"How do you know that I'm working with angel investors?"
"I looked it up online. I saw your profile under Minerva & Fields, the company that other startups have to apply to in order to be featured for angel investing. I know that you want to grow this company into something special, something big, and I want to help you. I want to learn the ins and outs of everything. That's why I'm here. That's why I applied."
"What about your journalism degree?"
"That's when I realized that I want to start a company myself, focusing on news, journalism, think pieces, investigative kind of stuff. But, nowadays, you need startup investors for just about anything, and so I thought that it could be a good project for Silicon Valley."
"I see."
He takes another sip of his coffee, looking up at the ceiling, with its intricate modernist design.
There are ninety-degree angles everywhere. Not one thing in his office makes me feel comfortable or at ease, but on the surface, I know that I belong.
"Okay, I appreciate you telling the truth," Vasko says. After the quick inhale, he stands up. "I'll be in touch."
I nod.
"I'm working late tonight. I expect you to stay, as well."
I nod, suddenly feeling a little bit uneasy. I guess he sensed that.
"You did say that you want to learn about how I run this company. Well, I'm going to have a phone call with our investors later on this afternoon, after happy hour. If you want to find out more, and you want to help me with anything, be there. If you don't, you're free to leave. No hard feelings."
"I'll be there." I nod and walk out, thankful for the fact that I'm wearing a jacket, because otherwise, all of my sweat would be completely visible.
30
Jacqueline
The following week proceeds just like the one before. I talk to my mom. She's recovering and making new friends and as chipper as ever. Work keeps me busy. The hours that Vasko puts in are long and treacherous. Most of the time, I have lunch by myself in the library across the street, just to be somewhere quiet, alone with my thoughts and my food.
I've never liked having lunch with others. I always found it a little bit distracting and difficult to focus on.
On this particular lunch break, the following Thursday afternoon, I get a call from Allison. She's still in a full-fledged love affair with her Hamptons boyfriend, Richard. She couldn't be happier. She has started slacking off from work, but when he asked her to move in with him, she has practically given it up altogether.
"So do you still work there or not?" I ask.
"Well, I think I'm just going to find another place to work."
"What are you talking about?" I ask while we FaceTime.
I have to leave my nook in the library and head outside, because the librarian has hushed me more than a few times already this week. Luckily, it's not raining, and the weather is only slightly overcast, but still relatively warm.
"You worked so hard to get that job. You're just going to give it all up, for some guy?"
"No, I didn't say that," she says, chomping down on a hamburger right in front of me.
I have only brought a salad, and I'm going to try my hardest to not eat anything for three hours after lunch.
Ever since Dante and I broke up, I have avoided the scale, and then stepped on it last week and discovered that I had managed to gain twelve pounds.
I'm horrified, terrified is more like it. I had about twenty pounds to lose to be at a comfortable weight before, but now I'm well over that. I hate the way I feel, and I know that I should love my body, no matter what, and I do, because I'm healthy and everything works just as it should. But I just hate myself for all the snacking that I can't bring myself to stop doing.
"You look nice today," Allison says, taking another bite.
"Look, you know I've had trouble at work for a while. My boss is insufferable. I'm way underpaid for the amount of work that I do, and Richard, well, he's a multi-multi-multimillionaire. And so he doesn't really understand why I should do a job that I don't want to do. If he could just write me a check for everything that I make in a year and call it a day."
"I know that's tempting, but you have to realize that that way, you're going to be at his beck and call."
"But I want to be there. I love him."
"I know, but what's going to happen in another year? What happens if you break up? You're just going to be dependent on him for money."
"I know. That's why I'm going to look for a job. I put in my two weeks notice and I'm going to resign and try to find something better in marketing."
"In town?" I ask skeptically, raising one eyebrow. "That's very unlikely. You know that as much as I do. That's one of the best places to work. And the reason why you have to work all this out is because it's such a prestigious position. After that, you can do anything. Hell, the person before you worked on the team for one of the Super Bowl ads."
"Yeah, I know.” She bites the inside of her cheek. "But the thing is that advertising is not... all I thought it would be. I guess I watched too many movies from the eighties and nineties and… you remember how everyone used to work in advertising?"
"I do. And all the journalists somehow could afford all of those spacious two-bedroom apartments in New York. That’s just movies. It’s not reality. And I know that you have this fabulous love affair, but he doesn't exactly have the best track record."
"I'm in the longest relationship he's ever been in,” she says.
I shake my head.
"It's not good, Allison. I know you feel for him and you love him, but I want you to watch out for yourself. Women get fucked over with this all the time. You need to... get another job. Needs to be something career focused. You can't just be in the Hamptons and put everything in your life on hold for him. What if it doesn’t work out?”
She crinkles her eyebrows and I realize that I’ve gone too far.
"What about you? You're a secretary in Seattle, for a microprocessing firm. What the hell are you doing there? You have a master's degree in journalism."
Allison’s words hit me like a punch to the gut. She's right, of course.
"This isn't what it seems," I say, and I immediately regret it. I have to keep this a secret, but at the same time, I have to talk to someone. "I'm doing this for Dante," I add quietly.
"You're doing it for Dante?" She leans closer to the screen. "What are you talking about?"
"We broke up. He arranged for me to get this position. I needed a job."
"You don't need a paying job. I mean, is it paying you over six figures or something?"
"No.” I shake my head.
"Okay. If I tell you this, you have to promise not to say a word."
She nods enthusiastically. Putting the phone down for a second, face up, she places a rubber band into her mouth, collects her hair on top of her head, and ties it into a high ponytail.
"Okay, so Dante worked for this company where he represents a lot of investors,” I begin. “He represents angel investors and meets with companies to see if they’re worth investing in. When he did the interview with the guy I’m working with now, Vasko, and looked at their financials, Dante didn’t want to invest a penny. But his boss practically insisted on it. He had no choice. So he got this idea that he could try to get me a job with the company working directly under the CEO, as the administrative assistant, to try to find some dirt on what they’re really up to."
"So, you applied? Got the job?”
"Yeah, I did. That's why I'm here."
"Why did you take it after you broke up?"
"Because... I don't know. It just seemed like a nice thing to do. Besides, it's not like I had any other positions out there. The pay is pretty good. I have a cheap apartment that's crappy and smells, but I'm saving a lot of money. So, for the first time ever, I actually have savings, and I'm doing this undercover journalistic thing and I'm able to find out what he's really up to then write an article, submit it to all the big newspapers, news magazines out there. Th
is is my chance.”
“You’ll get a story, and a way to get back Dante, of course." Her statement catches me by surprise. And I look away knowing that she's telling me the truth. "See? You're just like me."
"But Dante and I aren't together, okay? This is just going to make sense for me. I can apply for other work... In half a year. If this turns out to be nothing, or when I'm done with this. What about you? You just give up your position and you don't try to find something else right away. They're going to have questions for you."
“Who?" she asks.
"Human Resources. They're going to want to know what you did for half a year, or a year. Hanging out in your boyfriend's beach house is not going to be a good answer."
"Okay, okay. I'll think about it,” Allison caves.
"Please do.” I nod.
My phone rings. When I look at the screen, I see that it's Sergeant Mallory. "I have to go. I have to take this call," I say and click Accept.
31
Dante
After checking thoroughly for bugs, any listening devices whatsoever, we get undressed in front of each other to show that we are completely clean. This is the only way to do it. Anyone else in our situation would probably shy away from this step, but you either do this or you forever have doubts and you keep everything to yourself.
Lincoln has a six pack that makes me a little bit jealous because I've been playing into a few too many potato chips recently, but it is really my father's body that takes me by surprise. I haven't seen him shirtless for years, not since I was a child, but his body looks like it belongs to a man who is twenty years younger.
There’s something else that catches my eye: the scars around his lower stomach are so fresh. It's almost as if he had recently been stabbed.
After we get re-dressed, Dad immediately goes to the minibar to pour us all three glasses of scotch, without bothering to ask if we want anything else.
I remember there was a similar situation all those years ago when I was fourteen, when he took us boating and fishing out in Chesapeake Bay. He talked about life a lot on that trip and many years later when I found out what it was that he really did for a living, I thought back to that boat trip.
He took us on that boat trip because he didn’t think he would make it through the weekend and that’s probably why we’re here now as well.
"Well, you boys look good," Dad says, raising his scotch on the rocks and taking a big generous gulp.
He poured my first drink on that boat. Same similar size tumbler, similar lavish amount of scotch, way too much for a teenager. But I guess if you're a father and you think this is going to be the last time you ever have a drink, you want to be able to have it with your sons, doesn't matter how old they are.
There's a couch across from the huge television and two swivel chairs on either side framing the coffee table. Dad takes the couch, Lincoln and I position ourselves across from each other and the chairs. When I sit on mine, I practically melt into it. It's so soft and rubbery, not at all as exclusive and fabulous as it seems on the outside.
Dad flips on the Discovery Channel and a nature show about bugs is on. This is a rarity since that has become something of a reality freak show. My dad has always liked the natural world, observing it from afar, not having pets in real life. No, that would be too personal and that would make him too involved with someone other than himself.
We drink in silence, and our eyes meet and then separate in that casual kind of way.
"I need your help, boys,” Dad says, putting the tumbler down on a coaster and spreading his arms out wide on the back of the couch.
"With what?" Lincoln prompts him. I keep my mouth shut. I have no interest in this.
"I've already done my bid, I've already killed a lot more people than I've ever thought that I would. I'm not taking any more lives," I say just as he opens his mouth.
Dad's eyes meet mine.
“But you’re so good at it."
"I'm tired of being a hitman. There's more to my life than that. Constantly hiding, pretending to live this other life, no, I'm done. I did the last job and Lincoln owes me the money that he promised me. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here,” I say, almost rising to my feet.
"Relax," Dad stops me, using his casual charming voice. "This isn't a hit, this is something else."
Lincoln moves closer. I can tell that he's intrigued. His life in the suburbs has gotten a little bit too boring and he needs a distraction.
Lincoln likes to play with fire. I think he needs to get back to his wife and think, and kiss her feet for being the wonderful woman that she is and pray to God that she never finds out about any of his indiscretions, his sexual ones being the least of his concerns.
"There's a rare book that I need and the two of you are just the kind of experienced thieves who can get it for me."
"What about you?" I say, sitting back in my chair. It makes a comical squishy sound every time I move and I wish that I could sit on a hard, unrelenting bench instead. The less comfortable, the better.
"What kind of rare book?" Lincoln asks.
"It's located in Montauk, not too far from your mother's home in the Hamptons."
We all know where Montauk is. It's on the tip of Long Island, windswept and not as fabulous and full of parties as the Hamptons is, but nevertheless, charming and beautiful.
"There's a wealthy rare book collector who lives there."
"Isn't it too salty for rare books to live someplace right on the water like that?" I ask.
I don't know much about books as objects, but I do know that they have to be held in humidity controlled environments, that is if you want them to last.
“It’s being held in an average $2 million home, nothing too extravagant. You’d never know from the outside, but there’s a secret basement with a trap door and that’s where this man has a collection of books worth millions and millions of dollars. This one in particular that is so rare, that few people even believe that it exists, but I know that it does."
"How?" I ask, leaning forward.
"Let me keep that to myself for now. If you go ahead with this job, I will tell you everything, but for now I have to hold my cards close to my chest." "Why do you need this book?" I challenge him with another question.
"It's worth $10 million, maybe more, maybe a lot more. It's priceless since very few people know of its existence."
“So, what good is it to you?" I ask.
"It will solve all of my problems. Let's just put it that way," Dad says, being as cryptic as ever.
I need to know the answers to all of these questions, but I know my father; he won't share a thing he doesn’t want to.
"Why do you need us?" I press. "Why can't you just do this on your own?"
Dad hesitates and the arrogant expression on his face fades a little bit, or perhaps just morphs into something I haven't seen before. His eyes narrow on mine and he nervously brushes his fingers through his hair, in that way teenagers do when they're trying to buy extra time to answer a particularly difficult question.
"It seems that after all of this time, my life is in danger, boys, and you're the only ones that can help me."
32
Dante
I stare at my father. I want to hear where he's going with all of this, but I also know that he's quite good at making up lies and making people around him hear what they want to hear.
But something is different now, he seems frail almost… lost. Those scars on his stomach had to come from somewhere.
I take a gulp of the scotch, get up and walk around the room, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.
"Tell us what's going on, Dad," I say, starting to feel frustrated.
I crack my knuckles and clench my jaw. I feel irritated and annoyed all at once. I don't want to be here. The last thing I want to do is help him but something is different.
He has never asked for my help this way before.
"You need to give him time.” Lincoln walks u
p to me and whispers into my ear. "You know that this must be hard for him. He can't just ask for help; that's not in his personality."
And yet, it is.
I pour myself another scotch and I decide to hear him out. It's not that I don't have a choice, it's that I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. If this is something that he needs time to tell me about then fine, I'm here, but I'm only going to wait as long as I'm in this hotel room.
"What do you need us to get from that house in Montauk?" I say, walking back to the couch and sitting down.
This time I sit on the couch next to him and narrow my eyes.
"What do you need and why can't you get someone else to do it for you?"
"This book is very valuable," Dad says.
"No more dancing around," I snap. "You tell me the truth. You tell me what's going on, or I'm not going to be here much longer."
He bites his lower lip, adjusts his collar, and then nods.
"That's fair," he says, "but what I tell you cannot leave this room and you have to promise to do it."
"I'm not promising anything and I'm not participating in anything without knowing what it is first,” I snap. "I have done too many deals for you already."
"Have any of them gotten you in trouble? Have any of them actually hurt you in any way?” he snaps.
"I have blood on my hands," I say in a low voice, slightly below my speaking voice, but not exactly in a whisper. "I did unspeakable things to people on your behalf because you asked me, because you're my father. Maybe you don't realize that. If you don't think that that has had an impact on who I am as a person, then you don't know the first thing about being human."
"They were all bad people, Dante," Dad snaps and stands up in a huff. "They were terrible, terrible people and they deserved what was coming to them."
"Were they all that bad? I mean, I know that this recent case involved someone who defrauded a lot of elderly people, but death? You sentenced him to death! No trial, no jury, no judge… just you. Is that okay?"
Dark Sins Page 14
