by Sara Forbes
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I cradle her shoulders. “Who is this guy? Don’t let him get to you. Block him if you need to preserve your sanity. You’re an excellent PI. Jack was so amazed at your skills he was scared of you. I am too. Amazed, that is, not scared. But maybe a little of that too.”
It barely gets a smile from her. We certainly are a dour couple today. “A failed drugging attempt? Yeah, brilliant.”
“What about the time you spotted the annoying fans before I did? You spotted Belkov before I did, too. Goodman’s just sore and is lashing out, as people who lose tend to do. I see it all the time in poker—magnified.”
“She straightens her posture. “Yeah, sorry, just having a weak moment here. It’s passed. You’ve got your own problems.”
I kiss her. “I’m glad you shared. After this game in New York I’m going to figure something out.”
“I know.”
We press together tightly.
And in that moment, I resolve to be a better man. For her. To live up to this high opinion she seems to have of me. Because I want to be the one she can rely on—in good times and in bad—not someone she has to nail-bitingly watch as he flushes a fortune down the toilet. Maybe it’s time that man took a siesta and let the other guy come onto the stage.
19
CARA
FELIX’S NEXT GAME IN New York means he’s gone for three days. The life of a gambler. It takes some getting used to—his frequent absences. Maybe in time it’ll settle into something more normal. Or maybe normal is overrated.
Workwise, I’ve managed to get one new client who’s looking for someone to update their outmoded cybersecurity across their Linux servers. The pay is dreadful by my father’s standards but hell, maybe this is the new norm. If only I could get two more such gigs, I’d be able to keep the ship afloat.
Goodman sent a mail late last night asking for a meeting this afternoon. I’m really not in the mood to listen to him moan on about his futures contracts, or my general incompetence, so I’m ready to kick him out if he goes there. Block him if you need to preserve your sanity.
Still, I’m curious, because, for all his faults, Goodman’s not usually a time waster. Is it possible that he’s forgiven me and wants to give me a new contract? I’ll refuse to touch anything Bitcoin-related but anything else is fair game, and he did say he didn’t want to go near cryptocurrencies either. Even though he’s hurt my feelings by what he said, I have no pride when the money’s so tight.
Punctual as ever, Goodman enters my office at two-thirty on the dot. He’s dressed in a black woolen suit and dark maroon shirt—a pretty dull combination even for him. He sets his cap down on the edge of my desk with an air of gravitas. Internally, I’m rolling my eyes—he’s always had a penchant for drama. How long is it going to take?
“Tea, Mr. Goodman?” He likes tea, not coffee, so I always keep a box of Earl Grey handy.
“No thank you.”
“How can I help?”
“These are bad times, Cara. Bad times indeed.”
I promised myself I wouldn’t ask, but curiosity gets the better of me. “How much was lost?”
“Around 70 million dollars in total.”
I bite my lip and pour the boiling water into his mug. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot of clients.”
“Yes.” His bloodshot eyes drill into me. “One of them just committed suicide.”
The air collapses in my lungs. I slam down the kettle and scald my finger with the hot water. “What? No!”
Shit shit shit. “Who?”
“Mariella Davis. Sixty-two. Mom of three, grandma of four. She borrowed a hundred grand to buy ten Bitcoin futures, hoping she’d get one hundred thirty grand on April 17th. Instead she got only eighty thousand, leaving her over twenty-five thousand in debt when you add in the bank interest on the loan. By no means was it the biggest loss of the group, but to her, it was devastating and she couldn’t go on with her life because of the shame of falling for such a scheme in the first place.”
I blindly hand him the mug of tea.
“These people, Cara, they know it’s their greed that drove them, so they often can’t admit to their nearest and dearest that they’ve speculated at all. Hence the shame, the isolation, the desperation.”
I narrow my eyes. “Which you feed on every time you sell this as an opportunity to these poor, trusting people.”
I’ve officially burnt my bridges with him but I can’t stand his hypocrisy. How dare he sit there and pretend to be sorry for these people?
He holds my gaze stonily. “I had no idea it would go this way. I, too, had stakes in. I, too, lost a lot of money. That’s why I’m getting out of this insane market.”
“When’s the funeral?” I ask, not wanting to hear his pity party.
He raises his chin with a belligerent air. “I don’t think you should attend.”
“And why not?”
“Out of respect, Cara. They wish for a small gathering of strictly family only. I won’t be attending either.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Did you know her?” I ask in a kinder tone, sitting down again opposite him.
“Reasonably well.” Goodman stirs his tea. “Lovely lady. The best kind.”
I wince.
“Felix Palmer has a lot to answer for.”
“Yes,” I say quietly, “he does.”
After drinking in silence for a few moment, he rises, grasping his cap and holding it to his chest. “Well, I won’t keep you longer. For the sake of our longstanding cooperation, I just thought you should know.”
I rise. “Uh, yes, thank you, I—I—”
“It’s okay,” he says, “There was nothing you could have done.”
If only that were true.
It’s impossible to work the rest of the day. I’m crying, crying for Mariella Davis, for her family, for the stupidity of it all. In a fit of morbidity, I dig into the files. There’s similarity in the diversity; all his clients just wanted something a little better in their lives—a new home, a wedding, car repairs, cancer treatments, or just simple peace of mind. Maybe if I’d worked a little harder to stop the Bitcoin Billionaires, infiltrated them sooner and not got sidetracked, first by Jack, then by Felix, I could have stopped their aggressive manipulation of the market.
Dad always told me to focus on the task, not the clients. Solve the problem.
Well, I didn’t solve the problem, Dad.
I do a search of my database of recent deaths and find out when and where Mariella Davis’s funeral is. It’s a two-hundred-mile trip to Fresno in two days’ time. Despite what Goodman says, I’m going to go. I need to, to deal with the crushing guilt. I need to see it no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. I won’t infringe on their privacy. I’ll just hover unseen in the background as I’m so used to doing.
***
I pick up Felix from the airport two days later. He’s on the seven-twenty p.m. from JFK. As I negotiate the horrible evening traffic around LAX, I resolve not to let my mood sour our reunion.
I’ll be so glad to see him again. My world was getting a bit dark. I need him to come to me, to fuck me hard, to remind me that there’s still passion., light and hope in this world. I mean, he’s not one of the Bitcoin Billionaires now. His actions are not responsible for what happened.
He notices straight away that something’s off. “You’re quieter than usual. Is everything okay?”
I grip the steering wheel harder. “I’m okay. I just want to get home. It’s been a long week.”
His hand is warm on my knee. “Hey, I have an idea. Can you take tomorrow off? We could go to a premiere up in San Francisco and then on to the VIP party afterwards. I still have tickets and I know Jack won’t be attending.”
“Uhm. Actually, I’m heading north tomorrow too but I’m going to attend a funeral.”
“Someone close?” he asks sharply.
“I didn’t know her at all. But I feel duty bound to go.” I look over at him. I ow
e him the explanation. “A woman named Mariella Davis. Sixty-three. She committed suicide.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Felix, she was one of Goodman’s investors.”
“No.” He rubs his eyes. “Oh no.”
“She’s dead, Felix. These are the consequences of the thoughtless actions.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Don’t you see it changes everything? They can’t go on like this—manipulating the small people. Isn’t it time they came down off their cloud and thought about the real consequences?”
“Look, I know you’re upset.” He puts his hand on my leg.
“Don’t.” I take his hand off my leg. “Don’t play the woman is hysterical card.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he says gruffly. “What do you take me for? I’m just saying you shouldn’t shoulder the burden yourself. It’s not your personal problem.”
“I have to disagree! It is personal. You can pretend to be all hands off and claim that everything’s above your head, you’re just a card player. But that’s getting old. You chose to be with them. Don’t pretend you’re some kind of puppet on a string with no brain of your own. Your own brother is one of them. You could do something.”
He sits there, smoldering.
“They were never going to listen to you, were they? You knew that all along. And I’ve been barking up the wrong tree.” I navigate the freeway exit and drive down the road to my little apartment.
When I’m parked under the shade of our beech tree, I turn to him and remove my sunglasses. “Felix, be honest. Did you know they’ve been doing this for years? Wrecking people’s lives?”
“Well,” he falters. “In hindsight, that did become clearer. But Cara, this woman’s suicide is not your fault. Or mine.”
“Doesn’t it bother you to be associated with them?”
“But I’m not. Not anymore.”
“Still, you’re relying on them financially. Just as your brother relied on them to start his business. Without them you’d both be—I don’t know what exactly but certainly not the jetsetters you are today.”
“Again, Cara. I have no association with them and no control over what they do. Period.”
“Make a stand, get loud, tell your brother he has to get out before more people are hurt. That’ll send a signal to them.”
“Or else?” he asks.
“Or else you’ll cut off all contact with him.” I shrug. “It might work. Isn’t it worth a try?”
There’s a long silence. His face goes colder by degrees, back to the expressionless poker face. I sense I’ve made a mistake by pushing this too far but backing down is not an option. The rage of Mrs. Davis’s death still runs hot in my veins.
“He already tried that. You shouldn’t ask me to do it.”
“Yeah, fine,” I snap, opening the trunk and thrusting his travel bag into his arms. “Sick to your principles. Just let them go on killing people, why don’t you?”
“They’re not killing—”
“Indirectly, yes, they are! Your fine British gentlemen in their fine suits who won’t show their faces. Your fine gentlemen who hoisted you and your brother out of obscurity. You know what I think? I think you don’t want to stop them. Not really.” I slam the trunk door shut. “You’re just playing lip-service to me while you enjoy your lifestyle, safe in the knowledge that if you do lose your next game, you’ll always have them ultimately to fall back on. To you, it’s a dog-eats-dog world and as long as you’re the one doing the eating then all is fine.”
“That’s enough!” he roars, grabbing his travel bag from the trunk. “If that’s your opinion of me then there’s no point in me being here.”
I cross my arms. “That’s my opinion, yes.”
“I’m going to go now.”
“Yeah.” I say, dully. “Maybe for the best.”
He turns and strides off. It’s too painful to watch. I race into my building. I manage to get as far as the mailboxes before I heave in a massive breath and double over to let out a noiseless cry of anguish.
I straighten, clutching my stomach. My beautiful, golden man with the intoxicating smile and the magical touch, I have to let him go. He was always just a shimmering mirage in the desert of my life. I just didn’t want to accept it. I needed him too much.
But ultimately, I can’t live with myself if I condone the behavior of the Bitcoin Billionaires, however indirectly. It took a suicide to make me wake up.
It’s time to go back to the real desert, back to reality. Back to the world where you play it safe with men and you go for the guys who don’t ask too much of you. Because this train wreck is what happens when you open too much and you let them steal a part of your heart.
20
FELIX
I TRUDGE SEVEN BLOCKS from Cara’s apartment through some pretty bad neighborhood before I grab a cab. In the cool back seat, I can begin to think again. Her words ping-pong around in my head. Her shock and anger at the suicide is understandable but what she said to me about lip-service isn’t, no matter how upset she was. How long has she been feeling like this? Since the beginning?
“Where’s Jack?” I grunt when I enter his apartment. He hasn’t changed his key so the spare I have still gets me in.
Mia looks up from a book she’s reading. She’s cool as ever, not appearing surprised or shocked to see me. “He’s over at Farnham productions. They’ve optioned his script and wanted to go over contracts. Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll just go over to him.”
I take another cab out to the address Mia’s given me. It’s a hot, dusty ride out to the eastern outskirts of the city, retracing some of the journey back to Cara’s place, which does my temper no favors. When I get to the warehouse-like building that houses Farnham Productions, I call Jack. He says he’ll meet me in the parking lot beside his Audi in ten.
“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?” he asks, taking off his blazer, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I thought you’d decided not to speak to me.”
I lift my ass off his side door. “When’s your next meeting with Egan and co?”
He gives me a sharp look. “I can’t tell you that. Felix. Look, I made you a deal. Egan’s grateful for your efforts in identifying Goodman. You lose your access to the share of Bitcoin, not that you ever really had it, but you get an annual million-dollar payout for staying quiet. And you can keep the lambo.”
“You have to stop them,” I say.
Jack’s eyes bulge in surprise. “Did you just hear what I said?”
“You have to make them put it to a vote or something.”
“Felix, you’re being handed a million a year! Your financial troubles are over! Cara must really have done on a number on you.”
“We’re over. So you can stop blaming her,” I say. “This is all me.”
He inhales deeply. “Oh. I see.”
“So, I can go t that meeting with you and talk to them, tell them what the consequences of their actions are.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, it’s pretty clear whose side you’re on.”
“It’s not about taking sides, Felix.”
“Well, that’s funny because I took sides when I had to choose between you and Cara.”
Jack frowns. “What?”
“And I chose you.”
Something finally gets through to him. He slumps against the side of his car, rubbing his face. He’s silent for some time before he says, “God, Felix. How did we get to this point? This…this isn’t us.”
“No. But maybe we’ve both been asleep to what it all means. Cara told me a woman committed suicide over this.”
Jack’s shaking his head. “People die all the time, Felix. Some choose their time to go. But what about the political prisoners who can’t choose to live? Will you help them? Egan’s vision
is to help those who devoted their lives to propagating the truth. And you know what? I can live with that.”
“Egan’s playing God.”
“Call it what you like.”
“Who’s to say Egan didn’t just feed us that whole story to make us compliant? Fact is, we know nothing about those other two, Sean and Liam. We’ve no proof of anything. Why haven’t they released political prisoners by now if they’re so keen on saving the world? It’s all talk, no action.”
He exhales. “Felix, I owe him, okay? I couldn’t have started my business without that windfall. So, I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. If you don’t agree with that, then fine, that’s your choice. But don’t come whining to me. Do something.”
“Whining?” I say
He beckons to his passenger door but I shake my head. “I can still afford a cab.”
“Suit yourself.” He gets in his Audi and drives away.
As I watch his car disappear around the corner of the studio building, I don’t know what I’m going to do but I’m going to figure out a way to make these guys listen. And they can stuff their one million a year pay off up their British asses.
21
CARA
I’M PUTTING THE FINISHING touches to my outfit—black skirt, black camisole, black jacket. My capsule wardrobe is alarmingly well-adapted to funeral attendance.
I took the day off for this. I couldn’t face any clients today anyway after crying for so long last night when Felix left. My face is red and puffy. It’s at times like these that I miss having a trusted girlfriend I can call on to eat ice-cream with and binge-watch Mad Men or something. My college buddies are long gone from LA and I’ve kind of neglected socializing in my eagerness to get my business up and running.
I’m repeating in my head all the alternate ways that conversation with Felix could have gone. But at the end of the day, if he’s still defending those bastards—even if obliquely through his loyalty to his brother—I can’t have anything to do with him. My conscience won’t allow it.