The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  The sentence hung unfinished, as if he didn’t know what else to say.

  How I wasn’t there to hold you when your dad died. How I foolishly believed him when he said his condition was stable enough for me to finish my finals.

  How I failed to live up to your expectations.

  “It’s okay,” Rikki said softly. “I understand.”

  Dave’s lips tightened. After studying her face, his posture relaxed and he nodded. “You have no idea how many times I’ve prayed I’d live long enough to hear you say that.” Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

  Rikki felt her mouth twitch. “We were young. We made mistakes. I was just so hurt you weren’t with me when Daddy passed away, and forgiveness isn’t one of my strong points.”

  Dave snorted and smiled wanly. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  “I’m just sorry I held on to that grudge for so long. Spending time with you the past few days has made me remember what great friends we were, even before we started dating. And I’m sad I let that bitterness linger because it stole fifteen years of friendship from us.”

  Dave’s eyes glowed and he smiled. “I’ve missed laughing with you, Rik. More than anything, I’ve missed our mental jousts and hearing your laughter.”

  Rikki put her hand on his. “Well, I’m happy we finally buried the hatchet. If nothing else, that has helped dull the sadness the past few days.”

  “Jack was a good man,” Dave reflected wistfully. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of him. And I hope to God when you guys catch who killed him, whatever happens to him – or her – makes waterboarding look like getting a wedgie.”

  “Do you really want to go into that?” Rikki asked testily. “Because I’d be happy to debate your party’s abominable decision to add torture to America’s foreign policy arsenal if that’s how you want to spend the rest of the evening.”

  “No thanks. I just dug out of one big hole, and I’d rather not push my luck.”

  CHAPTER 83

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 10:55 A.M.

  While awaiting Tabatha, Rikki reviewed Jack’s will again. Knowing the widow was likely unhappy about the way Jack had structured his estate, Rikki wanted to be prepared to answer any questions (and thwart any objections) she might raise.

  The stairwell door opened and then Tabatha asked the secretary, “Is she ready for me?”

  “I don’t know,” Martha replied. “I’ll check.”

  Tabatha sighed loudly. A moment later, Martha stepped into Rikki’s office with a wide-eyed look that said, Wow! What a bitch!

  “Mrs. McCallen is here to see you,” Martha said chirpily. But her words were undercut by her accompanying motion, acting like she was sticking her finger down her throat.

  Rikki smiled. “Send her in.”

  Martha ambled back through the doorway. “Ms. Gudivada can see you now.”

  Tabatha strutted into the office and sat down, daintily crossing her right leg over her left.

  “So how can I help you, Tabatha?”

  “I need to know your plans for distributing part of Petromica’s investment in my company to me and the boys,” she replied, twirling her high-heeled foot.

  “Well, Tabby,” Rikki began. “Technically, McCallen Resources is not your company. When he died, Jack owned the whole company, aside from any shares he may have agreed to sell to Petromica, and his shares will pass through his estate. And according to his Will, that stock is to be held in trust for you and the boys until Brandon turns 25.”

  “I know what the Will says,” Tabatha retorted. “It says the stock has to be held in trust. But it doesn’t say Petromica’s investment money must be kept in trust, does it?”

  “No,” Rikki admitted. “But that money was derived from the stock, so it must remain in trust, too.”

  Tabatha’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already met with Barry Glassman,” she said menacingly. “He says that if the beneficiaries of the trust think the trustee is unreasonably refusing to disburse trust proceeds to them, they could have the trustee removed.”

  Count to ten. Don’t lose your cool but stand your ground.

  “Any trustee who acts unreasonably could be removed by a court,” Rikki continued. “But since Jack hasn’t even been dead a week, it’s only prudent for me to thoroughly investigate the firm’s financial situation before deciding whether the beneficiaries’ interests would be served by disbursing any sales proceeds. With oil and gas prices so high now, it might be smarter to invest that money in more new wells.”

  Tabatha smiled dangerously. “And if one of those multi-million-dollar wells ends up a dry hole, the beneficiaries could sue the trustee who made that investment over their objections for malfeasance of duty. Right?”

  Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe.

  “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. But I’m not jeopardizing the long-term viability of the trust.”

  Tabatha’s face reddened and a vein bulged on her forehead. “I’ve had my doubts about your competence for years,” she spat. “Having seen you operate in person now, you’ve done nothing to alleviate those concerns.”

  Breathe. Breathe.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Tabatha.”

  “But before I do anything rash, I want another lawyer to look over what’s been happening in that Schoolcraft lease cancellation suit. So as a beneficiary of this trust, and a true owner of that stock, I direct you to copy your file in that case and forward it to Mr. Glassman so his firm can advise me as to whether it is appropriate for you to keep handling that case.”

  “What?”

  “Now that you are trustee for our stock in McCallen Resources,” Tabatha said, “it might be wiser for another lawyer to handle the company’s litigation. Otherwise, it would be like you were representing yourself. And I’ve heard that a lawyer who represents himself …”

  “Has a fool for a client,” Rikki finished, before pausing. “That’s understandable. I’ll have Martha copy the file, and I’ll draft a report for Mr. Glassman explaining the current status. He’s handled oil and gas cases, so hopefully we can bring him up to speed quickly.”

  Tabatha looked smug. “Well, I’m thankful you aren’t always difficult to deal with. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

  Six, seven, eight, nine …

  Rikki glanced down at her watch. “Unfortunately, I have to cut this short as I have another hearing downstairs. But I’m glad we sat down and went over things. I’ll call Mr. Glassman when the Schoolcraft copies are ready.”

  Tabatha slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll tell him to expect your call by the end of business tomorrow.”

  What an arrogant bitch! Like this is my only case! But the sooner it’s done, the sooner she’ll be out of my hair. Breathe …

  “That should be fine,” Rikki said, opening the door. “You have a good day.”

  Tabatha smirked. “I certainly will.”

  As the widow strutted away, Rikki stepped into the conference room to regain her composure. The stairwell door slammed shut and Martha said, “That woman is a royal class shrew in need of a butt-kicking.”

  Rikki gritted her teeth. “If she doesn’t watch out, she’s gonna get one.”

  CHAPTER 84

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 11:55 A.M.

  Governor Vincent’s phone rang. He looked at the viewscreen and saw it was Tabatha.

  Oh, God. What now?

  Vincent pressed a lever and the limo’s privacy glass went up. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Luke,” she said sweetly. “Is it a bad time?”

  “Not at all. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great. Now that I’m talking to the most powerful man in the world, that is.”

  He chuckled uneasily. “I wouldn’t say that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “At this m
oment, Luke, you are the most powerful man in the world,” she reiterated.

  Vincent’s brow creased. “And why would you say that?”

  “One word from you could make Melanie Wilson the next president.”

  NEW YORK CITY

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 7:30 P.M.

  Yuri Petrenko held an old-fashioned glass. Mazniashvili’s face was joyous, and the billionaire raised his own glass.

  “To victory!” Mazniashvili cheered.

  Petrenko smiled wanly and tossed back the vodka. “To Operation Aristocrates. It was a brilliant plan, vozhd.”

  Mazniashvili raised his right index finger and waved it back and forth. “No, no, no. I had an idea. You, Yuri … You gave it life. Without you, I might still be looking for a new country to call home.”

  Petrenko knew better than to disagree. As ruthless as Mazniashvili was when provoked, his generosity to loyal underlings was legendary. And I would not object to receiving that generosity. Not one bit.

  “So can I ask you one question?” Petrenko asked.

  Mazniashvili nodded magnanimously. “Fire away.”

  “Why did you call it, ‘Operation Aristocrates?’”

  The billionaire grinned. “Ah … That.” He lit a cigarette. “In ancient Greece, in what became known as the Second Messenian War, the region called Arcadia was allied with the Messenians against the Spartans and others.

  “As the two sides prepared for a major battle, the Spartan side bribed the Arcadian king to reveal his allies’ plans. Through this duplicity, the Messenians and their allies were slaughtered at the ensuing battle, their entire army virtually destroyed.”

  Mazniashvili took a drag, and the cigarette glowed orange. “Upon learning of the king’s treason, the Arcadians stoned him to death. His family, too.

  “The name of that greedy, unlucky Arcadian king was Aristocrates,” he concluded.

  “Ah,” Petrenko said. “An appropriate name, indeed.”

  CHAPTER 85

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 9:55 A.M.

  Rikki sat at her desk, holding a digital voice recorder. Documents from the Schoolcraft case were piled beside her.

  “I expect the plaintiffs will primarily argue the lease should be cancelled because McCallen Resources failed to fully develop the leasehold’s mineral resources,” she dictated. “Some evidence supports this theory: The production logs indicate only a marginal amount of gas passed through the wellheads during the past three years.

  “As an aside, Jack may have recently conveyed a 49 percent equity stake in MR to a firm called Petromica, LLC. Although I thought Jack had backed off the deal, his widow claims he changed his mind. I have no signed documents corroborating this assertion. Thus, I suggest you discuss that issue with Mrs. McCallen.”

  That money-grubbing bitch, Rikki silently added.

  “In the alternative, you could contact Petromica’s point man and request copies. Here is his contact information …”

  Someone knocked on the door. Craning her neck to stare over her shoulder, she saw the local officer from the West Virginia Division of Natural Resources. “Could I borrow your Code book for Chapter Twenty?”

  “Sure,” Rikki said. “It’s on that bookcase. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” the DNR officer replied. “I need to file a criminal complaint against two guys who poached a buck this morning.”

  “Didn’t deer season end last Saturday?”

  “Yep. That’s why they’re being charged with illegal hunting out-of-season.”

  “Well, keep up the good work.” She then rotated around to resume her dictation.

  “Damn, Rikki!” the DNR man exclaimed. “You’ve only been on the job three weeks, but you’re really on top of things! How did you find out about that guy?”

  She turned to face him, looking puzzled. “What guy?”

  He pointed toward her computer screen. “That guy. I gave him a citation last Saturday for hunting without a permit.”

  Rikki looked at the screen and a chill went down her spine. He was pointing to Petromica’s press release for its hiring of Alex Beria. She had accessed it to give Tabatha’s new lawyer Beria’s contact information.

  “He said he accidentally washed his license and would bring me proof it was valid,” the DNR officer said, still flipping through the book. “I ain’t seen him, though, so I guess he needs to be arrested, too.”

  Rikki tried to look calm. “Are you sure this is the same guy?”

  The officer chuckled. “Hell, yeah! Ain’t too many guys wandering around, missing half an ear. Plus, his teeth were like that guy’s … so white, it was like he painted and bleached ‘em.”

  Breathe. One, two, three …

  “So where did you run into him?”

  “He was coming out of the woods about six miles up Mount Carmel.”

  That’s just two miles from Bart’s farm.

  Rikki pursed her lips and nodded. “What side of the road was he on?”

  The man’s face scrunched up. “As you head up Mount Carmel from Route 2, he was coming out of the woods on your right.”

  Bart’s farm is on that side of the road.

  “Hmm,” Rikki mumbled. “Do you remember what time you ran into him?”

  The man’s face reflected curiosity. “Is this ‘20 Questions’ or something?”

  “Indulge me.”

  He grinned. “All right … I think it was around 8:30.”

  An hour after Bart thinks the shot that killed Jack was fired. Plenty of time to walk two miles through the woods to a getaway vehicle.

  “Could you bring me your file on this incident?” Rikki asked. “I’d like to compare it to my notes on this guy.”

  “Sure,” he said, shrugging. “You’re the prosecutor.”

  Yes, I am, for better or worse. Dear God, I hope I’m not in over my head here.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 11:15 A.M.

  Jonathan Royal’s transition team sat around the conference table, discussing potential cabinet appointments. Randolph Stephens sat at the head of the table, as befit his status as one of the Republican Party’s elder statesmen.

  “Next up we have Treasury,” Stephens said. “Do we have the final background checks?”

  Dave calmly shuffled through his papers. “I emailed them yesterday afternoon. Printed copies should be in the briefing packet, too.”

  “Good,” Stephens said gruffly. “There’s just 39 days until the Inauguration, people. The sooner we get these background checks back, the sooner Governor Royal can figure out who he wants serving in his Cabinet. We don’t want any surprises.”

  Dave’s phone vibrated. Holding it beneath the table, he opened his inbox.

  “A few of us are coming to D.C. tonite 2 catch a comedy show,” the text from Monica Boley read. “Wanna join us?”

  Dave repressed the urge to grin, fearing it might draw attention. He used his thumb to quietly hammer out a response.

  “Beers and laughs sound good. What time and where?”

  The elder statesman’s face turned red. “God damn it!” Stephens screamed. “Defense is the most important vacancy and you still haven’t interviewed those people?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve had those names almost a week!”

  Man. He’s really tearing that dude a new one. Thank God that’s not me!

  As his colleague stammered an excuse, Dave’s phone vibrated again.

  “1140 Conn Ave b/w L & M, @ 8:30.”

  Dave mentally calculated how long it would take him to wrap up the meeting, get home, eat, shower, get dressed and get to the club.

  “I’ll meet u there. I’ll let u know if anything changes.”

  Dave glanced at Stephens and was glad to see his blood pressure had dropped. Aside from the screw-up with Defense, the man seemed fairly satisfied with their progress.

  “Energy Department,”
he announced. “And if there’s a bunny-hugger on your list, I’m gonna punch you in the throat.”

  Yet another pleasant day in the nation’s capital, Dave thought with a smirk.

  CHAPTER 86

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1:00 P.M.

  “Hold my calls,” Rikki said. “I need peace and quiet to finish reviewing this stuff.”

  “What if it’s the Sheriff’s Office?”

  “If it’s about Jack’s death, fine. Otherwise, I’ll call them back.”

  Martha nodded. “Okay. Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” Rikki replied, shutting the door.

  For three hours, she had agonized about her conversation with the DNR officer. His file confirmed (much to her chagrin) that he had issued a citation to one Aleksandr Sergeivich Beria.

  Funny. No wonder he goes by Alex. I had no idea he was Russian.

  When questioned, he had given a Virginia driver’s license with a Falls Church address.

  Petromica’s regional headquarters is in Reston. Isn’t that near Falls Church?

  The citation indicated Beria was 33 years old, stood six-feet-two and weighed 230 pounds.

  Sounds like a well-built fellow. I wonder what happened to his ear.

  Prodigious internet research led Rikki to articles confirming that Petromica was largely owned by Mazniashvili.

  The same guy Jonathan Royal wants to extradite. The same guy who publicly called for presidential electors to switch sides.

  Rikki slowly rocked back and forth, staring out the window at the decrepit refinery next to the courthouse. The more she thought about the situation, the more she did not like it.

  Last Friday, Jack said the Petromica deal was off. What could have changed his mind? And why can’t I find this Addendum mentioned in Tabatha’s email to Beria?

  She sighed and rubbed her temples. Then a startling thought crossed her mind, causing her to gasp.

  What if that Addendum had to do with Jack switching his vote in the Electoral College? And if he refused, someone would have wanted to keep that proposition private.