“… biggest client? Hold on. You do remember CapVest bought Burke’s firm last year. So then…I guess, in a way…as a CapVest shareholder…maybe I’m now your biggest client and should reap the benefits entitled therein.” Wainwright paused to relax the aggrieved look on his face. “Pretty lawyerly sounding, was it not?”
“Marginally! But bear in mind, you’re not my largest client. You and your partners have so many in-house lawyers, I don’t see a third of the business from CapVest I did from Thomas’ firm. I do enough personal work for Thomas and Sonja while no longer the largest, they are my favorite clients. I like the Burkes very much.”
“Me too. But that, my dear, is beside the point. Lacey, do you know what’s happening to us?” Wainwright asked. “I haven’t thought about much except you since we met. I think of you all the time. The chance to be with you again was why I joined you guys on this trip. It was a no-brainer. I joined the party hoping to win your everlasting devotion and abiding affection.”
“Oh, no, and all this time I thought you just wanted to get in my pants,” she chided.
“Well, there’s that, too.” He chuckled and pulled her closer to him. Enamored. Totally in awe. This woman, who was so bright and beautiful, mesmerized Wainwright. He loved her sense of humor, among her many fabulous qualities. Lacey filled the hole in his heart he had lived with since his divorce four years earlier.
Wainwright sidetracked his thoughts for a moment when Sonja entered the cathedral-like, two-story area of the lounge. Standing to greet Sonja, he smiled. “Hi, Sonja. Welcome to our after-ski love fest. Please, come and join us, won’t you?”
Uptight and obviously distracted, Sonja asked, “Lacey, Garth, did Thomas mention he had to go down to the village for something? He’s late, and I’m worried. He’s always been good about calling if he’s going to be late. I just wondered…if he might…aah…have said something to either of you.”
Lacey and Wainwright looked at each other and shrugged. Sonja was a humble and self-effacing woman, but Wainwright could see she was near panic, edging toward tears.
Wainwright motioned her to the couch. “Sonja, join us for a drink. I’m sure Thomas will be here soon. He made dinner reservations at Gisella. Whatever is keeping him, he won’t be late for that special meal. Now tell me, what flavor adult beverage may I get for you?”
Lacey’s eyes flashed mild displeasure at Wainwright’s flippant remark.
Sonja sat tentatively on the front edge of the leather cushion next to Lacey. “Nothing, thanks. It’s not like him. I don’t like this, not at all. He might have fallen up there and need help. Maybe he’s hurt, twisted a knee or some skiing thingy, you know?”
A burning pine log cracked loudly over the hearth. Sonja jumped at the sound. Lacey reached over and placed a calming hand on Sonja’s leg. “It’s going to be all right, honey. Sonja, you might want to rethink that drink. You’re very tense.”
Wainwright took the chair next to the couch and turned toward the two women. “Sonja…” He accepted Lacey’s warning look and spoke with a hushed voice to promote her calmness. “…the ski patrol makes a sweep of all runs after the lifts close. If a skier is hurt, the patrol is there to bring aid. If a skier can’t get down, the patrol will assist in that. But remember, Thomas is a better skier than most anyone on this mountain. Believe me; Thomas is not stuck up there. I’m sure if he were injured, we would have heard by now. He’s probably in town to pick up something. He will show up shortly. Now, how about I get you that cocktail and we’ll all relax until he gets back, okay?”
But Burke had not shown up by the time they needed to leave for their dinner reservations. Sonja became increasingly agitated the later it got.
“Lacey, will you phone the restaurant and cancel? I’ll check in with the ski patrol to report Thomas as missing.” As he walked toward the ski patrol office, his mind focused on Sonja and Thomas, neglecting to appreciate the awesome valley view spread out in front of him. The full moon’s light reflected off the snow blanket, with the village lights sparkling below. Wainwright’s concern for his friends hid the beauty of his surroundings from him.
The ski patrol office was housed in a separate building farther down the slope from the lodge. As he neared, he saw a sheriff’s cruiser idling in front, its light bar flashing the surrounding snow cover blue and red. The sight made his stomach roil as to what that might mean. He entered the office and saw the patrol officer talking to two uniformed deputy sheriffs wearing Smokey Bear headgear and bronze-green nylon jackets.
“Excuse me. Hi. I came to let you folks know our friend didn’t come off the mountain this afternoon. At least, he’s not here, and he’s very responsible about letting his wife know if he plans to be late. His name is Thomas Burke.”
The taller deputy reached his hand to Wainwright to shake. “I’m Deputy McCoy, and this is Deputy Sanderson. Your name is….”
“Sorry; my name is Wainwright, Garth Wainwright. I’m up for a week with Burke and his wife. I’m his business partner. Say, is anything wrong, considering you guys being here and all? Does your presence have anything to do with Thomas? Is he all right; I mean, is he hurt and that is why you folks are here?” From the corner of his eye, Wainwright saw the ski patrolman lower his eyes to the floor in front of him. That is definitely not a good signal.
“No, sir; I’m sorry ta tell ya there has been an accident. Your friend is not all right. I’m afraid Mr. Burke died in an accident up yonder. I’m very sorry for ya loss, sir.”
“My God, no! That just can’t be. He’s…an expert skier…I mean, he’s been skiing all his life; that…that just can’t be, it just can’t.”
“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Wainwright. Ski patrol found him on their sweep. Apparently, he hit a tree goin’ very fast. That is what killed him. The patrolman found photo ID in his pocket, with some credit and business cards. We are clear about the ID, I’m sorry to say. Sir, were you and the victim very close?”
“Huh? Oh…aah, close, yes, well, not really. I’ve known Thomas for a little more than a year. This is a nightmare! I can’t believe it.” Taking a deep breath, he turned to Deputy McCoy and asked, “Where is Thomas’ body now?”
“After the ski patrol got back down, the coroner’s van took him ’bout an hour ago. He’d be at Pitkin Valley Hospital by now, I suspect. Our Pitkin County Chief Medical Examiner is on staff there. You might also want to know he’s a reserve deputy sheriff. We’re all going to the scene at first light to have a look. Mr. Burke was skiing Walsh’s Trail when the accident happened. That run will be closed tomorrow until we finish our investigation up there.”
“Deputy McCoy, I’d very much appreciate you allowing me to accompany your people to see the scene. I just cannot believe this was a skiing accident. No way! Thomas was too experienced. I am a director with Burke of several public companies, and it is appropriate that a representative is at the scene.”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. We can’t allow civilians to interfere with an accident investigation. Sorry, sir.” McCoy waved his arms as if holding semaphore flags.
Wainwright looked at both deputies. Both lawmen stared at their boots and the ski patrolman continued his gawking, uninterrupted. No one spoke. Wainwright addressed McCoy again in a concerned tone. “Deputy McCoy, I really must insist. If there is someone with more authority you’d like me to speak—”
“Well, that won’t be necessary. I understand your concern, sir. We’ll all be going to meet at the dining hall at six o’clock. If I have your assurances you will stay out of everyone’s way and won’t be a bother to anyone, then I think we can accommodate you and it’ll be okay.”
Wainwright left the office and walked back toward the lodge. Burke, dead. It can’t be. The trail back to the lodge seemed darker, colder, and much longer now. He didn’t seem to notice the snow turning to slush. Wainwright reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t swallow; his tongue felt like it had grown to twice its size. His guts churning made his stomach ach
e, and he felt lightheaded and nauseous. He didn’t want to face Sonja or Lacey, not yet. He’d put that off for a while. Sitting down in one of the Adirondack chairs on the lodge’s front deck, he removed one of his Monticristo cigars from his leather case. Wainwright slowly lit it in the belief that additional time would give him more answers. He blew a soft breath on the ash so it might glow red as he puffed the cigar into life. What words could he use to tell Sonja she was now a widow?
Three
“Behind an able man, there are always other able men.” ~ Chinese Proverb
TWO DAYS LATER | He parked his eighteen-year-old classic Mercedes in the space where BENNIE RUBENS was lettered on the tire curb. He believed that made it so much easier to find at day’s end. Bennie had been known to forget where he parked the thing, at the airport or a shopping mall, on more than one occasion. Easier is always better.
This behavior may make him sound stupid to some, but Bennie Rubens was assuredly not a dimwitted person. If a casual observer were inclined to think that, he’d be very, very wrong. The reason for Bennie’s habit of forgetting where he parked was simply that he just didn’t focus on mundane things.
At 10:15 on this Thursday morning, Bennie walked from his parking space across the front parking lot to the CapVest Building entrance. The front lot was where visitors and senior executives parked. Bennie loved parking in this lot. No fumbling with parking cards for the multi-level underground parking decks here, no gate guards here, or having to hike through acres of underground parking spaces to get to the elevator here.
Today, the sunshine promised a beautiful Seattle winter day, seventy-three degrees with a cool breeze off Lake Washington. The Seattle skyline gleamed to the west of the rising sun. Bennie stopped to admire the view; then, looking up at the new twenty-two-story company headquarters building, he proudly thought, this is an architectural marvel. In addition, he was one of its lucky owners.
In a rare show of corporate humility, as well as commercial shrewdness, CapVest did not occupy the top two floors of the building it owned. The penthouse floors were leased to a law firm with more professional personality than fiscal forethought. The rent they paid was a hefty portion of the entire property’s mortgage.
CapVest was indeed a huge enterprise, as the backlit logo on top of the building proudly proclaimed to travelers crossing the Evergreen Point Floating Bridge. It was now the largest real estate investment firm in the country. CapVest managed a ten billion dollar portfolio of apartments, shopping centers, office buildings, and industrial properties spread over more than half the states in the nation. That required more than seven thousand employees.
Back in 1961 when Bennie and his two partners started this business, they had to strain just to pay the rent. Man, did Bennie remember those days. Seventeen years ago, they were three veteran insurance salesmen who’d just resigned from Seattle Life Insurance. Their plan was to start a financial planning practice that they creatively called Hockney, Jarvis & Rubens.
Because many of their clients wanted to invest in real estate, they began offering partnership units as an investment option. It proved to be a popular choice. They eventually changed the name of the firm to Capital Vested Corporation and the three founders operated it at the highest level of moral and ethical standards. Those operational principals were soon to become known as the CapVest Way.
The firm grew exponentially and now, seventeen years later, they owned this grand granite architectural monument Bennie stood admiring. For the past few weeks, the firm had been busy relocating from the old building across Lake Washington in Seattle to the newest high-rise in Bellevue. Most employees had already transitioned and were busy hanging artwork and hard-won certificates and degrees on their office walls. Bennie had already done his ego wall.
Today Bennie wore a slate gray Armani double-breasted suit, one of his many, as he pushed through the glass lobby doors, chuckling at the reminiscence of the success they had achieved. As was usual for Bennie upon entering his new corporate home, he did his secret skip-step over the company’s inlaid marble logo in the lobby floor. Bennie was sure it brought good luck.
Bennie was mindful of a few bumps in the road they had in getting to where they were today. Like poor ol’ Jules Jarvis, whom his partners had forced out of the firm. Nasty bit of business, that, he thought as he approached the elevators. But mostly the experiences had been great, and over the decades, his partners and he had become very rich. I like rich. Well, doesn’t everybody?
Smiling satisfactorily, Bennie continued his unspoken thoughts. I don’t work late nights anymore, and I don’t have to travel. I don’t even come in when everyone else starts their workday. I am coasting, and I’ve earned the right because of my past record of accomplishments. I’m good with coasting, even if my partners believe it’s wrong. I am good with it, you bet! Bennie took a lot of heat from his partners because of his present outlook. They didn’t think Bennie was pulling his share of the workload. It was his form of self-help therapy to defend his brazenness to himself every now and then. I have earned the right.
There were just a few people in the three-story-tall lobby at this time of day. Hank, the elderly, non-threatening guard, wearing his rumpled uniform, was idle behind his security kiosk. “Morning, Hank. How goes the battle?”
“Just fine, Mr. Rubens. Looks like it’s gonna be a beautiful day, I’d say.”
Bennie looked past Hank and saw Vida, Arnold’s executive assistant, waiting for the elevator to whisk her up to the executive offices on the twentieth floor. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, looking down at the floor. Vida always stood like that, looking at the floor, apparently watching for the movement of ants at her feet—it was her way of not being noticed.
Although he didn’t know, Bennie guessed Vida to be in her early sixties. That’s how she looked to him through his new big-name designer horn-rimmed glasses. His wife Yolanda said they made him look wise. Wise is good! Vida’s height was about five-three, which made her shorter than Bennie by an inch, and he definitely liked smaller people.
Some people would call Vida portly. With her gray hair in a severe bun and her cotton print housedress, she looked like somebody’s grandmother, not the executive assistant to a prominent CEO. But Vida was no one’s grandmother, nor any one’s mother. She and her late husband never had children. That was something one did not speak about with Vida. She looked up as Bennie walked over and stood next to her.
“Well, don’t you look like Mr. Wonderful this morning?” She smiled and eyeballed his Gucci loafers. Vida seemed to keep her eyes looking down at the floor; no doubt fearing Bennie’s fancy footwear could be devastating an ant colony.
“Yes, I do look good today, and thank you for saying so. Vida, let me ask you a question. Do you know why Ed Hockney is Chairman of the Board and I’m not?”
“No, sir, I don’t, but please tell me, won’t you?”
“Well, you see, Ed’s taller.” He laughed with Vida good-naturedly. “Have you gotten Arnold settled in the new office yet?”
“Almost. You know how Mr. Chaplain collects things. He likes everything within arm’s length.”
“So why don’t you just suggest he gets longer arms?” Bennie bent at the waist with laughter.
With her hands on her hips, Vida snorted a laugh. “Oh, Mr. Rubens! You have such a wonderful sense of humor. But truth be told, I don’t think Mr. Chaplain wanted to make the move over here.”
“We had to move into larger offices. You know how folks were stacked on top of one another at the other place, don’t you? We needed the space, and here, we have room to grow. Speaking of space, I bet, with all the stuff Arnold has accumulated, it’s difficult for you to keep him organized.”
“Oh, Mr. Rubens, I gave up on that idea over twenty years ago, don’t ya know? Mr. Chaplain is organized, even if folks can’t see past the mess. He knows where all his files are. I just hunt for what I need and leave the rest where he has it piled. It sure wasn’t what they
taught in secretarial school, that’s for sure. But it would be wrong to try to change a genius, don’t ya know?”
One of the six elevators dinged its arrival. They entered, Vida pressed the button for twenty, and the car began to climb the tower to the ‘C’ suite floor, home to the chairman, the CEO, COO, and Bennie. It was rare for Bennie to have an extended conversation with the shy Vida. This was perhaps the longest one he’d ever had with Arnold’s gatekeeper. Vida may be the kindest person I know. She showers everyone with her brand of Midwest kindness. He looked up at the elevator’s mirrored ceiling and saw his reflection staring back and Vida’s looking down at the floor, of course.
“How long did you work for Arnold in his law practice?”
“Oh, my, well, let me see.” With a finger to the side of her cheek and her elbow cupped in her palm, Vida said, “I think it was about six years. Did you know Mr. Chaplain was my first employer—right out of secretarial school? When Mr. Chaplain told me I was hired, well, sir, I almost fainted, I was so happy. I was much older than the other girls in school were and I’d never worked outside the home before. I had always just been a housewife before my husband passed. I really needed to work. I guess Mr. Chaplain thought he could teach me what I needed to know. He said being a housewife was the best training anyone could have to learn organization and I’d do just fine for him. He is such a sweet man. He’s so patient with me; with everyone, really. And Mr. Chaplain is such an excellent teacher, don’t ya know? He misses teaching all his classes at the U.” Vida hung her head again as a pretend-entomologist, no doubt searching the ground for insects, and then she whispered something.
“What’s that, Vida? I didn’t hear you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Rubens. I was just thinking about Mr. Chaplain. But…have you noticed how much grayer Mr. Chaplain’s hair has gotten? I don’t suppose that’s the kind of thing another gentleman would pay attention to, but it really is grayer now. Mr. Chaplain spends the same amount of time working here now as he spent teaching, but somehow, it’s making him look older, and he acts a little bit cranky, too. Oh, dear me, I’m just prattling on as if you had nothing better to do than listen to an old woman babble. Please excuse me, Mr. Rubens.”
Mystery and Suspense:The Tipping Point: A mystery thriller full of intrigue about greed, fraud and murder... (International Mystery: Book 1) Page 3