“How much money are we talking about?”
“So far, we’ve paid out eight hundred and seventy dollars in claims, but we know there’s more. I wonder how many people were ripped off and just blindly paid without checking their statements.”
“Has Matheson ever been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before?”
“He’s clean. In fact he’s a damn good manager… What do you want me to do with them?”
“Haul both of them in here tomorrow morning. I’ll talk to them.”
CHAPTER 53
New York. Monday, April 2, 1990.
Visconti lifted his left arm to glance at his Rolex. It was exactly twelve noon. Adorned in his new cream colored light suit, he paced in the dour reception area of Iacardi & Sons. A white buttoned-down Polo shirt and navy blue silk tie completed his ensemble. To make the occasion of his first date with Kerri memorable, he had rented a long white Mercedes limousine. He had also made reservations for a table for two, downstairs, along the left wall, at 21, an ultra-expensive chic restaurant on 52nd Street.
Kerri appeared in the doorway seconds later. In spite of her private denials about her interest in Visconti, she too had dressed for the occasion. She wore a pleated white skirt, black blazer and pale pink silk blouse. “Hi,” she said with a big smile.
“You look fantastic!” Visconti declared, anxiously looking forward to entering the restaurant with her holding his arm, to experience the rush of having people interrupt their conversations to gaze at him and his incredibly attractive companion. “You still want to do this?” he asked, smiling and reaching for her hand.
“Sure. Where to?”
“It’s a surprise. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I like surprises.”
“Then let’s go. Our chariot awaits.”
Visconti put on his sunglasses when he emerged from the building into the warm sunshine. The chauffeur, a sophisticated elderly gentleman, dressed in a tuxedo and standing at attention, opened the rear door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Visconti,” he said, continuing to look straight ahead.
Kerri stared at the long white Mercedes, then turned to face Visconti. “I feel like royalty. Is it yours?”
Visconti chuckled. “I rented it for the occasion. It turns into a pumpkin at three.”
“Three! I’ll be fired if I’m gone that long.”
“You’ve been cleared. I phoned Miles this morning and told him you would be late.”
“He agreed?”
“How could he refuse? I’m one of his biggest clients. He even offered to pay for lunch.”
“Did you accept?”
“No. I wanted to do this on my own, for more reasons than you could imagine. One of them is to atone for my indiscretion.” Visconti winked and extended his left hand in the direction of the limousine. “After you, my dear.”
Kerri climbed in and Visconti followed. Kerri, unaccustomed to any form of luxurious transportation, turned to Visconti. “Doesn’t it bother you to spend so much money, just to go to lunch?”
“Quite the contrary. It’s a pleasant diversion for me. I suppose you wouldn’t believe I usually eat cold sandwiches alone in my office. It’s also a blast from the past. In the good old days it used to be a big deal to be seen having long extravagant lunches.”
“What happened? Why has it changed?”
“No more easy money,” Visconti replied with a frown, then turned to stare out his window. “I really miss the eighties. I think we’ll all look back on those years as being more roaring than the twenties. Now it’s more important not to be seen. People stay in their offices and eat buns on the run.”
The white limo glided to a stop at the curb in front of 21. Fashioned from several old townhouses, decorated in antique elegance, and in a class of its own, 21 was the favorite watering hole for the city’s movers and shakers, celebrity-watchers and beautiful people.
The chauffeur got out and hurried to open the rear door facing the restaurant.
Visconti stepped out, assisted Kerri, then turned to the chauffeur. “I’ll phone you when we’re ready to go, George. It should be about two-thirty.”
Visconti’s expectations were fully realized when the two entered the restaurant and were escorted to their table. He strutted like a conquering bullfighter when he saw the patrons interrupt their conversations to stare at Kerri.
The waiter pulled out a chair for Kerri, then placed menus on the table. “Would you like something to drink before lunch?” he asked.
“A vodka martini. Very dry. Two olives,” Visconti ordered, then turned to Kerri. “What would you like, Kerri?”
“I’ll have a glass of white wine, please,” Kerri said, then leaned forward. “Do you mind if I ask why you asked for two olives?”
“To remind me how many drinks I had. When I get the first martini, I’ll eat one of the olives and save the other one for the second martini.”
“What if the waiter brings the next one with two olives in it?”
“Off with his head,” Visconti replied with a wink. He leaned backward and removed his sunglasses. “Ever since Saturday night I’ve wanted to call you, but somehow the telephone seemed inadequate. I wanted to apologize to you again for that report. I just wanted to assure you that I had it done with nothing but the best intentions. It was stupid of me. I should have known it would affect you in a negative way.”
“Please put it out of your mind. I’ve already accepted your reasons for doing it, and I’m grateful.”
“Any regrets?”
“Definitely. I loved Brian. I left my roots to be with him and committed my life to him.”
The waiter returned with the drinks and placed them on the table, then turned to Visconti. “Would you care to order now, Mr. Visconti?” he asked.
Visconti shook his head. “I’m at least a drink away from lunch,” he said. “How about you, Kerri?”
Kerri glanced at her wine. “At least. I haven’t even looked at the menu.”
The waiter nodded, then left.
Visconti held his martini above the table and gazed into Kerri’s eyes. “May I propose a toast?”
Kerri nodded and reached for her glass.
“To the beginning of the rest of your life… In it, may you find the joy and happiness so mindlessly stolen from you,” he said, hoping to be responsible for her future joy and happiness.
Kerri clinked her glass against Visconti’s. “Thank you. I’ll certainly drink to that.”
After taking a sip of his martini, Visconti placed it on the table and leaned forward. “I really envy you… I was reminded of one of the major laments of my life when you answered my question about regrets. You made it obvious how deeply you cared for Brian. I’ve never felt that way about anyone.”
“Not even your wife? Didn’t you say you were once married?”
Visconti nodded. “Like most young people, I did it for all the wrong reasons: loneliness, peer-pressure, and sex, not necessarily in that order.”
“Then what are the right reasons?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s only one.”
“What?”
“Love.”
Kerri winced. “I married for love. Look where it got me.”
“I should never pose as an expert on the subject of love, but I think I’ve lived long enough to know there’s no reasonable substitute.”
“Well it was missing from my relationship.”
“I don’t think it’s cast in stone that relationships must survive. There are just too many conflicting external factors these days. In a lot of cases, there’s no contest. Love can’t compete.”
“It sounds like you’re saying love is obsolete.”
“I’m not saying that at all. I’m simply stating that the fantasy of happy, domestic bliss, ‘till death do us part, is being severely tested by the way we live our lives. I don’t think we’ll ever recapture the simplicity of life as our parents knew it. In retrospect, they were living in a wonderful time. Mos
t of them couldn’t have imagined the stress and multiplicity of choices we consider normal today.”
“Do you think that’s why your marriage failed?” Kerri asked, impressed by Visconti’s insight.
The waiter returned to the table. “Forgive me for interrupting,” he said. “Would you like to order now?”
Visconti held his empty glass aloft. “Another martini, please. No olives.” He turned to Kerri. “Another wine?”
“Not now,” Kerri replied, placing her hand over the top of her half empty glass. “Maybe during lunch.”
Visconti watched the waiter leave, then turned to Kerri. “My marriage failed because I was selfish. I wanted something more out of life than a simple hand to mouth existence, so I worked night and day to get it. The marriage was a casualty.”
“Did you love her?”
Visconti rolled his eyes. “I should have known you would ask that question… I did, but it wasn’t the kind of love I dreamed of for years before I got married.”
“What kind of love was that?”
“A total, all-consuming thing, one that takes hold and never let’s go. One that causes every fiber of my body to ache to be with one particular woman… I thought it was happening to me a long time ago. I had an enormous crush on my economics professor during my second year of university. She was beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated, and five years older than me. I really looked forward to her lectures. I rushed to get there early enough to make sure I got a front row seat. Then I lapsed into a mind warp, dreaming of having a physical and intellectual relationship with her. Eventually the dream became so real, I actually believed it was going to happen.”
“Did it?”
Visconti grinned and shook his head. “Foolishly, I asked her to go to dinner with me and she made me feel like a fly on her desk. She told me she was madly in love and engaged to be married. The fly swatter had landed, and it hurt. I was devastated, defeated and depressed. I vowed I would never, ever allow myself to be so emotionally vulnerable. I still have scars.”
Kerri was fascinated by Visconti’s candor and his display of honesty. “So you’ve been running scared ever since?” she asked.
Visconti nodded. “That’s a pretty good way of describing it. I had no right to feel the way I did about her. Foolishly, I did, and suffered the consequences. Since then, I’ve scrupulously avoided any emotional commitment. The ugly truth is that I’m afraid, terrified of being hurt again. My parachute failed to open and I’m afraid to jump again for fear of the same thing happening.”
“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t be afraid to jump into another emotional relationship?”
Visconti chuckled. “No. I wouldn’t blame you if you locked up your emotions and threw away the key. What I’m trying to say is that you should be aware of your fear. Take command of it. It’ll diminish you if you let it control you.”
“That’s pretty good advice. I’ll try to remember it.”
The waiter returned to the table. “Would you like to order now?” he asked with a plastic smile, almost suggesting that this was their last chance to do so.
Visconti ordered without looking at the menu. “I’ll have the risotto frutti di mare… What’s your soup of the day?”
“New England clam chowder.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have a bowl.”
“Yes sir,” the waiter said, scribbling the order on his pad, then turning to Kerri. “And for the lady?”
Embarrassed, Kerri looked at Visconti. “What did you order?”
Visconti smiled. “It’s a seafood combination of shrimps, scallops and oysters, served on a bed of Italian rice, with carrots onions and celery. You’ll love it. Have the clam chowder, too. It’ll prepare your palette for the risotto.”
Kerri ordered the same.
“Bring two glasses of chilled Rhine Riesling,” Visconti ordered, then leaned backward and placed both hands behind his head. “Has Brian made any attempt to contact you since you moved out of the apartment?”
Kerri shook her head.
“Maybe he doesn’t know where you went.”
“I left a note on the kitchen table before I left. Among other things, it included my new address. I really don’t think he want’s to. If he did, he’d call my office number.”
“So what are you going to do now, aside from getting on with your life?”
“That’s about it. I don’t think I have any alternative, do you?”
“You could contact Brian and ask him what his plans are.”
“No way!” Kerri replied. “Your photographs told me all I need to know about his plans. He can go to hell as far I’m concerned.”
“Let me ask you a hypothetical question… If Brian came to you, apologized for everything he’s done and pleaded with you to resume the marriage, would you?”
Kerri fidgeted with her napkin, then glared at Visconti, her eyes showing a burning resolve. “I could forgive his excessive drinking, even hitting me, but I could never forgive his adultery. He stole something very important from me, and that theft was premeditated.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“The answer’s no. The marriage was built on trust. When Brian violated that trust, he killed it, and the marriage with it.”
Delighted with Kerri’s answer, Visconti leaned forward and covered her hand with his. “You’re tough. It takes a lot of strength to do what you’re doing.”
Instinctively, Kerri wanted to pull her hand from beneath Visconti’s, but his touch was strangely comforting. She smiled. “You give me too much credit. Brian really didn’t give me any choice.”
“On the contrary. You had choices. You could have packed your bags and gone home, or stayed in the apartment and forced him to keep you in the style. I gave you credit for choosing neither.”
The waiter placed the bowls of soup and the glasses of Riesling on the table. “Enjoy,” he said. “l’ll bring the risotto shortly.”
“Don’t rush,” Visconti said with a sly smile, then turned to face Kerri. “Let’s play hooky,” he said, again lifting his glass as if in toast.
Kerri looked askance at Visconti. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. It’s a beautiful day, far too beautiful for work. We can get George to drive us to Central Park, or down to Pier Eighty-three. We could take a cruise around Manhattan.”
Kerri’s sense of responsibility overcame a strong urge to agree. “It sounds very appealing, but unfortunately I have to get back to work.”
“To hell with work. I’ll call Miles and make him an offer he can’t refuse. I’ll take my business elsewhere if he doesn’t agree to give you the rest of the day off.”
“I couldn’t let you do that, Louis. It’s like putting a gun to his head.”
Visconti frowned. “Such loyalty. I wish I could find employees like you.”
“Miles has been extremely kind to me. I owe him a lot.”
“I’ll pay him twice whatever you think you owe him if you’ll agree to work for me. Then I’ll give you the afternoon off.”
“No amount of money could ever repay what I owe Miles. I hope you can understand.”
“Will you give me a rain-check?”
“Sure.”
“Saturday?”
Kerri nodded.
Visconti paid the bill, then frowned at Kerri. “You sure you won’t reconsider this afternoon?” he asked, pouting and pretending to be on the brink of tears.
“I’m sure, but not because I don’t want to.”
“Then back to work it is. If you’ll wait here for a minute, I’ll call George and tell him to meet us out front.”
Five minutes later, the white limousine glided to a stop in front of the restaurant.
Kerri and Visconti climbed into the rear section before George could get out. Kerri sank into the white leather rear seat and turned to face Visconti. “Thank you, Louis. It’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun.”
“You’re welcome. It was fun for me, too
. I found myself telling you things I’ve never told anyone,” Visconti replied, convinced beyond all doubt that he had at long last found the woman of his dreams.
CHAPTER 54
Toronto. Tuesday, April 3, 1990.
Terry Lippert escorted Phillip and Gary Matheson into Mike’s office, closed the door, then took a seat on the couch near Mike’s desk.
Matheson, a tall gangling red head, fidgeted nervously as Mike glared at him and Phillip from behind his desk.
Phillip, unconcerned, marched to the couch and prepared to sit beside Lippert.
“Don’t even think about sitting down!” Mike shouted.
Phillip bristled as he turned to challenge Mike. “What are you going to do, spank me?” he asked, flashing a defiant smirk.
“Go ahead. Sit down and watch what happens,” Mike warned.
Phillip resisted the temptation.
Mike leaned forward and placed both forearms on his desk. “In case you two don’t know why I asked Terry to bring you here this morning, let me tell you. We’ve recently received telephone calls from a number of our customers who were anxious to complain about discrepancies in their credit card statements. We initiated an investigation to determine why the discrepancies existed and discovered that someone had fraudulently altered credit card drafts. The alterations were obvious attempts to steal money.” Mike’s eyes darted back and forth between Phillip and Matheson, searching for reactions. “Would either of you care to comment?”
Matheson shot a nervous glance at Phillip, then the floor. Phillip continued to glare at Mike.
“I’m waiting,” Mike said, his voice raised.
“I did it,” Matheson admitted, barely loud enough to be heard.
“What did you say?” Mike asked.
“I did it,” Matheson repeated, his lower lip quivering.
“Was anyone else involved?”
Matheson looked away.
“So you did it all by yourself?”
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