In an odd way, Spocatti was proud of Michael. Standing up to his father took guts. Perhaps Michael wasn’t the man he assumed he was. Perhaps he was stronger.
The roar of the helicopter grew louder.
Ryan stamped out his cigarette. “Things have changed,” he said. “I threatened Michael with Santiago and he hung up on me. I think he knows.”
Spocatti could barely see the man’s face. It was as if a net of shadows had been cast against it. “I doubt that,” he said. “If anyone told him, we would have heard.”
“Not necessarily,” Louis said. And then, his voice surprisingly bitter, “You’re not perfect, Vincent. Neither are your men or the equipment you use. So do me a favor and stop pretending you’re God.”
The helicopter passed and Ryan’s pale face was caught in the light as it wavered like water into the office.
Spocatti stared into that face-saw the stern line that was Ryan’s mouth, the nightmare that was boiling in his liquid-brown eyes-before he watched it slide back into darkness. He wondered at exactly what point the man’s mind had begun to turn. He wondered to what extent Ryan realized his carefully orchestrated plan was souring.
“I want you to keep an eye on Michael,” Louis said. “I want you to increase security around him, record his every move. He’ll be at the funeral tomorrow-I’m sure of that. Since there’s no telling what he has planned after that, watch him. I have a feeling he’s going to try something.”
“I can take him out,” Spocatti said.
“Not until I’m finished with him.”
“And when will that be?”
Louis lit another cigarette and, for an instant, his face glowed in the fiery globe. “Tuesday,” he said. “When we bury the rest of them.”
BOOK FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“It really is special,” the Realtor said. She was standing in the center of the large, empty foyer and her voice echoed off the stark white walls. “As you know, apartments on Fifth are rare, especially in the 50s and 60s. And this is a penthouse, which obviously further amplifies its appeal.” She let a silence go by. “If you want to make a statement and live on Fifth Avenue, this is the place to do so. Few in the city are better.”
She allowed the man a moment to take in the space.
“Let’s take a tour,” she said.
The apartment was large and airy. It comprised two floors and boasted sweeping views of the city. It was completely white throughout-white walls, white carpets, white woodwork, white marble floors in the bathrooms, white fireplace in the library, everywhere white, white, white.
“From what I hear, the owners are arty, eccentric types,” the Realtor said as they moved through the living room and stepped into the dining area. “They’re old money from Iceland and word has it that they missed their country so much that they surrounded themselves in white, in a sense giving them the illusion of being lost in a blizzard.”
“You don’t say?”
She caught the sarcasm and couldn’t help a laugh. “It’s what we’ve been asked to say. Whether it’s true, I can’t say. But I can confirm that the apartment was featured this year in Architectural Digest.”
The man walked down a bright hallway and stepped into the library. She followed. “This is my favorite room,” she said. “The windows sell it. That’s a true New York view. You easily could fit two-hundred people in here for entertaining. And at night, it’s magnificent. With that backdrop, you can imagine how beautiful it is in here.”
The man moved to the far set of windows. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked across 53rd Street to the city’s newest hotel.
The woman stepped behind him. “And then you have that,” she said. “The largest hotel in New York. Four thousand rooms, all of them booked for the weekend. Tonight is the opening night party. You’ve heard that Leana Redman is managing the hotel?”
“Didn’t she just bury her sister yesterday?”
“She did.”
“And now she opens that hotel tonight,” he said. “That’s a pretty quick recovery, wouldn’t you say?”
The woman didn’t say. “Do you like the view?”
“Very much,” he said. “But I wonder if I might see it at night?”
“Of course,” she said. “I could show it to you tomorrow evening.”
“No,” the man said. “I’m leaving the country tomorrow morning. I won’t be back for weeks and you may have sold it by then.” He turned away from the window and looked at her. “I’d like to see it tonight. And, if the view is as spectacular as you say it is, it’s likely that I’ll just write you a check for the full amount.”
The woman kept her features neutral, but her mind was working. After calling in a number of favors, she had secured an invitation to the opening of The Hotel Fifth. She had spent a fortune on her dress and almost as much on having it tailored to her body. There was no way she could show this apartment tonight. The connections she could make tonight were invaluable.
And yet this apartment had been on the market for months. The asking price was $25 million. Because of the recession, here was the first person in weeks to show genuine interest in it. She couldn’t lose this sale, for professional and personal reasons.
The man was watching her, waiting for a response. “If it’s a problem,” he said, “I can always look elsewhere. I really need to wrap this up today.”
“No,” the woman said. “That isn’t necessary. It’s just that I’ve been invited to that party tonight. Leana Redman and I are friends. She invited me herself. It’s important that I attend and help her through what likely will be a difficult evening.”
His gaze met hers levelly. Unflinchingly.
The woman sensed he didn’t believe her.
“Look,” he said. “If this party means so much to you, I wouldn’t mind coming here alone tonight and checking out the view for myself. Just give me a key and I’ll return it to you tomorrow morning, before my plane leaves.”
“That’s actually against the law,” the woman said. “I’m not allowed to do that.”
“It’ll just be me.”
“I could get into trouble,” she said. “I could lose my license.”
“Or you could make a $2 million commission. Who will know?”
“The doormen.”
“Doormen can be dealt with,” he said. “A little charm, a lot of money-and they become your best friends.”
She thought about this and made her decision. “All right,” she said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. And if this stays between us.”
“Of course,” the man said, gazing across at the hotel. “Just between us.”
They awoke in each other’s arms to the abrupt sound of music.
Michael lifted his head from the pillow and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. He would have given anything to have awakened anywhere in the world but here. He knew Leana had to get ready for the day and so he let the music play. She moved closer to him and murmured something.
Michael put his arm around her and gently kissed the back of her neck. Neither had slept well. More than once in the night he turned to find her looking at him, her face pale and watchful in the moonlight, her eyes heavy and dead with memories of Harold and Celina.
Yesterday morning, at her sister’s funeral, he stood alongside her and her parents at an elegant Connecticut cemetery. He was a fraud grieving for a woman he hadn’t known, yet easily could have saved.
Yesterday afternoon, while Leana tried to rest, Louis phoned, again threatening him with Santiago. Silently, bitterly, Michael listened, but what Louis didn’t know is that Michael knew that Santiago didn’t exist and that Michael no longer believed that George Redman killed his mother. Meeting the man and seeing how he spoke about his mother altered the landscape. He wanted to confront his father with his lies, but instead he spun some of his own, reassuring Louis that he also wanted Redman dead, that meeting the man had solidified his resolve.
His words still linger
ed in his mind. “I asked him, Dad. I asked him how Mom died, and you should have seen the look on his face. It was as though I had accused him of murder.”
“And that surprised you?” Louis said.
“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t,” Michael said. “I don’t trust you. I never have and-after this experience-I never will. But this is now personal for me, too. When I saw the look on Redman’s face, I knew he pulled that trigger and I want him dead for it. What you need to understand is this-once it’s over, I never want to see you again. You’ll pay off Santiago-just as you promised-and you will give me money to start over with. A lot of money. Those are my terms. Either you meet them or I’m out of here. Now, tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
There was a silence, almost as if Louis had been expecting something different from his son, perhaps another disappointment, certainly not this.
“All right,” Louis said. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll discuss everything in detail then.”
Momentarily relieved, Michael hung up the phone, knowing that if his plan was going to work, if he was going to protect Leana and her family, he would have to assume the role of a lifetime and convince his father that his resolve was genuine.
Leana turned to him, her eyes warm and liquid in the bedroom’s muted light. She was beautiful, he thought. If it cost him his own life, he would see to it that no further harm came to her or her family. He would see to it that his father was stopped. If Michael was wrong and George Redman had indeed killed his mother, then he would have to be brought to justice another way-not like this.
He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Are you ready for this?”
Leana shrugged. “No. And I hope they’re not expecting too much from me tonight,” she said. “I’m not up to this at all.”
And here was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.
Last night, while they were relaxing in bed, it came to Michael that if his father would murder Celina, then he almost certainly planned the same fate for Leana. Louis didn’t want Leana to manage his hotel. He only gave her that job to publicly humiliate her father. And Louis wouldn’t stop there. Before Redman was murdered, Michael knew his father meant for the man’s family to die before him-so George would feel the pain Louis himself had felt for years.
On the clock radio, the music stopped and a segment on the morning news began. Last night, they’d intentionally turned up the volume so they wouldn’t oversleep. Ordinarily, he would have shut off the machine. But this bedroom was wired, and if the radio’s volume was loud enough, Spocatti wouldn’t hear what he was about to say.
“Then don’t do it,” he said quietly. “Don’t go.”
Leana looked surprised. “What are you talking about?” she said. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. Call Ryan and quit. You told me last night you don’t want this job. We can be back in Europe by the end of the day.”
“I can’t do that to Louis, Michael. He’s done too much for me. It isn’t right.”
“Ryan’s using you. You told me so yourself. Didn’t you tell me that you only took this job to hurt your father?”
“That was only part of the reason.”
“Maybe so, but the other night was a turning point. He cares about you. He came here because he wanted to tell you himself about Harold. Yesterday, I saw him reach for your hand at Celina’s funeral. Last night, he called to see how you were. Don’t mess with this, Leana. You finally have a chance to build a meaningful relationship with your father. Don’t you see how precious this is? I would give anything to be in your place to have a father who cares for me the way yours is beginning to care for you. Don’t deny him another chance.”
“I don’t plan to,” she said. “But I’m going through with tonight’s opening. This isn’t about my father anymore, Michael. This is about me-my abilities. All of New York will be there tonight. Those who matter will finally be watching me. I’ve waited too long for this. If I quit and go to work for my father-assuming he’ll hire me-there’s no telling how long I’d have to wait for a moment like this.”
She looked at him with such impatience, Michael was taken aback.
“Don’t you see?” she said. “Ever since I was a kid I’ve watched my sister and him shine. Since I was a kid, I knew I could do everything they could do-but I wasn’t given the chance.” She stepped out of bed and moved naked to the bathroom.
“I don’t want to discuss this,” Leana said. “I’m opening that hotel tonight and I hope you’ll be there to support me-”
She stopped suddenly and turned toward the radio, her eyes widening as it was announced that WestTex, the floundering shipping company George Redman reportedly paid $10 billion for, had become Redman International’s earlier that morning.
“Watch Redman International’s stock when the Dow opens this morning,” the commentator said. “How this plays out will be critical for George Redman. If it falls any further, some critics say Redman will be a prime candidate for a takeover himself. In related news, the same isn’t true for Anastassios Fondaras, the Greek shipping magnate who went public moments ago as Iran’s new chief exporter of oil.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Confident, magnificent, his heart full for the first time in years, Louis Ryan left his office, stepped smartly down the busy hallway to his boardroom and faced his directors, most of whom were spirited to New York only last evening-leaving behind previous engagements, summer vacations in progress, mistresses in foreign countries. The usual.
They were in groups of three or four, sipping steaming mugs of coffee or tea, unaware of his presence. As Louis stood in the doorway, only dimly aware of their quiet babble of conversation, his gaze swept the room for Peter Horrigan, the Wall Street lawyer who had been hired to advise the directors of their rights and duties, and saw with a smile that he wasn’t there yet. If he had been, if these men and women even sensed what he was about to propose, Louis knew he would be entering pandemonium.
He closed the door behind him and the conversations stopped. They looked at him, their expressions ranging from minor annoyance to genuine concern. Why had he brought them here? What couldn’t have waited until their scheduled August board meeting?
Louis moved into the room, an old friend greeting each director with a warmth that was almost beguiling. He asked after their wives, their husbands and their families, alleviating the tension with well-chosen jokes, a deep-throated laugh. He knew he had alarmed them with the suddenness of this meeting and if he was to garner their support, it was imperative that he make them feel comfortable now.
Never had he been more charming. His eyes shined with a light of mystery and sparkled with a sense of humor few had seen in him before.
And then, as he asked them to be seated, Peter Horrigan arrived.
To Louis, the crashing silence that followed was almost comical. As Horrigan moved into the room, smiling to those people he knew, nodding at the few he didn’t, Louis looked at each of his directors and knew the time to act was now, while they were still too stunned to speak.
While the others sat, he remained standing and faced them all with a strength and purpose that was as compelling as they had come to expect from a man who had built from nothing a multi-billion dollar corporation.
“Welcome,” he said to the group. “And again I want to thank you all for leaving your families and coming here on such short notice. I understand many of you were enjoying summer vacations and I promise you that your time in New York will be short. But since our last meeting, events have changed so dramatically with one of our competitors, I felt it was in the best interest of our shareholders to meet now and not only discuss the future of this great company, but also the fate of another-Redman International.”
He paused for effect, and noticed that all eyes turned briefly to Peter Horrigan, who was seated at Louis’ right, before turning back to Louis himself.
Louis continued. “As I’m sure most of you are aware, this morning George
Redman and his directors went against the odds and purchased WestTex Incorporated, the large shipping company based in Corpus Christi, Texas. In the first twenty minutes of today’s Dow, Redman stock has fallen eleven points-and it’s still dropping.
“Before coming here, a source of mine at Redman International phoned to inform me that George Redman and his directors are in a state of panic. In order to make this deal with WestTex work, Redman was counting on a deal he made privately with Iran. It was a deal that not only would have made him Iran’s chief exporter of oil, but one that also would have made him billions. In theory, his idea was brilliant-but the agreement was only verbal. Redman chanced everything on a verbal commitment because Iran refused to sign anything until WestTex became Redman International’s. They felt it was a waste of time to commit themselves otherwise, and they were correct.”
He shook his head as though the risk Redman took was wildly inappropriate. “Unfortunately for George Redman, Anastassios Fondaras had a similar deal in the works with Iran-and his was finalized only minutes after Redman signed the final papers with WestTex, thus leaving him with $10 billion in added debt, and a shipping company that can’t support itself.”
Glances were exchanged while Louis sat. Then Charles Stout, a former chairman at American Express and a proverbial thorn in Louis’ side, spoke. “So, what are you suggesting, Louis? That we take over the company?”
Louis smiled at Stout. “That’s precisely what I’m suggesting, Charles. By taking over Redman International, we not only will become a world leader in steel and textiles, but we’ll also acquire a commercial airline and some of the more attractive and profitable hotels and casinos in the world-not to mention the Redman International Building itself, which, if handled correctly, could be a veritable gold mine in rental opportunities. We owe this to our shareholders.”
Stout was incredulous. “Owe this to our shareholders?” he said. “Are you implying that we owe it to our shareholders to take over a company that’s just assumed $10 billion in debt? A shipping company that’s been floundering for months? Our stock will plummet. We’ll wind up where Redman is now.”
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