by Marcia Clark
He stared at it for a moment as though he didn’t recognize it, then took it from me and absently said, “Thanks,” as he put it back in his pocket.
I wanted to ask him what it was, but Niko stood up. “I want a full accounting. Give me all the data on the company you invested in, how much each investor lost, and most of all, I want to hear how you plan to recoup the loss.”
Tanner took Niko’s elbow. “Of course, Niko. Of course. We’ll get you everything.”
As we all headed toward the door, Bryan said, “You know, Sam, I’d very much appreciate it if we could get your expert opinion about this company.”
Tanner nodded. “Good point. We can’t tell whether we’ve been had or this was just an unforeseeable catastrophe. But if it looks like this was a scam, then maybe you can advise us on what to do next.”
I could. But he wasn’t going to like it. “If you can find proof that the stock was negligently misrepresented, you can sue. But civil cases can take years. And good luck enforcing the judgment to get your money.”
Tanner said, “But what if it’s fraud? Can’t they get arrested for that?”
“Sure, and I can put you in touch with the LAPD division that handles white-collar crime—”
Bryan’s expression lightened. “That’d be great—”
I shook my head. “No, it wouldn’t be great. Because assuming you did get scammed, the best you could hope for is that the heads of the company get convicted and the judge orders restitution. That’ll move faster than a civil case, but you’ll still have to chase them down to get your money. And again, good luck with that. Especially if they wind up in prison. Making license plates just doesn’t pay the way it used to.”
Bryan looked like he might cry. Tanner’s features had hardened, but he maintained his composure. “Then it’s up to us. We’ll have to find a way to get everyone compensated for their loss.” He looked at Niko. “And you have my word, we will.”
Niko opened the door as he bit off the words, “I’ll be in touch.”
We headed for the car and rode in silence. I considered the partnership of Tanner and Bryan. They weren’t exactly an obvious match. To put it mildly, they were a study in contrasts.
Bryan had a soft, gentle, paternal air, and his home reflected the tastes of a Renaissance man who enjoyed good living and appreciated the finer aspects of creature comfort.
Tanner, on the other hand, was a “sleep when I’m dead,” charismatic speeding bullet, in perpetual forward motion.
When Niko stopped at a red light, I asked, “Was Bryan born into money?”
He paused for a moment. “I think so. I know his parents live close by in Beverly Hills. His mother’s always stopping over to see him on her way to Saks Fifth and Neiman Marcus.”
“His mother? Seriously?” It struck me as odd that someone Bryan’s age had that kind of regular contact with his mother.
Niko glanced at me. “Why? What’s wrong with that? They’re close.”
Whoops. Should’ve known better than to step on that land mine. Niko was super close to his mother, too. And really, what was wrong with that?
If I hadn’t had an insanely dysfunctional, torturous relationship with my egg donor, I’d probably want to hang out with her, too.
I guess.
But it’s hard to imagine. Every time I hear someone say they miss their mother or wish they could spend more time together, I can’t help feeling shocked. And incredulous.
I have to remind myself that those people are the normal ones. That I’m the aberration. But at least I’d found my father—and even liked hanging out with him. Sometimes. Though to be honest, even that relationship was its own very strange can of worms.
I guess normal had never really been in the cards for me.
My thoughts drifted back to Tanner and Bryan. “How did those guys meet?” If ever two people seemed to run in different circles, it was those two.
Niko shrugged. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. But Bryan has a lot of younger friends, and I think one of them introduced him to Tanner.”
But that still begged the question: What made these two—seemingly alpha and omega—become partners?
FOUR
Niko decided to stay with his mother that night, which was for the best. I needed to get to the office in the morning anyway. I’d been gone for almost a week, and I knew a pile of work would be waiting for me. May as well confront the teeming in-box and get it over with. It makes me anxious—I mean sweaty-palms anxious—when work is piling up.
But as I headed to the office the next morning, it didn’t make me feel any better to know I was fending off an anxiety attack. All I could think of was how I was supposed to be floating in the warm waters off a French Polynesian island, having drinks with Niko on a private beach.
And the weather was doing its best to make matters worse. The sky was a gloomy gray haze. No sun in sight. It was the kind of in-between—not sunny but not rainy—weather that annoys the hell out of me.
At least Beulah couldn’t die and completely ruin my day. My old jalopy, a creaking, rusty mess of an ancient Mercedes, had finally crapped out on me for the last time six months ago. Beulah used to break down so often, she’d even begun to piss off my mechanic, and he’d made a fortune fixing her—so imagine. He actually cheered when I finally called it quits and bought myself a new BMW 335i.
Although my apartment was just ten minutes from the office as the crow flies, crows don’t have to deal with bumper-to-bumper traffic, and rush hour lasted twenty-four hours a day in West Hollywood. I crawled along at five miles per hour from the time I pulled out of the carport of my apartment building to the time I pulled into the parking garage below my office.
By the time I got in, I was in a truly foul mood.
Michy—who never misses a damn thing—picked up on it immediately. She pointed to a pink cardboard box on the coffee bar. “I brought doughnuts. I figured you’d need a little sweetening.”
I huffed and dropped my purse and briefcase as I opened the box and inhaled the warm, mouth-watering aroma of sugar and yeasty goodness. I picked out a glazed doughnut and poured myself a cup of coffee.
The coffee bar was a spiffy new addition Michy had badgered me into buying for our otherwise plain-wrap office. She says—with obnoxious backing from Alex—that high-dollar clients won’t go for a lawyer whose office looks like a half-empty storage locker. I tell them that clients—high-dollar or otherwise—don’t care if my office looks like the home of the Pizza Rat, as long as I keep them out of jail. But the coffee bar had a practical side. We all drank the stuff by the gallon. So I’d caved.
I took a bite and let it melt in my mouth for a moment. “Any emergencies? Say no. I don’t care if it’s true.”
“No.” Michy folded her arms and waited.
I sighed. “Okay, tell me.”
She pushed back her Scünci—a blue that coordinated nicely with her crewneck sweater—and punched a key on her computer. “The D.A. filed an amended sentencing memo on the Walters case asking the judge to impose a strike sentence. Apparently our client had an armed robbery conviction out of Texas we didn’t know about.” She raised an eyebrow. “Right?”
Oh, “we” knew about it, all right. We’d just hoped the D.A. wouldn’t find out about it. Which is why I’d asked for early sentencing when we made our plea deal. Now I’d have to either find a way to get the judge to toss out that prior or tell the D.A. we’d force him to trial unless he dismissed it. The latter was probably my better option—assuming I could figure out how to convince him he’d lose if we went to trial. “Got it. Next?”
Michy ran down the list of cases that needed immediate attention. It was depressingly lengthy. When she finished, she rubbed the scar on her right temple—her tell that something was bugging her. That scar was her “souvenir” from a stalker who’d attacked and almost killed her. He’d been a client of mine, busted for burglary. I got him out on bail, so he’d been able to come to the office for meetings—w
hich is how he’d met, and become obsessed with, Michy. When the stalking case got thrown out for no good reason by a moronic judge, I’d found a way to make sure he’d never be able to hurt Michy—or anyone else—ever again.
Michy gave me a stern look. I knew what was coming. “Whether you admit it or not, this is getting to be a little too crazy. You need to take on an associate.”
She was right, of course. But I couldn’t deal with it right now. I deflected with the latest news on Niko’s situation. I’d given her a quick rundown before we got on the plane back to LA, but I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about my meeting with Bryan and Tanner.
When I finished, she asked, “How long have these guys been in the business? ’Cause this seems like a rookie mistake, putting all their eggs in one basket.”
I nodded. I’d thought the same thing. “Awhile, I think. At least, I’m pretty sure Bryan has been. Niko said it might’ve been a short-term move, because those stocks can really skyrocket.” I made a face. “Before they fall.”
Michy raised an eyebrow. “So they planned to do a hit-and-run. And then didn’t run in time.”
I shrugged. “Or couldn’t, I guess. Niko’s going to get into it with Bryan again tonight. Assuming his mother is in good enough shape to be left alone.”
Michy gave a sad sigh. “That poor woman. To be wiped out like that at her age. I wonder how many others are in the same boat.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. “I have a feeling we’ll find out pretty soon.” Losing your life savings was no picnic at any age, but it was certainly much worse for someone who had retired and had little hope of finding a decent-paying job. “I’m going to ask Niko if he wants me to sit in and hear what Bryan has to say.”
“Say about what?” Alex came in, carrying what looked like a new laptop under his arm.
I stared at it. “I must be paying you too much. Didn’t you just get a new laptop last month?”
He rolled his eyes. “It was on Craigslist. The owner thought it was toast, so he practically gave it away. Took me about five minutes to fix it.” He put the laptop in his office, then came back out and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I heard about Niko and his mom. I’m so sorry. Especially about his mom. What a friggin’ nightmare.”
There isn’t much Alex, my investigator / genius hacker, doesn’t know, and I thought maybe I should talk to Niko about bringing him to the meeting with Bryan. It’d be good to get his opinion on this stock crash. And on Bryan. Alex knows how to read people. Plus, I’d gotten the sense that Bryan was gay. If I were right, he’d flip for Alex—who’s a knockout, with toffee-colored skin, big brown eyes, a perfect body, and who just happens to be gay. A fact female clients and witnesses never seem to realize, and which comes in very handy when I need some cooperation.
I gave Alex the rundown I’d just given Michy, then asked what he thought of what she’d called their “rookie mistake.”
Alex was a little more on the fence. “It’s dicey as hell, that’s for sure. But a fast move like that can work with volatile stocks—which cryptocurrency stocks totally are. And when it does, it’s a huge win. So bottom line: it might not be as dumb as it sounds.”
I asked Alex if he’d be available to come hear what Bryan had to say about it, but he and Paul, his boyfriend for the past year, who was equally as OCD as Alex—which is really saying something—had Lakers tickets.
As it happened, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.
I buried myself in my in-box and plowed straight through until about six o’clock—and only stopped then because Niko called.
His voice sounded worn. “Hey. Want to have dinner?”
I looked at the stack of file folders that were still waiting for me to plow through. I knew I should stay and get some more work done. And I had a feeling we’d be dining at his mother’s place. Ordinarily, that’d be fine, but I really wanted to talk to him alone. The selfish thought made me feel like a jerk. I immediately tried to atone for it. “Sure. Your mom’s place? Want me to pick something up?”
“No, my place. My mom’s got some friends over. And I’ll order in. Deli sound good? I’ll call Greenblatt’s.”
I love Greenblatt’s. Best deli ever. “I can leave now if you want.”
He did want.
It was a damp, chilly March night, and Niko had lit a fire in the massive living room fireplace. The moon cast a pale light through the floor-to-ceiling windows as a soft mix of Miles Davis tunes played in the background. It was a soothing atmosphere that might’ve been a perfect lead-up to a romantic night. But Niko was in no mood. From the moment I walked in the door, I could feel the tension and anger swirling inside him.
I did my best to make calming conversation as we ate our dinner on the couch in front of the fire. The chicken noodle soup was fabulous, as always. I finished the whole bowl and got too full to eat my turkey sandwich—as always.
Niko smiled—the first time I’d seen him do that since Tom had called us in Bora Bora. “You always have such big eyes. I knew you’d never get through all that.”
I do have a tendency to overorder from that damn deli. “I’m an addict. What can I say?”
We’d just cleaned up and opened a bottle of pinot noir when the doorbell chimed.
We stared at each other. It was late, definitely too late for a UPS or FedEx delivery. I asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”
Niko shook his head. He picked up the remote for his surveillance camera and clicked on the monitor. It was Bryan. I studied Niko’s face. “Are you in the mood for this?”
He rolled back his shoulders. “The question is: Is he?”
Niko stalked toward the door. I didn’t envy Bryan.
Bryan looked agitated as he entered the foyer. “How’s your mother doing?”
Niko’s voice was harsh, accusatory. “She hasn’t eaten or slept for two days.”
He shook his head, his expression mournful. “I can’t find the words to express how profoundly sorry I am for this catastrophe.”
Niko gave him a steely look. “I really don’t give a shit how sorry you are. If that’s all you came to say, then get out.”
Bryan held up his hands. “It’s not. I came here tonight because I think you deserve to hear what really happened.”
Niko stood back and gestured for him to come in. Bryan gave Niko a nervous look as he moved past him and walked into the living room.
FIVE
Niko didn’t offer Bryan a drink, a glass of water, or even a seat. But he took one anyway and sat down a few feet to my left on the sectional couch. Niko sat down on my right and leaned back, arms folded.
Niko has the ability to convey a range of feelings without uttering a word. With the tilt of his head, the lift of an eyebrow, the barest of smiles, he can bathe someone in a warm glow that makes them feel like the center of the universe—or make them want to put the barrel of a gun in their mouth.
Right now, I could tell Bryan was getting the latter cue. He rubbed his thighs and had to clear his throat twice before he managed to speak. The benign, fatherly gaze and rich, aged-whiskey voice were gone. Now his face sagged as though weights were attached to his jaw, and when he spoke, his voice was thin and strained. “The whole cryptocurrency idea was Tanner’s, not mine. In fact, I only found out about it because I happened to pick up his phone when he was gone. It was the middleman who gave him the tip; he was calling with an update.”
Niko’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re telling me that Tanner went off on his own and put several hundred million dollars on the line without telling you?” His tone made it clear he wasn’t buying it.
Bryan’s expression was bleak and somewhat forlorn. “I know you think very highly of Tanner. A lot of people do. That’s his gift. He makes it look like he knows everything, like he’s in total control.” His voice was bitter as he said, “But it’s all bullshit. He’s wild, impulsive, flies by the seat of his pants most of the time. And he doesn’t know nearly as much about the market as he claims.�
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I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this, but I couldn’t help myself. “Then why’d you stay in business with him?” I voiced my most immediate suspicion. “What’d he have on you?”
Bryan gave a deep sigh. “He doesn’t have anything on me. It’s just that I needed a . . . a bit of a face-lift. Before I met him, I’d been on a losing streak for a while. My client list was down. Way down. I needed to”—he paused and made air quotes—“‘refresh my brand.’” He spread his hands. “To put it bluntly, I needed a younger face.”
A younger face. In the investment game. Got it. Screw wisdom, to hell with experience. Give me a guy who hasn’t had his first shave. I wished I could say I didn’t believe Bryan. But I did. It was eminently believable. And so LA. Where there’s no bigger sin than aging.
But Niko wasn’t interested in Bryan’s woes. “So how do you plan to pay everyone back?”
Bryan spread his empty hands. “My only hope is to find someone else to stake me so I can take another shot at the market.”
I didn’t know much about the investment game, but that seemed like an impossible fantasy. “How? I mean, who’d take a flier on you now?”
Bryan sat up a little straighter, a note of defiant pride in his voice. “My past investors. I’ve had a long career in this business, and I’ve made good money for a lot of people.” He nodded at Niko. “Present company included.”
Niko looked at him coldly. “If this is your bid to get me to throw more money down the drain with you . . .”
Niko’s response sapped what little confidence Bryan’d regained by reminding us of his glory days. His body sagged again. “No, I certainly wouldn’t expect you to reinvest with me after this . . . disaster.” He stared down at the floor. “I just came here tonight because I wanted you to know what happened. And to promise you that I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to all of our clients. Especially you, since you put your word and reputation on the line for us. I can’t begin to express how deeply and profoundly sorry I am.”