Kelly sipped the rest of her martini and put the glass on the table. She was playing for time. Porter was the only other person she had told the whole story to, and now he was dead. She regarded Jake carefully before plunging ahead.
“Sexual abuse was just for sport. Fulfilling all his fucked-up fantasies,” she began. “He also used me another way. It was actually quite simple.”
Kelly explained the whole scam. How, using his access as CEO of the bank, Gillis would scour the records for accounts that were inactive but contained more than $20,000. At the time, most of his banks were in Texas, a state full of women rich enough and cagey enough to hide a couple of grand in a few different banks for a rainy day. Once he found the account he wanted, Gillis would force Kelly to impersonate the holder of the account. In disguise, and always working on a Friday or Saturday, Kelly would deposit forged corporate checks into a number of strangers’ accounts and invest in a stock for which Gillis had inside information. Early Monday morning, the stock would rise, and later that day, Kelly, still disguised as the account holder, would withdraw the amount of the corporate check plus the profit wired into the account from the sale of the rising stock, all in cash. The amount in the strangers’ accounts remained the same. Sometimes Gillis made Kelly deposit as many as fifteen different corporate checks in a day, amounting to as much as $130,000. But he was always careful to keep the amount of each check under $10,000. Anything more had to be reported to the IRS.
“There were no traces. Mostly, the women I impersonated never knew about the deposits and withdrawals. When the discrepancies in the statements were noticed—two weeks later, if at all—the women claimed, rightly, that they had never bought or sold the stocks. The amount in each case was too insignificant to raise a stink about. They chalked it up to a banking error, and no one looked at the overall scheme.”
“Why did you always work on Fridays or Saturdays?”
“The banks never count deposits made on Friday afternoon or Saturday. They always leave the accounting until Monday.”
“So Gillis was making money from both sides.”
“That’s right. It was pretty smart, actually. He was getting the money out of the accounts and—from the bank’s end—the thefts were insured by the federal government. And it was virtually foolproof, since he owned the bank.”
“But it all depended on your disguises, on your skill at—”
“Well, I did say I have a few unusual talents.”
The truth was that it had been the easiest thing Kelly had ever done—to become someone else. Slipping into another’s skin, another’s world, became something she looked forward to. Even as she deplored what Gillis forced her to do, a part of her had loved the chance to leave her real self far behind.
“In reality, most people hardly ever visit their bankers anymore, with ATMs, online banking, phone banking, different branches, and a revolving door of clerks and tellers,” Kelly continued. “Identities center around names, mothers’ maiden names, and Social Security numbers. But there is always the chance that someone makes it a habit to visit their money.”
“Did you tell Porter all this?”
Kelly gave Jake a look that said, Why would I tell you something I didn’t tell him? Jake’s irritation rose.
“I mean, what was Porter’s take on it?”
“He wanted to find a way of bringing Todd to justice, of course. You know how much he believed in the ultimate good of the justice system. He told me I’d come out fine in a trial. I had clearly been manipulated from a young age. Todd had used me like Patty Hearst had been used. I wanted to believe what Porter was saying, but I knew his undying belief in the justice system—I mean, it’s beautiful idealism, but it’s also a bit of a Pollyanna syndrome. I knew Todd too well—I know him too well. He’d pay off witnesses for the prosecution and end up looking like Gandhi. Todd knows how to use the law in his favor, how to twist and turn facts. And after all, I was a runaway, a ‘problem child,’ which would fit the portrait of a criminal. So I convinced Porter to drop it. Which only made him more and more fixated on finding ways to protect me.”
“Like?”
“He wanted to set up bank accounts for me, find ways of supporting me financially. But I know I’ll only really be safe when Todd decides that I’m not worth the trouble.”
Jake was reeling with this new image of Gillis, but he wasn’t really surprised. He’d seen too much of the brutality of humans to be surprised by anything. He stared at Kelly. She seemed to have softened with the drinks. Or maybe it was the result of being able to open up to another person. She gazed ruminatively into the fire.
“Ever since I can remember, I’ve always prayed for freedom. Personal. Emotional. The kind of freedom that allows you to go to sleep at night without waking up in a cold sweat. In my mind I always heard a voice saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ But I always wished anyway. Every fountain with a coin in it, every evening star, even blowing on dandelions. But the voice was right. Instead of freedom, when I married Todd I fell into a prison that made my life with the Gordons look like a safe haven.”
“So why didn’t you run away sooner? On your own, before you had children—or even with your kids?”
Kelly snorted. “At first I was underage, remember, and could have been returned to a new foster home, if not the Gordons. Eventually I did leave him. But I had to wait until my son and daughter were independently mobile. I couldn’t be weighed down by strollers and diapers. I had to move fast in a world where everybody’s owned by the warden.”
“Somewhere in that story is battered woman syndrome.”
“Perhaps, but the law is used at will by people with money and power. It’s like Clinton said about his act of indulgence: I did it just because I could. People like Todd Gillis do it because they can. And that’s the worst crime of all.” Kelly paused, lost in thought for a moment, before continuing.
“No, that’s not the worst crime of all. The worst crime of all is when you amass so much wealth and power that everyone around you has to abide by your will. And hearing ‘no’ becomes a huge offense. An offense that warrants retaliation through unthinkable actions, the kind of things that a man like Todd, this kind of husband, justifies in his own mind.”
“You’re talking about the Bill Gates level of wealth?”
“Well, yes, but this is not only about the top one percent. It’s about every woman whose survival depends on her husband’s will, especially when she has children, like me.”
“Aren’t you just justifying your actions?”
“No. It’s your family law system that got me here. Think about it. Imagine being married to someone as ruthless as but much smarter than O. J. Simpson, more in control. Would you be willing to leave him with your children fifty percent of the time? Isn’t that how Nicole got murdered? By having to remain connected to him because of their children? That’s why so many women have to go outside the law. They do it every day. From the richest to the poorest.”
“I’m glad you have such a high regard for men.”
“Well, the only man I totally trusted—until Porter—murdered my mother.”
“Welcome to the mind-set of a hooker.”
“Is that your best defense? Being glib?”
“Well, prostitutes are the extreme personification of male loathing. Is that better?”
“This is not about loathing or about some general theory about women, about mothers. This is about the reality of this mother protecting her children.”
“So how did Porter fit into that scenario? Or should I say ‘fit into your arms’?”
“You, better than anyone, should know that Porter is an exception to the rule. That’s why you supported him as a leader, right?” Kelly’s eyes filled with tears. “He was a one-off.”
Jake looked away. He had to hide his emotion from Kelly. But it was what he wanted to hear. She had really loved Porter. They sat in silence. No woman had ever spoken to him like that, with such depth of honest thought and e
motion. She had an understanding of life that, in his experience, most people didn’t have. The degree of superficiality in his own thought processes became all too apparent.
Jake broke the silence. “You’re right. Crime is born in abuse, and abuse is born in apathy.”
“And apathy is born in ego and selfishness. That’s who Todd Gillis is, a narcissist.”
“Okay, then. Put his mistreatment of you to the side for a moment. Gillis uses a dependent society outcast—no offense—”
“None taken. And I think he had others, too. I don’t think I was the only one.”
“Okay, dependent society outcasts to rip off his own banks. He keeps the money, gets paid back by the government, and buys more branches. It’s so transparent, how come nobody squeals? How’s that possible?”
“Nobody below him squeals because they’re terrified of him. In the name of loyalty, he makes sure he has something on every one of them. Nobody above him squeals because they’re all making money off him. Plus, he’s one of the top donors to both political parties. He’s got access to lawmakers and the White House. Real power.
“He’s backed the candidates in the last four presidential campaigns. Hardly ever in big fund-raising events—always in a one-on-one meeting, so it’s never publicized. Plus, every one of his employees writes a check for the maximum $2,000 donation.”
“What does Gillis want from you now?”
Kelly started to answer, then laughed. “I don’t know. I really don’t understand why he bothers to haunt me. I know he couldn’t care less about me or the kids. It could just be his need to win, or it could be more. I honestly don’t know.” But deep down, Kelly did know: Gillis wanted her, plain and simple. He wanted to own her, to dominate her. And Gillis always got what he wanted. He never allowed himself to lose.
“Did you tell the cops about him?”
Kelly shook her head. “Of course not. I remained silent.” She grinned.
Jake grinned back. “What about Joan Davis?”
“Like I’ve been saying, when you own the money, you can make up the rules. Believe it or not, Joan Davis is one of the most common names in America. In every American Capital bank there is a Joan Davis account, a dummy account Gillis set up.
“When an in-transit or nonexistent cash is recorded in more than one Joan Davis account, the bank pays on an un-funded deposit. For example, a check is deposited into an account. Before the cash is collected by the bank, a check is written against the same account and deposited into another Joan Davis account, or cashed. The increased use of wire transfers allows this type of scheme to be perpetuated very quickly.
“Another advantage is his ability to manufacture check makers—machines that indent and authenticate checks to route money into accounts. I stole one when I left him. I knew he’d never shut those Joan Davis accounts down. He needs them too much, and he’d know it was like leaving an open trap for me to fall into. That’s why I had to work fast the day I decided to access them.” Kelly took a breath.
“But he caught up with me. Which is when I decided to introduce myself to you.”
Jake did a double take. “You got arrested on purpose?”
Kelly smiled in her Mona Lisa way. “Did it get your attention? Let’s just say it seemed quicker than going through your secretary.”
Jake could only shake his head. Everywhere he turned, Kelly was a step ahead of him. He wasn’t used to it.
“I have an idea,” he started. “The FBI has Porter’s murder wrapped up. But even after they officially exonerate you, they’re going to be looking to nail you for the bank heists you pulled. But they have been known to look the other way if a person can help reel in a bigger fish.”
Kelly shook her head vigorously. “No government agency would ever lean on him. He’s in thick with the White House, governors, senators … all the money grabbers that lead our country.”
“No, no, hear me out,” Jake said. “The new fund-raising reform laws make him less significant. The feds could spin it any way they want.”
“No way. Todd has access to all the bank’s employee-donors. He makes it up to them in bonuses. He’s like a union—what he says goes. Todd Gillis is the smartest man I’ve ever met. Trust me, he’s armed with thousands of employees who can write checks.”
The smartest man she’s ever met? Jake was irritated to find himself stung. What about Porter? What about me?
As though she had read his mind, Kelly corrected herself. “Perhaps ‘smartest’ is the wrong word. ‘Cleverest’ or ‘most conniving’ is more accurate.” Kelly paused. “We’ve got to come up with something else.”
“What’s his motive? What’s the conflict? And what’s his plan?” Jake drew a line across the top of a legal pad and looked at Kelly. “Let’s start with three columns: What do we know? What does Gillis know about your situation? And what is stacked up against you at the moment?”
“You mean out here on my own recognizance? Or should I say, yours?”
“You’ve positioned it well, haven’t you?” Jake smiled knowingly. He tossed his legal pad on the table, threw the pen on top of it. “I think we’ve done enough for one night. Do you like the blues?”
Kelly frowned. “Are you asking me out?”
“Do you ever give a guy a break?”
Kelly glared.
“Of course I’m not asking you out,” said Jake. “You’re a client. I’m just talking a little R&R.”
“I hope you don’t mean risk and retribution.”
Jake smiled. This woman’s mind …
“A little risqué music, maybe.”
Kelly blew some air out through her mouth. “I don’t know—”
“Come on.”
“Todd could have someone out there watching us … Something weird happened to my car right after I left Vegas.”
Jake waited for her to continue.
“Someone moved it while we were eating in a diner. Left a note on the front seat with a smiley face on it. Just the type of thing Todd would do. Or have someone do for him.”
“But nothing’s happened since?”
“He’s playing cat and mouse. Like I said, someone was on my tail just before the Long Beach bank job.”
Jake thought for a moment. “I have an idea.”
* * *
An hour later, Jake drove alone out of his building. He circled a few blocks, then pulled behind a gas station. A man in an overcoat and baseball cap got into the passenger’s seat. Jake peeled off and headed toward the freeway.
“See, that worked,” he said, excited by the deception. Kelly smiled indulgently and pulled the cap down over her eyes. They drove silently over the Sepulveda Pass. Ventura Boulevard, a disconcerting combination of suburban chain stores and hip boutiques, took them to Studio City. Jake pulled into a gravel parking lot next to what looked like a shack. The skinny black guy at the door jerked his chin up at Jake. Jake gave him a ten-dollar bill and held the door open for Kelly.
A blast of music rushed over her as she stepped inside the crumbling club. A man was moaning his way through “Welfare Woman” in a gravelly voice that had seen more pain than Kelly had. She was surprised to see that the singer was white, wearing black Ray-Bans.
“Bryan Lee,” murmured Jake. “From New Orleans. Blind.”
Kelly nodded, taking off the cap, and followed Jake to a corner table by the stage. From the waiter’s body language, she figured it was Jake’s regular table. She was intrigued but didn’t want to show it. A couple of people waved as Jake passed. Before they’d even sat down, a waiter brought a bottle of Chianti and poured it. Kelly watched the waiters weaving around the tightly packed tables, slapping down huge, stuffed baked potatoes in time with the music. Before long, two plates descended on their table, each potato nearly the size of a loaf of bread. Steam curled up from the fluffy, mashed insides, glistening with cheese and vegetables.
“Is that a prop?” Kelly peered. “Grown and bred for Holly-weird?”
“Eat it. You n
eed it.”
They ate and drank and listened to the music. Jake stole a couple of looks at Kelly. Even wearing almost no makeup, and with her hair in a ponytail, she pulled every eye in the place. She moved like a cat: nonchalant yet purposeful, disdainful yet aware of others’ eyes. But at this place, no one looked for long. It was one of the reasons Jake loved it.
When the song ended, one of the musicians jumped off the stage and shuffled over to Jake. He handed him a saxophone, inviting him onstage. Jake feigned resistance, then followed the man up toward the band. When he closed his eyes and started playing, his music was enticing and emotional, his fingers touching the instrument with the precision of a surgeon and the sensitivity of a lover.
As Jake drowned deeper and deeper into the music, Kelly felt herself becoming numb. She gulped her wine.
The crowd clapped and whistled.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for the down and dirty sound of Jake Brooks!”
After the set, Jake came back to the table. He was flying.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?” Kelly asked politely.
Jake started his humble routine. “Picked it up, here and there. Lessons since I was six. Minor in music. Hours of playing-to-stave-off-loneliness masquerading as practice.”
“You’re lucky you have a place to do it.”
Jake stared demurely into his wineglass but caught the tone in Kelly’s voice. Was she sober? Her eyes had moved out of the solar system; her face looked dead.
“Let’s get out of here.” Jake took Kelly’s hand and led her out of the smoke.
They drove up the hill at Griffith Park, barely uttering a word. Jake pulled over and they sat in the car, the glowing spider’s web of the lights of Los Angeles spread out below them.
“You know, the DA is nothing more than a politician. The cops are just snooping coyotes in heat. We’ll find a way out.”
Kelly snorted. “Nice people you play with.”
“The accused are entitled to a competent defense. I defend them with every skill I have—charming the jury, playing the media. I’m a performing media litigator.”
The Gray Zone Page 15