Aftermath

by Tricia Owens

  When Max had called the agent this morning upon arriving at the office, Giuliani had apologized, explaining that he was digging into something and couldn’t provide better information about Moira Harper and her mystery cruise just yet. He’d promised to call back by the end of the day. That he had messaged this early suggested he’d been successful in his efforts.

  Did he have more bad news?

  Max smiled bitterly. At this point, he had to prepare himself for anything.

  He opened his inbox and clicked on the email.

  Mr. Poole,

  Moira Harper used a travel agency to book the cruises. Premier First-Class Travel is the agency. Had to grease some palms and I now have a bingo date next Thursday, but I learned that Harper paid for the cruises in cash. She was alone when she did it.

  Max frowned in disappointment. Learning where that cash had originated would be difficult, if not impossible. A bingo date wouldn’t get Giuliani past banking privacy regulations. All Max had was speculation, and to him this reeked of a payoff. But if Merrick Felix had given in to Harper’s pressure and paid her to leave him alone, why hadn’t he admitted that to Max rather than claim he had no idea why she’d stopped bothering him? Did he believe Max would report the extortion to the authorities? Was he ashamed of having given in?

  Max read on.

  I’ll keep on Harper. See what I can learn about her companion. In the meantime, I’m following up on something interesting that I stumbled across with regards to Merrick Felix. It looks like Harper isn’t the only one who owns a lucky rabbit’s foot. Felix has landed two large campaigns within the past three months. From the looks of it, they are his largest ever. I’m going to try to confirm that and get you some numbers. I’m not familiar with the corporations. Maybe you know them? One is Excelsior Designs, the other is Tier One Productions. Could be coincidence, but I’ll do some digging.

  Giuliani

  Max steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin. He was familiar with Excelsior Designs. The company was owned by a pair of interior designers who specialized in decorating hotels and restaurants. Though Merrick Felix focused on fashion campaigns, Max wouldn’t find it unusual if Felix had wrangled a job promoting interior design. It was merely a different form of art.

  Tier One Productions sounded familiar, but Max couldn’t place where he’d run across the name. It sounded like an umbrella corporation, so it could be attached to dozens of businesses, including one associated with fashion or art.

  He wouldn’t have placed any significance on Felix’s good fortune except for one thing. Felix had told Ethan that he needed the suit campaign and Ethan specifically in order to restore his reputation and allow him to continue working in the industry. That implied fear. Was he at risk of losing the Excelsior Designs and/or the Tier One Productions campaigns if he didn’t succeed with this suit campaign? If so, it could suggest that Felix was desperate, and desperate men had never brought anything but trouble to Max’s doorstep.

  ~~~~~

  Merrick sat up straight from here he’d been hunched over his computer and announced, “I’m ordering room service. What’ll it be, Ethan?”

  Ethan, flipping through channels on the suite’s entertainment system, paused to look over at him at the desk. “Something light, please. If they have a turkey sandwich, I’ll take that.”

  “A turkey sandwich? No, that’s not happening.” Merrick stood and walked to the phone. He stretched his back as he called room service. “Hi, I’d like to place an order please. Two orders of shrimp cocktail to start. Do you have raw oysters? Okay, I’ll take—oh. Oh, really. Hmm. That sounds even better. Yes, one seafood platter, then. And a couple of flatbread pizzas. Make one meat and the other vegetarian. I’m not picky about the toppings. Yes, that’s fine.” As Ethan raised an eyebrow at the order, Merrick smirked at him and added, “And a bottle of Dom, please. Two glasses. Yes, that’s all. Thank you.”

  “I take it you finished your work?” Ethan said as he turned off the TV and set the remote aside.

  After the morning shoot at the Cosmopolitan, which had gone well, they’d come back here to the suite where Ethan had been entertaining himself while Merrick worked on the images and campaign layout. The older man had been at it without a break for four hours, and Ethan was impressed with his friend’s determination. It indicated how important this campaign was to him.

  “That’s right.” Merrick looked down at his laptop, nodded briskly, then shut it with emphasis. “The hard part is over. Now we celebrate like kings.”

  Ethan studied his friend as the older man dropped onto the sofa beside him and slung an arm across the top.

  “You sound pretty confident, Merr.”

  “The shots turned out exactly as they needed to.” Merrick tapped one hand against his leg as he bobbed it up and down. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Hard part will be over soon. Not too much longer now.”

  “I thought what you did just now was the hard part,” Ethan said with a smile, thinking back on the fierce expression of concentration his friend had been wearing for most of the afternoon. Merrick, for the most part, was an easy-going guy much like Ethan. It had been an interesting change seeing him with his nose to the grindstone. Then again, Merrick’s business was potentially at stake if he failed to deliver what the client wanted.

  Merrick shrugged, his gaze on the black TV screen. “I can edit and compose in my sleep. You know that.”

  “Yes, you’re borderline genius. I’m not kidding about that,” he added when Merrick snorted. “So what’s the remaining hard part? Convincing your client it’s what he wants? You think you’ll have to sell him on some aspects?”

  “I won’t have to sell him,” Merrick mumbled and retracted his arm from behind Ethan’s shoulders so he could rub both hands over his face. “It is what it is. There’s no turning back now, God help me.”

  A trickle of unease trailed down Ethan’s spine.

  “You’re acting pretty strangely for a man who’s about to close a deal.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not acting strangely.” The older man lightly punched Ethan in the shoulder before surging to his feet. “We’ve got Dom Perignon and a freakin’ seafood platter on the way. We’re celebrating. Nothing’s strange.”

  Ethan watched him walk away and circle back and retrace his steps.

  “What’s strange is that you don’t exactly seem happy,” Ethan pointed out. “And right now you’re pacing like a caged lion. Come on. You’re not fooling me.”

  “That’s right. Because you know me so well,” Merrick said softly as he laced his fingers behind his neck. “You trust me. Enough to defend me to your husband.”

  Ethan’s unease grew. “Merrick, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. I completed the campaign. I’m giving it to the client. End of story. You helped me out, and I appreciate it.”

  “Do we need to go to the printer’s again? You’re presenting your work, aren’t you?”

  “No printer this time,” Merrick mumbled, his back to Ethan. “Not this time.”

  Ethan couldn’t remain sitting while something was obviously happening to Merrick. Was the man having a nervous breakdown? Had the stress of the stalking and now this project pushed him over the edge?

  He approached the other man and stood in his path, forcing him to come to a halt. Merrick wouldn’t meet his eyes. Ethan tried to keep his concern in check.

  “I’m your friend,” Ethan reminded him. “If I can help you in any way, you know that I will. Your campaign is proof of that.” When Merrick flinched, Ethan felt the dread growing. “Tell me what’s wrong. Stop hiding it from me and spit it out already. Let me help you. You know I won’t judge.”

  That brought Merrick’s head up, his gaze moving slowly over Ethan’s face as though searching it for something.

  “You never judge,” he agreed haltingly. “Even when you got a raw deal when other models showed up hungover or were no-shows, pushing the shoot bac
k—you weren’t happy, but you didn’t hold it against them. You were always willing to give someone a second chance. To give them the benefit of the doubt. You were always too good, Ethan.” He raised a hand and hesitantly reached for Ethan’s face. “Even to me.”

  Ethan gently intercepted the hand and held it, squeezing supportively. He worried about his friend. The signs of stress were evident. Merrick had never looked like this before, as though he were hanging on by a thread.

  “Tell me,” Ethan repeated. “What’s going on?”

  Merrick opened his mouth, but a knock at the door startled him into snapping his teeth shut. Panic flashed through his eyes as he looked to the door.

  “Room service!” he blurted. “I ordered room service.”

  He pulled his hand free and hurried past Ethan.

  Frustrated, Ethan waited impatiently as Merrick admitted the room service waiter who set up their meal on a table. When she offered to open the champagne, Merrick waved her off with a wide smile.

  “I’d like to do the honors,” he told her with a smirk at Ethan.

  Ethan smiled back, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  Once the bill had been signed and the waiter tipped and ushered out, Merrick returned to the champagne bucket and pulled out the bottle.

  “Let’s do this. Let’s celebrate.”

  Ethan helped by holding out the flutes for him to fill, but he watched Merrick the entire time as he popped the cork and poured the champagne. After Merrick set the bottle back in the bucket, he took his glass from Ethan.

  “What are we toasting to?” Ethan asked, eying the sweat that beaded on the other man’s forehead.

  Merrick swallowed hard before raising his trembling glass toward Ethan’s.

  “To the days when life was simple,” he said. The golden liquid sloshed over the rim of his glass as he jerked the glass toward Ethan and back. “May we find that happiness again. One day.”

  As he gulped his champagne down, Ethan said, “What are you on, Merrick? Coke? Speed?”

  Merrick laughed harshly and grabbed the champagne bottle to refill his glass. “I’m high on life, baby.”

  Ethan set his full glass aside. “Damnit, tell me what the hell is going on. You’re a wreck right now.”

  To his horror, Merrick’s lower lip wobbled. He appeared about to cry. He blindly chucked his glass across the room. It hit the sofa and rolled, unharmed, to the floor.

  “I screwed up,” Merrick choked out. He turned a beseeching gaze on Ethan. “I made the worst decision of my life. I’m so sorry.”

  Fear barreled into Ethan. His body went immediately cold and yet sweat broke out over his body. “What did you do?”

  Merrick hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself as though he expected to be struck.

  “I used to believe that it meant something to be a good person,” he whispered to the floor. “I believe in Heaven and Hell. I believe in judgment. Yet you go through life and you realize it doesn’t matter, does it? The bad guys, the guys who are unscrupulous, they’re the ones who end up benefitting. The good guys get screwed over, taken advantage of, again and again. It’s always been that way, but people try to convince us that it’s more important to do the right thing. They never tell you that the bad guys are getting away with everything. They’re the ones who never have to apologize, who get to enjoy all the things we’re told we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

  A low buzzing sound filled Ethan’s ears, though he doubted its source was external.

  “I never hurt anyone in my life,” Merrick went on as a bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. “I wasn’t an angel, but I sure as hell never hurt anyone intentionally. Not enough for it to matter, you know? We all hurt each other in little ways. Little lies. Little deceptions. Petty things. But those aren’t the big things that other people do and get away with.” He shook his head. “It’s not fair.”

  Ethan thought of calling Max and warning him that something had gone wrong. But what could he say? Until Merrick came clean, Ethan could do nothing but wait him out.

  “What did you do?” he repeated as calmly as he could, trying to suppress Merrick’s rising hysteria. “Whatever it is, it’s not as bad as you think it is. And you won’t have to deal with it alone. I will help you.”

  “Don’t you see?” Merrick raised bright eyes to him. “That just makes it worse. That just proves my point. I stopped being the nice guy. The good guy. But you haven’t. You’re just standing there, waiting for someone like me to ruin your life. It’s not fair, Ethan. I never asked for this. I never wanted to do it!”

  “Ruin my life? What are you—”

  The sharp rap on the door startled them both. Merrick cried out before pinching his lips together and staring fearfully at the door.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Ethan demanded. He wasn’t armed today. He’d placed his weapon in his safe at the condo after Max had been upset that Merrick wanted to see it during the location scouting.

  Merrick slowly nodded.

  “You know who this is?” Ethan pressed.

  When Merrick glanced at his laptop, Ethan’s dread mounted.

  “Yeah, Ethan. I know who it is.”

  Pale, Merrick walked to the door. The door seemed heavy; it took a long time for him to swing it inwards to greet the person waiting in the hall.

  It was the man from the restaurant. Merrick’s client for the suit campaign. The man looked Merrick over and then turned his attention to Ethan as he stepped inside and pulled the door from Merrick’s lax grip to shut it. Ethan assessed whether he could take the man in a fight. He decided that he could. But why would he have to?

  “You look uptight,” the man remarked to Merrick. “I hope there’s not a problem.”

  “No, no,” Merrick said hastily. “I—I have it. It’s done. The whole thing is done.” Ignoring Ethan, he strode to his laptop and pulled a thumb drive from one of its ports. “I’ve got it—”

  “I need the whole computer.”

  Merrick blanched. “No one said anything about that. I have my work files on here.”

  The man seemed unmoved. “If you didn’t back them up that’s your own fault. I need the whole thing.”

  Merrick’s mouth twisted down, but he didn’t argue further. He jerked the power cord out of the back of the machine.

  “You want my soul next?” he spat as he picked up the laptop and carried it to the other man.

  The man didn’t rise to the bait. “The stick, too.”

  Merrick angrily threw the USB drive at him, which the man caught against his chest, his expression blank, as though Merrick’s reactions didn’t affect him at all.

  “I’m not letting you leave with that computer,” Ethan told the man. He moved close enough that he would be able to intercept the man before he reached the door. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on.”

  The mystery man—Ethan could no longer think of him as a client with the way Merrick was behaving—regarded Ethan with heavy-lidded eyes. He didn’t look pleased to have gotten the computer nor upset about Merrick’s reaction or Ethan’s demand. It made Ethan wonder if this man had done something like this before.

  “I take it our friend Mr. Felix hasn’t told you,” the man said. “That’s fine. It’s more dramatic coming from me.”

  “No, just go,” Merrick begged. “Just leave.”

  He shot an anguished, guilt-ridden look at Ethan, and that was when Ethan figured it out.

  “You’ve betrayed me,” he said, unable to be stunned or angry. He realized that in the back of his mind he had feared this moment all along. Nothing that Merrick had said or done had quelled his anxiety. Even when Ethan had argued with Max in the parking garage, outraged on his friend’s behalf, Ethan had worried, deep down, that he was wrong and Max was right. It was ego. Ethan needed so badly to be respected by Max that he’d clung to the futile hope that Merrick was being truthful.

  “Don’t call it betrayal,” Merrick said hoarsely, his expression bleak. �
�You know how much I care about you. I still love you. I would never hurt you.”

  “Except that in this world, the bad guys are the smart guys,” Ethan said slowly. “That’s pretty much what you said, right? And you’re now a smart guy, is that it?”

  Merrick hung his head. “I had no choice. You don’t understand the pressure I was under.” He palmed his eyes. “Moira was going to destroy me. She’d convinced models to talk badly about me, to claim I’d harassed them on shoots. They could have pressed charges. Sued me. I would have been destroyed and everything I’d worked for—imagine Maxmillian in my place. Losing everything.”

  Ethan could imagine it easily. Max was facing a minor crisis of his own with Axelrod Randolph’s careless comments. But there was one thing Max would never do to save himself: throw someone else under the bus.

  “You said Moira was going to destroy you.” Ethan glanced at the laptop. “What’s changed? Is it because of something that’s on there?”

  Merrick covered his face with his hands. “I can’t. You put yourself on the line for me and I’ve stabbed you in the back. I can’t—I just can’t.”

  “Then I’ll do it for you,” the pseudo client said. He’d been watching Ethan with unusual intensity as though everything that was going on had little to do with Merrick now that he’d handed over the laptop.

  “And who are you?” Ethan demanded.

  “Call me Mr. Wilson,” the man drawled. “I have nothing to do with the suit company that Mr. Felix has been pretending to be working for.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that Mr. Felix has fulfilled his end of a bargain. What happens next is up to you.”

  “What bargain?”

  “It’s not necessary for you to know the details, only the results and your role going forward, Mr. Winter.” The man raised the lid of the laptop. It booted up instantly. He studied whatever was on the screen and used the trackpad to maneuver and then click. “The relevant file has been sent to the interested parties. Destroying this laptop or attacking me or holding me for ransom will prevent nothing. It’s too late for that.”