Brotherhood Beyond the Yard (The Simon Trilogy)

by Sally Fernandez

  Heartfelt sadness reflected in Hamilton’s eyes at the thought of handing off such an enormous responsibility, which he proudly considered his own. Then, with equal sadness, he apologized. “I’m sorry to have to place this heavy burden on you, but you are the only person who can protect the American people against a repetition of a fraud of such proportions. Never did I believe that such a monstrous scam was possible,” he voiced with trepidation.

  Noble quickly recognized the magnitude of the responsibility thrust upon him.

  When he recovered from his moment of sharp reality, he asked Hamilton several questions, particularly related to his conversations with the president.

  With clinical detachment, Hamilton answered all questions directly and in vivid detail.

  They continued their lengthy conversation, discussing the possible approaches Noble might take to inform the president, the recapture of the TSAR Funds, and the ultimate repercussions that might ensue.

  Then Hamilton began to tire.

  Feeling it might be one of his last opportunities, Noble took a stab at one last question, a seemingly unrelated question.

  “How have you been able to provide for yourself all these years?”

  He knew at the time it was inappropriate and was unsure why it slipped out the way it did. Perhaps, his inquisitiveness once again took hold. Not fully expecting an answer, he heard Hamilton in a sleepy monotone ask him a question, one he will never forget.

  “Was the Treasury ever able to determine how much Simon had stolen, before we transferred all the money out of his accounts?”

  Noble knew Hamilton was not looking for an answer.

  I’ll never forget the look in his eyes, almost a twinkle, and the angle of his mouth, practically a smile, as he drifted into a deep sleep.

  The walk, or rather push, back to the villa was quiet. This time Noble took in the views as Hamilton slumbered. It seemed like a long, slow push down the circular road taking him away from the spiritual place they had just visited. He drifted back into his thoughts as he admired the road, lined with beautiful flowering oleander trees, filled with blossoms in brilliant colors of magenta, pink, and white flowers he had overlooked on the trip up the hill.

  As they meandered along Via Giramonte, behind the Basilica di San Miniato al Monte, Noble dwelled on his conversations with Hamilton and tried to identify what he might have missed. He paused shortly, then resumed taking in the beauty of the moment, knowing that he would continue to roll over that conversation in his mind for some time to come.

  —

  When they returned to the villa, Aldo was waiting at the door. He immediately took over the wheelchair and pushed Hamilton to his bedroom, to prepare him for his afternoon nap.

  Noble walked to his room and sat in the corner looking out toward the Duomo in the distance, as the sun hovered low, giving the cathedral a golden glow. As he stared out the window, he recognized that his life had changed forever, but he hoped he would not face the same emptiness that Hamilton experienced.

  Hamilton’s expression when he responded to his last question was etched in his mind indelibly. Grinning to himself, Noble recalled, Hamilton always answered a question with a question.

  He finally conceded he was exhausted, partly because of jet lag, complicated by the new demands heaped on him. Surrendering, he decided to put his thoughts to rest and nodded off to sleep. Then there was a sharp rap on the door of Noble’s bedroom, seemingly as soon as his head hit the pillow, but when he peered out the window, he could see stars in the sky and a full moon illuminating the villas dotting the countryside. Partly dazed, he saw Aldo peering through the opened door.

  “Sir, would you please meet me in the living room?”

  “I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Noble freshened up, dressed, and feeling somewhat renewed, joined Aldo. Walking into the lavish room, Noble immediately recognized the grief-stricken face and knew instantly that Hamilton had passed away in his sleep.

  Silence took hold of them as they shared a mutually sympathetic embrace.

  Moments later, Aldo handed Noble an envelope and blubbered, “The director instructed me to give you this without delay,” and left the room.

  Noble sat down and was quiet, tears streaming down his face as he reminisced about all the times at the SIA, and the private times, they shared together. Eventually, he looked down at the envelope in his hand, but wasn’t ready to do any more heavy lifting.

  First, I need time to absorb the events of the day, a day that seemed like forever, he lamented. There will be plenty of time later to open the envelope, but for now, I vow to sleep.

  29

  DIVINE INTERVENTION

  Aldo had scheduled the funeral for Wednesday.

  Noble would not delay his flight to attend; he was leaving on Tuesday as planned. He felt obliged to explain to Aldo that, since his parents’ death, he avoided all funerals. “I believe a person’s greatness should be celebrated while they are alive.”

  “I understand,” he replied, without expression.

  However, before Noble returned to the States to carry out Hamilton’s decree, he decided to use his remaining day to tour Florence. He was hoping to capture the deep love Hamilton experienced—a paradox that drew him to a foreign city to live out his life, after devoting most of his time to protect his own country. Noble concluded that a formal tour, laden with tourists huddled together, following the leader with an umbrella, was not the way to capture the essence of Hamilton’s affection for Florence.

  “Aldo, you must be terribly busy arranging for the funeral, but would you be able to spend a few hours with me today? I’d like to see some of the director’s favorite places.”

  “Actually, the director made most of the arrangements for the funeral some time ago.”

  “Of course he did.” Noble smiled, remembering Hamilton left no strings untied.

  “I’d be honored to show you the director’s Florence.”

  —

  Within the hour, they ventured out of the villa and turned left onto Via della Torre del Gallo. They continued up to the top of the hill, where they viewed the twelfth-century fortified castle that belonged to the Galli Family.

  “We could take a right and continue down this hill to Via di San Leonardo, which leads straight down to the Arno and into the historic district,” Aldo offered. “Another choice is to take this left, onto Via del Pian de Giullari, and walk through Arcetri, a sort of seamless suburb. It was a favorite walk of the director.”

  “To the left.” Noble smiled.

  As they began to wander, Noble viewed the vast countryside of Tuscany, and looking to the right, he eyed the Osservatorio Astrofisico.

  “It means the Observatory of Astrophysics, and it is where the Galileo Galilei Institute for Theoretical Physics is located,” referenced Aldo. “Ingenious minds such as Galileo made amazing discoveries there, which left permanent and positive effects on the world.”

  I’m reminded of another genius, the elusive Simon, who wreaked havoc and left destruction in his wake—a passing thought Noble kept to himself.

  As Aldo continued his walking tour, Noble could not help but reflect on the massive decisions, affecting many lives, Hamilton had handed him to make. He viewed most options with compassion, save those involving Simon and the president, both of whom earned his disrespect and disgust.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Aldo inquired, noticing the vacant expression on Noble’s face.

  “I’m fine. It is just that since the death of the director, I keep recalling some key aspects of the last case we worked on together,” he offered apologetically. “I do appreciate your time, and I am fascinated by the history.”

  Noble continued to listen to Aldo, but at the same time couldn’t help thinking about his brother-in-law, Paolo Salvatore, “the savior,” and his sister Natalie, who were working on reconciliation. Natalie had refused to continue her relationship with Paolo as long as he worked for the White House.


  At first, Paolo found it impossible to extricate himself from his role as the president’s communications director, which he’d learned to love as much as writing the speeches. Illogical as it seemed, he even had aspirations of continuing his career with the next administration, the party notwithstanding.

  Natalie continued to urge him to step down, or to resign, after discovering Simon’s plot. She frequently mentioned her concern that if the events were uncovered, he could be convicted of defrauding the government, which would devastate their lives. Using legal semantics, she cited several other possible crimes, holding even stiffer penalties, in an emotional attempt to dissuade him from continuing his role. Despite her legal training and persuasive skills, Paolo was undeterred.

  However, after suffering several months of separation, Paolo capitulated. He understood his gross misjudgment. His family was far more precious to him than his fleeting eminence in the White House. He began to devote time to repair the broken trust in their marriage. In an attempt to reconcile, he arranged for an extended, long-overdue vacation with Natalie and Mario. Fortunately, he had been able to accumulate significant savings over the years for this venture.

  Simon had paid him well.

  Simon had paid everyone well.

  Paolo dipped into his funds, and the three of them departed on a month-long cruise along the western coast of Italy. Upon his return, he established a consultancy, specializing in speechwriting and public relations, for the movers and shakers in the private sector. Once again, the revamped Paolo was thriving in a successful career, supported by a blissful family life. In many ways, his Italian family roots wrote the script for him.

  Recovering from his reverie, Noble heard Aldo say, “On our right was once the country home of Galileo. Actually, it was the home where he endured eleven years of forced exile.”

  “You caught me, Aldo. Sorry! I was thinking about my family, which includes an Italian, I might add. That is no excuse,” Noble said remorsefully. “You were speaking of Galileo’s exile, yes?”

  “Yes.” Aldo smiled.

  “Not a bad alternative, considering the Church of Rome almost tried him for heresy for his sun-oriented theory of the universe,” Noble recalled, noting the size of the villa located on the edge of Florence.

  “I quite agree. We are now walking on Via di San Matteo in Arcetri and on your left is an elementary school, named after, of course, Galileo Galilei.” A few moments later they walked passed a convent where the daughters of Galileo lived out their lives.

  Noble continued to listen with interest to the history lessons Aldo was imparting as they meandered down a long, winding road, when thoughts of Seymour crept into his wandering mind.

  Seymour was in the same relative position as Paolo. Apparently, he had worn out his welcome when his tactics were exposed, and he had become persona non grata in the political world, for reasons that were not clear. Seymour eventually took Hamilton’s advice and extricated himself from the White House without adieu. He wrapped up the last of his projects and then headed to L.A.

  When the president encountered resistance, Hank attempted to induce Seymour to create a few political ads. However, Seymour always refused, replying with the excuse, “I don’t have the time to commit to another project.” Hank realized there were other deeper reasons.

  Finally, Seymour produced his epic film, The Framework, based on the lives of the Founding Fathers and their contributions in the drafting of the Constitution. The theme of the film delved into the collective thinking that led to a durable construct of government incorporating common values. The film was a smashing success at the box offices and Seymour was riding high.

  Just as Noble tried to shake his thoughts away from La Fratellanza, they walked around a bend to be presented with the most breathtaking view that caught him short. “What is that large structure off in the distance?” Noble asked, attempting to refocus.

  “It is the monastery at Certosa. The monastery was built in the fourteenth century, originally for the Carthusian Order, and has a fascinating history.”

  I’m truly trying to stay focused on the present, he counseled himself, but the shock of Hank, being the complete converse of a monk, overwhelms me.

  Noble’s empathy for Hank was slight. Predictably, he did not heed Hamilton’s advice, but was drawn to the side of the president. His loyalty shifted smoothly and undetectably from Simon to Abner Baari. His organization, the Chestnut Foundation, continued to be under investigation, at present for voter fraud.

  Perhaps it was another mysterious leak? Noble asked himself. Naturally, Simon had popped into his head momentarily. As I reflect on the mysterious disclosures of information that continue to plague the gang of four, Simon always comes to mind, and although fleeting, it is disturbing, Noble wondered. It seems like more than a mere coincidence.

  Aldo, recognizing he had lost Noble’s complete attention once again, simply smiled and proceeded, but this time with a slightly elevated voice. “This is the entrance to the Istituto di Fisica, meaning Institute of Physics, which leads back up to the observatory we passed when we started our walk. We are now on Via di San Leonardo and at the corner, just up ahead, is the Viale Galileo Galilei. A viale is considered larger than a via. I know our language, and many of our expressions, can be somewhat confusing.”

  “Yes, a lot is confusing, but it is a melodic language, so beautiful to the ear.”

  “Thank you. May I suggest we cross over and continue to walk down the rest of Via San di Leonardo to the Arno?”

  “Absolutely! By the way, that was a marvelous walk through the countryside. I can understand why it was a favorite of the director.”

  “Now are you ready for the busy streets of Florence?”

  “Lead on, my friend.”

  Odd, Aldo feels like my friend, and even stranger, he reminds me somewhat of Chase, he reflected.

  Chase was honest and decent to the core, except for his slavish loyalty to Simon. Whether it was a character flaw or an irrational devotion, Chase’s fate was about to be sealed. Another suspicious leak of information led his bank to be under investigation, for falsifying reports sent to the Securities and Exchange Commission.

  Knowing Chase, I suspect it is not true, but I suppose it is painful for him nonetheless, Noble concluded.

  Chase continued to function in his dream job in New York, even with the cloud of the SEC overhead. He was always confident he’d be exonerated in the end. That aside, he continued to enjoy his family life in Connecticut—he never contacted any of La Fratellanza again.

  Simon manipulated all of them, and perhaps, his manipulation persists in the form of unexplained leaks that continue to afflict each of them, a feeling he could not keep at bay. Unfortunately, I can’t share any of these thoughts with Aldo, or with anyone. There was a time when I could share them with Hamilton, he thought wistfully.

  Attempting to engage, he said, “I read in the guidebooks that the Florentine’s call Via di San Leonardo one of the most beautiful streets in Florence.”

  “Yes, and I think you will agree.”

  They ambled down the twisting cobblestone road, lined with stone walls surrounding elegant villas, with an occasional open gate exposing lush views of the countryside.

  “I am beginning to get a sense of what drew the director out of his beloved country to that of another,” Noble acknowledged.

  Aldo turned his head toward Noble and smiled.

  They approached the arch leading to Costa di San Giorgio. Costa meaning a street with a slope, which they passed through, and soon thereafter, past the once “city” home of Galileo, a scant two miles from his “home in exile.”

  “I’m starting to feel as though I have been walking in the footsteps of Galileo.”

  “You have been, along with many other extraordinary people,” Aldo confirmed.

  Suddenly, another observation crossed Noble’s mind, as he remembered the charges of heresy against Galileo and was gripped by the fear that he could be facing s
erious charges for his part in the entire scheme. Noble agonized silently. He felt he was in a whirlwind with his head spinning, not being able to control his thoughts, stray thoughts about his friends, his family, his career, and most of all, his country. Passing through the ancient street with its stone walls, he couldn’t help but ponder, If these walls could talk, I wonder what they would say. He imagined walking behind Lorenzo “the Magnificent” de Medici, perhaps the greatest patron of the Renaissance artists and scholars. He could almost hear him offering and receiving advice from those that followed him.

  “The Medici court included such greats as Pico della Mirandola, Niccolò Machiavelli, and Leonardo da Vinci, to name a few,” Aldo injected.

  I wonder what counsel they would give me, Noble contemplated silently.

  “I would have loved to hear from Machiavelli!”

  “Why Machiavelli?” Aldo asked.

  “While there are those who think his political manipulation was for evil, I believe his ‘trickery’ was to control the politician for the good of the people.”

  “Interesting theory.”

  “If only these walls could talk,” Noble repeated, this time aloud.

  Quickly snapping back to reality, they walked through the arch at the end of Costa de’ Magnoli, leaving the walls behind with the Arno River in front of them.

  “Just up ahead we’ll make a right where we will cross the Arno on the Ponte Vecchio.”

  “I understand it was the only bridge not destroyed during World War II,” Noble said, displaying his prowess.

  “That is true. It was considered an architectural wonder and was spared by a Nazi German officer. Out of the six bridges, only the Ponte Vecchio survived solely due to a German officer simply feeling ‘it was too beautiful to blow up.’” Aldo beamed.

  “I must admit, after having studied all those travel books over the years and now actually being in this beautiful city, I’m starting to feel at home.”