Money Matters

by Brian Finney

  “I don’t follow.”

  “She’d get a significant settlement sum to compensate her for the inconvenience.”

  “But she would be terrified of what might happen to her,” I protest.

  “In return for a short stay in Mexico, she would receive what would be for her a large chunk of money,” Todd replies.

  “How long would that last when she couldn’t find another well-paid job?” I ask.

  “This is all beside the point,” Todd says with exasperation, “since we can’t find her.” He thrusts his face an inch from mine. “Do you know where she is?”

  “If I did know,” I lie, “I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Todd’s face darkens. “You’re playing with fire, Jenny. This is far too serious to be playing games like this.”

  “What you are asking Jorge to do is not just illegal. It’s unethical.”

  “The modern world doesn’t work like that. What matters today is money—and power, because money creates power. Money enables those who have it to help those less fortunate—”

  “—Like Felicia?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Yes, dammit! Like Felicia.”

  “So you trust Jorge, someone who has secretly been recording everything going on in your home, but won’t trust Felicia, who has been loyal to you for all these years?”

  “You’ll learn one day that you never trust anyone in this life,” Todd says. “Everyone has a price. Everyone can be bought.”

  “I never took you to be such a cynic.”

  “I’m a realist.”

  Todd stands up. “Let’s go ask Jorge why he bugged my house.”

  ✽✽✽

  Todd shepherds me across the hall and into the den. The light from a desk lamp casts elongated shadows on the walls and the carpeted floor. I dimly discern Jorge and Dan, sitting beside one another in matching armchairs, sipping Scotch from crystal tumblers.

  Dan looks up at me. “The flower girl!” he says in his smarmy voice.

  Ignoring his brother, Todd says to Jorge, “Meet Jenny, who does my plant maintenance.”

  “Muy hermosa!” Jorge remarks, as if I wasn’t in the room. I stare back at the two of them.

  Todd helps himself to a generous shot of whiskey. He doesn’t offer me any.

  “Jenny works part-time at Total Surveillance,” Todd tells Jorge. “She tells me that you had them place recording devices all over my house. Is that true?”

  “What?” says Dan.

  “There’s no point in my denying it,” Jorge shrugs, without offering any apology.

  “And exactly what were you hoping to discover?” Todd asks acidly.

  “Whether Felicia knew about the connection between the cartel and the two of you,” Jorge replies. “I had all our interests in mind.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me you were doing it?” Todd asks.

  “Because the CEO of Total Surveillance advised me that the fewer individuals who knew about it the likelier it would remain a secret.”

  “Really?” Todd remarks cynically.

  “Look at how soon it has become an open secret,” Jorge points out.

  “And does Felicia know about the connection between you and me?” Todd asks Jorge.

  “We found no evidence that she does.”

  “That’s just as well,” Todd says, “as your guys seem unable to locate her whereabouts.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before we find her,” Jorge responds. “We’re hot on her trail.” I hope you’re bragging, I tell him silently.

  “Hot or cold, it is little more than thirteen hours before the polling stations open,” Dan says.

  No one says anything for a minute.

  Jorge turns to me, “How many cards have you seen?’

  “A number,” I say evasively.

  “Which ones?”

  “From the kitchen, the den, and the living room.”

  “And why have you been watching them?”

  “Because Felicia asked me to find out what has happened to Susan.”

  “Now she thinks she’s a detective,” Dan sneers.

  “Felicia wouldn’t take no for an answer,” I tell Todd. “You know how attached she’d become to Susan.” Todd remains detached and noncommittal.

  “So,” Jorge continues, “what did the recordings tell you about Susan?”

  “Nothing that helped. Apart from today’s recording, I only saw recordings from Saturday.”

  “So,” Todd jumps on my admission, “you heard the conversation I had with Jorge about our financial arrangements?” Todd asks.

  “Yes,” I say, flushing with inner anger.

  Dan. “You’re such a hypocrite. Publicly you’re targeting illegal immigrants. Secretly you’re financing your campaign with the support of a cartel that makes millions of dollars smuggling immigrants into the country?”

  “The outcome is the only thing that counts,” Dan says. “Where we get the money from is secondary.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I say.

  “Happily, I don’t have to worry about liberal extremists like you,” he replies.

  “Yes you do. You need our votes.”

  “There are plenty of Californians who want illegal immigrants sent back to where they came from.”

  Todd intervenes. “Enough about politics. Jenny, I want those recordings back.”

  “I only have the card from your den today,” I lie. “Besides, why should I give it to you?”

  “Because it belongs to me. Actually, legally speaking, it belongs to Jorge.”

  Jorge chimes in. “Yes,” he says, “we want the SD card returned now.”

  “And what if I refuse?”

  Todd addresses Dan. “Perhaps we should leave this matter to Jorge. It’s his area of expertise, isn’t it?”

  Dan nods, and the two of them take their drinks out of the den. Jorge glares at me menacingly. Now I’m really scared.

  ✽✽✽

  “Sit,” Jorge says, pointing at the chair facing the desk. When I hesitate he grabs my shoulders and shoves me into it. I’m shaking now out of fear and anger. But I’m not about to let Jorge know.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

  “Not much so far,” he replies menacingly.

  I look for a diversion. “Why did you really plant those recording devices?” I ask.

  “Are you saying you don’t believe what I told Todd?”

  “How can I?” I say, smiling and recrossing my legs in a flirtatious manner. “You started recording long before you entered into a financial arrangement with Todd and Dan. August the third, to be exact.”

  “I’m impressed. You’ve done your homework.” He pauses, considering this. “I see no harm in telling you.”

  Maybe flirtation works with him. Then, he adds:

  “One way or another you won’t be in any position to act as a witness.”

  My heart misses a beat. What does he mean? Still, he continues:

  “Susan began pestering Todd about his and Dan’s connection to me and the cartel. Todd held out for as long as he could. But in early August she overheard a telephone conversation between Todd and me about a major financial deal. When she confronted Todd he admitted that the cartel wanted to buy into his hedge fund, and that he was considering saying yes.”

  “And that was enough to drive Susan away?” I ask, looking directly into his eyes.

  “Not on its own. When Susan pressed him about Dan’s role in that, she found out that he would receive a large campaign contribution. That’s when she blew up and moved out.”

  “So why should that concern you?” I ask.

  Jorge hesitates, then decides to humor me. “Because Susan worked for Eduardo Muñez at the Coalition for Immigrants’ Rights. If she told him what she knew we would all be in danger of exposure.”

  “And what was your solution?”

  “Let us say that we removed Susan from any contact with Eduardo.”

  “Removed? What are you sayi
ng?”

  “I’ve told you too much already.” Jorge puts his drink down on the desk with a bang.

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  “I have no more to say on that subject.”

  “But . . . but why continue the recordings?”

  “We had to find out whether Susan had told Felicia what she knew.”

  “And how do you think Todd would react if he knew you ‘removed’ Susan?”

  “He’s not going to know.”

  “What’s to stop me telling him?” I instantly regret my words.

  Jorge moves closer, towering above me. “I don’t think you realize how precarious your present situation is,” he growls. “I can’t release you until you’ve given me all the evidence you have of the cartel’s connection to Todd and Dan. Even then I will need to keep you until after the polls close tomorrow.”

  “You’re threatening to lock me up for the next 24 hours?”

  “That’s the minimum option.”

  “And the maximum?”

  “I leave that up to your imagination.”

  I’ve experienced fear before, but never have I been in fear for my life. “If I tell you where the card is that connects your money to the Grangers, will you let me leave?”

  “First I would need to see and verify the card.”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll see. You’re in no position to bargain, you know.”

  “Then there is no reason for me to give you the card.”

  Jorge bends over me menacingly. “I can make you hand over the card.”

  “And how do you propose doing that?” I sound a lot cooler than I feel inside.

  “You wouldn’t really want to lose your sight, would you? Or be disfigured for life with a scar running across your face?”

  I can feel my hands gripping the arms of my chair as if my life depended on it. “And once you free me how do you expect to avoid the consequences of what you’ve done?”

  “From the Federales? What a joke. They can be bought off for 2,000 pesos.”

  “The Federales? Mexico!” Hell!

  “But all that is unnecessary,” Jorge says coolly. “Just tell me where to find the card. Then we can discuss your future.”

  What are my options? I can afford to play the single card and see what he does in return. I fish the original card out of my jeans pocket and hand it to Jorge.

  He reads the Total Surveillance ID on the back and inserts it into the recording device concealed in the digital clock on the desk. He keeps the sound on low so that I can’t overhear it, alternating between fast forward and play. After a few minutes, he extracts the card and puts it into his wallet.

  “Now are you satisfied?” I ask.

  “Should I be?” he asks quizzically.

  “You tell me,” I reply guardedly.

  Jorge makes a gesture with his hand as if swatting away a fly. “The question remains: did you make a copy of this?”

  “No I didn’t,” I lie.

  “How am I to know you’re telling the truth?”

  I shrug. “Beats me.”

  “Then I will have to detain you for the time being.”

  A wave of icy terror runs through me. “You never intended to release me.”

  “Not until the polls close,” he says with a twisted grin.

  ✽✽✽

  Suddenly Todd bursts through the door with Roberto in tow.

  “Total Surveillance sent Roberto over to remove all the recording devices from my home,” Todd tells Jorge. Jorge nods noncommittally.

  Using a screwdriver Roberto starts removing the mechanism from the clock. As he is placing the device in his carry bag and preparing to leave, I say: “Roberto, could you please give me a lift back with you?”

  Before Roberto can respond, Jorge says. “Jenny and I still have business to conclude. Thank you, Roberto. That will be all.”

  “We can do our business in the morning,” I say, trying to hide the desperation I’m feeling.

  “We will do it now,” Jorge says, staring aggressively at Roberto.

  Roberto looks from Jorge to me, then leaves the room with Todd.

  “Nice try,” Jorge remarks sarcastically.

  After a moment’s reflection Jorge remarks, “What I don’t fully understand is why you still seem so confident. Once you are in Mexico you will be in the hands of cartel members who are used to solving problems by violent means. What have you got up your sleeve?”

  Time to play my trump card. “You haven’t asked me whether I made copies of the cards I found at Total Surveillance on Saturday.”

  “I take it that means that you did,” Jorge responds quickly.

  “You are correct.” I try to look confident.

  “How many copies?”

  “Five.”

  “Then we will need to recover those this evening. Where are the cards? Are you also carrying those around with you?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” I say. “You’ve already proved to me that you don’t stand by your word once you have what you want.”

  ‘“Where are they?” Jorge repeats impatiently.

  “Somewhere safe,” I say.

  Jorge wraps his hands around my neck “Quit playing games,” he snarls. “I want to know where the cards are. Now.”

  Half choking, I manage to reply, “I left them with someone who will deliver them to the LA Times if I don’t show up in person by 8 tonight.”

  “Fuck!” Jorge shouts, letting go of my throat.

  “I still have time to make it back safely by then.”

  “It’s not that easy, idiota,” he replies angrily. “Do you think I am going to let you go free without a guarantee that you’ll give me the cards tonight?”

  “And how do you plan to get that guarantee?” I ask.

  “It wouldn’t take long for one of my guys to extract the information from you. They’re very practiced at that sort of thing.”

  My stomach churns.

  “By then the LA Times will have got the cards. Also a condition is that I show up in person unharmed by 8.”

  Jorge steps back and leans against the desk. “So, we need to negotiate. I have already said that I need to be a hundred percent certain that those cards go nowhere except to me.”

  “I understand that,” I say. “I will give them to you first thing tomorrow morning. Clearly I have no interest in endangering my life by giving the cards to anyone else. For my part, you three keep telling me that money matters. I don’t want any money for myself. What I want is, firstly, a guarantee that you will leave me and Felicia alone once this deal is over—”

  “—That all depends on your staying silent,” Jorge interrupts.

  “Agreed. Secondly, I want you to anonymously pay the Coalition for Immigrants’ Rights one million dollars. And I want Todd to pay Felicia a separation settlement of one hundred thousand dollars. In return I will give you all the cards I copied.”

  “If I do as you ask, how will I know you haven’t made a second set of copies?” He’s fast.

  “If another copy became public, my life wouldn’t be worth a dime, would it?”

  “No. And it wouldn’t be a fast death either.”

  “I’m not going to commit suicide to make a political point,” I say. He stays silent, thinking. “So, do we have a deal?” I ask.

  “I need to talk to the Grangers. You stay here.”

  Jorge leaves the room, locking the door from the outside. Hardly necessary, I reflect; I’d have to be crazy to attempt an escape. Now that the immediate threat has receded, my body starts shaking violently all over. I’m sweating from head to toe. My mouth is dry. I want to bawl my eyes out. But I know I have to be outwardly in control when Jorge returns.

  Five minutes later Jorge enters with a check in his hand.

  “Here,” he says roughly, thrusting it at me, “this is Todd’s check for Felicia.”

  Faking calm, I glance at the check in my hand and see that it is made out to Felicia for the right am
ount. Carefully, I slip it into my jeans pocket.

  Jorge continues, “Todd says you are never to come back here.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “The Coalition for Immigrant Rights will receive an electronic transfer deposit of the million immediately after you give me the cards.”

  My mind scrambles, trying to figure out how to avoid being hoodwinked in the exchange. “Who will be meeting me?”

  “I will,” Jorge says.

  “Okay.” I pause to think. “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at 9 on the central steps outside the Federal Building on Wilshire.” There are always guards outside the entrance. I can ask them to keep an eye on me when I meet up with Jorge, thereby minimizing my chances of being kidnapped. “I’ll show you the cards. Then, once I see on my app that the funds have been transferred I’ll hand the cards to you.”

  “I warn you,” Jorge says, “I will have backup. So, no funny business with the Feds.”

  “As I said, I value my life too much.”

  “You’d better hurry if you want to make it by 8,” Jorge says dismissively.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say and walk out of the open door without looking back, out into the cool evening air. I breathe in deeply, forcing myself to swallow the bile in my throat. My legs are so weak, I can barely walk. And I badly need to pee. But at this moment I can’t think about anything but getting out of here as quickly as I can.

  ✽✽✽

  On my way to the 55 freeway I turn off at 18th Street and park. I look around to make sure I’m not being followed. The street looks deserted. I pull out my phone and dial Eduardo’s number.

  “Are you okay?” he asks anxiously. “How did it go?”

  I tell him what happened, omitting the threats of violence.

  “So,” I conclude, “the Coalition is about to receive a major check.”

  “That’s incredible. I can’t thank you enough, Jenny. It’s going to make a huge difference in what we can get done there. But I’m really concerned about your safety when you exchange the cards.”

  He cares, I think. Even while I am still shaky with fear, I am aware of how good that makes me feel. “I’m on my way,” I tell him. “We can talk about that when I reach your place.”

  As I ease my way onto the freeway, I reflect on the side of myself that I just discovered. I stood up to three very powerful men and held my own. I made them compensate one of their victims and contribute to an organization that helps the people they make a profit from smuggling into the US. I may be in a big mess with no job or place of my own, but at least I took a stand. Let the world of money go its own way. I don’t have to live my life by its standards. Money may matter. But so does self-respect, and so do personal relationships.