by Andrew Kane
“Yes, I am so far removed from the way I was, it is hard to believe I could ever have acted that way.”
“I can see that. I find it hard to imagine as well. That’s what makes me so curious about it.”
“Curious?”
“It sounds like you’re feeling that there is a part of yourself that confuses you.”
“Yes,” Benoît said, appearing contemplative. “That is true, to a point. The more I think about it, though, the closer I come to understanding it.”
“And what have you figured out?”
“Well, I believe it has something to do with my past,” Benoît said. He hesitated for a moment, as if gauging Martin’s reaction.
Martin perked up but remained silent.
“Have I told you yet what I did during the war?” Benoît asked.
“No. In fact, you really haven’t divulged much about your past.”
“Yes, I suppose I haven’t.”
“Well, what did you do in the war?” It was unlike Martin to press like this. Usually, he allowed his patients as much leeway as they needed in broaching delicate material. But with Benoît, he was growing impatient, eager for something to sink his teeth into.
“I was a partisan, fighting underground against the Nazis and their puppets in the Vichy government. I was a captain. Most of the men in my command were people I had grown up with in Lyon. Several were friends. And most of them died.
“I was an only child. My parents were innkeepers, who also died during the war. When France was finally liberated, after years of being underground, I decided to leave for the Caribbean. I had some money that my parents had left me, so I built a small inn on Guadeloupe. I was alone with nothing. Everything and everyone was gone, but I survived. It took some time but eventually I prospered. After a while, I married, had a son, and began investing my money in other hotels throughout the Caribbean. I eventually returned to France, but never for more than a few weeks. The memories were just too painful.
“I suppose it was my intention to become so strong and powerful that no one could ever take anything away from me again. I expanded to the south of France, Hawaii, the Fiji Islands, the Greek Islands, and in time I became the proprietor of the world’s largest resort conglomerate. Then I brought the company public, thinking it was a good idea at the time, which it was, financially speaking. What I hadn’t anticipated were the stockholders, officers and boards. Instead of feeling safe and in control of what was mine, I began to worry about my ability to hold on to it. I became poisoned by the fear of losing control. I don’t know if you understand how this feels.”
“I don’t,” Martin admitted.
“I thought I was handling the situation, but as time went on, the illusion faded. I was growing old and circumstances were forcing me to let go of it all. You see, it was never about the money, it was about the control. If I lose that, I lose everything. And I swore years ago that I would never let that happen again.”
Martin found this interesting. Details about the billionaire’s life had always been scant in the media, the obvious result of Benoît’s staunch avoidance of publicity. The connections Benoît was drawing to his past losses also seemed a nice start, though Martin felt they were a bit too cut-and-dried. There had to be more to explain a suicide attempt. He wasn’t sure exactly what. Perhaps an event from Benoît’s childhood made the blow of losing his family even more disastrous, or maybe something else, occurring later in life made the issue of control so crucial to Benoît’s existence. Whatever, Martin knew it had to be there.
“It seems you have been thinking a great deal about all this,” Martin said.
“Yes, I have.” Somber.
“Tell me about your first wife.”
“What is there to tell?” He shrugged his shoulders as if the subject was uninteresting.
“I’d like to know about the relationship, how it began, how long it lasted, how it ended, those sort of things.”
Benoît complied and proceeded with the story. The woman’s name was Janette, and they had met about a year after the war while she and her family were visiting Guadeloupe. She was originally from Paris and had been staying at his inn. Her father was a successful furrier. In fact, he became one of Jacques’ first investors. They fell in love instantly, a different love than he had with Martha, more “juvenile, even fanciful,” as he now put it, “but no deeper.” They married within three months, had their son a year later, and got along “fabulously.” They had “many wonderful years together.” Everything was “perfect,” until the cancer.
Martin listened attentively. Benoît went on for close to twenty minutes describing yet another loss.
“How did you feel when she died?” Martin asked.
“Relieved,” Benoît answered in a snap. He looked at Martin. “She suffered a great deal, for a very long time. Her pain was unbearable, for her, myself and our son. In the end, she wanted to die.” He stopped himself as soon as his voice became tremulous.
“It is an upsetting topic for you.”
“Yes, quite.”
Martin waited for more.
“I do not know what else to say about it.”
“Do you still think about her?”
“From time to time. She was… very special.”
Benoît’s words struck a chord for Martin, as an image of Katherine flashed through his mind. “I’m sure she was,” he said.
Benoît was silent, his expression mournful.
“Where is your son?”
“In Corfu, running one of my resorts, when he’s not chasing women.”
“Do I detect a note of disappointment?”
“No, not really. It would just be nice if he settled down, I suppose.”
“Would you prefer to see more of him?”
“Well, I do see him quite often. I travel frequently.”
A moment of silence.
“Well, have I got your mind spinning?” Benoît asked.
“Not exactly spinning, but… working.”
“Good then, I like a man who earns his keep.”
Martin smiled and noted that there were only a few minutes remaining to the session.
Benoît removed a pre-written check from his wallet and handed it to Martin. “By the way,” he said, his mood seeming to lift, “do you trade on the stock market?”
Martin reacted impassively. He wasn’t sure what was coming. He stood up and walked toward his desk. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering.”
Martin knew there was more to this but didn’t see the harm in responding. “I dabble,” he said.
“Do you know anything about technology companies?”
“Some.”
Benoît offered an awkward smile. “I do not know if this is…inappropriate, as you Americans like to say, but if you are interested, I have a promising tip.”
“A tip?”
“I am sure you have heard those nasty rumors about how the wealthy get all the information, access to initial public offerings and all that.”
Martin nodded. He was beginning to feel uneasy.
“Well, they are not just rumors,” Benoît said.
Martin realized what Benoît was about to do, but still didn’t understand what it signified. “I imagine they’re not,” he responded.
“Anyway, I know there must be another patient waiting. I just wanted to thank you for the help you are providing me. It is really first-rate and this meager check, well, it just does not seem quite enough.”
“Would you like me to raise my fee?” Martin joked.
Benoît smiled. “No, of course not. But I do enjoy helping friends out now and then.”
“And how do you do that?”
“Gamatron.”
“Pardon?” Martin said.
“Gamatron Technologies. It is a small sof
tware company based in North Carolina, outside the Raleigh-Durham area. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“Neither have most people. It is a small company that trades on the NASDAQ for about a dollar and a half, and has not moved much during the past year. The big secret is that Gamatron has recently created a group of business- and home-software applications that are more user-friendly than Microsoft’s products, and because of this, they are about to be taken over by LMI. The news is going to be released in two days and the stock should probably soar.”
Martin had certainly heard of LMI, Lamark Media International, one of the largest communications companies in the world. He had no doubt as to the veracity of Benoît’s information nor the accuracy of the man’s calculations. “Jacques, I appreciate your intentions in this, but it would be highly unprofessional, maybe even illegal, for me to act on this information in any way…”
“And you would prefer I leave these tidbits of information outside of this room,” Benoît added.
“No, you should feel free to say whatever you like in this room. I just need to tell you that my fee is all I expect. No favors, no bonuses, no gifts.” Martin tried not to sound admonishing. He didn’t want Benoît to feel rejected, but the ground rules were essential, even if it meant passing up an opportunity to make some quick money.
“Yes, you are absolutely right. It was silly of me to even mention such a thing. It is just that, well, someone could make a lot of money with such information, and…”
“I’m sure someone could. But under the circumstances, that someone can’t be me.”
“I understand. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“No problem. It comes with the territory.” Martin glanced at his watch, signaling that their time was up. “We can discuss it further next session,” he added.
“It will not be necessary. I am sure we can find something more pleasant to talk about.”
Martin was struck by the implication of the word “pleasant,” fearing that his patient had found this little interlude anything but. He made a mental note to revisit this issue in the future, clear the air, so to speak. The two men said their goodbyes and scheduled to meet again next week.
After Benoît left, Martin sat for a short while before ushering in his next patient. He usually left time between sessions to think, catch his breath, take a bathroom break, whatever. This time, he stared out the window, reviewing the revelations from his visit with Benoît, contemplating the amount of loss the man had endured, wondering what other vulnerabilities lay beneath the billionaire’s veneer. And imagining just how much money he could have made.
Jacques Benoît came out of the building and noticed that the two men in the black Mercedes were no longer in sight. He had spotted them his previous time leaving Dr. Rosen’s office and had been surprised that he had missed them on his first visit, though he had no doubt they’d been there. They were always somewhere.
He entered his limousine. Last week, they didn’t even follow, though he guessed that someone else had been assigned that task. These two had been sitting on the doctor’s office. Who knew, maybe they were even wiretapping the place, trying to get a sense of the shrink, probably seeing if they could enlist Rosen in the cause of his demise.
What they did, however, no longer seemed to be of consequence to him. On the contrary, it only strengthened his resolve. With each passing day, he was more convinced that his suicide attempt had been a desperate and foolish act. At the time, he had been afraid that they were on to him. But now he was certain they were only fishing. If they had anything concrete, they would already have taken him.
He thought about his suicide attempt, and loathed himself for such an aberrant sign of weakness. He had tried likening himself to a brave soldier, ingesting cyanide rather than being captured by the enemy, but in his heart he knew that the analogy was weak. He had simply been afraid of being discovered and shamed in front of his family and the world. There was nothing about it that was brave.
In any event, his fears were now behind him. He was no longer preoccupied with his hunters. He could almost laugh at the great lengths they went through to track him, as if he were some master spy, ready to elude them at the first opportunity. In truth, however, his movements were rather predictable and he was simply too old to run. If they were looking for something, they weren’t going to find it.
Now all that mattered to him was his own plan, the first step of which he had just taken. Dr. Rosen had been put to the test and, so far, was displaying unshakable integrity. But Benoît would yet see how far this extended. He had examined Rosen’s financial records and had found that, between Katherine Rosen’s life insurance and the recent best-selling book, there was a good liquid $300,000. The information he had given Rosen that could easily turn that into a million overnight. Who in his right mind could resist?
Of course, the doctor had declined, but this meant nothing. Jacques Benoît knew that men seldom did as they said. He would wait and see if the doctor actually used the information, and if his guess was right, everything would soon fall into place.
chapter 17
Stephanie Gifford rummaged frantically through the front-hall closet. It was 8:35 in the morning and her son had insisted she find his Yankees cap for him to wear to school. The Yankees were having another great year, and Dan Jr. was among their staunchest fans. For the past month, regardless of the weather, the 6-year-old donned the navy-blue jacket and hat his father had gotten him at an early summer game. “It’s not here and you’re going to miss your bus,” she said to her son.
“But Ma, I can’t go without it,” Dan Jr. responded, his eyes about to tear.
She rubbed the back of his head. “We’ll ask your father, he’ll get you a new one.”
“But I had it yesterday.”
“Well, where did you put it?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
She knew how this was going to play out. They would search until they found the cap, he would miss the bus and she would have to drive him to school, winding up late for her own job. Since her separation from his father, she’d found it more and more difficult to say no to him. It was that guilt thing, trying every which way to keep him happy under the circumstances.
She also realized that his attachment to the baseball cap was his way of staying connected to his father. Even though Dan Sr. hadn’t spent much time at home before the separation, at least the boy knew that his father had been sleeping in the house. Now, with Gifford’s upcoming drug trial, father and son were seeing each other once a week at best.
“You sure you didn’t leave it at a friend’s?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
She stuck her head back in the closet. “Why don’t you go check upstairs?”
He looked at her, as if to say, That’s a dumb idea, we already looked there.
“Please go up and check again.”
Without answering, he begrudgingly started toward the stairs.
Just like his father, she thought.
“Wait a minute,” she said, “I know where it is.” She grabbed her keychain and ran out to her car. As she exited the house, she saw the school bus pull away from the end of the block, and released a frustrated groan.
A minute later, she came back into the house with the hat in her hand. “You fell asleep on the way home from the pizza place last night and I carried you in. The hat must’ve fallen off in the car.”
He took the hat and put it on his head. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.” She couldn’t help but just love him in that cap. She looked at her watch. “Come, I’ll drive you to school.”
The two of them got into the car and she pulled out of the driveway. As she turned the corner from her street onto the main road, she noticed through the rearview mirror an unfamiliar car coming out of her street and turning in the same directio
n. This was strange to her, considering that she lived on a dead end and knew all her neighbors’ cars, none of which resembled this brown sedan. She drove about a half-mile and turned another corner. A few other cars were now behind her, and she was about to discard her paranoia when she saw the sedan again, three cars back.
She stepped on the gas and made a sharp right.
“Ma, what’re you doing? School’s the other way!”
“I know, honey,” she said with feigned calmness. “Just taking a little detour.”
The boy shrugged.
She sped up to the next corner, screeched a left, then a quick right back onto the road to the school. A few seconds later, with fresh traffic behind her, she heard a screech from another car, looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the brown sedan emerge once more.
She kept her cool, so as not to scare Dan Jr., and pulled up to the school. As she kissed him goodbye, she saw the sedan drive past them. Two men. Cops. She was sure of it. After all these years married to an assistant DA, she could smell them. She figured they knew they were made and that replacements would soon follow.
“You okay, Ma?”
“Sure,” she said, trying to be believable. “Why not?”
The boy gave her a strange look.
“I just got new brakes,” she explained. “Wanted to try them out.”
“They work good,” he said, wearing a wise-guy grin.
“Yes, they do.” Her heart was pounding. “Now, go to school. We’ve had enough dilly-dallying for one day.”
They kissed again, hugged, and Dan Jr. got out from the car. She watched him walk into the school with the other kids, waved to the security guard, then pulled away. She searched for the sedan. It was gone.
There was no doubt in her mind they were cops. She figured they were courtesy of her husband, that something dangerous was going on. She decided to head back home before going to work. She was going to be late anyway and there was something there she needed.
She pulled into her driveway and instinctively looked around once again. She saw nothing, but figured it was only a matter of time before a new car appeared. She thought of calling Dan, asking him what this was about. But she knew what he would say: “There’s no reason to worry, it’s only a precaution.” He always downplayed that aspect of his work. He downplayed a lot of things. She had learned in her Al-Anon meetings that this was typical of alcoholics.