Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Marcus Weber

  “You sure? The last time we all got together, you both seemed to be in a better place. Although, I didn’t think he’d even want a party after . . . you know . . . the thing with his brother.”

  Michaela shuddered. “Rod is a strong man. He’ll survive. At some point, he’ll have to snap out of it. He will have to get control of his emotions, or else.” She shrugged, her tone evasive and unsure.

  “What does that—” Paige began.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the salesgirl interrupted, wearing a painful expression.

  Paige turned in the girl’s direction, her head tilted.

  “The card you provided didn’t go through,” the salesgirl said, her voice mousy and sorrowful.

  “Impossible,” Paige said evenly. “Try it again. It has to be your machine.”

  “I . . . um . . . I tried it three times. That’s all I’m allowed.”

  Heat crept up Paige’s body until the tops of her ears burned. She hated to be embarrassed.

  “That’s crazy. I guess maybe the strip got damaged? I have other cards.” She dug into her wallet and handed the girl another card.

  “That’s an American Express Centurion card, or what you might call a Black Card. Meaning no limit,” Paige said, an annoyed edge in her voice. Now she had something to prove. But to who? Herself? Michaela? This little girl she didn’t even know?

  Paige could feel Michaela watching. She knew what Michaela was thinking, but she was wrong. In the weeks since Antonio had been let go, he’d made some major investments. Paige hadn’t asked to see proof. But, he said they would be fine.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the salesgirl said, reaching out with a shaky hand to take Paige’s card.

  Paige turned toward Michaela. “Can’t be my card. That would be ridiculous.”

  “Exactly,” Michaela agreed, glaring at the poor salesgirl like she purposely declined the card. That’s what good friends did: pretend with you.

  “Unfortunately, ma’am, this card also declined,” the girl said, daring not to make eye contact with Paige this time.

  Paige’s entire body became engulfed in heat like she’d been ignited with gasoline and a match. She could almost feel her chest heaving, and she got that noodle-like feeling in her legs again.

  “Impossible,” her voice rose, garnering the attention of other store patrons. “Do you know who I am?”

  We still have money. I am not broke.

  The salesgirl put her hands up and hunched her shoulders, a gesture of confusion and apology all in one.

  “Call over a manager,” Michaela insisted. “You must be new, but we’re not.”

  “I assure you both, I did everything right,” the salesgirl replied, a bit of defiance in her voice now that they were asking for a manager.

  “We’ll determine that with your manager present.” Michaela leaned in closer to the counter. “Go. Go on. Get a manager.” Michaela flicked her hand at the girl.

  Paige shook her head. “This is crazy. I’ll never come back in here again.”

  “That personal shopper is sounding good right about now, huh?” Michaela joked, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Let’s just go,” Paige said. However, the manager approached before they could turn to leave.

  The manager, an older woman with silver hair pushed back in a bun so tight it gave her an automatic facelift, rushed over, wearing a strained smile. She stood behind the counter where Paige’s bags were neatly lined up.

  “Hi, I’m Margaret,” the manager sang, forcing a smile to stay in place like she already knew what to expect here. “Christina told me she’s tried two cards, both three times each, and—”

  “And, she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Michaela interjected, stepping in front of Paige. “This is Paige Tillary Roberts, wife of NBA star Antonio Roberts and daughter of prominent senator Gladstone Tillary. She has money. There’s no way her cards are declined. I’ve known her all my—”

  “Those cards were working fine yesterday,” Paige finally spoke up, feeble, compared to Michaela’s forceful tone. “Matter of fact, to clear up any confusion, here. This is my debit card,” Paige handed the manager another card with a Visa logo. “It’s linked to my bank account, so I know it will go through.” Paige bit down into her jaw, hoping she wasn’t wrong.

  Margaret took the card, cleared her throat, and nodded.

  Paige’s stomach twisted, her knees knocked, and sweat beads ran a race down her back. She hadn’t felt lightheaded like this since she’d fainted at a social tea before she knew she was pregnant with Christian.

  Margaret looked up from the register, sorrow etched into her expression like she was about to announce that someone had died. “Mrs. Roberts, I . . . just . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.” She held all three cards out toward Paige. “You may want to contact your financial institution. Store policy forbids me from trying any more of your cards.” Margaret pulled the shopping bags down from the glass counter and set them behind her, out of Paige and Michaela’s reach.

  “Oh my God,” Michaela huffed. “Now she’s acting like we are going to snatch and run. Ridiculous. We don’t call banks like people who watch our pennies, okay? I’ll pay for the shit. If my cards don’t go through, I’ll know it’s the damn machines in here.” Michaela went to dig into her Chanel knapsack.

  “No,” Paige grabbed Michaela’s wrist. “Just forget it. I have plenty of things to wear. I was just being lazy anyway. I’m not going to argue with these people.”

  “You sure?” Michaela asked. “You’re my girl. You know it’s nothing. I know you got it, Paige. You can pay me back later.”

  Paige’s face was on fire and both of her temples throbbed. “I know. But, it’s okay. Let’s just go,” she said, pulling Michaela forward. “You and I both know I didn’t need one damn thing that was in those bags.”

  As they exited Neiman Marcus, Paige was preoccupied with getting away from Michaela and the store. She cringed when she remembered she rode to yoga in Michaela’s car. Paige bit down on her bottom lip, her mind racing. Had someone stolen her identity? She didn’t really want to ask her friend to drive her straight to her bank, but the declined cards were burning a hole in Paige’s soul. There was no way their money could’ve disappeared that fast.

  “Maybe I should stop at my bank,” she spoke up, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence in Michaela’s Range Rover. “What if my identity was compromised? I’d need to know that right away.”

  Michaela shook her head. “You know, I was just thinking that same thing. One of these scamming lowlifes out here probably compromised your cards. These banks don’t play. They act fast. Yes. I know it. That is exactly what happened.”

  “Yes, I think so too,” Paige murmured.

  Paige and Michaela had been doing this deflection dance during embarrassing or uncomfortable moments for years. It had preserved their friendship whenever things got tense. If there was a topic too hard to talk about, one of them would find a rationalization for what was happening, and the other would simply go along with it to ease the tension of the moment.

  “Straight to the bank we go,” Michaela said, whipping her SUV in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  Paige crossed then re-crossed her legs and swung the right one in and out. It felt like she’d been waiting for an eternity.

  “Paige?” Latrice Crane, one of the bank’s managers, sang with a friendly smile.

  Paige stood up. “Hi, Latrice. I need to speak to you. I just went through something crazy. I think my accounts have been compromised.” Paige let the words spill from her mouth like holding them in any longer would choke her to death.

  “Um . . . come to my office, Paige.”

  Something about Latrice’s soft, mournful tone made Paige’s stomach churn. She felt like she was being led to the glass window at the morgue to identify a dead loved one. It was almost like Latrice was expecting her.

  “Have a seat.” Latrice closed the door and pulled the blind
s down on the glass window that looked out into the bank, while Paige settled into an armchair in front of her desk.

  “I went to buy something today. A relatively small purchase, just over six thousand dollars, and every one of my cards was declined,” Paige blurted, getting to the point.

  Latrice sighed as she made her way past Paige and took her seat in front of her computer. “I thought you knew what was going on, Paige. I assumed that Antonio would’ve spoken to you.” She pecked at her keyboard and squinted at her computer screen.

  “What do you mean?”

  Latrice turned her full attention to Paige. She laced her fingers together in front of her.

  “Paige, Antonio came in earlier today and cleared out all of the accounts. Again, I assumed with something like that, he would have spoken to you, and that it was a decision made by you both.”

  “I am joint on those accounts. He would need my permission to close them.”

  “Actually, Paige, Antonio changed that months ago. You were a cardholder, but he took you off as account signatory.”

  Paige’s ears rang like tiny bombs had exploded around her. She moved to the edge of the chair. She felt like someone had her in a headlock, squeezing so hard she was about to suffocate.

  “My family has been banking here forever. In fact, my father was the one who helped get this Black-owned bank recognized nationally, so what would make you think I would want to close the accounts? Why wouldn’t someone contact me for proof?” Paige found her voice. She used the only defense she had. She’d been leaning on her family’s reputation and her father’s influence all her life. It was lame, but it was all she had at that moment.

  “I’m really sorry, Paige. You’ll have to speak with Antonio.”

  Paige’s jaw shifted in and out, back and forth. “Talk to Antonio? I’m talking to you. I know that everyone around here feels loyalty to Antonio because of his endorsement deal with this bank, but I think it’s high time you and your little groupie coworkers remember who brought Antonio and his big NBA checks to this bank. My family has been banking here for generations. There are a lot of businesses that bank here because of my father and grandfather. One call from my father and they would all follow him right across the street to Spring Bank.” There it was again. The threat of her family, Paige’s only defense mechanism. Paige wasn’t herself. She was more like Michaela. The feeling of losing control like this made her dizzy. She wanted to throw herself on the floor and kick and scream and cry.

  Latrice cleared her throat. The exhausted look on her face said that she was used to Paige subliminally accusing her and her coworkers of lusting after Antonio. Latrice let it roll off of her shoulder as she usually did. “Paige, I know what your family means to this bank. I have great respect for your father, and my loyalties are always with him. I know you’re upset. I’m not supposed to give out this information, but I’ll tell you.”

  The scowl on Paige’s face softened a bit. She was suddenly embarrassed about her previous outburst.

  “Two hours ago, Bernard helped Antonio, and what he told me matches the activity on your accounts. Antonio made several large wire transfers from each account and withdrew the rest in cash and cashier’s checks. Usually, with that kind of rush activity, it means something is terribly wrong. It’s been my experience that account holders who do that are hiding assets. Trying to recover from something drastic. If I were you, I’d have a talk with him right away. I understand how alarming this is. I am truly sorry, but there’s nothing else I can do.”

  Paige swallowed hard. Her heart throttled up, and her mind raced. She stood up on wobbly legs, feeling like her shame was emblazoned on her chest like a scarlet letter. “Thank you for your help, Latrice. I’m . . . I apologize.”

  Latrice put her hand up and smiled. “No need to apologize. Like I said, I can imagine how unnerving this must be.”

  Oh, you have no fucking idea!

  * * *

  “Is everything okay?” Michaela asked before Paige could fully get into the passenger’s seat of her SUV.

  “It was just what we suspected. Someone compromised my accounts,” Paige lied.

  “Well, what did they say?”

  “They’re changing everything and sending me all new cards.”

  “Oh goodness. I can’t imagine that happening to me. I would’ve died if I was ever in a store and my cards declined. The thought of it is like my worst nightmare.”

  Paige fell silent. There was no way she could tell Michaela the truth.

  “The entire ordeal has given me a headache. Do you mind picking up Christian when you get Chloe?”

  “C’mon, girl. You know that is no problem. I’ll pick him up and keep him for the night. You go home and rest.”

  “Thanks, girl. This means the world.”

  “Oh and . . . just think about that opportunity to be on the show. I think your storyline would be perfect. Especially now.”

  Paige wasn’t focused on reality TV; she was focused on her real life.

  * * *

  Paige rushed through the doors of her home as if her life depended on finding something inside.

  “Ms. Roberts,” Catalina, the housekeeper stated.

  Paige threw her hand up. “Not now, Lina. Not now.”

  Paige took the winding staircase two steps at a time. Her heart thrashed against her sternum, and she could hardly breathe. Her lips were painfully dry from breathing through her mouth. She rushed through the French doors of her bedroom and paused. She took a deep, shaky breath as she stared over at Antonio’s side of the bed. Catalina had already made it up. Paige rushed to his nightstand and yanked open the drawer. Nail clipper, cigar cutter, old condoms (she’d made him wear them for a while after...), and a wallet-sized picture of Christian. Nothing seemed different. Paige whirled around, trying to see if anything else seemed out of place. Everything seemed perfect. The dreadful thought that he’d packed up and left had trampled through her mind on her way home and sent her into a panic. Why else would he clean out all of their money without telling her? They’d argued, sure, but that was weeks ago. Paige had settled on Antonio’s word that he was taking care of things. What had changed?

  Paige rushed into their huge walk-in closet. All of his clothes hung in his usual obsessively neat, color-coordinated rows. She tugged on Antonio’s jewelry display drawer. His watch collection (his most prized possession) were all still there. All 30 of them, some with diamonds that sparkled in the light.

  Paige’s shoulders slumped with relief, but her legs gave out until she slid to the floor with her back against the wall. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked. She hadn’t felt this scared and anxious since the time she’d found out about Antonio’s first marriage misdeed. Paige shivered and swiped her hands over her face. Was this what had caused her to assume the worst this time automatically? Had she been like this for years now? Paige thought she’d gotten over things, but at that moment, she realized she was still shell-shocked. Her life was like one big minefield that she’d been tiptoeing around, hoping nothing else would explode.

  Paige swallowed hard, her throat suddenly aching. She didn’t want to relive that time. They were in their early twenties. He’d just gotten used to being famous, having money. Women were constantly throwing themselves at him. Paige had found out about one girl. Antonio said she didn’t mean anything to him. He had grabbed Paige and held onto her the day she had confronted him, holding the pictures out in front of her with tears running down her cheeks. Paige had forgiven Antonio, and that was that. Wasn’t it? She’d told herself for years that she was over it all. That what had happened was the price of fame. They were so young at the time. Antonio had let the money get to his head, but he loved her. That’s what he’d said. He loved her, and no one else meant anything to him. Michaela had encouraged Paige to stay. She had championed Antonio’s cause. Paige thought strangely about the conversation she’d had with Michaela today. It was always odd how Michaela could be on her side, but on Antonio�
��s side at the same time.

  After a few minutes, Paige pulled herself up with every bit of strength she had left, feeling as if she were pulling herself from dangling over the side of a tall building.

  “There’s a perfect explanation for all of this, I’m sure,” she mumbled as she dialed Antonio’s number. She had taught herself that everything had a perfect explanation. It was another coping mechanism.

  Paige’s call went straight to voicemail. She sighed. Another ripple of nervous nausea trampled through her gut. Her hands shook as she redialed her husband’s number. The same thing happened. Still, Paige called Antonio’s phone over and over. She couldn’t help herself. It was the same obsessive behavior she’d exhibited during that time in the past. The pictures of Antonio and that girl had come straight to Paige’s private email. How had the girl gotten her email? That was the question Antonio had gotten stuck on back then. Paige had never figured it out, but she’d certainly felt the same as she did now, like her feelings were a beer can being crushed under the giant foot of a drunken biker, reduced to nothing but a flat piece of trash.

  When Antonio had returned from the road back then, he’d rushed into the house with tears in his eyes and a huge diamond ring—a peace offering, or now that she thought back, maybe it was a shut-up-and-live-with-it gift. Paige had laid in her bed, sick, for three days after that. Antonio had loved her back to health. He worked hard to regain her trust. Their lovemaking had been more explosive than it had ever been. They fell in love all over again. He’d promised (no, sworn on his mother’s grave) that he would never hurt her again.

  Paige dialed Antonio again. Still nothing. She went back downstairs and checked their five-car garage, though she knew Antonio wasn’t there. She walked the expansive hallway of their home to Antonio’s office. She paused at the threshold and inhaled. His MVP trophies, his Olympic medals, pictures of him with past presidents, and plaques of appreciation from his hometown were all displayed like a mini museum. The Museum of Antonio Roberts. Paige rushed over to his desk. With a flourish, she sifted through the stacks of papers on top. Her eyes scanned for any words related to their money. Nothing. She tugged on the tarnished brass handles of the desk drawers. She let out a grunt when she found that the drawers were all locked.