Cole stuck his head out from the other room. “Give it up, Eva.”
“No, seriously,” she said. “I’m not saying we should break up or even take a break—I don’t think I could stand that now—but there’s no reason to flaunt our relationship. We’ll stay in a lot, and you can go to functions on your own. I probably wouldn’t be any good at socializing anyway while this is hanging over me. We can meet secretly in dark alleys and send each other coded messages. Who knows? It could be fun.”
“We don’t have to go out at all if you don’t feel like it, but we’re not going to sneak around. How’s that going to look to the guys at the Justice Department?” he said with a wry smile.
Eva hadn’t thought about that. “Hmm, excellent question. While I’m devising another scheme to save your reputation, what would you like for dinner”—she managed to whittle the choices down to two Japanese restaurants and she held up menus for both—“sushi or sushi?”
He smiled. “Let’s go with sushi. There’s a great place around the corner from me. We can pick it up on the way home,” he said, grasping her suitcase in his hand.
Eva, busily scanning one of the menus for yellowtail and scallion, didn’t look up. “I am home.”
“No, you’re not.”
She glanced at him quizzically. “Yes, I am.”
“Nope, you’re coming with me.”
“Damn it, Cole, haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?” she asked frustratedly.
He blinked in surprise. “Of course. You want to keep a low profile and not go to any Hammond Communication functions. That’s cool with me.”
“Keep our relationship’s profile low. Me staying with you is definitely high. I’m still not convinced I should be seeing you at all.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
Cole sighed. “Two reasons. One, it’s too far from me, and two, the sharks are already circling.”
Eva didn’t understand him. She got number one quite easily enough and was warmed by the idea that he wanted her near. She felt exactly the same way, although she wasn’t about to give in to it. But the second reason didn’t make sense to her. “The sharks are circling?”
“Yes, the press. There were two photographers waiting downstairs to get a shot of you. By morning there will be a dozen more.”
This announcement only cemented her conviction that they shouldn’t be together and he could see the resolution jump back into her eyes, but Cole wasn’t going to stand for it. He’d had a hard day, too. It was nothing compared with hers, of course, but it hadn’t been easy for him to sit in his office on the twenty-seventh floor and wait for news. Cole was a man of action, and doing nothing had been difficult for him. He couldn’t very well barge into the offices of the Justice Department, but he had wanted to. With everything inside him he’d wanted to knock down the door and rescue her. He hadn’t been able to help her then, but he would do what he could now: make sure she ate a decent meal and took a hot, soothing shower and went to bed on a soft mattress with a goose-down pillow under her head.
“Eva, this isn’t up for debate,” he said, striving for patience. It wasn’t her fault that he’d felt ineffectual for most of the day. “You’re either coming home with me or I’m staying here with you. My apartment is larger and isn’t being staked out by TMZ, but I’m perfectly happy to set up camp here. It’s your decision.”
There was something about his tone that gave Eva pause and stopped her from arguing further. She didn’t understand his determination, but she had the sense to realize that something other than plain orneriness was driving him. “All right, all right,” she said, giving in with what she thought was a modicum of grace. “We’ll stay at your apartment. Let me just pack up some stuff.”
He patted the luggage. “Got you covered, kid.”
She could see that he did. “I suppose it would be good to get out of here. I should probably call Ruth before I leave.”
He shook his head as he picked her coat up from the floor. “You can do that from the car.”
“All right. I suppose I should put on some disguise so the reporters won’t recognize me,” she said, only half in jest. She had a ski cap that would hide her face.…
“Don’t worry about it. We’re leaving through the back entrance. James and I sussed it out before I came upstairs,” he said encouragingly as he helped her into the brown wool coat.
Once she had her coat on, she turned around to look at him, trying to imagine him and his driver skulking around in the garbage-ridden courtyard between her building and the one behind it. He was a little more disheveled than usual and there were lines of worry between his eyebrows, but he wore a reassuring smile. It was familiar and dear and so reassuring that Eva couldn’t resist. She had to put her arms around him and give him another hug. “I didn’t do it,” she said solemnly, seriously, into his shoulder.
“I know.”
She tightened her arms. “I love you.”
“I know that, too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Twenty hours later Ruth was wearing a hole in Cole’s living room rug. She refused to sit down, no matter how many times Eva entreated her to.
“You’ve got to relax,” Eva said, putting a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies on Cole’s red coffee table. She didn’t know how an event like this—really, a council of war—was supposed to proceed, but putting out snacks seemed to her like the most logical thing. One always entertained with refreshments. And, besides, she’d needed something to keep her busy this morning while Cole was at work. He’d cut the day short, as had all the council members, but for several hours that day she had been alone with her thoughts and determined not to brood. Hence the chocolate chip cookies and the sugar cookies and the gingerbread cookies and the little marzipan angels with cherry smiles. She had hot chocolate warming on the stove, but nobody seemed interested. They all preferred coffee with their homemade sweets.
“I can’t relax,” Ruth said, frustrated and almost annoyed at the suggestion. “They can’t get away with this. I won’t let them.”
Eva smiled as she imagined the diminutive Ruth charging the Justice Department with a Gucci umbrella and a bottle of pricey designer water from the Swiss Alps. “If you sit down, we can discuss this reasonably and maybe come up with some sort of plan.”
“She’s right,” said Mark, who knew exactly how his wife felt. It was hard to sit still when someone you loved was being used. Worse than used—being set up to take the fall for a crime she hadn’t committed.
“I can discuss this reasonably, even with her pacing back and forth,” said Loretta Hammond as she reached for a gingerbread cookie. “These are wonderful, Eva. I didn’t realize you could cook.”
Eva smiled at the compliment. “Not quite cook but I can follow instructions if the steps are numbered.” Actually, now that she thought about it, she probably should have made a pot of Earl Grey tea and finger sandwiches: cucumber and cream cheese, chutney and egg salad. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon. Too early for dessert.
Okay, girl, get with the program, she told herself. Apparently her plan to take her mind off her problems had worked too well. Focus.
Just then Cole came in. He threw his coat over a chair and greeted the crowd in the living room. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic on Fifth,” he said, eyeing the plate of cookies on the coffee table quizzically.
Eva shrugged as he gave her a kiss but didn’t explain.
His mother waved him over to a seat. “You haven’t missed a thing. We were just about to start.”
Eva looked at them all and felt a surge of affection. Everyone was here because they believed without a doubt that she wasn’t guilty of fixing prices among Wyndham’s, Brooks’s and Davidge’s. If only her own father had as much faith in her. He’d left a very concerned message saying he was sure the whole thing was all a gross misunderstanding and that whatever crime she’d committed it was most likely done in ignorance and if she would just ap
ologize to the nice men at the Justice Department and promise never to do it again, no doubt all would be forgiven. He then promised to get her the best lawyer money could buy. His little girl would not rot in jail!
In the background, she could hear her mother telling him over and over again to reserve judgment until he heard the whole story.
Although she had no idea exactly what was going to happen—Loretta had arranged this council of war, even going so far as to enlist the efficient Cassandra as official note taker—Eva thought she should be the one to begin. Sitting down on the couch next to Mark, she said, “I can’t figure out who is setting me up or why they chose me. If I had to guess—and, I suppose, I do—my money is on Cartwright from Davidge’s. He’s the only one who’s getting off scot-free.”
Loretta shook her head. She had known Ardmore Cartwright socially for decades and couldn’t imagine him setting up an innocent young woman. “Let’s pick up the thread at the beginning. Tell us what happened yesterday morning, before the Justice Department came. Was anyone acting strangely?”
Eva detailed her conversation with David for their benefit, emphasizing the certainty he’d felt that something big was going down. “He kept saying he felt it in his bones and that his bones never lie.”
“Hmm. I wonder…” said Mark, his voice trailing off as he thought.
Ruth stopped her pacing long enough to give her husband a considering look. “Wonder what?”
“I wonder if his instincts are so finely honed,” he said slowly, “or if he did in fact know something was going to happen.”
“Good point,” said Loretta. “Cassandra, please make a note of it.”
Cassandra smiled and tapped her pen. “Got it.”
Loretta nodded approvingly. “Excellent. Now, what else?”
Since it was twenty-four hours and a good night’s sleep later, Eva was able to recall the experience with a clarity not available to her yesterday. Some important details did not come to her right away, but pointed questions from Mark or Loretta jogged her memory and made her aware of things her subconscious had noticed.
Although she had always known that Mark had an excellent mind and was keenly insightful, it was thoroughly fascinating to watch it work and she could see up close for the first time why he was one of the best investigative journalists in the business. And Loretta, who gave off the impression of a lady who lunches professionally, had an equally developed eye for detail. She had impressed Eva during contract negotiations for the collection, but nothing had prepared her for this demonstration of methodical reasoning. Still, Eva knew she shouldn’t be surprised: Loretta Hammond had helmed one of the country’s most popular fashion magazines for decades.
Two hours passed quickly as they discussed Eva’s interrogation at the Justice Department. Then she answered questions about the general workings of Wyndham’s offices and the auction business in general. Eva did most of the talking, and she fielded several concerned looks from Cole that she brushed off. She wasn’t an invalid to get tired from a long discussion.
“Let’s go through the timeline again,” said Loretta, reaching for another gingerbread cookie. “When were you hired by Wyndham’s?”
“Well, I worked part-time during graduate school. Then five years ago, when I got my master’s, I was hired as an assistant,” she said.
Loretta nodded. “Right. And when did you get promoted to junior associate?”
“About two years ago.”
Loretta nodded again. She had heard this information several times before but repetition helped her think. “Okay, who else has been promoted in the last two—no, make that three—years?”
This was a new question, and Eva had to think for a moment. The turnover at Wyndham’s wasn’t frequent because it was still a family-owned business. All the top slots went to Wyndham sons and cousins, and bright, young ambitious employees often moved on rather than wait for a promotion that would most likely never come. “David Taverner was promoted eight months after me, to fill Sally Roedale’s slot; she went over to Davidge’s. Sally had been promoted about a year before me. Leticia Walters was just promoted four months ago. Harvey Debenham was hired as a junior associate about a year ago. That’s all,” she said, with an almost apologetic look. “The New York office is pretty small. Oh, wait, there’s also Peter Lilly. He was promoted right before me, say two or three months.”
Ruth, who had stopped her pacing and was now content to lean against the back of the couch—sitting was still unsupportable—looked at her curiously in the silence that followed. “What about Ethan?”
Eva turned around. “What about Ethan?”
“Well, what’s his deal? He seems to have come out of nowhere. I’ve been racking my brains trying to remember the first time you mentioned him, but I’m drawing a complete blank.”
This was a reasonable question and Eva smiled. “Ethan is Elliot Wyndham’s elder son. He joined the firm about two years ago when he finally got his Ph.D. in art history from Oxford. He’d been working on his thesis for four years. Or at least that’s the word around the office. His taking over the family business has been imminent for as long as I’ve worked there, but I was as surprised as everyone else when he finally materialized. No one had ever met him before, and some people even doubted that he wasn’t a figment of Mr. Wyndham’s imagination. It was made worse, I think, by the fact that his savvy go-getter brother, Edward, had ingratiated himself with the staff years ago. He worked part-time in the office while getting his degree at Columbia, and everyone liked him—and not just because he took us out for happy hour every couple of weeks.”
“So maybe there’s a little sibling rivalry,” said Ruth softly.
Eva shrugged. “Maybe. But Edward, despite his enthusiasm, never stood a chance and he must have known that. His father is very old school British Empire. He believes in primogeniture and giving everything to the first born. I think that’s why Edward worked so hard, because he knew at some point he’d have to go out into the world and find a job. There would always be a place for him at Wyndham’s, of course, but it would be in Ethan’s shadow.”
“No, no,” Ruth said with a shake of the head, “I don’t mean Edward, I mean Ethan. Think about it: He takes four years to finish his thesis while his overachiever brother is in the New York office making friends and influencing people. It must have been hard to suddenly find himself in his brother’s shadow.”
Mark shifted in his seat and looked at his wife. “I like it. It goes to motive.”
“It would explain Le Bernardin,” Cole said.
Eva looked at the three of them, her eyes wide with horror as she processed the implication. “You think Ethan did this to me?”
All five of them, even Cassandra, nodded.
“He wanted to prove himself, and being a lazy bastard, he took a shortcut,” Cole said. “You said it yourself, Wyndham’s had the most to gain from price fixing.”
Eva raised her head in surprise. “I did?”
Loretta nodded. “Yes, dear, when you explained why it’s too expensive for Wyndham’s to pursue high-profile sales. Davidge’s and Brooks’s can afford to cut rates, sometimes as low as zero, to get the high-profile commissions because they’re large organizations that aren’t dependent on each individual sale. After printing brochures and catalogs, advertising and touring the collection, Wyndham’s actually loses money on any sale in which the seller’s commission is less than 10 percent. You drew a nice pie chart to illustrate the financials. By getting his two largest competitors to agree to a fixed commission, Ethan leveled the playing field. Suddenly, Wyndham’s is able to compete for the blockbuster sales.”
“And then you came down for the Hammond collection,” Ruth said.
Loretta nodded. “Wyndham’s willingness to negotiate over the seller’s commission was one of the reasons I gave them the collection.”
“But you weren’t supposed to,” Mark added.
“Which is why, a panicking Ethan arranged that scene at Le Be
rnardin,” Cole said, leaning forward in his chair. “Unable to even conceive of your competence, he assumed you were going to get the commission because we were sleeping together.”
They were in the presence of his mother, and Eva felt herself blushing. “We weren’t,” she said earnestly, although there was little point to her denial. They might not have been sleeping together then, but they certainly were now.
“At the time, it didn’t seem strange to me that he’d risk the sale by angering me—I was too jealous to wonder at his motives—but when I’d calmed down, I found it puzzling. But now it makes sense: He wanted to break us up. If I lost personal interest in you, especially because I felt betrayed or used, then Wyndham’s would lose the sale.”
Eva wanted to poke holes in their argument. She wanted to dispute their claims one by one because arguing was easier than accepting the truth: Her boss had set her up to take a very large fall. Months ago, perhaps even years ago, he’d looked over the staff at Wyndham’s and decided that she, above every other employee, including David Taverner, whose mouth ran off continually in every direction, would make the perfect stooge. For months, perhaps years, he’d been sitting on his secret stash of incriminating evidence, willing and able to duck behind her if the need ever arose.
It was a devastating realization.
“I went over his head,” she said thoughtfully. “I deliberately waited until Ethan was unreachable and then called his father to get approval to discount the seller’s commission. I thought the fixed policy in general was a good idea, but the Hammond collection was so spectacular, I thought it was worth bending the rules. If Davidge’s or Brooks’s had countered with five or six or even nine percent, I would have bowed out because we couldn’t afford to get into a bidding war.”
Cole nodded. “And when Cartwright found out that you’d betrayed the very policy that you’d set up—or, rather, that he thought you’d set up—he assumed the agreement was off and he might as well cut a deal with the DOJ while there was still one on the table.”
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