by Marcia Clark
That’s when I started drinking. Southern Comfort and Jack Daniel’s were my faves, but really, anything that numbed the pain would do. I thought I was being slick about it, that no one could tell. But Michy—who I’d just met in school that year (and who had quickly become my best friend)—could.
She told me I was heading for either a brick wall or a concrete cell. She wanted to know what was up with me. I was too scared to tell her what was going on with Sebastian. I was afraid of what he’d do if he found out I’d told anyone. And honestly, I didn’t want to tell anyone because on some level, I thought it was my fault that he was doing this to me.
But I knew Michy was right. I couldn’t keep living like this. I came up with a plan. It was a simple little plan, but if I pulled it off, I’d be out of that hell house.
Back then, cell phones weren’t so ubiquitous. Not all kids had them. But Michy had gotten one for Christmas. I borrowed it from her and managed to secretly take photos of Sebastian with me—one of them as he was leaving my bed, in the nude.
Incredibly, even after I showed the photos to Celeste, she still didn’t want to believe me. She called me a “little slut” and accused me of “setting him up.” But I told her I’d made copies of the photos (I actually hadn’t; I was too scared) and that if she didn’t get us out of there, I’d take the photos to the police. That finally did it. Whatever fiction she’d been telling herself, even she had to admit they were damning. She had no choice. She had to move us out. I never knew whether she told Sebastian about the photos. My guess is she didn’t. Probably because she hoped she’d be able to get back with him after I was out of her hair.
I got rid of the photos after we moved. There was no way I’d ever go to the police and let the world know what he’d done to me—not even Michy.
I’d love to be able to say that everything was groovy and copacetic after we moved out. But I was, in fact, an ungodly mess. It took years for me to pull my act together. And even then, it was just dumb luck. My mother accidentally married a good guy—who was, of course, a billionaire—when I was a junior in high school. He’d been able to see what Celeste had chosen to ignore: that I was sinking fast. Booze, pills, cocaine, even heroin. You name it, I was on it. He’d gotten me some real help—a drug counselor and a tutor—and I’d cleaned up my act. Did well enough to get into a decent college.
But none of that was thanks to Celeste—living proof that not every woman is meant to be a mother. Or, in her case, even a human being.
So, not surprisingly, my forays into the world of romance have been . . . sketchy. Niko is as close as I’ve ever gotten to what Michy calls a “real” relationship. It did say something that my usual instinct to cut and run hadn’t kicked in. Yet. But I was seriously worried that it was only a matter of time. Still, Michy had a point. It wasn’t as though Niko was threatening to chain me to the water heater. “Right. I guess I’ll tough it out and see what happens.”
Michy snorted. “Oh please. You’d think we were talking about running a 10K. For God’s sake, all you have to do is tell him you have to go home to take care of some chores or something.”
“Yeah, but then I’d have to go back, right?” I brightened. “Unless he has to travel. That could happen. That could totally happen.”
Michy rolled her eyes. “Enough. Go get some work done. We need to bill some hours so I can buy those Manolos I saw at the outlet.”
“Manolos. Wow.” We were so uptown now. She used to tell me to get more work done so she could “pay the office rent” or “pay the electricity bill.” Now . . . Manolo Blahniks. “I really am overpaying you guys.”
Michy made a dismissive grunt. “You wouldn’t be paying me what I’m worth if you tripled my salary.” She waved a hand at me. “Now shoo. Go make some money.”
I saluted and went to do the bidding of She Who Must Be Obeyed. Because Michy was right: I’d probably never be able to pay her what she was worth. I put my head down for the next three hours and managed to knock out all the motions—mostly continuance requests, but I also put together a sentencing memo and a pretrial motion to dismiss. Pretty good progress.
So when Alex stopped by to check in, I decided I deserved to take a break. He was going très casual today, in black Levi’s and a dove-gray pullover sweater, but he managed to make the outfit look like Tom Ford haute couture. Some people just have it. That thing that makes whatever they throw on look like it was made for them—by Hugo Boss. Me, I don’t rock anything. I wear the basics—jeans, sweaters, and suits—and I’m happy if I manage to leave the house with everything buttoned and zipped.
I pushed back from my computer and gestured for him to come in. “Nice workup on Blake Ettinger’s background.” I’d negotiated a deal that let Blake plead to just one of the five counts he was facing for breaking into an animal hospital to steal food and meds for his three dogs, one of whom had a bad case of worms. He was facing a maximum of three years, but I was shooting for straight probation—which would’ve been a lot easier if Blake hadn’t been busted for cocaine possession a few years ago. So I’d asked Alex to dig into his personal history and find something I could milk for sympathy. It turned out that the dogs Blake had been trying to help actually belonged to his girlfriend—who had just been diagnosed with lung cancer.
I folded my arms. “If that doesn’t bring a tear to the judge’s eye, he’s a damn robot.”
Alex flopped down on the couch and stretched out his legs. “Here’s hoping. What’s going on with Niko and those genius brokers?”
I filled him in on my encounters with the geniuses. “I can usually suss out a liar, but this one has me stumped.”
Alex opened his iPad. “What’s the name of the stock bundle they jumped into?”
That would’ve been a good thing to know. “I have a feeling someone mentioned it at some point, but I can’t remember.”
He closed it and sighed. “Get me the name. I’d like to know what made one of those two decide it was too hot to miss.”
I promised I would. Alex went back to his office to do one last computer run on Ettinger to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. I’ve been accused of being Type A to the point of OCD, but Alex is Type A+++. It can be a little annoying at times, but it makes for a crack investigator.
I got back to work on the motion to dismiss and managed to finish by the unusually normal hour of six thirty. I’d agreed to go to Niko’s after work, but I wasn’t sure he’d still want company. When I called to check out his mood, he was still at his mother’s house but said he’d be heading home in a few minutes. I asked if he still wanted me to come over.
“I really would.” There was a vulnerable note in his voice that told me he wasn’t the least bit worried about us spending too much time together.
Oh, right. That was me.
I left my briefcase in the office. No way I’d get any work done at Niko’s. I stopped at Michy’s desk and told her where I was heading. “And believe it or not, I’m picking up steaks.”
Michy stopped typing and stared at me. “Why would you do this to him, especially at a time like this?” She shook her head. “Talk about kicking a man when he’s down.”
I gave her a mock glare. “I’m not that bad a cook.” Actually, I am. I have zero moves when it comes to the kitchen. Michy’s deadpan gaze said she was not persuaded. “I’m just throwing the steaks on the broiler. He’s making the salad. And the dressing.” Niko actually likes to cook. As they say, all that and pretty, too.
Michy shrugged. “That might be safe enough. I guess we’ll find out. But just in case . . .” She quickly typed, then printed out a page and handed it to me.
I read the page. It was the phone number and address for the urgent care clinic near Niko’s house. “You’re a real laugh riot.”
But I tucked it into my purse as I headed out. Better safe than sorry, right?
I expected it to be another night of sadness and anger—and it was both—but as we sat in front of the fire and polished off the b
ottle of an excellent Adastra Proximus pinot noir after dinner (which I did manage to pull off without poisoning anyone), Niko’s mood mellowed.
He put an arm around me. “I can’t tell you how much it helps that you’re here.” He leaned his head against mine. “I know I’m not the most fun right now.”
I leaned into him. “You never need to put on a clown face for me. I want you to be how you feel.”
We sat in silence, and the wine and the warmth of the fire unwound the spring that always lives in my chest. I was about to ask if he wanted me to open another bottle when I heard a soft rumble. It took me a second to realize it was coming from Niko. He was snoring.
I gently woke him up, and we stumbled into bed. We both drifted off the moment our heads hit the pillows.
I usually hate to sleep with anyone else. I have this awful recurring nightmare of being swallowed alive by Sebastian that always makes me wake up in a feverish sweat—and frequently screaming. It hadn’t happened when I was with Niko yet, but I always worried it might. Tonight, though, I was so tired, I was sure I’d make it through the night in peace.
And I probably would have—if it hadn’t been for someone banging on the door at two o’clock in the morning. The sound of that hammering fist jerked us both awake, hearts pounding.
Niko sprang out of bed like a cat. I, much less gracefully, crawled out and grabbed one of his sweatshirts. He motioned for me to stay back. I thought, The hell I will. I waited for him to clear the bedroom, then grabbed the heavy bronze sculpture of Buddha’s head that Niko kept on the nightstand and tiptoed out behind him.
He peered through the peephole, then sighed and opened the door. “What the hell—”
Tanner, his face pale, hair standing on end, could barely eke out the words. “He ripped us all off!”
SEVEN
Niko pulled him inside and headed for the kitchen, where he started a pot of coffee. “I assume you’re talking about Bryan.”
I put the Buddha sculpture back on the nightstand and joined them in the kitchen. Tanner was pacing in a circle and wringing his hands. “He’s gone! Doesn’t answer his cell or his landline. Doesn’t answer the door. This is bullshit! I should’ve known he’d screw me the minute he got the chance!”
As we sat over steaming cups of coffee and tried to wake up enough to make sense of what Tanner was saying, it gradually became clear that he’d jumped to a conclusion. He didn’t really know what had happened to Bryan—or whether Bryan had really ripped anyone off.
The night was chilly and damp, and I wrapped my hands around the mug for warmth. “Was his car in the driveway?”
Tanner stared at the table, his expression numb. “Yeah. And he always takes that Rolls-Royce wherever he goes.”
I’d seen the flashy thing—which, of course, was white—when I’d gone to his house with Niko. I remembered thinking it was ridiculous and wondering whether he used it to impress his clients—and whether that worked. But the fact that Bryan’s car was there and he didn’t answer the door led me to a very different conclusion. “How do you know something didn’t happen to him? Did you get inside his house?”
Tanner blinked. “N-no. But I didn’t see any signs of a break-in.”
“Do you have a key to his house?” I asked. He said he didn’t. That killed one idea. And we couldn’t break in. The houses on Bryan’s street were close together. His neighbors would have the cops there in a heartbeat.
Niko studied Tanner’s face for a moment. “I assume you checked the office.”
Tanner nodded. “He wasn’t there. And I didn’t see any sign of a break-in there, either.”
“How much checking did you do? Did you look in Bryan’s office?” There might be notes or information on his computer that gave some clue as to where he’d gone.
Tanner shook his head. “I was just looking to see if he was there.”
I suggested we all go and do a more thorough search. Everyone agreed that was a good idea. I had another one. “Mind if I bring my investigator?” Another pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. Especially when they belonged to Alex, who misses nothing. Seriously. Nothing.
Tanner seemed a little unsure about the idea. “Is he, like, a cop?”
“No. He’s, like, an investigator. As in someone who looks for things—and people. And usually finds them.”
Niko sealed the deal. “That’s a great idea, Sam.”
It was a hell of a thing to do to Alex. It was two thirty in the morning. But I’d find a way to make it up to him.
When I called, he was so deeply asleep, I had to explain the situation to him twice before he understood that a) I wasn’t in jail (though that was always a reasonable possibility), and b) I wasn’t in the hospital (again, see above). But once he got it, he was on board. I told him to meet us at the office building in half an hour.
An hour later, Tanner unlocked the office door and turned on the lights. We entered slowly and took in the reception area. I saw nothing out of place. Tanner led the way into the main office space. We passed a glassed-in conference room that appeared to be untouched, then followed him into a large office that could only have been Bryan’s.
Original mixed-media artwork hung on the walls, a floor-to-ceiling window offered a view that stretched to downtown, a thick Persian rug covered most of the floor, and the furniture was all glass and steel and clearly of designer quality. The desk was so clean, it sparkled. Not so much as a Post-it to mar the pristine effect.
There were two doors on my right. I opened the one closest to the window. It was a bathroom—with a walk-in shower and a bidet. The other door opened to a decent-size closet. Three suits—I spotted an Armani and a Tom Ford—three shirts, five pairs of shoes, and a leather trench coat. This man really lived the life. But again, nothing looked out of place, and Tanner confirmed it.
While I’d been scoping out the place, Alex had made a beeline for the desktop computer. His fingers were flying over the keyboard. I stared at him in awe. How had he managed to break into it that fast? “I knew you were good, but that’s ridiculous. How’d you figure out his password already?”
Alex smirked. “I’d love to let you think I am that amazing—because I am. But . . .” He pointed to the monitor stand and a small piece of paper that was taped to it.
Aha. Bryan’s password. That told me something else. “Then his security is probably a joke.”
The smirk grew into a smile. “Totally. Took me five seconds to hack into his email account.”
I should’ve known. Bryan didn’t seem like the tech-savvy type.
I asked Tanner to show us his own office. It took him a second to unglue his eyes from what Alex was doing at Bryan’s computer. His voice shook a little as he said, “Uh, sure.” Was he worried about something? If so, was it about what Alex might find—or what he might not be able to find?
Tanner’s office was next door to Bryan’s, and it was a study in contrast. No rug adorned the plain beige carpeting, a whiteboard covered the wall opposite the standard-issue office desk, and while his office had a bathroom, it was just a toilet and a sink. No shower. And no closet.
I looked around at the spare room, the cluttered desk, and the computer monitor that looked like it had feathers there were so many Post-it notes stuck to the edges. “You really got the ass end of the office space deal.”
Tanner replied, “Actually, when we signed the lease, the only difference was his office was a little bigger.”
I almost laughed. “So he remodeled?”
“Yeah.” His tone was disdainful. “Typical Bryan.”
Niko left the room and wandered down the hallway. I was about to follow him when Alex called out. “Hey, Sam. Come check this out.”
Tanner and I went back to Bryan’s office. Niko joined us. Alex motioned us over to the computer and pointed to the screen. “This file that’s marked ‘T Rex.’” Alex double-clicked on it and then clicked on the document by the same name. A list of names—I thought they might be company names—popped up
. “Do you recognize these, Tanner?”
“Yeah. ‘T Rex’ is the title we gave my investment recommendations.”
Tanner’s Recs—as in recommendations. Clever. Sort of. Alex clicked to the next page, which showed the same names with a number after each one. There was a number at the bottom that seemed to be the total: $100,000.
Tanner gave a startled cry. “What? No!” He practically shoved Alex aside as he turned the monitor to get a closer look.
Alex leaned back to give him room. “I assume those numbers show the amounts he invested in each company?”
Tanner was breathing hard. “Yeah. And it’s about one percent of what we agreed on.”
If what Tanner said was true, then Bryan had made nominal investments just for show. In which case . . . “What happened to the other ninety-nine percent of the money?”
Alex looked up at Tanner, whose face had turned a bright red. “Mind if I get back in here?” Tanner stepped away, and Alex hit the keys in a flurry of motion. “It looks like he funneled a big chunk into something called BYO.” He spoke to Tanner over his shoulder. “Recognize the name?”
Tanner shook his head. “Is it a company? What is it?”
Alex resumed typing. “Hold on.” He flew through the windows too fast for me to follow what he was doing, but five minutes later, he leaned back and blew out a breath.
Tanner had been pacing and rubbing the back of his neck. Now he stopped and stared at Alex. “What? What?”
Alex pressed his lips together. “That entity called BYO? Where ninety-nine percent of the money went? It’s a private holding company.”
Tanner groaned and shook his head. “I can’t believe this.” He turned to Niko. “That’s got to be what he did with the cryptocurrency trade money, too! See? I told you he ripped us all off!”
Alex took in his reaction, then turned back to the screen and resumed typing. After a few seconds, he stopped and stared at the screen. “Seems so. As far as I can tell, there’s no money in the BYO holding company account—now.”