by Lynn Steward
Brett took the folder and began to examine the papers. He surveyed the documents for several minutes while rubbing his chin. “This company is leveraged to the hilt. It’s borrowed a lot of capital, but only part of it appears to have been invested. The full amount isn’t accounted for.” Brett shuffled through the papers and pointed to the top of a page. “My guess is that the money is in these offshore accounts. But look at the salaries for these upper level managers. The amount they’re being paid equals the amount of investment capital that is unaccounted for. It’s an old trick, although it’s hard to prove the dishonesty. The portfolio for company officers is usually complex, making it difficult to track any funds they’ve received in the event they’re audited individually. Did you ever sign any papers that would explain your involvement in the company?”
“I didn’t think I had any involvement in the company,” Johnny answered. “Not like this, that is. I mean, I bought some stock, but that’s all I did.”
“I’m afraid you may have done more than just purchase stock,” Brett said. “You probably signed a lot of papers with fine print, only some of which were stock certificates. You’re obviously the majority stockholder since you’re listed as the company’s Chief Financial Officer for two of its subsidiaries. That makes you responsible for the offshore accounts. In short, my friend, this company is cooking the books and you’re in the hot seat if anyone gets suspicious. There’s a lot more in this report that doesn’t look right, but you get the gist.”
“I was afraid of that,” Johnny admitted. “What the hell can I do? Is there any way I can get out of this mess?”
Brett smiled. “I know exactly what you can do. You want me to handle this?”
Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. “You bet—and I can’t thank you enough. My whole life is crashing down around me.”
“Keep all this between the two of us. Deal?”
“Deal. Hey, would you like to come over to Cipriani’s for lunch? I’m meeting my dad before we start hunting for apartments again.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
The two men got dressed and headed to Cipriani’s.
Chapter Sixteen
Johnny and Brett entered Cipriani’s, the fashionable Fifth Avenue restaurant located off the lobby in the Sherry-Netherland. Harry Cipriani’s restaurant was modeled after Harry’s Bar in Venice and served Venetian cuisine, which included its signature drink, the Bellini cocktail.
“What’s going on over at my dad’s table?” Johnny asked, noting that the restaurant was unusually crowded for late morning.
Brett and Johnny walked across the restaurant, noticing that several police detectives and uniformed officers were speaking to guests, including John Cirone and his dining companions. The policemen had just finished their questions and were tucking away their notebooks into jackets and coat pockets as they got up to leave the restaurant.
“What’s up, Dad?” Johnny asked as they approached the table. “Is everything okay?”
“It was unbelievable, Johnny,” Uncle John said. “The hotel was robbed this morning. The thieves hit the safety deposit boxes. I lost a pair of cufflinks, but Ralph and Sandy Hartlen lost $50,000 in jewelry. Ralph, Sandy—this is my son Johnny and our friend, Brett McGarry.”
“We met Brett briefly the other night,” Ralph said. “Good to see you again.”
Brett and Johnny shook hands with the Hartlens and then sat in the chairs formerly occupied by the detectives.
“That’s awful,” Brett said. “Do the police have any leads?”
“Fortunately, yes,” Sandy Hartlen said. “My daughter-in-law Patti—she and her husband Jack are also staying here—woke up at six A.M. and came down to the lobby to get a piece of lost luggage that arrived last night. She saw two robbers holding guns on the bell captain, concierge, and the main desk staff while a third plundered the safety deposit boxes. They all wore ski masks, but when the three left, Patti noticed everything—their clothing, shoes, height, weight, and what they were saying. She saw the get-away car and memorized the license plate.”
“That’s simply amazing,” Johnny remarked.
“The police said this gang has hit other hotels recently,” Ralph said, “and that Patti’s information was invaluable. She never misses a thing! We always tease her that she should have been a private investigator. Patti was a bit shaken since she and Jack are moving here in January.”
Brett realized that Janice’s claim that a meeting between Jack and Patrick was in the offing made a lot more sense now. The Hartlens were moving to New York City, and for reasons he didn’t know yet, they were apparently retaining the services of Davis, Konen and Wright.
“But Patti won’t be starting any P. I. agency,” Ralph laughed. “She’s planning to continue her philanthropic work with a corporate foundation. She’s been a grant manager with the Houston Endowment.”
“That’s terrific!” John said, beaming. “Brett, maybe Dana can see if the Altman Foundation is looking for someone. I’m sure she’d be glad to help Patti get started.” “Absolutely,” Johnny declared. “Dana also has good contacts around town through her PR work, right Brett?”
Brett felt numb. Dana and Patti working together? Could the scenario get any worse?
“Brett?” It was Johnny who had spoken. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Just a little dehydrated from our squash match. But yes, I’m certain Dana would be glad to help Patti in any way possible. Where are Patti and Jack now?”
“Looking for apartments,” John said, “which is exactly what Johnny and I are going to do after lunch.”
““I’m really glad I got to see all of you,” Brett said, standing, “but I have to run. Dana and I are decorating our Christmas tree later, and I need to get out the decorations and do a few errands. It was great to see everyone. Have a good lunch.”
Brett smiled and left Cipriani’s. Outside, he took a series of deep breaths and tried to calm his nerves. He would need Janice’s help more than ever. Patti, who had been described as observant as a private detective, had already noticed that he and Janice had been shopping together. The Hartlens were presumably retaining the firm, and Dana had been enlisted to help Patti find a job. Brett began walking without purpose, his mind reeling. He would have to give Janice whatever she wanted—and for as long as she wanted it. He desperately needed her protection—the cover story that she was seeing someone. He had previously thought he might escape with a tryst or two with the bohemian blond, but if the Hartlens were going to become part of Brett’s daily routine, he might be at her mercy for much longer.
He regained his composure after several minutes. He would get through it. Children, a house in the country—he would give Dana the life she desired and hope that Janice would tire of New York and leave the firm sooner rather than later.
Meanwhile, he had a special surprise planned for Dana later in the day. She was going to love it. It would be the first of many steps needed to keep home and hearth stable while he was seeing Janice.
Chapter Seventeen
Dana had decided to pick up new decorations for the tree given its distinct character—its shape, color, needles, and fragrance—and returned to her apartment in the afternoon carrying a shopping bag filled with handmade ornaments from the Gazebo. She had found both porcelain and handcrafted wooden pieces representing scenes from A Christmas Carol, as well as lampposts and snow-covered cottages. She’d also discovered delicate crystal figurines that would reflect the miniature lights on the tree. The Concolor fir, with the new ornaments and the red plaid bows, would have an elegant yet old-fashioned look that would be perfectly accented by soft candlelight, swags of garland, and baskets of paperwhites. Dana was relieved that Brett had come to terms with the small tree, and it also bode well for what Dana saw as his emerging adaptability.
She stood in her lobby, waiting for the elevator, when she overheard a couple a few feet to her right.
“Isn’t that scent of oranges sublime?” a woman asked he
r husband.
He nodded. “It is” he said, “Do you think it’s coming from a candle?”
Dana smiled. “I have a Concolor fir in my apartment upstairs,” she said. “I think its aroma may have begun to spread throughout the building. It was cut yesterday at the Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm in Bucks County. Isn’t it amazing how a tree can retain its fragrance for so long once it’s put in a stand with water?”
“So true,” the woman said, touching Dana lightly on the forearm. She took a ballpoint pen from her purse and scribbled “Concolor fir” and “Winterberry” on a page of her day planner. “We’ve wanted to go to Bucks County, and now we have a good reason to do so,” the woman told her husband.
The elevator doors opened and the couple boarded the car, but Dana waved goodbye and moved to the far end of the lobby, where the odor of oranges was the strongest. She and Andrew had brought the tree upstairs using the freight elevator normally used for furniture and large deliveries, and it seemed natural that the odor had lingered throughout the entire service area.
She entered the area and gasped. In a deep rectangular alcove opposite the freight elevator was her five-foot Concolor fir. Some of the branches were bent at odd angles, and a few had broken off completely from what had obviously been rough treatment, as if someone had taken the fir down in the elevator and merely tossed it unceremoniously into the alcove. Bluish-green needles littered the concrete floor, and it was now obvious why the odor of oranges permeated the lobby so thoroughly. The fallen needles and broken branches had allowed the fragrant sap to yield its odor into the air more strongly.
Dana reasoned that Brett surely would not have dumped her tree into the service area, especially after their pointed exchange about the fir the previous evening. He’d even complimented it. There had to have been some mistake. The building engineer had been summoned early that morning to fix a broken light switch on the wall of the library, and Brett had asked him to haul away a few boxes of books that they had decided to donate to charity in order to make room for new additions to the shelves. Maybe the engineer had misheard Brett’s instructions and thought he was supposed to take away the tree as well. It was plausible.
Dana retraced her steps and took the elevator to her apartment, pushing the button for her floor multiple times in frustration. She fumbled for her key, opened the front door, and hurried into the living room. Her heart sank when she saw Brett standing on an extension ladder, decorating a ten-foot tree. The table Andrew had provided was nowhere in sight.
“Isn’t it a beauty!” Brett said proudly. “It’s a Concolor fir, just taller! I called the Winterberry farm this morning to put in a special order and paid a ransom for someone to deliver it by this afternoon. You were right all along, honey. A Concolor fir is the kind of tree I think we should get every year—a new tradition, just like you said.” Brett stepped down from the ladder and surveyed the partially decorated tree. “What do you think?” he asked. “I see you went to the Gazebo. Let me see the new decorations.”
He walked over to Dana and kissed her on the lips. “I am officially in the Christmas spirit today, and it’s all thanks to you.”
Dana was once again moved to tears in the face of her husband’s thoughtless behavior. Brett, however, appeared puzzled.
“I thought you’d be happy, Dana. It’s a Concolor fir! Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m confused.”
“I wanted the small tree!” Dana protested.
“But why? This way, you can have your cake and eat it, too.”
Waves of guilt washed over Brett as he uttered the very words that Janice had used to describe his behavior.
“I want us to be on the same page!” Dana replied, almost yelling. “I’m tired of trying to second guess what you want, when you want it, how much time you have, and what is allocated to us! It would have taken us three hours to go to Bucks County and return with a tree, but that was too much for you to spare, even on a holiday weekend. I guess I should be thankful that you showed up for Thanksgiving dinner! That small tree represented a lovely day that I had with my dearest friends, who are there for me time and time again because you are missing in action. The problem is that you can’t see beyond yourself and what satisfies you at any given moment. Decisions have consequences, and you decided it was my job to get the tree. The tall tree would have been perfect if we selected it yesterday, but today I have my friends’ feelings to consider.”
“Honey, where are you going?” Brett asked as Dana turned on her heels and started to leave without responding to his question.
Dana rode the elevator down to the basement and knocked on the door of the building engineer.
“Hi, Mrs. McGarry,” said a tall man carrying more than a few extra pounds around his waist. “What can I do for you?”
The engineer was in his early fifties and had bushy eyebrows and a thick brown mustache. His tool belt clanged whenever he moved.
“Mr. Janowski, I hate to ask you to help us out twice in one day, but there’s a small Christmas tree next to the freight elevator that got thrown out by mistake. I was wondering if you could bring it up to my apartment.”
“Give me ten minutes and that tree will be back upstairs,” Mr. Janowski said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Dana said. “I’ll be waiting.”
When Dana returned to the apartment, Brett had already left, leaving the ten-foot tree partially decorated.
Mr. Janowski arrived within minutes, holding the smaller Concolor fir by one hand. To the building engineer, carrying the tree was as easy as lifting a potted plant.
“Nice little tree you got here,” he said. “Love that smell of oranges.”
Dana had the engineer carry the table from B. Altman to the library and then set the tree into a stand and place it on the Fortuny cloth.
“Thanks again, Mr. Janowski,” Dana said, giving her helper a five-dollar tip. “You’re the best.”
“Anytime, Mrs. McGarry,” he said, leaving the apartment as his tool belt jangled.
Dana decided to decorate the five-foot fir herself, but first she slumped onto the sofa with Wills, who was also clearly upset, and cried for half an hour. She felt conflicted, torn. Was Brett, in his own clumsy way, trying to make amends for years of increasing neglect? Walking home from work on Friday evening, she’d sensed that big changes in her life were in the offing, but not necessarily changes for the better. And then everything had shifted with Brett’s tender side suddenly coming to the forefront. New hope had coursed through her veins. She still wanted to give her husband the benefit of the doubt. After all, how much could a man change in just a few hours? He could have gone to any lot in the city to select a replacement tree, but he’d ordered the kind of tree she wanted from Winterberry Christmas Tree Farm and paid dearly to have it delivered. Yes, he was trying. Thinking of weekend homes and children was all well and good, but she had to take one day at a time. The old saying was true: a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Brett had indeed taken that step.
Dana started decorating the small tree, realizing that her head needed to be clear for work on the following day. An entirely different set of challenges awaited her at B. Altman, and if she were going to be effective at her job, she needed to trust that her relationship with Brett had at least experienced some movement in the past three days.
She also would be joining Rosamond Bernier at the after-party Tuesday night, and she thought of Nina’s words yet again: we know what a determined woman can accomplish, don’t we? She would need to be focused. It was almost 1975, International Women’s Year. If she wanted to live up to the expectations of women like Nina Bramen, she would have to rise to the occasion. If Nina could navigate exotic bazaars in the Himalayas, she could handle a teen contest.
• • •
Brett was angry and his breathing was shallow as he made his way to the street and, as he’d done the previous evening, walked along the sidewalk to gather his thoughts. He had tried to please Dana. He’d found t
he perfect compromise by getting a taller version of the tree she wanted, but she was not only ungrateful but downright angry, worried more about her friends’ feelings than his. Maybe she was the one who didn’t have her priorities straight.
He quickened his pace to release pent-up energy. He wanted to preserve his marriage, and by his way of thinking, he’d made several concessions in the past few days. But he was only human. Dana was acting childishly, as if going to Bucks County to get a Christmas tree was a sign of true love.
He spotted a pay telephone up ahead and fished in his pocket for two nickels. He dropped the coins into the slot and dialed Janice’s number. When she answered, Brett outlined what the two would be doing in the coming week at Davis, Konen and Wright.
“Sure,” Janice said, “but I already know all of that, and you’re calling from a payphone. I can hear traffic in the background. Why are you calling? Do you want to come over?”
“Yes. I mean no—I can’t come over now. I’m just not in a very good mood.”
“Let me guess. You and Dana had a spat.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He proceeded to relate the fight he’d had with Dana in the living room a few minutes earlier. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Are you still there?” he asked.
“Still here,” Janice replied thoughtfully. “This is exactly what I’ve been talking about. These customs you two have are ridiculous. This is all over the size of a Christmas tree? Frankly, I think you’re both a couple of spoiled brats. You’re so busy talking about life and the precious little baubles it should contain that you never ever bother to really live any kind of life.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said a tentative Brett.
“Of course I’m right. Plan on coming back to my apartment when we have some spare time this week.”
