by M T Stone
“Yeah, I still can’t believe that a guy like Bill would take his own life,” Brandon adds. “He spoke at one of our banquets at Harvard Business School. He was a rock star in his day.”
“I have to give Aileen a call later today and see if there are any preliminary autopsy results,” I tell him. “I don’t believe for a minute that Bill hung himself. That makes no sense. Even if he was stressed financially, he had plenty of other options.”
“Well, I hope the true story comes out,” Jack says, with a look of compassion filling his eyes. “For both him and his family. He should be remembered for all the good he did, for not only the business community, but this entire city.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
CHAPTER 14
M andy
By the time we are done with breakfast, my mind is already focused on taking my check to the bank. I honestly can’t wait to see that many digits in my checking account balance. It’s weird to think that it only took about ten minutes to win all this money and even less time for Tommy to lose that much. It definitely gives me a whole new prospective on gambling.
“The first thing I’m going to do is pay off every cent that I owe,” I tell Trey as we hop into the back of the SUV. “I have fussed about my student loans since before I even finished college. I’ll pay off my credit cards, my car loan and then I can think about how to invest the rest of it.”
“I think you should buy yourself something you’ve always wanted too,” Trey replies, shaking his head at all of my practical thoughts. “There has to be something you have always wanted.”
“I always wanted a horse.” I think back to how I used to beg Dad for one after we moved to Tennessee. It would’ve been the perfect place to have one since there was already a barn and a small fenced in pasture.
“Okay, I was thinking more along the lines of jewelry or a sports car,” Trey replies, knowing that Manhattan and horses don’t really mix.
“Like a triple black, sixty-five Mustang?” I ask him with a smirk. “I’ve never had much interest in driving a Ferrari or Maserati.”
“I’m pretty sure you would change your mind if you ever took a Ferrari for a spin. There is a reason why they can charge as much as they do.” He gives me a look that says I honestly don’t know what I’m missing.
“I thought maybe there were just enough suckers out there who would pay whatever price they asked,” I reply teasingly. “Kind of like the guys who would spend four hundred and fifty thousand on a bulletproof SUV.”
Anthony bursts out laughing at my comment. “You give him hell, Mandy.”
Trey just leans back with a smirk on his face. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
“According to Romeo, he was able to sweet-talk a lovely, young cashier,” Anthony informs us. “Carly withdrew one and a half million in cash and took the other eighteen in the form of a cashier’s check.”
“Okay, so that means Agent Mitchell should be looking for transfers of roughly five or maybe five and a half million,” I reply, thinking she had probably spent some of it on other things.
“I’ll send him a text letting him know that five and a half million had left the account and he can figure it out from there,” Trey says, pulling out his phone to send the agent a message.
“Romeo is meeting up with the guys from Chetumal and then they are going in search of the white house north of the lighthouse,” Anthony adds with a backwards glance. “If she’s still in the city, they will have her whereabouts nailed down shortly.”
“Can they bring her back?” Trey asks, furrowing his brow. “It’s not like she has skipped bail or anything.”
“No. They will just keep an eye on her until the FBI has gathered enough evidence to have her extradited,” he explains. “We can shorten up that process dramatically.” I see a broad smile cross his face through the rearview mirror.
“How much do I have to set aside for taxes?” I ask, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t even thought about that aspect of the money we had won.
“Probably three hundred or so,” Trey says obviously guessing. “Like I said, I’ve never won money gambling before, so I’ll have to ask my accountant. By the time the tax is due, it will be a drop in the bucket anyway.”
“For you maybe, but it certainly won’t be for me,” I counter, feeling a bit annoyed by his nonchalant attitude.
“They sent the money to my account, so if there is any tax due it will be on my books, not yours.” He narrows his eyes as if I’m the one being annoying.
“That would mean this money is a gift from you,” I counter. “Then there will be gift tax that needs to be paid.”
“You are correct, and who pays the gift tax?” he asks, displaying his smartass grin.
“I know… the donor.” I relent, turning to look out the window. I know he doesn’t get it, but I don’t like the feeling of being given money out of pity. I would much rather work and earn it in some way instead of it being such an obvious handout.
“You aren’t very good at accepting gifts,” he reaches over and begins to tickle my ribs. “I want you to work on that, because I am going to insist on spoiling you a little.”
I giggle, unable to maintain my irked demeanor. “I’ve told you that I’ve never been money motivated and I have certainly never asked for a handout of any kind,” I tell him, reiterating basic moral values that are deeply instilled within me.
“That’s fine, but this was free money that we won together. I’m not going to need it,” he says, trying once again to explain his reasoning. “So relax, pay your bills and enjoy the rest. According to the attorney, Tyler and I will receive our first dividend payments in about a month.”
“I can only imagine what that check will look like,” I reply, knowing that it will most likely be up in the millions.
“If it’s the same as last quarter, it will be just over forty million,” he says unable to contain his grin. “That’s why I’m saying I’ll take care of the taxes.”
“Forty million,” I mutter, trying to even fathom what I would do with that kind of money. “Are you sure you can make that stretch for three whole months?”
“And I had less to do with earning that money than you did with the check you are holding in your hand,” he says with a rather pained expression. “Don’t think that I feel great about all of it coming to me just because someone killed my father. No matter how I try to rationalize it, it just seems like blood money.”
Anthony pulls into a parking spot in front of the bank, throws the SUV in park and spins backwards in his seat. “You two sure have some horrendous problems to overcome,” he says with a flash of anger in his eyes. “You are going to receive billions of dollars over the coming years,” he says focusing directly on Trey. “If you want to feel better about the money, do something good with it. You can start by helping Nolan and Aileen straighten out Firefly Media, just like Jack suggested.”
“You’re right,” Trey says, shaking off his emotions. “I will help them out. Dad would’ve helped Bill if he would’ve had the chance.”
“And you,” Anthony says, redirecting toward me. “It’s not your fault that your dad fucked everything up for your family. He took on the wrong guy and lost in a big way, but again, it’s not your fault. So quit acting like you don’t deserve anything. You both deserve it as much as anyone. Now, you see that man sitting at the bus stop over there?”
“Yeah,” Trey replies, glancing toward the street corner.
“Go give him all of the cash that you carry around in that fat money clip of yours,” Anthony says, staring at him until he pulls it out.
He then turns back to me. “You go deposit that check, get a few thousand in cash and give him a couple grand of it,” he says with a shimmer in his eyes. “You two will not only make his day, but he will talk about the two of you until his dying day.”
“You’re right,” Trey says, opening the clip where at least twenty five hundred dollar bills are folded inside.
“You deposit your check and I’ll go have a talk with him,” he instructs me before opening the door and getting out of the SUV.
Trey
A look of fear crosses the man’s face as I approach the bench that he is sitting on. I give him a reassuring smile, but he scoots all the way to the end as I take a seat. I see these people all the time, but I have never really given them more than a fleeting thought. I guess I have always assumed that we have numerous programs that they can take advantage of in this country.
“It’s a nice day,” I say, trying to make small talk.
“Yeah, I’m glad it’s starting to warm up,” he replies rubbing his hands along his arms as if he is cold. “I haven’t had my coffee yet,” he grumbles, looking over at Starbucks, which is kitty corner down the street.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” I ask, wanting to start small.
“Oh, that would be awfully kind of you, sir,” he says, looking over at me with his big, brown eyes. “I’m going through a bit of a rough patch.” His lip starts to quiver and his eyes once again fall to the pavement before him.
“Well, you’re luck is about to change,” I reply, pausing long enough to regain his attention. “I just won a bunch of money and I would like to share some of it with you.”
“With me?” he gasps, looking around as if to see if there was a hidden camera lurking somewhere in the shadows. “Why would you share it with me?” He stares at me with a bewildered look.
“Because, I believe that if I share my good fortune with you, then maybe more will come my way later on,” I reply, pausing once again to let my words sink in.
“You know, I do believe that happens,” he says, nodding his head and giving me a faint smile.
“I want you to take this,” I tell him, giving him a stack of twenty-seven one hundred dollar bills folded in half. “After your luck changes, I want you to help out someone else who’s down on their luck. Okay?”
“I… I… Sure!” he gasps, glancing through the stack seeing Ben Franklin on each and every one of them. “I can’t believe this. Who are you?”
“I’m Trey Addison and you are?” I ask, holding out my hand to shake his.
“Marvin Lewis,” he says, looking down at my dress shoes. “I shined shoes like yours for over forty years, but hardly no one shines their shoes anymore,” he explains with tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.
“You’re right, most people don’t even wear dress shoes anymore,” I add, glancing at the battered old leather shoes he is wearing. “Where did you work?”
“Right over there,” he points back toward the bank. “I used to be busy all day long. It’s the only thing I knew. I started helping my old man when I was just a kid.”
Mandy emerges from the bank and comes walking down the sidewalk toward us. “My girlfriend has something for you too,” I inform him as Mandy stops on the other side of him. “This is Marvin. He used to shine shoes right over there, next to the bank. He worked there for over forty years.”
“People don’t shine their shoes anymore,” Mandy replies with a look of understanding. “I want you to take this and get yourself something nice,” she adds, handing him another wad of hundred dollar bills.
“I’m starting to wonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he says with a laugh, looking around as if he is still wondering whether or not he was being recorded. “I’m going to help my buddy Max,” he tells me with a spark in his eyes. “He’s been on a bad stretch too.”
“There are lots of places for you guys to get help,” Mandy tells him, rubbing her hand along the back of his humped over shoulders.
“I know,” he replies puckering up his face. “It’s just hard to look people in the eye when you are coming around with your hand out every day. I only go when I’m really desperate.”
“You should go whenever you are cold or hungry,” I tell him sternly. “You can’t help the fact that times changed on you. Needing a little help doesn’t make you a bad person. Also, it’s not too late for you to learn how to do something new.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he says with resignation, obviously not convinced that there is hope for a better future. “I just can’t believe all of this,” he adds, looking down at the pile of cash sitting on his lap. Where am I going to keep it?” He glances over at the shopping cart that serves as his home on wheels.
“I’ll tell you what,” Mandy says, thinking on her feet. “You take three hundred, get yourself cleaned up and buy some new clothes. I’ll hang onto the rest of it and meet you right here tomorrow at noon and we’ll go inside and get you a safe deposit box to keep your money in.”
The old man looks at her, then looks down at the pile of money and then up at her again, trying to figure out whether or not he can trust her. “I guess, that will work,” he finally says. “After all, it was your money to start with. I better keep five hundred though. I need a new pair of shoes.”
“Sounds good,” Mandy counts out five bills and puts the rest into the envelope she had brought from the bank. “I will seal this and bring it back to you tomorrow. We’ll meet you right here at noon,” she reiterates.
“I’ll be right here,” he says with a smile. “I sure hope this isn’t a dream. I’m a little scared of waking up about now.”
Mandy laughs and pats him on the back. “You are definitely awake and we’ll see you here tomorrow. Now go get yourself something to eat,” she tells him before turning to head back to the SUV.
“You handled him really well.” I tell her, opening the door of the SUV for her. “He actually looked like he was scared of me when I first walked up to him.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s used to being treated poorly,” she says, hopping up into the back seat. “I can’t imagine not having a place to shower or sleep.”
“See, there are people with bigger problems than feeling guilty about having too much money given to them,” Anthony quips once we are back inside. “I’m sure his head is spinning right now.”
“Yeah, it definitely is,” I reply, thinking back to the look on his face. “That felt way better than I ever could’ve imagined.”
“I’m hanging onto most of it for him until tomorrow,” Mandy tells him, holding up the envelope. “He needs to get cleaned up, so we can get him a safe deposit box tomorrow. We’re going to meet him back here at noon.”
“I guess we’ll be back tomorrow then,” Anthony replies just as my phone begins to ring. Looking down, I see its Aileen. Hopefully it’s not more bad news.
“Hi Aileen, how are you guys?”
“Dad was murdered,” she declares, confirming something that we had already suspected. “He had a puncture wound in the back of his neck and was apparently injected with poison.”
“I’m sorry, but at least you know he didn’t take his own life.” I try to put a positive spin on it, knowing that I would be relieved if I were in her situation. “I know that doesn’t make it any easier though.”
“No, it doesn’t. I think Mom and I are still in denial, waiting to hear from him at any moment.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” I still expect my phone to ring on Sunday afternoons, even though it was something I always dreaded. “We are on our way to you now, I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I knew Bill was murdered,” I tell Mandy and Anthony after hanging up with Aileen. “They apparently injected something in the back of his neck.”
“They must have realized that they couldn’t get through to him,” Anthony surmises. “He most likely got ambushed at home and strung him up after they injected him. At least it was most likely painless.”
We continue to drive in silence, images of Bill being strung up floating through my mind. I reach over and take Mandy’s hand, giving it a squeeze. She looks over at me with an uneasy look on her face. No one likes the thought of messing with someone who is capable of doing such heinous acts. There is so much evil in this world, unfortunately right now it feels like much of it is in my own backyard.
CHAPTER 15
M andy
We are all in a solemn mood as we pull into valet parking at the St Regis. It’s easier to park here and walk a block during the workday, since all of the lots tend to be stuffed to capacity. I’ve been thinking about Aileen and Trey. It was hard enough to watch Mom die on her own terms after years of illness. I can’t imagine having a parent murdered and losing them in the blink of an eye.
I pull out my phone as we enter the elevator at Trump Tower and send dad a text. I want him to stay in Tennessee for the remainder of the week. Trey has been talking about wanting to get out of the city for a few days, so maybe we can all go visit him instead.
Dad: Silvia told me the same thing. I hate sitting here worrying about all of you, but I don’t want to cause any more fuss.
Me: Thanks Dad. Love you!
Dad: Love you too, Sweetie.
“He’s okay with staying home?” Trey asks as I toss my phone back into my purse.
“Not really, but Silvia told him the same thing, so he probably doesn’t feel like he has a choice in the matter.” I smile and picture him pacing the kitchen floor. “Hopefully, this will all be over soon.”
“I think it will come to a head in the next twenty four hours,” Anthony says while calmly watching the floors click by on the panel. “We will handle it if anyone makes a move on this end and Romeo will have Carly pinned down shortly.”
We hear a scuffle in progress as the elevator reaches our floor. “Hang tight,” Anthony commands, pulling his pistol from its case. He slowly peers around the corner, led by his cocked Glock nine. “What are you doing? You dumb shits!” he yells in a sarcastic tone. “Are you trying to get hurt?”
Bolt and Gator drop their hold on one another and snap to attention. “He was braggin’ that he could take me,” Bolt says, explaining the situation.
“I would’ve had you if we weren’t interrupted,” Gator snaps back, picking up his baseball cap and strategically positioning it back on his head.