The Aspen Account

by Bryan Devore

  “We’d like to see Darryl Mitchell,” Marcus said.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Mitchell’s schedule is full this evening. We’re not regularly open on Saturday evenings, but at the moment we’re working on a special project. Perhaps I could direct you to one of our risk assessment managers by making an appointment for Monday?”

  “My name’s Marcus Graham. I phoned thirty minutes ago. I’m an old friend of his; I’m sure he will want to see me if you tell him I’m here.”

  The receptionist nodded and dialed an extension. After speaking into her headset, she looked up at them and said, “Please take a seat. Mr. Mitchell will be out in a few minutes.”

  Within a few minutes, a stocky black man with a shaved head walked into the corridor. He wore a Natazzi three-button suit.

  Darryl Mitchell reached out a giant pink palm to shake Marcus’s hand.

  “Marcus, you’re back!” he said, flashing an expensive smile. “What’s it been—nine months? If you’ve come to reconsider my offer, you can forget it—you had your chance to join us.”

  “Darryl, stop begging. It’s embarrassing,” Marcus bantered back.

  “This is my client, Don Seaton. He could use your agency’s help with something. Mr. Seaton, this is Darryl Mitchell. We were in military intelligence together.”

  “A pleasure,” Seaton said, shaking his hand.

  As the three walked to Mitchell’s office, Seaton related the shooting incident on Wall Street and his discussion with Nick about Jack’s failed business, failed marriage, and failed life. Seaton asked him to gather as much detail as possible, public and private, about the bankruptcy of Jack’s business.

  “What kind of specific information are you looking for?” Mitchell probed.

  “Anything that can link me to the past two years of his life. I can’t believe he would try to kill me over something that happened twenty-five years ago. There must be something that’s happened since…something that I’m not being told. Your job is to find it. Can you do that?”

  “It’ll take time.”

  “I must know within forty-eight hours.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible. We can’t take on an investigation with such short notice. We have limited resources here in New York and may not get to this till the end of next week.”

  “I’ll pay ten times your going rate if you can get started in the next five minutes,” Seaton said.

  This brought a chuckle from Mitchell, who shook his head in disbelief. “I can see why I was unable to lure Marcus away from your employ. Okay, Mr. Seaton, but I have to warn you, we’re not cheap.”

  “I’m not poor.”

  Rolling his chair over to the corner of his desk, Mitchell pressed a button on his phone. “Natalya, please clear my schedule for the remainder of the evening. Reschedule calls, both domestic and international—I don’t care if it’s World War Three. And have Adam Hawley in my office in three minutes.”

  He turned back to Seaton. “We’ll get right on it.”

  Seaton nodded. “Marcus will give you our contact numbers. We’ll be at the Windsor Hotel this evening, flying back to Aspen tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have someone contact you with the satellite phone number on the jet so you can reach us in flight.” He stood up and shook Mitchell’s hand. “I appreciate your thoroughness and confidentiality in this matter.”

  “Always.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Seaton said to his bodyguard before leaving the office.

  “What’s really going on here, Marcus?” Mitchell asked the moment they were alone in the office.

  “That’s what we need you to find out. I’ve known Mr. Seaton for more than five years now. He’s probably the smartest man I’ve ever met. If this is something he’s concerned about, it’s serious.”

  23

  OVER A HUNDRED guests had been drinking and reveling at the Seaton estate since midafternoon. They were thickest on the patio that stretched along the back of the mansion. Outdoor heater lamps were connected by lines of Christmas lights, and dangling Chinese lanterns were strung through the woods surrounding the house, giving the party the look of a Chinese New Year’s celebration. On a stage at one end of the patio, a rock band was blasting away. Two hot tubs were overflowing with ski bums and flirtatious college girls, all on unexplained sabbaticals from the real world. At the moment, they sat lined up in the bubbling water, holding a long ski with five shot glasses glued to it at equal intervals; tipping the ski, they drank the shots in unison.

  Michael ordered two vodka tonics from the outdoor bar. “Nazdrovya!” he said, obliging Sarah to look into his eyes as their glasses touched. A trick he had learned in Germany long ago. He was a little nervous that he had convinced Sarah to come to the party with him without telling her about its connection to X-Tronic. He wanted to see the twins’ reaction when he introduced her to them, and he needed her to be surprised as well.

  “So,” he said, “Kurt once told me you’re going to be our generation’s Bob Woodward.”

  Sarah smiled. “My brother always had a problem with exaggerating.”

  “He said you exposed a fraud scheme in the city government.”

  “That part is true.”

  “What happened?”

  “A project manager in the Public Works Department for Denver had been misallocating funds that were appropriated for two new homeless shelters. He had awarded the contracts to a guy he went to college with. I knew some people in the department, who informed me there could be a conflict of interest in the bidding process. As I dug into the investigation, I realized that the bid was overstated and the contractor managed to obtain additional funds from the city without meeting even half the required milestones in the contract. The manager in Public Works concealed the shortcomings of the contractor, and the two of them pocketed the additional billings.”

  Michael shook his head. He had seen too many stories of corruption to be shocked, but it was sad to think that someone could be greedy enough to steal from those who had nothing. “Well, the exposure ruined the manager’s life,” he said. “He obviously got fired, and he’ll never get a decent job again—that is, after he gets done serving his time.”

  “And he would have served it, too, if he hadn’t killed himself first.”

  Michael looked over at her. “He killed himself because of your story.”

  “No,” she said, looking dead ahead at the roaring party around them. “He killed himself because he was a coward.”

  “How’d it feel, breaking such a big story only a few months out of college?”

  She laughed. “It made me realize how many stories there must be out there that need to be told. I mean, if I could stumble on that so quickly, just imagine how many other things are happening right now, even as we speak, that need to be uncovered. That story really helped me build momentum for the kind of career I want to have. My editor also gives me a lot of freedom to explore things now.”

  As he lowered the tumbler from his lips, he glanced above its rim and saw Lucas at the far end of the patio, standing in the center of a small group. “Sarah, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  He took her hand and led her through the crowd, never taking his eyes off his host. Approaching from behind, Michael was careful to block Lucas’s view of her. He tapped Lucas on the shoulder.

  Turning, Lucas smiled and said, “Michael!” He was wearing a yellow ski coat and drinking a longneck. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

  “I didn’t realize the party was starting so early. Thought I might be the first one here.”

  “No, no. Most came straight from the slopes. Some drove in from Denver, but this place has been slammed for a while now. Don’t worry, though—plenty of time left, and we’ve got some good bands coming on later.”

  “I’d like you to meet my friend,” Michael said, stepping to the side. “Lucas, this is Sarah Matthews. Sarah, this is Luc
as Seaton; it’s his party.”

  Michael watched Lucas’s face as he pronounced her name. Just as he had been trained, he watched for the deepening of breath, the slight tensing of the jaw, the subtle dilation in the pupils. And he saw all three in the split second before Lucas could regain his composure.

  “Sarah—yes, I remember you from your brother’s funeral. I’m so sorry for your family’s loss. I always liked Kurt.”

  “You were at his funeral?” she asked in surprise. “How did you know my brother?”

  “I’m one of the chief operating officers at X-Tronic. Your brother had been leading our annual financial audit.”

  Sarah tensed immediately. “Really,” she said. “You’re from X-Tronic?”

  “That’s right,” Lucas said.

  “X-Tronic,” she said slowly. “I’ve heard a lot of interesting things about your company.”

  “That a fact?” Lucas asked, grinning as if eager to face a possible challenge. He gave her an appraising look.

  She nodded. “My brother told me a lot about it once.”

  “Did he, now?” He had turned away from Michael to face her, making it obvious that she had his full attention. He waited, as if daring her to continue.

  “Mm-hm,” she mumbled, raising the tumbler to cover her trembling lips.

  “Hey, this is one impressive place!” Michael said, trying to ease the tension. He had already seen what he was looking for in Lucas’s initial reaction. Now he knew he had to get Sarah away from him lest she reveal too much of their suspicions.

  “The estate?” Lucas asked, looking around nonchalantly. “Yes, well, it belongs to my father—most things in our family do. But someday my brother and I will have plenty to show for ourselves.”

  “I bet you will,” he replied.

  Sarah had stopped talking. She hid behind her glass and eyed the two men with what Michael realized was growing anger.

  The wail of an electric guitar erupted behind them, and Lucas turned. “Oh, this is a terrific band. You won’t want to miss this.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute,” Michael replied.

  Their host gave Michael a quick nod and Sarah a stiff smile and was off through the crowd.

  Sarah turned and walked in the other direction.

  “Hey!” Michael yelled, pursuing her. “Sarah, wait.”

  She started walking faster. When she heard Michael racing to catch up, she threw down her drink and burst into a sprint. Running past the thinning edge of the crowd, she left the patio and entered the dark trees behind the mansion.

  Michael cut between the trees, easily closing the gap between them. She got fifty yards into the woods before falling to her knees. She was panting, head down, her dark red hair covering her face like a long veil. He stopped a few steps behind her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this party was related to X-Tronic?” she asked. Her right hand grasped a piece of crusty snow, clenching until it broke apart in her fingers.

  “It had to be a surprise when you met him. He would have known if your meeting wasn’t a surprise. You had to appear naive.”

  “Are you trying to torture me?” she asked, still looking down.

  “I’m trying to help you. Did you see his face when I said your name?”

  She looked up. “All I could see was my brother’s face.”

  Michael leaned against an aspen trunk, resting his forehead against the smooth, cold bark. “He was startled, almost terrified.” He paused. “It was exactly the kind of reaction I needed to see to believe he was involved in Kurt’s death. I believe you now. I believe that your brother was murdered by someone from X-Tronic. And I think Lucas knows who.”

  “I want to kill him,” she said. “I don’t want to write a story anymore—I just want to kill him.”

  “So you are working on a story about X-Tronic . . . about your brother. You’re not just trying to get a murder case opened. You want to expose anything illegal yourself.”

  “If he’s responsible for my brother’s death, I swear to God I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking stop his heart.” Cold air stung her face, making her eyes tear, but she stared on into the darkness— a woman scarred and alone, with a building rage that wanted only to fight anyone foolhardy enough to get in her way.

  Michael sensed in her the same inner rage that he himself had felt, on the ice with Dr. Speer a few days ago. She was losing herself to the anger, the same anger that had consumed the doctor after his wife’s death. It was all happening again, and in that moment, Michael vowed to do everything he could to help her.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  “No?” she said evenly. “Stick around.”

  Michael’s eyes lowered to the corn snow blanketing the pale wilderness around them. Years ago he had learned how to keep his cool under explosive passions of anger. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good,” he said, quoting the apostle Paul.

  She glared at him. “What are you, some kind of a saint?”

  He knelt down beside her. “No, not a saint,” he said. “More like the sheep that got lost.”

  “Aren’t we all,” she replied. “Promise me one thing, Michael. Promise me you won’t abandon Kurt. No matter what happens, promise me you’ll help me follow this to the end.”

  He raised his head and looked out into the dark woods. “You don’t know me, Sarah. You don’t know some of the things I’ve done. I don’t have the right to promise anyone anything anymore. But if it helps any, I already made that pledge to Kurt—the day of his funeral, when everyone drove away from his casket in the cemetery.”

  “You’re not telling me everything,” she said.

  “No, I’m not,” he replied, still gazing out into the dark. “I’ll tell you everything I learn about Kurt and everything I learn about X-Tronic, but there are just some things I can’t tell you about myself. I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice in that.”

  She nodded while pursing her lips and blinking the tears out of her eyes. “You’re just like my brother was. He said there were things he couldn’t tell me, either. Just don’t ever lie to me about my brother. If you promise to tell me everything you learn about his death and X-Tronic, I’ll promise to tell you everything I learn. We can find out the truth together. If you really were Kurt’s friend, then you owe it to him to work with me.”

  Michael felt suddenly glad she was beside him. After all his years of working alone, he would welcome her help. He just hoped that in the end, she would prove to be someone he could trust.

  Together they emerged from the trees and rejoined the party. The few people who saw them coming in with snow-stained pants gave them knowing smiles, assuming that it was nothing more than a tryst. Holding her hand for appearances, he led her through the growing crowd toward the stage, where the band was finishing a song.

  “There must be over three hundred people out here!” he yelled back at her. Even though the music had come to a stop, the yells and whistles from the crowd were all but demanding an encore from the departed band.

  A hand grasped his shoulder. “Michael, you sneaky bastard! I’ve been looking for you all night. And only now, at the end of the show, do I find you.”

  He turned to find Lance, grinning, in a black wool cap and a ski coat.

  “Lance! I just saw your brother a half hour ago.”

  “Well, you’re doing better than me. I haven’t seen him half the night.” Lance peered at Sarah. “And who’s this?” he asked.

  “My friend Sarah,” Michael replied. After the way she had challenged Lucas, he didn’t want to tempt her to take another shot, and he suspected that she wasn’t up for it, either.

  “Have we met before?” Lance asked her. “You look familiar—I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”

  Sarah forced a grin and latched on to Michael’s arm. “See honey, I told you all the boys use that line.”

  Lance chuckled uncomfortably. “Funny girl,” he said to Michael.

  Michael grinned. “I
didn’t think they had night skiing at Aspen,” he said. “Looks like you’re getting ready to hit the slopes.”

  Lance smiled. “Actually, I was skiing with some people all day on the mountain. We drank so much at the lodge afterwards, we thought it would be fun just to tough it out all night in our ski clothes. Tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

  “I’m sure of that,” Sarah muttered under her breath.

  “You’re gonna have trouble getting back into the house through this crowd,” Michael joked, hoping Lance had missed her words.

  “Actually, I’ll probably use the servants’ entrance. I can get into it from the kitchen,” Lance said, pointing to the back corner of the patio. “There are hidden staircases and hallways for the servants to move around the place without being seen. Designed so that my father’s well-to-do guests wouldn’t have to notice the staff, but it ended up being a great playground for Lucas and me when we were kids.”

  As Lance talked of hide-and-seek in hidden passageways, Michael noticed two large tags sticking out from the front of his coat. “You’ve got a couple ski passes there?”

  “Yeah,” Lance said, looking down; his fingers plucked absently at the tags. “This one’s the season pass for Aspen, and this is the Colorado pass. You ski? We’ll have to go sometime if you do!” he said, slurring his words.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely, I’d love to ski, anytime,” Michael replied, bending over to take a closer look at the tags. “I see they changed the design on the Colorado pass this year,” he concluded after looking at it for a few seconds. “I actually didn’t buy one myself, not this year anyway—busy season and all. But I have to go up at least a half-dozen times this season so I can still feel like I’m living in Colorado.”

  “Sure, absolutely! We’ll go sometime, I promise,” Lance said. “Even if we have to drag you away from work. You can tell your boss you’re ‘meeting with a client.’” He laughed loudly.

  Just then the floodlights from the mansion cast a long shadow across the crowd as the band returned to the stage. Lance slapped him on the back and smiled wryly. And Michael, watching the band take the stage again, also wore a smile, because he had just memorized the fifteen-digit bar code on Lance’s ski pass.