Velvet Mafia

by Lydia L Watts

  “Okay, Taylor, I’m listening,” Yeager said.

  “Half, Councilman; I want half,” Taylor said. “And from this point on, we are partners — equal partners. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Yeager said, sounding exasperated. “We’re partners. Equal partners from this moment going forward. Now tell me what it is you know.”

  “Okay. Now that we have that established, I can move on. First, do you recall your first meeting with Edelstein? You know? The one where you accused me of spying? The one where you asked me to find out as much as I could about him?”

  “Yes, I do. And for the record, you were spying, Taylor. Something you do often — and well, I might add. That’s why you were part of my inner circle; you did your job well.”

  “Flattery is not necessary Guy; this is business. I’m not sharing this information with you as a favor or a gesture. What I’m sharing with you makes us equals, so please, stop with the fake flattery. Play that game with somebody who needs the attention.”

  Yeager had to admit, whatever information she had, it was giving her a confidence he had never seen before and it was too much confidence for his taste.

  “Touché,” he said. “I promise no more fake flattery. Now, please, go on with your story, Taylor. Boredom is setting in.”

  Taylor ignored Yeager’s attempt to knock her off her block and casually went on as if nothing had been said.

  “As I was saying, when you asked me to find out what I could on Edelstein, I kept running into a brick wall, so it was then that I decided to look at Blake Jones instead. But I knew I would need some help, so I reached out to Stan Lewis. It was Stan who told me Blake had a brother who had died recently. After I told you about his brother, you looked as if you were about to have a stroke. I knew then that Blake and his brother were the key and that’s when I hired Stan to help me.”

  “How did you get Stan to help? And to be perfectly honest with you, I’m surprised he never told me about it.”

  “Well, that’s because I told him not to. I told Stan you needed his help and in return, he would be your press secretary once you assumed the interim mayor’s position. I also told him that he couldn’t say any-thing to you about it in case you were questioned by the Feds. As you know, with Jeffries’s indictment, other names of interest had surfaced, including yours, for official misconduct. I knew that eventually the Feds would get around to asking you questions and I just wanted to make sure that other questions didn’t enter into the mix.”

  “I see. So you want me to believe that you were trying to protect me?” Yeager said. “And Stan agreed to that?”

  “Yes, I was, and, yes, he did,” she said. “He was instructed to do his own research and not to talk to anyone but me. Plausible deniability was my angle and for the most part, it worked. But you know Stan. It couldn’t be that simple. He switched things up on me. He knew that if you didn’t get the interim post, then his shot at being press secretary was down the tube, so he brokered a fee for his service.”

  “Now that sounds like the Stan I knew,” Yeager said with a smile. “A man from my own heart. Money is king, right, Taylor?”

  “It sure is, Councilman. That’s why we are here right now discussing our future together.”

  “So, how much did Stan broker and where did you get the money?”

  “Three thousand for every piece of information that was legitimate; no spin. You know, both you and Stan are notorious for spinning the truth.”

  “That’s the fun: having the power to spin and the ability to get away with it,” Yeager said. “I’m not in the business of capturing prisoners; I want to destroy my enemies. That way they can’t be resurrected. So, where did you get the money to pay him?”

  “I used my own funds to pay him,” Taylor said. “Once I heard what he had to say and saw what he had to show me, I knew it was best to stay away from your discretionary fund.”

  “I see,” he said. “So how much did he earn before he died?

  “Six thousand dollars.”

  “Well, now,” he said, “isn’t it interesting that he was robbed while carrying six thousand dollars?”

  “I don’t know if you would call it interesting,” Taylor said. “I just call it bad luck.”

  Taylor knew exactly where Yeager was trying to go. But it wouldn’t work. This was her story to tell and she was telling it her way. “Anyway, while we were at the Lavender Lounge, Stan shared with me that when Blake was in college, he’d had a roommate. They lived together both on and off campus.”

  “Surely you are not going to tell me that Blake Jones is gay?” Yeager said.

  “No, Councilman, he is as straight as they come. I asked the same question, too. But, if you let me finish the story without interruption, I am sure that every question you have will be answered.”

  “Go on.” Yeager waved his hand to indicate he was beyond amused.

  “According to his old roommate, the entire time they lived together Blake would receive a letter from Missouri once a month. Nobody knew who the sender was because there was never a name or a return address. But one night, his roommate found the letters. Oh, by the way, did you know that Blake was biracial?”

  Surprisingly, Yeager did not bite. Once he had figured out that Blake and Devon were brothers, he knew Blake was biracial. Yeager had always hated both Blake’s wealth and the fact that Blake had keen features and strikingly beautiful, big hazel eyes. When he’d realized Yancy was Blake’s father, he could suddenly see Yancy in Blake’s facial features. Except for skin color, Blake was the spitting image of Yancy Laurie, the man Yeager had always wished was his own father.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” he finally said, without showing his true emotions. “But that tidbit of information does not warrant a partnership between the two of us.”

  “Point well taken, Councilman,” Taylor said. “Point well taken. But the story does get better. I just thought you might have been amused knowing Blake was mixed and not Black.” Taylor couldn’t help but laugh. She had heard Yeager call Blake out of his name so often, just the thought of watching him come to grips with the fact that Blake was mixed was amusing.

  “Anyway,” Taylor said, “I digress. His roommate read the letters and could not believe what he found: they had been written by Devon Laurie, Blake’s half-brother. So, his roommate put all the pieces together and started to blackmail Blake. And Blake — well, really Yancy Laurie — was forced to pay this guy one million dollars a year for his silence. But there was a catch. The guy had to keep Blake’s identity secret as long as his half-brother Devon was still living. That way there would be no scandal attached to the Laurie name. Apparently, before Yancy Laurie died, he set it up so, on paper, Devon looked like the sole heir but, in fact, he wasn’t. He also set it up so Blake was well taken care of. In fact, not only did he have access to the Clydesdale Energy fortune, but for the last ten years and under an assumed name, Blake has overseen the entire Clydesdale Energy portfolio, which today is worth over thirty billion dollars.”

  Like Taylor, when Stan had told her the story, Yeager was in awe. That explains it. No wonder I kept running into a brick wall. The financials of both Blake and Devon were ghost.

  “I felt the same way when I heard the story,” Taylor said, laughing as she watched Yeager digest the information. “In fact, I was so much in awe, my mouth was hanging open just like yours is doing right now.”

  “So you find this funny?” Yeager said.

  “No, I find your expression funny,” she said. “And if you could see what I see, you would be laughing, too.”

  “Go on with the story, Taylor, because —“

  “I know,” she said. “Let me guess: you are starting to get bored. Well, maybe this will help you with your boredom. When your lover died, all the Laurie fortune went to Blake, ending the blackmailer’s money train.”

  “Excuse me,” Yeager said with indignation. “What do you mean, ‘when my lover died’? What are you talking about, Taylor?”


  “Bingo.” She snapped her fingers. “You don’t seem bored anymore. Come on, Guy. Surely you know I wouldn’t have said what I just said if I didn’t have proof. Now let me finish my story. I’ll get to the part about you and Devon being lovers in a minute.”

  Yeager was pissed but he knew he had to keep his cool. “Anyway,” she said, “apparently Yancy Laurie established in his will that if all the legitimate heirs born of the union between Eloise and Yancy Laurie died, the entire family fortune and wealth would go to his firstborn son, Blake Daniel Jones. Now, Councilman, before I go any further, do you have any questions for me?”

  “Only one right now. What proof do you have that Devon Laurie and I were lovers?”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  This was one of the moments in her story she had most looked forward to telling — in this case, a show-and-tell moment. Taylor pulled out the letter Stan had showed her, not thinking about the fact that, though still readable, the paper had Stan’s blood on it. By the time she realized what this meant, it was too late. She could tell by Yeager’s expression that he had figured it out or at least figured out that the story she’d told the police regarding Stan’s death hadn’t gone down quite the way she’d said it had.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “And you’re right. I took the letter from Stan’s shirt pocket before the police got there. And once you read it, you will understand why.”

  After reading the incriminating letter, Yeager could no longer hide his emotions. He was angry, pissed and feeling betrayed, both by Devon and by Yancy, his mentor and father figure. It was as if he were watching his whole life go before him. But this time, he had an audience.

  “I know how you feel, Guy,” Taylor said. “Imagine my surprise when it hit me that Blake Jones was the sole heir to the Clydesdale Energy fortune and that Devon Laurie, his half-brother, was your lover. But I knew there had to be more. I couldn’t help but remember your face when I told you that Blake had a brother who had died recently. It was fear I saw on your face — cold, unadulterated fear — the kind of fear that haunts a man. So I knew there had to be more to this story and you have the missing pieces.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Yeager said. “What makes you so sure I can fill in the missing pieces?”

  “Because I know Yancy Laurie had a provision added to his will — a provision that could make you a billionaire. Like you’ve always said, this is a money sport and if you tell me what I want to know, then we both walk away billionaires.”

  “Okay, Taylor, I’ll tell you what you want if you stop playing games and tell me what the provision said. It’s obvious you have me in a compromising position and that said, I have no choice. So please, tell me what the provision says.”

  “You’re right, Guy. I do have you by the balls. And I’ve enjoyed this intimate moment together. However, I can see that you, on the other hand, haven’t enjoyed it as much as I have, so, without further ado, I will tell you how you and I become multibillionaires. It’s simple; all you have to do is kill Blake Jones. According to court documents filed, Blake could expose his identity if he wanted to, but he didn’t have to. However, if for some reason Blake dies, the entire Clydesdale Energy fortune would be turned over to you as the final beneficiary. So, Councilman, apparently you made a lasting impression on the old man after all.”

  Yeager felt as if he had received a blood transfusion. Suddenly, whatever despair he had been feeling was gone. It was as if he had a new sense of purpose.

  “So tell me, Taylor, does Blake know what you told me?”

  “He does if Devon did what he was supposed to do before he died.”

  “And what was that?” he said.

  “Transfer all his assets over to the company and give Blake the documents Yancy had developed, establishing him as his firstborn son and heir to the fortune. In my opinion, he probably didn’t do it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Yeager asked.

  “Because if he had done it,” Taylor said, “I would think you’d have heard from Blake by now.”

  What Taylor didn’t realize was that he had heard from Blake the day after Whitherspoon’s murder, when Blake had walked into his office and given him the picture of Isabella Cardosa.

  “Now, Councilman, a deal is a deal. I told you what you wanted and needed to know. Now it’s your turn. Once we kill Blake, the fortune is ours.”

  “Yes, Taylor, you’re right. It is my turn.” Yeager turned toward Taylor as she sat comfortably in his favorite chair and shot her. The first bullet hit her chest and the second one went right between her eyes. Taylor hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Yeager then made a call. “Meet me at my house. I have something that needs to be disposed of.”

  Yeager hung up, walked over to Taylor’s dead body, removed the letter she had tucked in her bra and covered her face with an old, dirty towel he picked up off the messy floor. He showed no remorse; instead, he was bothered that she was still in his house. On the other hand, he knew he owed Taylor a debt of gratitude. If it hadn’t been for her, he may never have put all the pieces together. Thanks to her, he now had everything he needed to convince Eli to take Blake out. And once Blake was out of the picture, he would have complete access to the Clydesdale fortune. For the right act of loyalty, it was a fortune Yeager would be willing to share.

  As instructed, the stranger arrived at Yeager’s home prepared to remove a body — that of the councilman’s aide, Taylor DuBois — from his study. She had a bullet in her chest and another in her head. Within minutes, Taylor’s body, the chair, the rug and the towel used to cover her face were in his truck. He would return for her car once he had disposed of the rest.

  It wasn’t long before the stranger made it back on foot to retrieve Taylor’s car. As always, he said little and didn’t ask questions. He was a man of action.

  After the stranger left, Yeager finally took a moment to bask in his joy. Soon he would be the legal beneficiary of one of the largest fortunes in the world. Things were falling into place and turning out much better than he had imagined. And now, the only thing left on his agenda was to deal with Eli.

  As Yeager was preparing for his next move, his phone rang.

  “Hello, Guy.”

  “Jeffries? Is this you?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Jeffries replied.

  “Listen, Grey, I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner.”

  “Forget it, Guy, and stop the bullshit. I know you set this shit in motion and I want you to know I’m going to use every power I have to destroy you. You’re the one behind the indictment and I swear you’ll regret the day you ever made me your enemy. If I go down, so will you. Even if I have to kill you. So, don’t think this shit is over because it’s not.”

  Teddy met Lance at the Amtrak Station in Bethesda, Maryland. She had a friend who owned a little flower shop in the depot and she knew it would be easy for them to leave unseen through the passageway to the tracks directly outside his business. Once outside, Teddy and Lance only had to walk along the rails for about a quarter of a mile until they came to the first passenger crossway.

  Here they could blend in with the crowd without being noticed since the first passenger crossway was also the last passenger exit. Thus, this area of cobblestone pathways, trees, flowers, benches and cafés was always busy, so no one would notice that they entered the crossway from trackside and even if they did, chances were they wouldn’t look out of place.

  Teddy and Lance caught the next train heading north, entering two separate cars so no one would place them together. Their destination was Beaver Park, a quaint, picturesque and charming little community a couple of hours from Bethesda, known for its shops, schools, classic cars and property taxes.

  It was also known for the type of people who lived in the community. Most were well-to-do employees of the federal government and many families lived alternative lifestyles. In fact, it had been one of the first suburban areas to openly seek out the buying power o
f gays and lesbians. That made it worth the commute.

  Beaver Park had been a perfect community for her and Isabella. So, three months before Isabella’s death, the two of them had bought a place surrounded by well-manicured lawns and Craftsman-like bungalows located at the end of an isolated cul-de-sac. They had completed all the necessary renovations and were scheduled to move in the day Isabella was kidnapped. Five days later, she was dead.

  Eight years had passed since Teddy had laid eyes on the bungalow and no one, not even their friends or parents, had known it existed. It was to have been their surprise. Teddy and Isabella had decided to take the next step in their relationship. They wanted a home together and a family. The bungalow was to be their new beginning. Isabella’s career was soaring. She was at the top of her game and being considered for major positions within the executive leadership of the National Institutes of Health and Teddy’s new endeavor as a crime consultant for major television networks was flourishing. So, they had been ready to do what most Americans did: settle down, make roots and raise kids. They were soul mates and everything seemed to be going perfectly. Then it happened. Isabella was gone.

  After Isabella’s death, Teddy couldn’t bear to part with the bungalow, so she had hired a firm to manage the property. As the weeks had turned into years, she ended up renting it to the Jaspers, a retired veterinarian and his wife, but when the wife died, the family had moved back to Texas, leaving the house again vacant.

  In the meantime, everything she and Isabella had had together was at 1111 Beaver Park Drive, stored in the attic and out of harm’s way. Now that finally, Teddy had figured out what the pieces were, she had to put those pieces together. But time was ticking fast and if she failed, there would be tremendous consequences.

  Seeing the house for the first time brought back many memories. As Teddy marveled at the bungalow’s picturesque beauty, she felt that the Jaspers had been angels sent as guardians, protecting the place for this particular moment in time. Was this a coincidence? Or just another part of God’s divine plan?