Independently Wealthy: A Novel

by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

  I pushed off my comforter and sat up just as the cell on my night table rang. I glanced at it and saw Joan Morgan pop up on caller ID, and I was sure she was watching the same news report I was, but I couldn’t talk to her about it now. I was transfixed on the TV, savoring every word the anchor was saying. As soon as it was over I’d call her back, bring in Tina, and spend however long it took to explain everything.

  “Sources tell us,” the anchorwoman went on, “that Wesley Caldwell is now a suspect in Stone’s death due to the statement of a witness whose identity is being withheld for his or her protection. Our sources have also indicated this witness has provided information which might clear Stone in the Lake Kolenya scandal. According to the witness, Edward Stone was misled by Senator Caldwell about Amicus Worldwide’s wrongdoing, but was poised to launch an investigation of the company at the time of his death. Authorities believe this might have been a motive for the alleged murder.”

  My landline rang in my office down the hall. It was probably Tina, but I couldn’t answer that call, either, because there was a knock on my door. I figured it had to be George, who was still standing guard in the hallway at Ned’s orders. So I sprang out of bed and headed toward the door in my bare feet, and when I opened it I saw George wasn’t alone.

  Beside him were Ned and Caroline, who were wearing coats and had snowflakes on their shoulders. “Savannah,” Caroline said, her voice coming out hoarse. “I … I don’t know what to … I mean … if it weren’t for you, we’d probably never know who took Dad from us. I realize Wes hasn’t been convicted yet … but I’m sure it was him. It all makes sense now. And Dad’s name is close to being cleared.”

  I shrugged, thinking Wes might not be in jail if it hadn’t been for Tammy Burns shoving me in the subway station. I’d been right to keep believing in silver linings. “I can’t rightfully take much praise, Caroline. It’s been mostly accidental.”

  “Still,” she said, “I didn’t believe this day would ever come.”

  I nodded as she stared at me through her glasses. Then she took a step forward and gave me the tightest hug while I remembered the first time she and Ned walked into this apartment, when they’d tried so hard to scare me back to Charleston. Now Ned was smiling, and I silently agreed with Caroline. I hadn’t believed this day would come … but here it was.

  Twenty-five

  It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Spring’s official beginning had been just forty-eight hours ago, but it had bloomed prematurely, awakening trees and opening tulips in Central Park. Joggers and dog walkers and people with baby carriages headed in that direction as I strolled toward my building with a bag of groceries I’d bought at Zabar’s on Broadway.

  “I think,” my doorman said when I was near the entrance, “winter is gone for good.”

  I felt the sun warming my hair. “Lucky for us,” I replied, grateful the coldness of winter had melted with the snow. I smiled at the doorman, he let me inside, and a few minutes later I was in my kitchen.

  I unpacked the groceries and placed them neatly in my pantry, lining up Manhattan and Charleston favorites—a bag of bagels beside cornmeal, a tin of rugelach next to homegrown pecans shipped directly from Mom.

  I closed the pantry door and moved to my window seat, where I settled down beside the screen and soaked up a balmy breeze. I wasn’t there for long when the phone rang, and I dashed across the room to grab the receiver off the wall.

  “Hey, you,” said a voice that was deep and smooth.

  It was Jack. I hadn’t seen him for weeks, since the day he’d gone to Yonkers with me. He’d sent me flowers after Wes was arrested and included a handwritten note that read Congratulations. I’d called him to say thanks, and that was the last I’d heard his voice until now.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Nothing at the moment,” he said. “My day is free … and I’d like to spend it with you.”

  I walked across the kitchen, bent my leg against the window seat, and gazed out at the one section of Manhattan that had been virtually untouched by time. “Central Park,” I said, “is the perfect place to spend a Sunday. And the weather is right for a picnic.”

  “A picnic,” Jack said. “I haven’t been on one of those in Central Park since … well … I can’t even remember. I’ll pick up some lunch … we can eat it on the Great Lawn. Do you want to meet by the Turtle Pond at noon?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll bring a blanket.”

  That blanket had a pattern of red and white squares, and it was rolled up in my arms when I waited beside the pond a couple of hours later. The temperature was so unusually high for this time of year that I’d broken out my summer wardrobe, and I stood there in a knee-length, crepe de chine tunic dress with a damask design in pink and cream. Espadrilles were on my feet and a string of pearls circled my neck, and I saw myself in the water as I leaned over a railing to watch a hatchling turtle climb a rock.

  “Your hair is so blond in the sun.”

  I turned around and saw Jack through my tinted Chanel lenses. He looked like a sample of J.Crew’s latest spring collection in his beige twill pants and white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Aviator sunglasses covered his eyes and his Cartier watch was on his wrist, and a bag from Marché Madison dangled from his hand.

  I noticed his hair had been clipped since February. Maybe I’d been wrong about the longer length suiting him best, because right now he looked like a fair-haired nobleman who belonged in Belvedere Castle across the pond.

  “Yours, too,” I said.

  Jack smiled and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “Have you been online or watched the news in the past hour?”

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “Two things have happened: First, the car that caused your father’s wreck has been found. The cops think Wesley Caldwell stole it and then ditched it on some desolate road in Pennsylvania. He probably hitchhiked back to D.C. after that. I guess it took them so long to find it because they didn’t know where to look … but it must have been easier once they started retracing Wes’s steps. They found the car right after he was arrested … it wasn’t reported in the media until now because they were waiting for the results of the forensic tests from some things they found inside … and Wes is a match.”

  I held my palms over my mouth. They’d healed well, and my fall to the subway platform had left no scars at all. “That’s great news,” I said, dropping my hands to my sides and feeling even more relieved than I had when Wes was arrested. “I’m sure it’ll help in the trial next winter. Not that Wes is getting out of jail anytime soon, since they’re holding him without bond on the conspiracy charge, too.”

  We started walking toward the lawn, which was dotted with people sunbathing and tossing Frisbees. “I doubt he’ll get out of jail ever,” Jack said, covering his eyes with his glasses again. “The cops must have other evidence that we won’t hear until we’re in the courtroom.”

  I looked up at him as we strolled along. “You’re coming to the trial?”

  “Of course I am. I want to see Wesley Caldwell fry as much as the Stones do. I also want to be there to support Ned and Virginia and Caroline … and you.”

  I smiled, stepping onto the lawn. “You said two things have happened. What’s the second?”

  “Coincidentally,” Jack said, “federal indictments are coming down tomorrow against Terrence Miller, Jonathan Caldwell, and some other higher-ups at Amicus Worldwide. I guess the government finally put together enough evidence to prosecute them.”

  “Finally,” I said, staring out at a clear blue sky and skyscrapers hovering over a wall of trees. I’d already thought today was perfect, but it had just soared to another level. “What about Senator Caldwell?” I asked as we reached an empty spot on the lawn. “Isn’t the government going to indict her, too?”

  Jack shook his head while I unfurled my blanket. “She didn’t work at Amicus, so she didn’t have the same responsibility as her husband
and Miller.”

  He put the grocery bag on the ground and grabbed one end of the blanket. Then we spread it out on the grass and sat down.

  “Well,” I said, “that’s disappointing, but I can’t whine about it. Everyone else is getting what they deserve … and I guess she has, too, even though it’s in a different way. Her marriage is over, her son is in jail, and her career and reputation are gone. It’s amazing how things like this tend to sort themselves out.” I glanced over at the Marché Madison bag that was still on the grass. “Let’s not waste another minute on those people. We’re having a picnic, aren’t we?”

  “We are,” Jack said with a grin as he reached for the bag. He started unpacking it, lining up containers on the blanket, and organizing the most frou-frou picnic lunch I’d ever seen. I’d been expecting sandwiches, and instead I got ratatouille and brie and chocolate croissants. We dug into everything while we lounged beneath the sun, and soon the food was gone but Jack and I stayed where we were, effortlessly passing the time as we talked and looked at each other through our shaded lenses.

  “You still live across the street from Kitty, don’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You know … I bought that house expecting a certain type of life. A wife, kids … but at the moment I have no prospects of either. Maybe I should just sell the place.”

  He sat with his legs stretched out and his arms extended behind him. I was lying on my side and perpendicular to his feet, but now I sat up straight and crisscrossed my legs beneath my skirt. “Don’t sell your house,” I said. “You’ll find the life you want sooner than you think.”

  Jack’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. “Will I?”

  Our conversation had flowed so easily until now. Suddenly it was quiet inside our private sphere, and all I heard was a hippie-type guy tuning his guitar a few blankets away. I watched him pluck the strings until there was a sigh beside me, and then I turned my head toward Jack.

  He took off his glasses. “Savannah,” he said, “things were rocky between us in the past. But that’s all over now. I’m not that guy anymore.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Good,” he said, leaning forward. “So let’s pick up where we left off.”

  A swarm of women surrounded us—the cute redhead in the cowboy hat, a voluptuous brunette with a dandelion behind her ear, two lithe blondes stretching their hamstrings. Jack could have his pick of them, and of so many women who were far more captivating than I was, and yet he was looking at me like I was the only girl in Manhattan.

  “I’m flattered,” was all I said.

  Disappointment crossed his face. “I just thought … I mean, I’ve kept my distance because I didn’t want to pressure you, but when we kissed that day in your apartment…”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” I said, and thought for a moment. “No, that isn’t true. I can’t act like I regret that kiss because I don’t. I guess I did it because I was overcome by how I felt about you … and I just couldn’t help it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “You want to settle down.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” he said. “I’ll be thirty-two this summer.”

  “And I’ll be twenty-five on Saturday. You know exactly what you want, but I’m just starting out. We’re not in the same place … and it wouldn’t be fair for either of us to pretend otherwise. We’d only end up unhappy that way.”

  He bent his head back, letting the sun wash over his skin. “Oh, Savannah,” he said, “you’re killing me. Why do you always have to be so damn … right?”

  I laughed. “Not always … but I am this time. Although most people would think I’m insane not to jump at what you offered. Believe me … other women will.”

  He gave me a halfhearted smile. “Thanks for the ego boost. But since you’re pushing me toward other women, should I assume you want me to lose your number?”

  I touched his hand. “I want you to memorize it. I want you to call me anytime. I want you to be my friend, Jack.”

  He seemed to be mulling that over, and then he laced his fingers into mine. “You’re still killing me … but I suppose I can do that,” he said finally. “I guess I should look on the bright side, right? Friendship usually has a longer life than romance.”

  His smile broadened, bringing out those deep dimples in his cheeks. “That’s very true,” I said. “And we need to keep each other around so we can spend more time together, just like this.” I glanced at the grass and the sky and that guitar player strumming a whimsical tune. Then I turned my eyes to Jack. “How would you describe today in French?”

  “Belle,” he said, looking right at me.

  *

  Monday was as bright and mild as the day before, and it was too nice outside to spend my lunch hour cooped up. So I left Stone News, bought a gyro from a cart on the corner, and ate it while I took a walk.

  I browsed through some shops for a while, and I was heading back to work when I saw Kitty and Charlie Beckford on the opposite side of the street. Her red hair flowed in the breeze and their hands were joined, and they seemed happily oblivious to everyone and everything while they strolled toward a restaurant and disappeared inside.

  I smiled to myself as I continued on, and soon I was nearing the revolving doors at Stone News. I paused to let a stream of people out, and one of them was Virginia Stone. Her dark hair was loose and she wore a chic silk dress with a botanical print, and I seemed to have startled her.

  “Oh,” she said, holding her hand to her chest as she stopped short. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” I replied, and it took me a moment to find more words. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  She glanced up at a cirrus cloud in the blue sky and then back at me. “It’s beautiful … and we’re not even in April yet. Maybe global warming is a more valid theory than I suspected.”

  I nodded and checked my watch. “Well … my lunch hour is almost over, so I should get back to Femme. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day.”

  I headed toward the door, but I stopped and turned around when I heard her highbrow accent. “A few months ago,” she said, “I told you that I wanted the right person to pay for what happened to Edward. Now he is … and so are the rest of them. I know you had a role in making that happen … and I want to thank you.”

  I probably looked as surprised as she had a few moments earlier. I tried to think of an eloquent reply, but all I could come up with was “You’re welcome, Mrs. Stone.”

  That seemed to be enough. She gave me a smile. “Call me Virginia,” she said as she walked away, and even though I’d heard that before, I believed she meant it this time.

  I turned toward the doors, went into the lobby, and was back inside my cube a few minutes later. I’d edited some articles that I needed to submit to Kitty, so I brought them to her office, where I noticed a new photo in a frame on her desk. The picture seemed to have been taken recently—during a sunny day, in front of a pear tree. Kitty was sitting on a park bench with Charlie and Ethan, and they looked like a model family from a photographer’s portfolio.

  I glanced at Kitty’s corkboard on the wall. Notes were tacked there as usual, and so was a finger painting with Ethan’s name signed on the bottom by an adult’s hand. Next to the painting was an empty square—the space where that card from an adoption agency used to be.

  I was still holding my articles. I put them on Kitty’s desk while I stood there and thought for a moment, mainly about what I’d told Jack about how things tended to sort themselves out. Then I left Kitty’s office, walked down the hall, and caught an elevator that took me to the corporate division.

  “Is he busy?” I asked Ned’s secretary, nodding toward his closed door.

  “Eternally,” she replied.

  “Then I guess this is as good a time as any,” I said before I turned the doorknob and walked into Ned’s office. He was typing furiously on his keyboard, and he didn’t stop even after I closed the
door and sat in a chair in front of his mahogany desk.

  “Can we talk?” I asked.

  Whenever I barged into his office before, he would get irritated and ignore me and keep working. He still seemed annoyed at being interrupted, but at least he stopped typing. He sighed, pushed the keyboard away, and leaned back in his big leather throne.

  “Okay,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “What are we talking about?”

  This was so dicey. I wasn’t sure how to start. “Remember,” came out of my mouth, and I just went from there. “Remember the day I came back from D.C. and you said you were interviewing someone to replace Zachary Parker on the Stone News morning show?”

  He nodded. “She didn’t work out. We’re still looking.”

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t. If I don’t find somebody better, that show will sink us.”

  I slid to the edge of my seat. “I’ve found somebody better.”

  “Oh, have you? And who is that?” he asked in a droll tone.

  “Charlie Beckford,” I said.

  Ned’s chiseled jaw stiffened. “Is this a joke? I think it has to be. There’s no other reason you’d mention that name in my presence unless you’re toying with my mental stability. And now that we’ve gotten to know each other better … I doubt you’d do that.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” I said as I rested my forearms on his desk. “Listen, Ned … you know Charlie Beckford is the reason ABN is first in the ratings. But what you might not know is this: His contract with that network expires in June.”

  “I do know this. I’ve heard it around. And I assume he’s staying there.”

  “He might not be,” I went on. “I witnessed him saying he’s exploring his options. I also have it from a reliable source that he’d prefer not to work at night or go on so many foreign assignments.”

  Ned stroked one eyebrow with his thumb, eyeing me tiredly. “The source is Kitty?”

  “Yeah,” I said as gently as I could. “She told me that Charlie never gets to have dinner with his son during the week or put him to bed at night. He’d like to do that … and to travel less. And you’d like to bring Stone News back to number one. I’m confident that hiring Charlie Beckford as your lead morning-show anchor will guarantee your success. You’re aware of how highly regarded he is.”