Chapter Twenty-four
GARDENIA TRUST, read the polished plaque on their wooden door, and Jake powered through into the office. He tried to look and act the way he always did, but he was sweating under his suit jacket. He was on fire after reading those texts and he knew it had to show. He strode through the empty reception area, with its sky-blue patterned couch, walnut end tables, and brass lamps, and it was the first time in his career he’d been happy there were no clients.
Jake plastered on a smile as he approached the reception desk. Debbie Tarkington had been with him since she graduated from community college, and her unflappable nature made her the perfect choice for the front desk. Not all of Jake’s clients were easy to get along with, and he knew that money didn’t guarantee good judgment, starting with the man in the mirror.
“Jake, hi.” Debbie smiled, a welcoming grin that creased her pretty face. She was African-American and had large eyes and short hair, which she wore natural. She handed him a packet of pink phone messages. “Here’s your calls. Everything go okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” Jake thumbed through his phone messages, to avoid meeting her eye. He hadn’t explained where he was going when he’d left, which he knew was unusual. “Sorry I ran out. I had to take care of a few things for Ryan. He was sick this weekend, but he went to school today.”
“I hope he feels better. By the way, Martin wants to see you and so does Ramon. They both said it was important, so you can pick your poison.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jake didn’t have time to talk to either of them. Martin Niemeyer and Ramon Ramirez were two of his best portfolio managers, but they would have to wait. “I’m not taking calls this afternoon. I don’t need interruptions.”
“Gotcha. Also there’s leftover pizza in the coffee room.”
“Thanks.” Jake walked down the hall just as Martin popped out of his office and came striding down the long hallway toward him. A bright young refugee from Lehman Brothers, Martin still looked very Wall Street, with his moussed brown hair, frameless Swiss glasses, and charcoal pinstriped suit.
“Jake,” Martin called out, in his characteristic bark. “We need to talk about Disney. I’d like to buy a block for Bob Cadison and I need to—”
“Martin, do whatever you think is right.” Jake patted him on the shoulder and kept walking down the long hall, which ended in his office. “I can’t talk now.”
“But you know how he is. He second-guesses every pick, even Disney.”
“Then call and explain it to him.”
“I know, I know,” Martin called after him, wearily. “Like you always say, ‘It’s his money, not mine.’”
“Right.” Jake cringed, inwardly. He kept going toward his office when he saw Ramon lumbering down the hallway on the right, an unmistakable figure because the man was built like a refrigerator. Ramon had played right tackle at Harvard and still managed to graduate at the top of his class, the antithesis of the dumb jock.
“Boss man!” Ramon called out, with a broad smile. His silk tie flew as he walked and his white shirt and dark suit pants strained at the seams because he was so supersized. “You didn’t answer my email.”
“Sorry, but I can’t talk now.” Jake couldn’t remember the last time he checked his email. He reached Amy’s desk at the same time that Ramon did.
“I know, but I need your okay on the Shamir trust. Remember, for the kids? I sent you an email about it.”
“Ramon, sorry, I didn’t get a chance to look at it. You decide. I’m wall-to-wall this afternoon.”
“Appreciate the confidence.” Ramon clapped him on the back, then went back down the hall, and Amy looked up worriedly.
“Jake, how’s Ryan? Is he feeling better?”
“Yes.” Jake had mumbled something before he left about Ryan’s not feeling well. “He thought he might want to come home from school, but he decided to stick it out.”
“Good, Pam was worried.”
Jake hid his surprise. “Pam?”
“Yes, she called here. She said she called your cell, but you didn’t answer and she needed to talk to you.”
“Oh damn.” Jake remembered the phone calls that had come in when he was with Ryan. He had forgotten about them, completely preoccupied on the way back to the office. He reached into his breast pocket, slid out his phone, and saw the screen banner that showed two missed calls from Pam.
Amy blinked under her dark curls. “She said call her back as soon as you get a chance.”
Jake was in real trouble, because he’d have to explain what was going on with Ryan. “I’ll call her right back. Will you hold my calls for the afternoon? I really need to focus.”
“But you and Ramon have an appointment at 3:30 with the Marchman Group, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Jake had forgotten that, too. The Marchman Group was one of his corporate clients, and he needed to see them, but this was no time to meet with anybody. “Do me a favor and cancel it. Apologize profusely. I have a ton of work and I didn’t get enough done this weekend.”
“Gotcha.” Amy picked up the phone, and Jake hurried into his office and closed the door behind him. He hustled to his desk, woke up his computer, and logged onto his bank program, then he called Pam, multitasking.
“Honey?” Pam said when the call connected. “What’s going on? You went to school? Is Ryan okay?”
“Yes. Sorry I missed your call.” Jake watched their accounts pop onto the computer screen.
“So what’s going on?”
“He was queasy again after lunch and he thought he might want to come home.” Jake knew that Pam’s real question was why Ryan had called him, not her. It was unprecedented in their family history, so Jake knew he had to address it up front. “He didn’t want to bother you, so he called me.”
“He could have called me. It’s no bother, he knows that.”
Jake had to think of something to help the story. “He heard us talking in your office last night, about your nomination and all the work you have to do, the questionnaires and everything. He tried to cut you a break.”
Pam moaned. “I want him to feel like he can still call me, though. He’s my priority, no matter what. I mean, how much longer do I even have with him? I’ll call him after school and tell him—”
“Don’t honey. This is the way we want it to be, right?” Jake fell back on his default, best-defense is a good offense. “Ryan is learning that he can lean on me sometimes, too. Like we said in therapy, you want him to know he can turn to me. Don’t call him and make him feel like it’s strange. You’re relegating me to the junior varsity.”
“Sorry, I know, you’re right.” Pam sounded convinced, if miserable. “So what did you two decide? Is he at home or at school?”
“We decided together that he was feeling well enough to finish school and go to practice.”
“So did he miss class?”
“No, we met during lunch, we talked, and he went to Western Civ on time.”
“Well, aren’t you guys so smart?” Pam still sounded unhappy. “He has a test today, and it’s a bitch to make them up. He’ll never have the time, and the makeup tests are always harder. Well done.”
“Thanks,” Jake said, as if he could take pleasure in any decision he’d made recently.
“I tried to call him but he doesn’t answer his phone. I know it’s probably in his locker, but I wanted to leave him a message telling him that I was thinking of him. But he hasn’t called me back yet.”
“I’m sure he will when he can.” Jake flashed on Ryan breaking his phone on the dashboard. “In the meantime, we handled it together, just fine. Now. What did you call me about?”
“Bad news. My questionnaire has to be finished by Wednesday now, because we have to get an accountant to look it over before I turn it in. I already have a call in to Ellen.”
“Why can’t I do it?” Jake had to buy time and the last thing he needed was their accountant Ellen poking around. “I’m an accountant, we don’t need another one.”
“Michael thinks we need to have an independent accountant review everything. He thinks it would help if Ellen wrote us a letter, too.”
“A letter saying what?”
“That our finances are in order, like an official stamp of approval.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Jake, it’s just window dressing.”
“We don’t need it. I’m as official as it comes, I do our taxes. All Ellen has to do is sign her name to the return.”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape, honey. We might be gilding the lily, but if it helps me get nominated, why not? The issue isn’t the accuracy of our record-keeping, but whether we’re up to shenanigans.”
Jake shuddered.
“You can’t give a stamp of approval to your own bookkeeping or tax returns. It has to come from someone independent. If it’s too much work, Ellen can do everything. Is that better for you?”
“No, I want to do it,” Jake answered quickly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get the papers together and have them FedExed to Ellen for Wednesday morning. All she’ll have to do is write her phony-baloney letter, okay?”
“That would be great, thanks. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Talk later. I’ll be home late tonight. The powers-that-be want to powwow about the nomination. Can you deal with dinner for Ryan?”
“Sure, take care,” Jake said, hanging up. He found himself staring at their online bank account, which had logged him out. He had to pay the blackmail or Deaner would keep torturing Ryan.
Jake sweated under his jacket, thinking about that check in the safe.