Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  Removing Rick’s jacket and draping it on the edge of the couch, I decided that if someone was going to break this agonizing silence, it would have to be me. I squeezed Rick’s hand once before letting go and standing up. Smoothing my dress, I crossed the room to where the ambassador sat.

  He still had his head in his hands. It was unnerving to think such a man, a man who had brought himself and his sons to such political heights, could sit in such an ornate room in his mansion, alone, and drink away his sorrows. I reached for his left shoulder but hesitated, unsure how to approach the situation.

  Taking a deep breath, I tapped him quickly. The ambassador dropped his hands and stared up at me with large, red eyes. Despite my reservations about this man’s character, my heart went out to him as I considered how devastating it must have been for him to lose his son. “When did you find out?”

  He stared at the vivid Persian rug. “This evening, when we returned home from the club. I’d had a tough time fixing that mess the boys caused. But I did fix it. As usual. Devin, my assistant in London, called. He said that they found his body in our flat.”

  “Wait–he was in your apartment? I thought you said he was missing?”

  The ambassador narrowed his eyes at me and offered a perplexed expression. “Missing? No, he wasn’t missing. Granted, I should have kept a better eye on him, but he never vanished. Well, not for long anyway.”

  As I stood before Ambassador Gatlin Cross, my mind began to race as fast as my heartbeat. Swallowing hard I asked, “Are you talking about Arthur?”

  He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “What? No, I wasn’t talking about Arthur. I’m talking about Henry. He—he must have overdosed. It happened sometime within the last few hours.”

  “Hold on.” Within moments, I realized what he was saying. My heart rate slowed. “Henry’s dead?”

  The ambassador swallowed hard and nodded. Standing up, he crossed the broken glass, crunching it further beneath his black-leather shoes. He grabbed another glass from behind the bar. I looked up at the different bottles on display.

  I recognized the names of some of the bottles as being very expensive brands. He had several thousand dollars worth of alcohol at least. His cheapest bottles would be top shelf at most bars. Finally, he settled on a brandy and filled the glass to the brim.

  “It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, I suppose.” Ambassador Cross turned the glass around in his hand.

  I glanced over at the couch where Rick sat. He was staring at the ambassador intently, no longer paralyzed by the fear that his favorite cousin had perished. I turned my attention back to the ambassador as he took a sip.

  “Why isn’t it a surprise that a man in his late twenties died suddenly?” I asked, hoping the question didn’t come across as callously as it sounded. To my relief, he didn’t even notice.

  “Henry has been dying for years.”

  Rick glared at him. “Henry was an addict.”

  I walked over and sat beside Rick. “An addict?”

  Still staring at the ambassador, Rick replied, “Coke.”

  At this, the ambassador seemed to arise from his near-comatose stupor and sprang into politically self-protecting action. “Richard, please. My son was not a strong man. He had his faults, as do we all, but now let’s let them be. God rest his soul,” he finished as he took one last gulp of the fiery liquid.

  Rick leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. “Does Mrs. Cross know?”

  His eyes widened. “No, God no! And she’s not going to know until I can fix this.”

  Rick stared at him, a frown beginning to furrow his brow. “Fix this? You aren’t going to tell her the truth, are you?”

  The ambassador smoothed the lapels of his black jacket and brushed a strand of hair from his face. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead and rosy cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Richard.”

  Rick ran his hand through his hair as he began to pace the room. Finally, he stopped. “Sir, you do know what I’m talking about.”

  Ambassador Cross folded the handkerchief and placed it in his pocket. “Careful, Richard.”

  Rick motioned at me. “You don’t want to talk in front of Jordan? Why did you demand I bring her here?”

  The ambassador glanced at me so quickly that I questioned whether or not the look occurred. He pulled a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. “It’s important to be aware of what you say and to whom you say it. Besides, this is a family matter.”

  Rick threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Then once again, why am I here? Why is Jordan?”

  “Because you are family.” Turning to me, the ambassador said, “My dear, I hope you don’t find me abrupt, but there are some matters that should be handled quietly and kept private. You understand, don’t you?”

  I stood there, considering my words carefully. I have dealt with high-profile clients before. I have dealt with rude ones, too. I wasn’t phased by either. At the end of the day, it was simple. It was business. What made this less simple was one tiny, minor fact. This was my boyfriend’s family.

  “I do understand,” I began, forcing myself to try and walk that narrow line. “I understand that your method of keeping things private is not working for you.”

  The ambassador’s jaw clenched but he said nothing.

  “You didn’t address Henry’s problem,” I continued, hoping the nerves I felt weren’t visible. “Unfortunately, it’s too late for him. Forgive my bluntness, but that’s the truth.”

  My heart pounded. Mr. Cross glared at me, but remained silent. Beside me, I felt Rick’s gaze, too, but I didn’t look. If I did, I might lose my nerve.

  “Arthur’s out there somewhere and he needs help. Now, I know you had Rick bring me out here to evaluate me. To see if I was competent, trustworthy. I can understand that’s important for someone in your position,” I paused, taking a deep breath. “So, what I would like to know is, have I passed your tests? If I have, I’d like to discuss Arthur’s case with you. If not, I believe Rick and I will be on our way. No need to waste any more of anyone’s time.”

  I crossed my arms and waited. Both men stared at me incredulously for what felt like an eternity. As each second ticked by, my anxiety elevated. Finally, the ambassador let out a laugh.

  “My God, you found yourself a little spitfire, didn’t you, Richard? I’m impressed. Most people wouldn’t have had the nerve to speak to anyone that way, let alone me. You’re right. I have been evaluating you and quite frankly, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather handle this case, bearing in mind this matter must stay quiet.”

  “Mr. Cross, I practice the utmost discretion with all my clients, regardless of their social status.”

  “I have a question for you, Miss James.”

  “Yes?”

  “What would you say the most important part of any job is?”

  “Any job?” I paused, thinking. “That’s quite a broad range. I don’t think there’s one thing except, maybe, a strong work ethic.”

  The ambassador began to pace. It was clear he was now in his element. “That is important, but not the most important part. Image is the most important part of anyone’s job. You have to maintain a certain image of yourself and your abilities in order to succeed in this world. Your image will either make or break your career.”

  I glanced at Rick. He sat on the couch with a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Although he opened the book, I could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. The ambassador stood with his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back, staring at me expectantly.

  “I agree with you that image is important,” I began, “but I don’t think it’s the most important factor. If a person doesn’t do a good job, it doesn’t matter how he looks when he’s failing at the task.”

  The ambassador replied with a slight smirk as he sat in the leather armchair. Staring up at me, he asked, “Had yo
u not seen me moments ago at my worst, would you have had any inclination that I am dealing with the most horrific nightmare any parent could imagine?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Would you have even for a moment doubted my judgment, thinking I would be acting irrationally due to personal tragedy?” I shook my head. “You see, Miss James, that is image. The image one shows the public will either bring you to riches or to ruins and I never intend to be in ruins. That’s why we moved Henry to London with us after that, well, unfortunate incident.”

  “What incident?”

  He shook his head. “It was nothing significant.”

  “Henry performed open heart surgery while high on cocaine. If there hadn’t been another surgeon in the operating room, the patient would’ve died,” Rick said.

  The ambassador’s mouth nearly fell to the floor. Quickly, he remembered his “image” and played his surprise off, asking casually, “How did you know about that?”

  “Arthur told me when it happened,” Rick answered, still refusing to make eye contact, pretending to keep his attention focused on Dumas’ classic novel. “He was mortified.”

  “Well, Arthur always does tend to overreact.”

  Rick slammed the book, causing both the ambassador and I to jump. “Overreact? Your junkie son nearly kills someone and you think Arthur was overreacting? It’s no wonder he avoids this family!”

  Before the ambassador had a chance to respond, I interjected, “This is getting us nowhere. Mr. Cross, you have in essence agreed to hire me to find your son, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I am willing to take the case. In order for me to succeed in this task, I need you to be honest and upfront with me, no matter what I ask you.”

  The ambassador scratched his square jaw. “I will, provided it is information pertinent to this situation. You do understand, Miss James, that in my position, I am privy to a great deal of information of both national and international significance.”

  I nodded respectfully. “Of course. The first thing I would like to ask is when was the last time you saw Arthur?”

  The ambassador crossed his burly arms and stared at the fireplace. “I suppose it was last Sunday. Arthur flew into Heathrow where my wife and I met him.”

  “Wait. London?” I glanced at Rick. He shared my surprise. “Why did he fly to London?”

  Mr. Cross didn’t reply. I noticed a pained expression morph his features. He looked grief-stricken. Something told me his thoughts were not on Arthur.

  “Where was Henry?”

  Ambassador Cross turned an ashen shade at the mention of his late son. He quickly regained his composure. “Henry was back at our flat. He wasn’t exactly in a position to go out.”

  Rick sighed behind me but I overlooked the sound. “Sir, people at Crowell Academy were under the impression Arthur would be teaching several summer courses,” I continued. “Why did he suddenly leave the school and fly out to London to meet you?”

  “For a personal favor.”

  “He was doing you a favor or you were doing him a favor?” I pressed.

  The ambassador hesitated. At this, Rick stood up. “Come on, Jordan, let’s go. He obviously doesn’t want help. We’ll try to find Arthur on our own.”

  Before I had a chance to argue, the ambassador exclaimed, “He was doing me a favor. Me, all right? Henry got himself into a great deal of trouble. Owed some shady sod in Aldgate a great deal of money. Suffice it to say, I needed this drug connection of his to dry up but there wasn’t anyone I could send to pay them off without the connection coming back to me. Everyone knows all of my sons except—”

  “Except Arthur,” Rick finished, through gritted teeth. With closed fists, he approached the elder man, heatedly. “You sent Arthur into danger in a foreign country to handle Henry’s drug problem because you didn’t want anyone to realize you were involved? What kind of a father are you?”

  Although rage flickered in Rick’s eyes, I sensed a great sadness and disillusionment hidden behind it. Rick admitted only a day earlier there was a time when the ambassador was a surrogate father and that the Cross family was very important to him. The look in his eyes suggested that that feeling was now gone or fading fast. The ambassador either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the reaction.

  “It’s not a foreign country to Arthur any more than it is to you. Arthur’s spent a great deal of time there, just like you have. And I asked my son for help. He could have refused if he had wanted to.”

  “Refused? No one refuses Gatlin Cross!” Rick exclaimed.

  “You did.”

  “I just refused some Ivy League school you were peddling.”

  “And you refused to let me help pay for it. You also dismissed my suggestion of law school.”

  “I appreciated your concern, but I didn’t need your money then or now, sir.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the years,” the ambassador scoffed, reaching for his glass.

  “Gentlemen, please. We’re here to discuss Arthur.” At the mention of his cousin, Rick’s expression softened. “All right, Mr. Cross, you said Arthur met you at the airport on Sunday. He flew over to do you a favor. If that is the case, why did he nearly empty out his closet at the Academy?”

  The ambassador blinked. “I have no idea. He might have been planning to stay with us through the summer, but he didn’t say anything to me.”

  “You said this favor it, well, it had something to do with Henry’s drug problem.”

  The ambassador flinched at this blatant mention of an issue he was so used to overlooking. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Is it possible that something went wrong during that exchange?”

  “Quite honestly, that’s what I am afraid of. Arthur is a smart boy and not exactly a pushover,” the ambassador added, glancing at Rick, “but even a strong man could encounter trouble when dealing with certain people.”

  “Why didn’t you have one of your aides do your dirty work?” Rick demanded. “You’ve got plenty of them.”

  I gave Rick a warning look. Frowning, he shut his mouth. “Mr. Cross, please explain to me exactly what Arthur was supposed to do. I want to know every detail.”

  The ambassador narrowed his eyes, but eventually complied. “Arthur was given an agreed upon sum of money. He was supposed to meet a man named Bronx at the London Metropolitan University. He was given more money than Henry owed with the explicit instructions that this was Henry’s final purchase.”

  I nodded, making a mental note to look up the London Metropolitan University online once my phone was charged. “How much money was Arthur given?”

  The ambassador clasped his large hands together and glanced at the fireplace once more. “I’m not really certain that has any bearing on this case.”

  Before Rick had a chance to say a word, I gave the ambassador my sternest look. “Sir, your son is missing. He disappeared in London with, what I’m assuming, is a great deal of money. I believe this is pertinent to the case. How do you expect me to help you when you won’t help me?”

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But, before I disclose the sum, I need to know that this information will never leave this room.”

  “You have my word, sir.”

  Tugging at the collar of his white shirt, he said, “Well, Henry got himself in a bit of a jam, really. No, not a jam–a huge mess. His drug problem was not only destroying his mind and body but my wallet, too. When he finally admitted to me he was using again, it was only after he owed this Bronx character £38,000.”

  Rick’s face turned as white as a New England winter morning when the ambassador revealed this number. “Oh, no.”

  He nodded at Rick somberly. “Oh yes.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I’m not familiar with British currency. How much is that in American dollars?”

  “In American dollars, my son spent nearly $62,000 on cocaine in three months.”

  I stared at t
he ambassador, dumbfounded. It was unfathomable to me how anyone could spend that much money in such a short period of time. I, personally, felt guilty whenever I bought myself a new purse. The thought of spending sixty thousand dollars of someone else’s money was unreal. “That’s a lot of money.”

  The ambassador rested his arm against the mantel of the mahogany fireplace. “Yes, it is. And having to pay more just to buy off a drug dealer was appalling.”

  “How much did you pay him?”

  “You’re absolutely certain this is paramount to the investigation?” I nodded. “All right, fine. I gave Arthur £75,000 to insure Henry’s drug connection would dry up. And before you ask, that’s $125,000, give or take.”

  “What made you certain that would work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, sir, there’s an old saying, ‘There’s no honor among thieves.’ What made you certain paying Bronx extra money would guarantee he wouldn’t sell to Henry anymore?”

  “I wasn’t certain,” the ambassador answered, his voice rising. “I was desperate. While you may think of me as heartless, I do care about my family. I spent inordinate amounts of time and money trying to get Henry better. It didn’t work. And apparently, paying Bronx off didn’t do a bit of good. Henry found some other way to get high.”

  “Do you think it was Bronx again?” A disturbing thought crossed my mind. “Is there, is there any chance Henry didn’t overdose?”

  “You mean was he murdered?”

  I nodded once.

  “He wasn’t murdered, Miss James.” Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Henry’s addiction killed him. Maybe he went back to Bronx. Maybe it was someone else. I’ve always only wanted the best for my children and now, well, there’s nothing I can do for Henry, but Arthur’s still out there, God willing, and I want to do everything in my power to help him.”

  While he said this with absolute certainty, I had my doubts. Arthur was missing and his dead brother had been mixed up in London’s seedy underworld. Plus, there was the threatening note found at Crowell. I couldn’t dismiss murder. Not yet.