Chapter Twenty-two
“What the hell is this about?” Jake folded his arms, standing against the windows while Deaner’s light blue eyes flitted around, taking in the glass desktops, watercolors pressed between glass panes, and crystal awards. It struck Jake for the first time that almost everything in his office was breakable.
“Jake, you should ask me to sit down.” Deaner met his gaze coolly. “Isn’t that what you do with clients?”
“You’re not a client. Tell me why you’re here.”
“Then what am I? Or more accurately, what are we going to tell your employees I am?” Deaner spoke quietly, and his tone was reasonable. He had several fine lines in his forehead, so he must have been older than Jake had thought at the game, maybe in his fifties. “Because if Amy doesn’t think I’m a client, you’re going to have to explain who I am and why I’m here. Unless you want me to.”
“Sit down, then.” Jake hated that Deaner knew Amy’s name. He must have gotten it off the website.
“You should sit opposite me, shouldn’t you? Play your part, Mr. Financial Planner.” Deaner unzipped his parka, and lowered himself into the chair.
“Tell me what’s this all about.” Jake stood his ground, behind the chair.
“Shouldn’t I look like I’m taking notes? That’s what clients do when you talk, isn’t it, Jake? They write down what you say?” Deaner slid a pad and pen from the center of the table, wrote something, and flipped it around to show it to Jake. It read, Go, Ryan, go!
Jake’s heart thudded in his chest. “Why are you here? Who are you? What’s your real name?”
Deaner didn’t reply, but set down the pad and picked up the Gardenia promotional folder. He slid out a brochure, which had a photo of Jake in shirtsleeves, smiling confidently. “Nice tie.”
“Answer my question.”
“Slick materials. Very upmarket.” Deaner waved the brochure. “No one would ever guess where you and Ryan were Friday night.”
Jake froze. He forced himself to stay in control. Not to confirm or deny. Deaner could be bluffing, or he could be an undercover cop or a private investigator, even wearing a wire.
“Now, sit down. You’ll need to.”
Jake lowered himself into the chair. His chest tight, his mouth dry.
“I figure you make almost a million bucks a year.” Deaner set the Gardenia folder aside. “Your house is probably worth about $550K, and I bet it’s paid off. You’re not a flashy guy. You live below your means. You’re cheap, which means you have a ton of dough in savings, pension plan, 401(k), college fund for Ryan. I’m guessing almost a million, and you trade your own account. You’re trying to grow it. How’m I doing?”
“Get to the point.”
“Fine. I know what happened Friday night.” Deaner pushed up his glasses with a finger that had a bitten-off nail. “Ryan was driving your car and he hit the jogger. You both got out of the car. You switched seats with him and drove away.”
Jake felt his world explode around him. The glass tops, the crystal awards, the massive windows. Shards of glass flew everywhere. He didn’t know how he could put it back together again. It was all gone, falling away, shooting through space.
“Yes, I know it all. I saw it. You threw yourself on the sword for your son, good for you. Dad.”
Jake struggled for self-control. The worst-case scenario had just gotten worse.
“What was it that Ryan had in his hand? You were about to call the cops, after all. I heard you yelling.”
Jake reeled. He had no idea how Deaner had seen or heard them. The apartment complex, the corporate center. Somewhere, somehow.
“You gave her CPR. Was she dead when you left her, or did you leave her to die?” Deaner shook his head. “You’re not a monster, right? You’re basically a decent guy, but you slipped up. Hey, it happens.”
Jake didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Emotion churned in his gut. Inwardly he raged at Deaner, then at himself. It was his own actions that brought him to this point. But he had to shift into damage control or all was lost.
“You’re wondering if I have proof, and I do. Take a look-see.” Deaner reached inside his parka, pulled out an iPhone, hit a few buttons, and showed the screen.
Jake almost gasped. The photo was an enlargement of Ryan and him at the accident scene, in front of the headlights, their faces grainy but visible. The photo was dark, but Deaner must have enhanced it somehow.
“But wait, there’s more, as they say.” Deaner took the phone back, then swiped the screen a few times. “Let me show you the video. The parting shot, as it were. Here.” Deaner held the phone up, and the video started.
Jake watched himself kneeling in front of the body, then running to Ryan and saying something, and the both of them hustling to the car.
Deaner half-smiled. “The audio isn’t great but I can fix that, and I will, if I have to. So can the cops. Wait for the last shot. It’s priceless.”
Jake watched the last shot, which was a close-up of his own license plate, taken as the Audi receded down Pike Road. The video ended, the screen froze, and a white arrow ghosted over the darkness of night.
“The End.” Deaner emitted a dry laugh.
“Where did you get that?” Jake asked, finding his voice. He had a million questions.
“None of your business.”
“Do you live in those apartments near Pike Road? Or do you work at the corporate center?”
“None of your business.”
“Who are you? What do you do?” Jake’s face felt hot and damp. He told himself to get a grip but couldn’t.
“I told you.”
“You lied. Why were you there that night? What were you doing?”
“Who said I was there?”
Jake recoiled, confused. “You said. You said you saw what happened.”
“I meant on the video.”
“So if you didn’t take the video or the photos, who did? How did you get them? Who gave them to you?”
“Also not your business.”
“How did you find me? Did you follow me that night? Was it from the license plate?”
“Now to my point, as you put it.” Deaner put the iPhone back into his pocket. “I’ll go to the police tomorrow unless you wire $250,000 to this account by eleven o’clock.”
“So you’re blackmailing me.” Jake felt the blood drain from his face. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Obviously.” Deaner slipped his hand into his other pocket and extracted a yellow Post-it packet, then tore one off the top and pressed it onto the glass tabletop. “This is the bank you wire it to.”
“You want me to wire blackmail money to a bank account?”
“It’s offshore, a numbered account. Not that hard to set up, interestingly. When I get the confirmation that the wire transfer went through, I’ll send you the video and pictures.”
Jake’s mind raced. He didn’t know how to react. He couldn’t process it fast enough. “You won’t go to the police.”
“Try me.”
“I’ll bring you down with me.” Jake knew the best defense was a good offense.
“No you won’t. You’ll have no credibility. You’ll only make it worse for your wife and son. Bigger news, bigger headlines. Scandal. Yikes.”
Jake’s stomach turned over. Deaner knew about Pam, too. He had no leverage, not a card to play. “How do I know that if I pay you, this is where it ends? Or that whoever took the video won’t want to get paid, too?”
“You don’t.”
“Plus it’s a digital file. You have other copies. How do I know you’ll give me all of them?”
“Again, you don’t. You don’t know anything.” Deaner shifted back his chair, getting ready to leave. “You only know what happens if I don’t get paid. A world of pain for your son.”
“But I can’t get that much money that fast.”
“We both know you can. You have the dough. Liquidate stocks in no time. Cash one of those client’s checks you must have lying around. You’re a financial planner, so plan some finances.” Deaner stood up and crossed to the door. “You have until eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
“I can’t do that.” Jake felt his blood pressure rise, pounding at his temples. “I’d never do that. I never have. It doesn’t work that way, anyway.”
“I don’t think you’re taking me seriously, Jake. Good-bye.” Deaner opened the door and said loudly, “Thanks so much for the meeting. I’ll be in touch.”
Jake watched him walk down the hall and nod good-bye to Amy, who got up from her chair and came over.
“Who was that guy?” she asked, blinking.
“A possible new client. I met him at Ryan’s game.”
“Did you sign him? Should I send him some papers and open up a file?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t look so worried, Jake. You’ll reel him in, sooner or later. You always do.” Amy smiled under her headful of curls, and Jake could barely manage to smile back.
“Thanks.”
“Funny, I never would’ve pegged that guy for having money, and my paydar is pretty good.”
“Paydar?”
“Yeah. Like gaydar, only with dough. I can usually pick ’em, even when they dress down. But that guy fooled me.”
“Gotta get back to work.” Jake went back into his office, where he closed the door and hurried to his desk. He got online, went to the website for his bank, and signed in to check his accounts. Interest Checking, Savings, and Money Market, read the blue virtual folders, and he thought back to what Pam had said last night, about the financial disclosure required for her nomination.
It’s like doing your taxes, every quarter for the next five years!
Jake leaned over to get his messenger bag, tugged out the forms that Pam had given him, and flipped through them frantically. The questionnaire asked for the “sources and amounts of all income received during the calendar year preceding your nomination and for the current calendar year, including all salaries, fees, dividends, interest, gifts, rents, royalties, licensee’s fees…”
Jake couldn’t see any way around the questionnaire. Even if he wanted to pay the blackmail, he couldn’t take $250K out of their accounts without its showing, and if the money didn’t appear in another account, canceled check, or trade receipt, the FBI would find out. They would get caught. It would scuttle Pam’s nomination, if not send them both to jail.
Jake tried to think, his temples throbbing. Even before the FBI would find it, he knew Pam would. She was always going online and checking their household balances. She might not check the money market, but he couldn’t take the risk.
Cash one of those client’s checks you must have lying around.
Jake’s gaze traveled the office and came to rest on the crystal awards. He’d gotten a check for $321K from one of his longtime clients last week. It was still in the company safe, waiting to be deposited because it had come in too late on Friday. It was due to be deposited today. He racked his brain to think of a way he could use the check, borrow the $250K, and replace it later, somehow, after the FBI interviews were over and Pam’s judgeship was in the clear.
Jake stopped his thinking in its tracks. Was he seriously thinking about stealing? He couldn’t, ever. He loved his clients, and he loved Gardenia. It was his baby, he’d raised it from infancy. He had personal integrity; he had morals and pride. He’d worked hard to gain the trust of his clients, and he had a spotless, unimpeachable record. He was a Good Guy, so when had he turned bad? Then he knew the answer, on Pike Road.
Jake considered another option. He could try to stall Deaner until after the FBI interviews. Then he could take the money from his personal money market and replace it before Pam realized it had gone missing, or he could sell some stock, which she checked far less often. Suddenly his cell phone started ringing on his desk, vibrating next to his keyboard.
Jake looked over, and the call was from Ryan. The screen showed a candid photo of his son, grinning on their driveway with a basketball tucked in the crook of his elbow. Jake reached for his phone and hit ANSWER. “Hey, pal, what’s up?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
“Dad!” Ryan sounded hysterical. “Dad! You need to come get me at school, now!”