by Steve Hadden
Ike hugged Jack again and looked at Lauren. “Yes, I will, Jack. Yes, I will.”
With a couple of staccato breaths, Jack stopped crying, leaned back, and wiped his nose with his forearm.
Ike grabbed the tablet in front of him and wrote down the mathematical expression: 3–53+8x2+19.
He slid it in front of Jack. “Do you know what this means?”
Jack examined the tablet.
“That’s easy. Minus 15.”
Ike waited, but Jack began handling the Rubik’s Cube again. It meant nothing to him.
“Okay, Jack. You okay?”
Jack just nodded.
“Let’s go see your aunt.”
As Ike and Jack walked out of the room, Jack reached up and took Ike’s hand.
CHAPTER 17
Ike knew this was a bold move, but time was running out and risks needed to be taken. Jack’s trouble was deep and thick, and going slow or standing still would be like standing atop quicksand—he’d sink in the morass of the legal system and be smothered and choked by the overwhelming facts against him. As he turned from Grant Street and entered the parking garage under Falzone Center, he pegged his odds of seeing any Falzone at less than 5 percent. He’d see Bigfoot first. They’d hide behind their offices, their card-driven turnstiles, and a wall of corporate security to stonewall him. That’s what he’d do in their shoes. But this was sending the message, and five million dollars said it would strike home. It would exert pressure—and pressure leads to mistakes.
He exited his car and checked his e-mail as he always did. His eyes froze three messages down. Tom Cole. Another e-mail. When he opened the message, there was just one line: 4+3–53+8+74.
Two of the numbers had been in the last expression and it had seven numbers in all, just like the last one, but this one had no multiplication. Anchored in place next to his car, he ran through the possibilities and discarded his leading candidate. Because there were now two expressions, there was little chance they were four-digit combinations to a safe somewhere. Phone numbers went out the window for the same reason. That put him back to nowhere.
And who the hell was sending these? His tech guy said the IP address couldn’t be traced, and there was a possibility that Cole had set up a program to automatically send these messages. But from where? And why? What did they mean? Ike held on to the theory that someone could simply be sending him junk to misdirect his attention and waste time. Those people might be in this building fifty-two stories above him. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and headed to the lobby.
The door to the parking garage elevator opened and Ike experienced déjà vu. He’d been in corporate lobbies like this before. The short hallway opened into a massive marble lobby. To the right, rows of security turnstiles flanked by blue-blazered security personnel guarded the elevator banks. Straight ahead, two young women perched behind a granite enclosure emblazoned with platinum block letters spelling RECEPTION. Beyond them, three guards manned a security desk that was twice as large as reception. One was obviously glued to a bank of monitors hidden by the granite wall surrounding the desks. The other two were scanning the lobby. As Ike approached, one of the security guards eyed him closely, then picked up a phone. With cameras spread across the entire area, Ike was sure he was captured on their system. He slowed his gait slightly, as if stalking prey—more pressure.
Reaching the receptionist, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to the girl on the right.
“Ike Rossi here to see Nick Falzone.”
“Do you have an appointment, Mr. Rossi?”
“Mr. Falzone should be expecting me.”
She dialed her phone and adjusted her headset. Ike readied for the rebuke. He peeked over her shoulder and saw all three guards focused on him. He’d been thrown out of much nicer places by much larger men. Resting an elbow on the desk, he turned and watched the traffic on Grant—and waited.
CHAPTER 18
Nick Falzone hated answering these questions. It wasn’t just the probing nature of the inquiries but also the questioners and the implication that he may not have all his bases covered that pissed him off. Joseph and Brooks Latham, his father’s bulldog, had been with Nick since eleven, going over the facts in the custody battle with Bottaro and the facts of the criminal cases as they knew them. Only Joseph knew the stakes Nick faced. Even Latham, who’d been at Joseph’s side since the beginning, couldn’t be trusted with such explosive and deadly information. But Joseph’s hackles had been raised when Latham had described Ike Rossi’s movements over the past twenty-four hours.
Nick loved his father, but he suspected that everything he’d given Nick was driven by guilt. When his parents divorced just after his ninth birthday, his mother took his twin sister and his father took Nick. The fact that his mother chose Brenda over him haunted him for years. He’d had trouble in schools all the way through Yale. Not grade troubles—he was smarter than all his classmates—but his classmates always pissed him off, and he settled scores with his mouth and his fists. When he was about to be tossed from Yale despite his father’s legacy, his father stepped in, and after a year of intense therapy, Nick tamed his anger. He’d told them it was gone. But that was a lie. Once his father had given him the chance to help run the oil and gas company, he created billions of dollars in value and ascended to the top job. Now he hated anyone questioning his authority and decisions or telling him what to do, including his father.
They had reviewed the critical elements of the custody battle and Latham was near certain they’d get visitation at a minimum. That wasn’t enough for Nick. He’d just as soon put a bullet in the kid now and eliminate any chance of spending the rest of his life on death row. But Joseph had him on a much tighter leash now and he needed to be careful. Latham shifted the discussion to the criminal case.
“I’ve been assured by McCann that the boy would be convicted in less than a week,” he said. “It was the closest thing to a slam dunk that I’d ever heard from the district attorney. Despite the changes in the Pennsylvania sentencing requirements, I think a life sentence is still on the table. The premeditation and coldness of the killing of a father of two, along with the public sentiment against the kid, is just too much pressure on Judge Nowicki. The boy will be incarcerated for at least twenty years and probably life.”
Nick watched his father’s expression sour.
“Can we intervene at sentencing?” Joseph asked.
“Yes. As a concerned grandparent asking for the court’s mercy. I think that would play well with the public and the jury. But your best outcome is to have him in a juvenile detention center until he’s eighteen, and then he’s in an adult correctional facility. No chance of parole for at least ten years, probably more. Life without parole is still a possibility.”
Joseph settled back, deep into the leather chair. Nick hated his father’s consternation. Grandson or not, the boy could destroy the company and end Nick’s freedom.
“I’m assured we can control him in both places,” Nick added.
Joseph sent a daggered look in Nick’s direction. “I don’t want him hurt—not in any way.”
The scolding stung, as it always did from his father. He wanted to strike back, to tell him the kid would destroy his legacy and his wealth if he knew what Nick suspected he’d done. But he held his tongue. He’d take care of things himself if and when the situation arose.
“What about the custody hearing? I’m assuming if we get visitation, that carries through to visits at the facility.”
“Yes. Until he’s eighteen,” Latham said. “The poker club is meeting Friday. First one without Franklin.” He dipped his head. “I’ll confirm the outcome there. Should be no prob—”
A knock interrupted Latham and Shannon opened the door and leaned in.
“Ike Rossi is in the lobby asking for Nick.”
Almost immediately, Nick’s face heated up. Rossi was the second-worst thing that could happen. He quenched his temper with the thought tha
t he could handle Rossi. While his father feared him, Nick had a solution. “I should see him,” he said, settling himself.
Everyone in the room looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
“I’d strongly advise against that,” Latham said, looking to Joseph for support. “I told you earlier our investigator said Rossi has already been to Cole’s Seismic, and he met with the Bottaro woman and Jack at the Prices’ office this morning. He’s on the other side. He’s taken the case.”
Joseph held back and Nick took advantage of his hesitation.
“Rossi can be managed. I won’t tell him anything. But I’d like know what questions he has. That way we’ll know what angle he’s taking and what he thinks he knows.”
Latham wagged his head and turned to Joseph again. “Look. There’s only five days to the criminal trial. Stonewall him and he gets nothing. The facts are all with us right now.”
“But what if he talks to the kid?” Nick said. “What if he somehow figures out what the kid may know? What if he makes the link to Tanner and then back to us?”
“All in five days?” Latham shot back.
Nick looked to his father for an answer.
Joseph leaned on his elbow and stroked his chin. He turned to Shannon. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Nick wanted to come out of the chair. He hated that his father would even ask his half-sister about this. He loved his father, but he was the heir to his father’s legacy—not some twenty-six-year-old ditz.
Shannon stepped in and closed the door. Ignoring Nick, she said, “Well, Father, I think that exposing Nick may not be a good idea. But he has a point. I understand Mr. Rossi is very good at what he does.” Pausing for effect, she looked at Latham. “Maybe Brooks and I can go down and tell him he won’t meet with Nick or anyone else but we’d be happy to pass on any inquiries.”
Latham shook his head again. “Stonewall him, Joseph.”
Nick drilled the table with his fist and stood up. “Dad, that’s bullshit. I can handle him.”
Joseph raised his palm to Nick. “Sit down.”
Nick didn’t sit.
“Sit. Now.”
The command convinced Nick he’d have to handle Rossi on his own. Later. He sat down
“Go down there and do what you suggested,” Joseph said to Shannon. “Let’s see what’s on his mind. But don’t engage in discussion. Only what you described.”
Latham looked like a scolded dog, but he stood up and left with Shannon and closed the door.
“She can’t handle this. It’s my ass on the line here,” Nick said.
“It’s all our asses. And she’ll do fine.” Joseph rose and left the conference room.
Nick knew he’d waited too long. But he wouldn’t wait any longer.
CHAPTER 19
This was not what Ike had expected. After being guided through the maze of security by some secretary and a guard who looked like a square-shouldered enforcer, he was deposited in a sterile miniature conference room somewhere on the first floor of the annex attached to Falzone Center. He was told Shannon Falzone would see him if he didn’t mind waiting. Normally he’d be offended by being handed off to the public relations spin mongers, who usually were so hell-bent on the spin that they’d lose sight of the truth, but he’d seen her on the news. Confident, direct, and seemingly competent. Best of all, she was a Falzone. She’d take his words and deliver them to the heart of the beast.
And he’d choose his words carefully, as if handling rocket fuel. He wanted to create an environment to get them worried, out of their fortress of comfort and pressured into action. But he didn’t want to tip his hand. Too much detail about his suspicions and they could go scorched earth. They’d destroy anything that was even close to damning evidence, if it even existed, along with any chance to save Jack. Still, he’d light the rocket and try to thread about a dozen needles in less than five days.
Through the translucent panels lining the wall against the hallway, two silhouettes moved toward the door. The taller, larger one hesitated before reaching the door, faced the shorter, slender one behind it, and said something indistinguishable but in an instructional tone. The slender shadow dipped her head and opened the door.
Ike recognized Shannon Falzone. Her poise and confidence were obvious as she marched to the opposite side of the table, trailed by a dapper man in his seventies with well-groomed white hair and a tan he clearly hadn’t gotten in Pittsburgh. She was more impressive in person. While her hair, makeup, and clothing were meticulous and she could pass for a fashion model, her eyes glowed with intelligence.
She folded into the chair, clasped her hands in front of her, and smiled. “Mr. Rossi. I’m Shannon Falzone, head of public and government affairs for Falzone Enterprises. This is Brooks Latham, managing partner of Latham, Tanner and McKee.”
Ike was impressed with her opening play: no handshake, steel-like eye contact, and all business.
“We understand you asked to see my brother, and as you must have imagined, he is unavailable. We also understand you may be working with the firm representing Jack Cole, and as you can understand there will be no contact with any of my family until all pending matters are resolved.”
Ike leaned back in his chair and slowly scanned the pair, conveying his unyielding confidence with a grin he once reserved for slobbering middle linebackers.
“I must say I’m very impressed. Despite your statement, I still have a Falzone face-to-face. I suspect that means you were sent here to hear what I had to say.” Ike leaned forward. “I wanted to talk to your brother about the work that Tom Cole was doing for him. But I’m willing to give you both a bonus. Here goes. I’m looking into Tom Cole’s death. That means any link between the deceased Mr. Tanner and your family, which by Mr. Latham’s presence is obvious. I’ve also found that Cole was doing work through his firm for Falzone Energy. Now, I find it odd that your father and Mr. Latham and his colleagues are dragging Miss Bottaro through the mud to gain custody of Jack, despite the wishes expressed in his will.”
Shannon’s stare intensified but she remained silent. He was hitting home.
“I’m curious why that’s so important to you five days in advance of his murder trial.” He continued. “I’m also curious about any tactics used by Mr. Tanner, God bless his soul, against Mr. Cole under the direction of your wacky sister, Brenda Falzone, who all of a sudden seems un-disowned. Would the head of public and government affairs have a comment on that?”
Ike folded his arms and settled back in the chair. Shannon stared at Ike, then silently turned to Latham, who whispered in her ear. She quickly sent a text.
With her eyes on fire, she targeted Ike. “Mr. Rossi, you may think you are entitled to some special treatment in this town either because of your notable but failed football career or because of some sense of sympathy for the murder of your parents. I assure you, neither of those things give you any right whatsoever to come in here and insult my family with your smug questions.”
She stood with Latham. Ike noticed the shadows of Lurch and his sidekick approaching the conference room door. He hid his fists under the table and reminded himself he wasn’t in the ring
“We’re done here,” she said. The conference room door opened. “These gentlemen will show you out.”
Ike bobbed his head as he stood up and threw a disregarding glance at the guards in the doorway. Then he turned back to Shannon. “I’m a long way from done.” Ike left and winked at the guards as he passed.
As the guards followed him down the open stairway from the annex into the lobby, Ike took in every detail. After counting six cameras, he noted the receptionist giving a key card to a woman with a briefcase who wore a visitor’s badge on her blouse. She cleared the turnstiles with the key card and headed to the elevator bank. The security team, other than the two goons behind him, was down to one guard on the monitor bank. Still trailed by the two goons, he made his way to the parking garage elevators and down to Level 2. Despite his certainty that he
could take out both guards, he politely turned as he stepped from the elevator, said “Have a nice day,” and headed to his car.
CHAPTER 20
Joseph Falzone needed to know the risks. With Ike Rossi now involved, both his business empire and the blended family he’d painstakingly built with Erin over the last thirty years could unravel if Rossi pulled the right threads. Sitting at the desk he’d used for the last forty years, he drummed his fingers on the blotter and waited for Shannon to return.
Joseph was no stranger to risk. It was in his DNA. His hard-nosed father, Marco, had come from Italy with nothing and found work in a Pittsburgh glass company. He’d worked his way up while running numbers for the gangster owner on the side. When the owner suddenly died, Marco took over the business and the illegal lottery. At thirteen, Joseph enthusiastically joined his father’s business and learned all about understanding the odds and managing risks.
Knowing he’d never survive working for his father, he’d taken his pay to the horse track and paid for his MBA from Yale. He followed two trust-fund classmates to Midland, Texas, and lost what little he had left wildcatting in the Permian Basin. But he quickly learned the risks of the oil business and how to lever his payoff by using other people’s money to do it. A string of gargantuan discoveries followed and propelled Falzone Energy into the big leagues. After building one of the best technical teams in the world, he’d studied the odds, participated in the drilling of three separate billion-barrel discoveries in the deepest water in the Gulf of Mexico, and expanded business there.
Now the risks were unknown and growing. Oil prices had collapsed and the leverage was crushing his balance sheet. His oldest son had taken an ungodly risk to save it and, in the process, did what Joseph knew would be unforgivable. The last time he’d felt this way, his first marriage ended in a devastating divorce, and his twin children, Nick and Brenda, had been divided up like property. The scars on Nick and Brenda for that move were deep and lasting. He hadn’t paid attention to his own feelings or his first wife’s motives before they married. Looking back, if he’d studied the odds, he never would’ve taken that chance. The marriage, and having children with that shithead, were the biggest mistakes of his life. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t make another one.