grand larceny, plus a half dozen other crimes. The new Saint Stephen’s and Swiss accounts were explainable. But what judge and jury would believe a rogue CFO with $213 million sitting in the business account of Nick’s Lawn Service? The highest balance in the account had been $2,093.04 until yesterday. The account had been used for the lawn business Nick ran from the age of ten until his freshman year in high school.
If Nick didn’t trap Keaton by this time next month, he could be the one indicted. No one walks away with that kind of money without heads rolling. He had no indictable proof of anything Keaton had done. Absolutely none. In his possession was $639 million—more than the gross national product of many civilized countries.
He cringed when he saw a man in a hooded jacket heading to the teller window. Nick knew the jacket. He had given it to Jason for his birthday just last year.
Jason yanked a printout from the teller’s hand. He examined it. Then he turned aggressively, like he was about to slug him, before demanding to see his boss.
Sheila Farnsworth was prepared to respond. “May I help you, sir?”
Wilkerson crumpled the printout. “My name is Nick Dichiara. There’s been some mistake on my account,” he shouted. “I had over eight million in here. I transferred it a few days ago.”
Farnsworth didn’t need to examine the account statement. She’d studied it for the last two days. “Sir, we no longer have an account for INS83, LLC. You closed this account.”
Wilkerson was livid. “What do you mean—closed it? That’s my money! And you’d better find it!” He leaned into Farnsworth.
She retreated a step and opened her jacket to reveal a filled holster. “Do not make another erratic move.”
He indicated that he understood. He took a deep breath and calmed his rage.
“Sir, there’s someone here who can explain.”
Nick moved out of the shadows and into the light.
Wilkerson twisted his head around and rolled his eyes. “Nick, what are you doing here?” Jason asked nervously.
“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” Nick said, moving closer.
Jason did his usual two-step. “There’s been a mistake.”
“Really?” Nick made a fist and sent Jason to the floor. “I kept hoping you were just stupid. I wanted you to be stupid. You bugged my office. Cloned my phone. Cloned Steely’s too. Then you opened an account in my name. You were my best friend, Jason.”
Jason scrambled up. His chin split and oozing blood.
Farnsworth tossed him a tissue. “Don’t mess up my bank.”
“What are you all steamed about?” Jason blotted his injury. “It wasn’t your money. I put it here for safety. I had to use your name because nobody would think anything about you having that kind of money. That’s all I did. Really, I earned this money.”
“What’d you do for eight million?” Nick stood flat-footed, restraining himself.
“It’d interest me too,” added Farnsworth.
Jason groaned. “Nick, I didn’t know they were doing anything wrong. I told you everything I did. I wired funds. That’s it. Mr. Keaton wanted me to set up thousands of automatic wires. That’s all I did. It’s not illegal.”
“You were their pigeon, flying back and forth, drinking their coffee. When did you figure out what they were doing? Before or after they murdered Jack and David?”
Jason wiped his hands on his thighs.
“Before? You knew they killed them, and you still let them use you. We’re done.”
“I didn’t know for sure they killed people. We’re innocent until proven guilty.”
Farnsworth buttoned her coat. “Not here, blockhead.”
“Nick, remember I saved your life when you almost drowned? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. Help an old pal out. Let me go.”
“I almost drowned because you knocked me in the head with a paddle.”
Jason was ready to sing. “It was Cricket’s mother, Alexis Cankor.”
“Alexis Cankor?” Nick bobbed his head and acted like he wasn’t shocked.
“She wanted Cricket to marry David Hunter. But he wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Alexis picked up on Mr. Chevoski’s hatred for Mr. Hunter and used him. The original plan was to funnel out the liquid assets and run. But they didn’t do it because of Cricket. She didn’t want to be on the run for the rest of her life.”
“Cricket made these decisions
?”
“She wanted to be free to go and do whatever she wanted. She convinced her mother and Mr. Chevoski to launder money through the company. It worked well. Chevoski gave up his businesses to do this full-time. His clients are the top drug dealers and human traffickers in the Southwest. He takes twenty percent off the top. Then he nets the rest back to his clients.”
Nick tightened his face. “And you didn’t know a thing?”
“I hacked into Keaton’s phone and personal e-mail. I had to for my own protection. No one would ever find that account. Chevoski killed Mr. Paupher. Warren Dupree followed his orders and rigged the brakes on Mr. Hunter’s truck. Mr. Qualls activated the device that severed the brake line. Cricket’s grandfather had Mr. Chevoski investigated and found out the truth about him. He was going to report Chevoski. That’s what the grandfather told Cricket, right before she killed him in the garage. She’s the one you need to go after. Not me. I’m a bystander.”
Nick stared at Jason. He was shocked at how fast Jason spilled his guts. He should have dangled him off the top of the building. This information would have come out before his hands got tired.
“Everything I found out was after the fact. That makes me innocent.”
“Not here,” assured Farnsworth.
Nick snapped back, “Who else is coming here?”
“I think they all are. I came to get my money and get out before they get here. Keaton doesn’t even know I took it.”
Nick crossed his arms. “You ripped off the crooks. Who would do something that dumb?” He shook his head. “It’s time to say good-bye, Jason.”
“What?”
Nick stepped aside.
“Nick, please! It was the only way I could reach my goals.”
“I hope your goal was prison,” Nick snapped.
Thibodeaux charged in, accompanied by two police officers. “You’re in deep, sweetie,” he hollered.
The officers surrounded Jason and directed him to spread out. They frisked him. Secured metal cuffs around his hands and ankles and started moving him out.
“You’re quiet for a guy who may get hung,” quipped Pierce.
Jason went limp. “Hung? They don’t hang people in the U.S.”
No Offense Page 29
