Gideon

by Grant Rosenberg

  “I feel like getting drunk,” she said, as she downed the rest of her bourbon and slammed the glass down on the bar.

  19

  The next morning, Kelly nervously entered Wells Fargo Bank, her stomach in knots. While she was optimistic the safe deposit box held something of value, she couldn’t get over feeling she was doing something illicit. Why would her father stash something in a safe deposit box? And how come he never mentioned it, or Matthew Benedetto? She’d played the possible reasons over and over in her mind, but couldn’t arrive at a logical answer.

  In a few minutes, the mystery would be solved… or would it just be starting?

  She headed toward the bank manager’s area. As was the norm these days, local branch executives were either under-achieving lifers on the downside of their careers or fresh-faced college grads that worked on commission and were hell-bent on leveraging customers into home loans.

  Elliot Weems was the former. A robust man in his mid sixties with a bad comb-over and a suit jacket that was shiny with wear at the elbows. He brightened as Kelly approached, and rose up from behind a slightly nicked desk, extending a hand with chubby, ink-stained fingers.

  “Elliot Weems. What can I help you with, Ms…?” He’d left the end of the sentence dangling in anticipation that she’d supply her name.

  Kelly reluctantly shook his meaty hand, and surreptitiously wiped her palm on her skirt as she sat. She introduced herself as she slid the key and the power of attorney over to Elliot.

  He picked up the letter and perused it, his lips partially moving and his large head bobbing as he read the legal document. “This looks fine, but I’ve gotta get my manager to sign off. Can I offer you some coffee or water while you wait?”

  The longer this took, the more eager she was to open the box. She felt like a child on Christmas morning, being told that she couldn’t have her presents until her parents were showered, dressed and had polished off a proper breakfast. “I’m pressed for time,” she said. “How long will this take?”

  “Just a couple of minutes. In the meanwhile, you can take a look at this.” He handed her a brochure detailing all of the wonderful benefits of banking with Wells Fargo. He flashed her his “closer” smile that he’d perfected over the years. It was particularly effective with young women. At least it was in Elliot’s fantasy world.

  Her eagerness to see the contents of her father’s mysterious safe deposit box grew exponentially as she waited. Elliot would take his time getting approval so that this potential customer could look over the brochure. It was a tired tactic and most of the time the colorful leaflet would be tossed back on his desk unread. But if one or two customers a day had their interest piqued by the latest bank come-ons, Elliot would turn on his self-imagined charm and reel in the fish.

  After ten grueling minutes, Elliot returned, confirmed everything was in order, and led Kelly back to the boxes. Along the way, his pathetic attempts at small talk were met with brief cold smiles and one-word answers.

  The box was the largest model available, and when Kelly slipped it out of the wall, she was taken aback by its weight. Elliot offered to carry it into a curtained-off area, but Kelly didn’t want his hands anywhere near the box or her.

  She set the metal box onto a table with a loud thud as Elliot slid a red privacy curtain closed behind her.

  As the anticipation grew, her heart pounded like it was trying to burst from her chest. She had no idea what awaited her, and her eagerness was somewhat tempered by her fear of discovery. She took a calming breath, then opened the box and peered inside.

  “Holy shit!” she gasped, unable to contain her stunned reaction.

  20

  Kelly stood in front of Matthew Benedetto’s building, located on Marina Boulevard across from the small craft harbor. After the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 (better known to sports fans as the “World Series Earthquake”), most of the homes along the Marina were either flattened or damaged beyond repair. Wealthy investors flocked to the area with bags of money (many in foreign denominations) to buy up lots belonging to homeowners who either couldn’t afford to rebuild or had no desire to spend the next few years fighting with their insurance company and/or the city zoning commission.

  One of those investors was Benedetto, who was able to acquire a prime corner lot with an unabated vista of the San Francisco Bay. His friends said he was lucky to be so fortunate, but luck had nothing to do with it. The fifty-year-old house that stood on the land prior to being shaken off its foundation belonged to one of Benedetto’s former clients who had moved back to Croatia after Benedetto successfully secured a hung jury non-verdict on charges of counterfeiting and tax evasion. His client owed Benedetto his freedom, and several hundred thousand dollars in unpaid legal fees. The lot and the rubble covered the debt.

  Benedetto commissioned a Mediterranean side-by-side duplex. One half housed his legal practice and the other served as his residence. The irony of constructing a law office upon the very location where many laws had been transgressed wasn’t lost on him.

  The leather satchel Kelly carried felt heavier with every step that propelled her closer to answers. A small, tasteful brass plaque above the doorbell read “Benedetto and Associates”. Kelly wondered how large the firm was and what kind of law they practiced. Based upon what she found in the safe deposit box, she had no idea how Benedetto fit into her father’s life, and she was anxious to find out.

  She pushed the doorbell, but didn’t hear a buzzer, chime or bell from inside. Either the office was incredibly well insulated, or…

  The door swung open and an attractive, stately woman with short gray hair stood before her. She looked vaguely like Judi Dench and exuded a grace and strength to match. Kelly expected the woman to have a British accent, but when she spoke it was with soft Southern tones. She extended her hand and introduced herself as Mrs Mathews. Period. No title was necessary. She invited Kelly into the large waiting area and quietly closed the door behind her.

  Kelly accepted an offer of water, and when Mrs Mathews left for the kitchen, Kelly used the opportunity to check out the surroundings. The spacious area was tastefully decorated with what Kelly imagined were very expensive antique pieces. Beautiful landscape paintings gave the room a comforting, tranquil feeling.

  She rose to examine the paintings up close. One appeared to be the rugged coastline of Carmel. Another was a majestic windswept pine that brought to mind the iconic lone cypress in Monterey. The last was unmistakably the view of the San Francisco Bay from a perch high above the famous inlet, well before the eastern and western shores were connected by bridges. All three works were painted by Guy Rose. Kelly was unaware that Rose was one of the founders of the early California art scene and had studied under Claude Monet. She was also unaware that she was looking at well over a million dollars worth of oil, canvas and God-given talent.

  When Mrs Mathews returned with the water, Kelly commented on the serenity of the paintings. Mrs Mathews nodded in agreement, and left it at that. She was the paragon of understatement.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Kelly ventured a question. “How many associates does Mr Benedetto have working here?”

  “Presently, it’s only the two of us and a few paralegals. Occasionally, he will hire additional staff if the need arises, but Mr Benedetto likes to handle things personally.”

  “How long have you worked with him?”

  “Going on twenty years,” she said without any hint of emotion. She was stating a simple fact that required no further elaboration.

  “Did you know my father?” Kelly asked.

  Mrs Mathews shook her head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting Dr Harper.”

  Kelly was confused. “Wasn’t he a client here?”

  Mrs Mathews’ smile was as inscrutable as a Tibetan monk. “You can discuss that with Mr Benedetto. He’ll be with you in just a few minutes. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
>
  Mrs Mathews nodded, then turned her attention to her computer screen and began typing at breakneck speed.

  Kelly glanced down at her hands and realized she had a death grip on the satchel straps. Her knuckles were white and her fingers were cramping. As she slowly opened her fingers to get the blood flowing again, Mrs Mathews intoned, “Mr Benedetto is ready for you.”

  Kelly got up and crossed the polished oak floor that glistened in the soft morning light. She awkwardly waited at the door for a moment, then raised a tentative fist to knock. “Go right in,” said Mrs Mathews.

  The brass doorknob felt cold to the touch. She had a moment of hesitation. Perhaps deep down she didn’t really want to know the truth, but she’d come too far to turn back.

  She opened the door and entered.

  Benedetto was standing, and greeted Kelly with a warm, welcoming smile as she crossed the spacious office. This was clearly the lair of a very successful person. Dark woods, soft leathers and thick Oriental rugs. Benedetto motioned for Kelly to join him at the large windows that overlooked the bay.

  She hadn’t gotten a close look at Benedetto the other night at the restaurant. He was a few inches taller than she was, which put him around five ten. He appeared to be in good shape and was attractive without being handsome. His hair was an unremarkable shade of brown streaked with gray. There was nothing physically extraordinary about Benedetto, except the manner in which he carried himself. He was self-confident, charming and approachable. She had no idea of his professional relationship with her father, but felt that whatever it was, her father had been in good hands.

  She’d soon come to seriously question that evaluation.

  Kelly took in the view, which was extraordinary on a day like this when the fog lifted and the skies were a shade of blue that defied definition. The Golden Gate rose up majestically from the rippling bay waters, its art deco orange towers reaching up to the heavens. Off to the right, a red and white tourist boat cut a wake as it powered out to Alcatraz with a load of curiosity seekers who wanted to experience firsthand the one-time home of The Birdman, Machine Gun Kelly and Al Capone.

  “Incredible,” Kelly said.

  Benedetto nodded. “I never get tired of it.”

  “This must be what they had in mind when they coined the phrase ‘a million dollar view’.”

  Benedetto smiled. It was more like a six million dollar view, but he wasn’t about to correct her. “I’ve been very fortunate in business.”

  Kelly upended her satchel and a dozen bundles of twenties and fifties tumbled out onto a low teak coffee table. “Did your business involve my father?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “There’s a little more than five thousand dollars here. Where did it come from?”

  “Why don’t we sit down?”

  Kelly was in no mood to sit. Suggesting you “take a seat” was akin to “we need to talk”.

  Nothing good ever followed.

  Benedetto gently pushed on. “You asked me a question. A very important question that has deeply personal implications for you. I’ll do my best to explain everything, but it’s going to take some time.” Benedetto motioned to a plush club chair. “Please.”

  Kelly relented, settling into the chair and steeling herself as Benedetto began his story.

  “It all started with the murder of your mother.”

  Kelly thought she was ready for anything, but she wasn’t ready for that. How could this money have anything to do with her mother’s death? A voice inside her head strongly urged her to stop Benedetto right there, but this train had already left the station and was picking up steam. Kelly knew she had to ride it to the end of the line.

  Benedetto continued his narrative. “The man arrested for the crime was Clarence Musselwhite, a drug mule from Miami and small-time coke dealer. When his money ran low, which was often, Clarence would break into houses and steal whatever he could fence.”

  Kelly’s voice was laced with venom when she picked up the story. “I know all about Musselwhite, how my mother and sister happened to be home that day, and what he did to them. What’s that have to do with my father… and this?” She indicated the cash on the table.

  “What you don’t know is Musselwhite possessed highly incriminating evidence against a West Coast syndicate boss named Dominic Bruno. For obvious reasons, that was never made public. Nor was the fact that Musselwhite cut a deal with federal agents. In return for his testimony against Bruno, the murder and assault charges were brushed under the carpet and Musselwhite was placed into the Department of Justice WITSEC program.”

  Kelly felt like someone punched her in the stomach. She experienced a sharp physical pain and needed a moment to catch her breath.

  Her mother had been brutally raped and murdered, her sister permanently hospitalized, and now she was being told that the man responsible had been allowed to go free? It had to be a mistake. “We were told Musselwhite died,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Benedetto nodded. “That he had a heart attack while being transferred from county jail to a more secure location. That was the government’s cover story.”

  Kelly was in a state of stunned disbelief. “This doesn’t make any sense. You’re telling me the San Francisco Police Department agreed to this?”

  “Not the department per se, but someone high up in the administration signed off. I don’t think they were given much choice in the matter.”

  “This can’t be true. The man murdered my mother! How could the authorities just let him go?”

  “Somebody in Washington felt that taking out Bruno was critical to the ‘war on drugs’, which in their opinion outweighed homicide and assault. Plus, a federal conviction against a mob boss was great PR in an election year.”

  This last piece of information hit Kelly like a sledgehammer. “You are fucking kidding me.” She surprised herself… did she just say that aloud?

  Benedetto took no enjoyment in being the bearer of this news, and unfortunately he was only getting warmed up. “I’m sorry, but you wanted the truth.”

  Kelly sat silent as the pain of her mother’s death, so long dormant, washed over her like it happened yesterday, unleashing a torrent of emotions. Tears welled up in her eyes and she violently shook her head. This wasn’t the time to mourn anew.

  “Are you all right?” Benedetto asked with genuine concern.

  She wondered if she’d ever really be all right again, but she managed to nod and bade him to continue.

  “A year later, Clarence Musselwhite was spotted in Scottsdale. He’d dyed his hair, shaved his beard and took to wearing glasses, but that wasn’t enough. Dom Bruno, who was incarcerated at Pelican Bay, got word of the sighting. He’d known that Musselwhite had flipped on him and had entered WITSEC, but until that point, had no clue where the Federal Marshals had stashed him.

  “I was Dominic’s attorney and he requested to see me. Dom told me about Musselwhite and then made a highly unusual request: to relay that information to your father.”

  Kelly recoiled. “Why?”

  “In Dominic’s mind, there were two people whose lives were destroyed by Musselwhite: his and your father’s. He felt it was only right for your father to know the truth. We argued back and forth. My feeling was your father, and you, had mourned and it was best not to reopen that wound.”

  “But you told my father anyway.”

  “Dominic made it clear that if I didn’t tell him, one of his people would. Given the alternative, I thought it would be better coming from me.”

  Kelly felt like she was in the middle of a boxing ring, getting pummeled with sharp jabs; each blow landing harder and doing more damage. “How did he take it?”

  “He reacted to the news much as you did. He was shocked, but moreover, he was incensed.”

  Kelly tried to speak, but no words came. This man Benedetto had come into her father’s life, and now hers, and turned it upside down. What do you say to that?

  Benedetto let
her sit quietly, giving her time to digest this information. Finally, Kelly broke the silence. “What happened next?”

  “I have to caution you that the story gets darker from this point on.”

  “Do I want to hear it?”

  “That’s up to you. Personally, I think not knowing the truth is worse than facing it.”

  Kelly walked to the window and stared out at the bay.

  After a few moments, she turned back and nodded.

  21

  “Your father spent two agonizing weeks dealing with the reality that the justice system completely failed your family.”

  “Musselwhite was a murderer! I don’t care what information he had. He should be rotting in jail.”

  “David shared that sentiment almost word-for-word. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He showed up here one day and said he was contemplating taking justice into his own hands.”

  “His own hands? What do you mean?”

  “Your father lived by a strong moral code, but in the end he couldn’t ignore his primal urge to avenge your mother’s death. One week after our meeting, Musselwhite was found dead of an apparent heart attack. No foul play was ever suspected.”

  This was an uppercut that Kelly never saw coming. She was staggered by this information.

  “No. What you’re suggesting is impossible. As much as my father loved my mother and my sister, he would never kill a person.”

  “I know it sounds far-fetched…”

  Kelly responded with vitriol, suddenly hating the man who was weaving this absurd story. “You didn’t know my father like I did!”

  “You’re right. I knew him in a completely different light.”

  Kelly paced, shaking her head. She knew it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t figure out why Benedetto would be making this up. What was his game?

  She turned from the window. “When my mother died, my father went into a deep depression. I’d never seen him like that. I was frightened. Frightened for him, for me and for my sister. He drank more and used pills to help him sleep. After a while, he found his way out of the darkness. When he did, we vowed to always be open with each other. There were no secrets between us, so this tale you’re spinning is utter bullshit. Now, what I want to know is, why are you doing this to me?”