by Marcia Clark
I was trying to process it all. If this was where all the investors’ money had gone, and Bryan had stolen it, then what had they used to buy the cryptocurrency stock? I posed the question to Tanner.
He waved his arms. “How the hell should I know? I had nothing to do with that buy!”
Niko gave him a warning look. “You have every right to be upset, but watch your mouth when you talk to Sam.”
Something else about this didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Alex frowned at the monitor. “There’s got to be some trace of the cryptocurrency buy.” He resumed typing, but his frown deepened. He muttered, “It shouldn’t be this tough to find. Bryan’s not that good.”
Tanner swallowed hard as he watched Alex for a moment, then went back to pacing.
I was starting to wonder whether there had ever really been a trade at all. Whether Bryan had set it up to look like he’d invested in the cryptocurrency stock and lost when in fact, he’d never made any kind of trade; he’d simply stolen all the investors’ money. I made a mental note to ask Alex what he thought when we had a private moment.
But as I considered what Bryan would do if he’d wanted to hide the information on his cryptocurrency buy—or whatever he’d done with the money he’d pretended to invest—it occurred to me that he might not have wanted to do it on a computer. “Hey, Tanner. Does Bryan have a safe here?”
He gave me a bitter look. “Not that he ever told me. Which doesn’t mean shit.”
I agreed. I knelt down and lifted a corner of the Persian rug to look for seams in the carpet. I didn’t see any. Niko went to the other side of the rug and lifted a corner. He shook his head.
We moved to the other corners of the rug. Nothing. I scanned my side of the perimeter of the room, looking for a gap between the wall and the carpet. Niko did the same on his side. Nothing.
I pointed to the bathroom. We searched the floor for loose tiles, the shower for any cutouts, and all the drawers in the vanity. I let Niko check the toilet tank. Nothing.
I glanced at Tanner. He’d stopped pacing. Now he was hovering over Alex and chewing on a cuticle. I would’ve felt bad that Alex had to deal with someone breathing down his neck, except he was so enrapt, he didn’t seem to notice.
Niko had opened the closet and was shining the beam of his cell phone flashlight around the floor. I joined him there and studied the carpet. Nothing unusual. I shined my cell phone flashlight on the shelf above the clothing rod.
And finally saw something. I tapped Niko’s arm and pointed the beam at the lines I’d noticed in the wall. He nodded as he reached up and pushed on the left side. It didn’t move. Then he pushed on the right side.
A square-shaped piece of wall swung open. And there it was. A safe. It wasn’t particularly fancy—which, given Bryan’s other choices, surprised me. It was just an ordinary metal box that opened with a key. I called out, “Hey, we found a safe. Can you guys look for any smallish keys in his desk?”
Alex and Tanner pulled out all the drawers and rummaged around. It didn’t take long. Bryan didn’t keep much in it. Alex shook his head. “No luck.”
Of course not. That’d be too easy. “Damn. Now what?”
Niko was unfazed. “Now we do it the old-fashioned way. This thing is junk. I can drill right through that lock.”
Alex always carries everything in the trunk of his car—and this is why. He—of course—had a drill. He brought it, and several drill bits, from his car, and within fifteen minutes, the door to the safe was open.
I’d expected money. What I found was worse. Much worse.
Driver’s licenses and social security cards in four different names. But all the photos were variations on just one face: Bryan’s.
EIGHT
I handed the driver’s licenses to Alex. “Maybe one of these . . .”
He took them. “Right. I’ll know pretty quick.”
Bryan wasn’t slick enough to hide information on his computer from someone as good as Alex. Unless he hid it under a fake name.
Sure enough, it took just seven minutes for Alex to find the secret account. It’d been hidden under the name Stuart Mohler. Alex waved us over and pointed to the monitor. “Looks like Bryan / Stuart saved up a real fat stack.”
Five point six million to be exact. I searched the screen but didn’t see any clue as to where the money was stashed. “Can you find out where it is?”
Alex stared at the monitor. “I don’t think he kept that information on this computer. At least, there’s no indication of any bank account or money market account or anything. What I found here is just his kind of financial diary.” He clicked backward to previous pages and pointed to the screen. “See this? It goes by date, and he logs in every week with a running tally.”
Tanner had been silent as Alex showed us what he’d found. Now, he spoke in a whisper. “That’s all the money from our investors. So he’s been siphoning it off all along.” He dropped his head into his hands and spoke in a strangled voice. “I’m ruined.”
Niko’s face looked like thunder. “Where would he go?”
Tanner ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Anywhere.”
Alex looked up. “I take it you didn’t find any passports in the safe.” I shook my head. “Then we don’t even know if he’s in this country.”
“But if he left the country, he’d have to use his passport.” Meaning the police—or, rather, Dale—could find out where he’d gone. Then another stumbling block occurred to me. “Unless he also had a fake one.”
Niko frowned. “He’s tight with his mother. She must know where he is.”
Tanner waved a hand. “Forget it. She won’t tell you diddly-squat.”
We were getting nowhere fast. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but maybe it’s time to call the cops.”
Tanner held up his hands. “No! Absolutely not. We’ll never get our money back if they grab him.”
I gave an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, I know that. Because I’m the one who told you to begin with. But you have zero chance of getting any money back if you don’t find him. At least if the cops bust him, you have a shot at getting some money back. Eventually.” It wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear.
Niko didn’t look happy. “You’re right, Sam. But let’s give it a few more days. I’ll talk to Bryan’s mother and see if I can get any hints. If we keep hitting dead ends, we’ll do it. We’ll bring in the cops.”
Alex shut down the computer, and I looked at the safe—which was now hanging open. “There’s no way to hide that we broke into this thing, so I’m going to hang on to all his fake IDs. If these are the only ones he’s got and he hasn’t run yet, he’ll be coming back for them.”
“Which means we may have a chance to catch him,” Niko said. “Tanner, you’ll need to keep a close eye on the office. If you spot him, call me immediately.”
Tanner gave him a dark look. “Don’t worry.”
I asked Tanner what he used to clean his monitor. His tone was puzzled. “Those soft cloths—like the kind you use for glasses.”
“I need all of them.” He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand. “Don’t ask.” He shrugged, went to his office, and came back with a handful of them. “Thanks.” I gestured to Niko and Tanner. “You guys can go wait in the reception area. We’ll just be a minute.” They exchanged a look but wisely didn’t press me for answers. When they were out of the room, I tossed half of the cloths to Alex. “We need to wipe this place down—everything we’ve touched.” If Bryan didn’t show up soon, the cops would be all over this place. It’d be okay if they found Niko’s fingerprints or DNA or whatever. He had a legit reason to be here. But it’d be hard to explain what Alex and I were doing here—and frankly, I didn’t want to have to try. That’s why I’d needed to wipe the place down with something Tanner owned. His DNA belonged here. Mine and Alex’s didn’t.
We left the building with no better plan than to hope Bryan would come back for hi
s IDs. In other words, with no plan at all.
It was four thirty in the morning when we got back to Niko’s place. Exhausted and depressed, we went straight to bed.
The ringing phone woke me up, and I was sure I’d only been asleep for ten minutes. But as Niko answered, I saw that it was already ten thirty in the morning. I was still exhausted, so I started to burrow back in, but then I heard a frantic voice practically screaming into the phone.
It was Sophia’s housekeeper. Niko’s mother was in the hospital. She’d had a stroke. Niko and I both shot out of bed as he tried to calm the housekeeper down long enough to tell him which hospital his mother was in. It was Cedars-Sinai on Beverly Boulevard.
We jumped into clothes and broke all speed limits to get there. It’d normally take fifteen minutes to get from Niko’s house in Beverly Glen Canyon to Cedars, which was in West Hollywood. We made it in seven.
Niko paced as I racked my brain to come up with something to say that would be supportive and calming. But every phrase I thought of either sounded counterproductive (“People make full recoveries all the time”—which only highlighted the fact that others don’t) or ridiculous (“I’m sure she’ll be fine”—because how the hell could I know?).
By the time the neurosurgeon, Dr. Hoffman, came out to see us, Niko’s endless circular pacing had made us both dizzy. Hoffman was a short, wiry man with thick white Brillo Pad hair, heavy white eyebrows, and piercing blue eyes. He strode into the waiting room at a brisk clip, sat down, and gestured for Niko to do the same.
The doctor gave him a direct look. “I take it you’re the son.” Niko nodded. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the doctor continued. “Your mother has had an ischemic stroke. We’ve done a CT scan, and we’re preparing to do an MRI. Just based on the CT scan, it appears the damage is extensive.”
Niko’s face paled, his breathing fast and shallow. “Is she going to . . . make it?”
Dr. Hoffman looked into Niko’s eyes. “I don’t know. Has your mother ever had a stroke before?”
Niko looked dazed. “N-no. I don’t think so.”
It was a measure of just how shaken up he was that he didn’t remember. I tried to say it gently. “Niko, you told me she had a minor stroke five years ago.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. That’s right. But she didn’t lose motor function or anything. Her right arm was just a little weak.”
The doctor’s heavy brows pulled together. “That explains why this stroke was so much worse. And it does make the prognosis for survival and recovery less . . . optimistic.”
I tried to inject a positive note. “But she’s alive so far.”
The doctor nodded. “She is. But she’s totally paralyzed, and she’s completely lost the power of speech.”
Niko dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my God!”
A flash of sorrow crossed the doctor’s face. “I’m sorry. But I don’t want to give you false hope. Even if she does survive, it’s very unlikely that she’ll regain any significant degree of motor function or speech.”
Niko’s eyes filled. He didn’t seem to notice as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Can I see her?”
Dr. Hoffman stood up. “If they haven’t taken her in for the MRI already.” He pulled out his cell phone and stepped away.
I rubbed Niko’s back, feeling ineffectual and overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry.”
He dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. I wrapped my arms around him as tears sprang to my eyes. She wasn’t my mother. I barely knew her. But Niko’s pain pierced my heart like a glass shard.
The doctor finished his call and came back. “I can take you to her room if you’d like to see her, but I doubt she’ll be awake.”
He turned and set a rapid pace through the swinging doors, down the hall that led to the ICU and Niko’s mother’s room. I stood behind Niko as he went to her bedside. Sophia was asleep. She looked like a little bird, her body barely visible under the sheet and blanket.
Niko smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed it as he covered the frail hand that lay on top of the blanket. He spoke softly to her, saying he was there, not to be afraid, that everything would be okay. It was a heartbreaking sight, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying.
After a few minutes, a young intern came in and said that it was time for the MRI. We followed Sophia’s gurney until it reached the next set of swinging doors.
Dr. Hoffman stopped. “The nurses in ICU will keep you posted. Just know we’re doing all we can.”
We couldn’t ask for more than that, but it wasn’t enough. I supposed it never was for anyone in a situation like this.
I drove us back to Niko’s place. He was in no shape to do anything more than move his body to and from the car and into the house. I put him to bed, then went to the living room and called Michy at the office. I filled her in on the day’s tragic events. “I think I’d better stay with him for now.”
Michy was her usual empathetic, supportive self. “Of course you should. God, I’m so sorry! What can I do? Do you want me to bring dinner over?”
I told her not to bother. There was plenty of food in the house. “I’ll check in later—”
She cut me off. “You absolutely will not. There are no emergencies here. Luckily, all your clients are in custody right now. They’re as fine as they’re ever going to be. Just go hold Niko’s hand. And please keep me updated on his mom.”
I promised I would, then ended the call and made Niko some chamomile tea. It was all I could think of to do.
He cried off and on throughout the day and night. I did my best to soothe him, but I had no great, insightful words of wisdom that would make him feel better. The truth was, the picture for Sophia’s future was bleak.
The following day, we got the news that I’d feared was coming: Sophia was on life support.
Though it was no surprise, it hit Niko hard. He sank even further. I held Niko as he wept, listened as he spoke of how he loved her, and sympathized as he railed at the universe—and more specifically, at Bryan.
He paced and punched the air with his fist. “That fucking monster! It’s all his fault. I’m sick of waiting for that piece of shit to show up. We’re going to the cops. I don’t give a good goddamn about the money. I want that fucking asshole to die in prison!”
I agreed. I wanted to nail Bryan to the wall. Screw the money. But I had the wherewithal to admit that neither of us was in any shape to make a rational decision right now. I needed to buy us some time to think, so I used a stalling tactic. “I’m with you. I’ll talk to Dale, see what’s the best way to move on this.”
That seemed to work. Niko calmed down a little, and I distracted him with some revenge therapy: the classic Kill Bill, with Uma Thurman.
For the next three days, we only left the house to go to the hospital and see Sophia. On the fourth day, I had a court appearance. I’d been considering asking one of my old public defender buddies to stand in for me. But Niko said he needed some fresh air and exercise. It was a good sign, though he was still far from himself. I asked, “You planning on going to the gym?”
Niko took his empty coffee cup and cereal bowl (he’s a big fan of oatmeal) to the sink. “Yeah. I was thinking it might help.” He rinsed out the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then turned back to me. “I just realized, you’ve missed, like, days of work.”
“And happy to do it. But since you’re up and out, I should probably hit the salt mines.”
He came over and put his arms around me. “I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done. I can’t imagine how I would’ve made it without you.”
I kissed him. “All I did was sit here and hold your hand.” I gave a little smile. “And heat up some soup.”
He returned my smile. “It was the safest culinary choice.” He walked me to the door. “I love you.” I told him I loved him, too. As I turned to go, he said, “And damn, I’m going to miss you.”
I stepped out and bl
ew him a kiss. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too.”
But as I got into my car, I knew I’d be relieved to go home tonight.
Would there ever come a time when I was sad to be alone? When I didn’t need to reassure myself that every night and every weekend had an expiration date?
I didn’t know. But it sure hadn’t happened so far.
NINE
My afternoon appearance turned into the usual kind of bureaucratic nightmare. My client, who was in custody, wound up being a “miss out,” i.e., he hadn’t made it onto the court-bound bus for whatever reason, but the judge wouldn’t allow me to waive time and set the case for another day, so I had to hang around the courthouse all day until my client got there. Which didn’t happen until four o’clock.
Which meant that by the time I got to head for home, it was the peak of rush hour. Which meant that a drive that should’ve taken half an hour took me an hour and a half. When I finally got home, it was dark.
I dragged myself up the stairs to my little aerie of an apartment above Sunset Boulevard, dropped my briefcase inside the door, and poured myself three fingers of Patrón Silver. I took it out to my balcony and breathed in the night air. My one bedroom, one bath wouldn’t make the cover of Better Homes & Gardens, but it did offer a sweeping view of the city that stretched from West Hollywood to downtown Los Angeles.
It was a cloudless night, with just a crescent moon. The red taillights of the cars streaming up and down La Cienega, Sunset, and, in the distance, the freeway looked like a moving collage. As I sipped my tequila, the tension in my body slowly began to ebb. I called Niko to check in but got his voice mail. He hadn’t mentioned any plans to go out. I figured he must’ve gone to the hospital. Probably didn’t have good reception there.
Worry about Sophia, Niko, and all the investors who’d been ruined had been eating away at me. I hadn’t talked to Dale yet—the precursor to bringing in the police. And so far, Niko hadn’t mentioned it again. It now seemed obvious that whatever had happened with the investors’ cryptocurrency buy-in, Bryan was behind it, and that he’d been lying all along.