David filled me in on the way to the York Estate.
“When you didn’t show up to help Jorjana get dressed, darling, she was frantic! Your phone was off which is so unlike you. Jorjana called me, of course, and I went by your office and then to your house but you were nowhere! Then I spotted the Porsche in the parking lot at Ralph’s and that’s when we knew something was terribly wrong but the police were no help, of course, since you hadn’t been gone long enough to file a missing person’s report so Jorjana called Stan and he pulled some strings and managed to get you labeled missing anyway, not that the police were doing anything to help but then Stan and Rusty pulled the security video from your house and that was when the police finally…”
I nodded off about then. Perhaps knowing that Stan Sanchez who was my ex-lover and Rusty, who was the head of Jorjana’s security had joined forces gave me some assurance that the missing hours of my life would be pieced together and explained soon enough. I woke up when the car stopped under the porte-cochere at the York Estate.
Jorjana sat in her wheelchair just outside the front door. Her hands were folded on her lap and her knuckles were white from the grasp. She attempted a smile. Her eyes were filled with tears.
By her side stood Dr. Coshow- a tall woman with dark hair and a soothing manner. She helped me out of the car and held my hand.
“Let’s go upstairs and let me take care of you,” she said.
I stopped long enough to kiss Jorjana’s cheek. That was all I could manage. I needed the rest of my energy to endure another exam.
Dr. Coshow took me by the hand and led me inside. The entry hall of the York Estate is a circular space, two stories high and covered in enough gold paint to support its own currency.
A nurse turned Jorjana’s wheelchair around and they followed us. We passed through the first floor of the house, which are the public areas used for entertaining. In the distance, I heard a voice talking loudly in the library-Franklin York, Jorjana’s husband. We made our way to the elevator and within moments we were on the second floor.
The second floor of the York Estate contains the private quarters. Franklin York has his suite at one end and Jorjana has hers at the other. The middle rooms are guest suites, including one just for me. The security office and a physical therapy room for Jorjana make up the rest of the floor plan.
Dr. Coshow took me into the small room adjacent to the physical therapy space. She closed the door and had me sit on an exam table. She looked me straight in the eye and never let go of my hands.
“Jorjana told me what happened. You don’t have to rehash it. How do you feel?”
“I have a headache. I feel like a bee stung my hip. I’m having trouble unconcentrating. I’m terrified that I was raped and I don’t remember any of it.”
The last part came out with a sob as I fought to hold back tears.
“They didn’t tell you anything after the exam at the hospital?”
I shook my head.
“I am not going to redo that whole horrible rape protocol ordeal. I may be able to give you some reassurance with a vaginal exam. Are you up for that?”
I nodded.
“Were you given any other physical exam while you were there?”
“No but they were pretty thorough examining every orifice in my body.”
“But no other parts of your body?”
“No.”
Dr. Coshow frowned and then corrected herself with a smile.
“OK. If you don’t mind undressing again, let’s see if we can get some answers to put your mind at ease.”
This time I felt tended to with care. Dr. Coshow turned her back and fussed with her medical bag as I undressed. Then she examined all the parts of me that had been under scrutiny earlier but did it gently and explained what she was looking for. Then she had me stand as she walked all the way around me like I was a marble statue in an art gallery.
She shone a light into my eyes. She took several pictures of my hip with an iPad. Then she handed me a warm blanket to wrap myself in while she drew a vial of blood. Then she told me to get dressed.
I’ve been her patient for years, so she knows me well enough to know what I can handle and what I cannot. She also knows who is on my list as next of kin.
“I have some answers for you. What do you think about bringing Jorjana in to hear what I have to say?”
A minute later, Jorjana was next to me, holding my hand.
“I don’t think you were raped, Alana,” Dr. Coshow said. “Nothing in my exam leads me to suspect recent sexual activity. So put your mind to rest with that.”
My mind, my adrenaline and my heartbeat slowed down so fast, I almost passed out. I hadn’t realized how worried I was until I learned I didn’t have to be.
“I found significant puncture wounds. One above your left hip and several more around your rib cage. Someone injected you with something. Do you have any idea how that happened?”
I thought. It seemed like I had to think back years and it felt like it took a long time. But then I remembered the woman who ran into me from behind. And yelping because something hurt. I remembered thinking at the time that the pain came from the sharp edges of her cheap handbag. I remembered that she stashed something into that bag. I told Dr. Coshow this.
“It’s likely that she stuck you with a needle when she ran into you,” Dr. Coshow said. “From what you’ve told me, I suspect Ketamine. It is used often in date rape. Victims appear awake but they are very susceptible to suggestions and rarely remember what happened. I am going to send your blood sample to the lab for tests. From the puncture wounds, it looks like you were injected several times. That explains why you have no recollection of the last twenty-four hours.”
“Why would…”
I started to ask why anyone would do this before remembering my bank account. Or lack thereof.
The fear of rape had taken all of my focus since the nice female cop talked to me in the ambulance. Shock, confusion and all the horrible scenarios that came along with the possibility of sexual violence knocked everything else out of my mind.
Now that threat was gone, I faced a brand new horror- the possibility of being broke. I could think of twelve million reasons why someone would want to drug me. And all of them had to do with my empty bank account.
And then I remembered telling Richard what I saw on my computer screen in the strange house. As I stood over a dead guy. And Richard telling me that he had a ‘guy’.
“Jorjana, I need to see Richard,” I said. “Do you know where he is?”
“I spoke with him just moments ago. He is on his way here as we speak,” Jorjana said. “He has someone he wishes to introduce to you, Alana. Do you feel up to a meeting? Perhaps you would prefer a rest beforehand?”
“How long before Richard gets here?” I asked.
“He expects to arrive within the hour but…”
I was out the door before she finished. There was time for a shower.
I would rest when my money was safely back in the bank.
Chapter Seven
I have my own suite at the York Estate that consists of a bedroom, a sitting area with a fireplace, a bathroom with a claw-foot tub and separate steam shower and a dressing room full of my clothes.
There are many reasons why I have the suite. Occasionally I recuperate from the flu under the watchful eye of one of Jorjana’s nurses. Once I holed up for a month during the course of my divorce. Often I stay the night after a party. I always tell myself that it is just more convenient to stay over than to drive the five minutes to my own home. I usually believe myself.
Jorjana wheeled herself into my bathroom before the water in the shower got hot. I have to admit, I was glad of her company even though she didn’t say a word as I stood under the flowing water with steam swirling around me. Knowing she was there to keep a lookout gave me the courage to close my eyes as I washed the smell of the ugly house out of my hair. I likely used all the water allotted to the York Estate for the next year.
“I asked the cook to prepare a little something,” Jorjana said. “Please sit. There is time before Richard and his guest arrive.”
A ‘little something’ turned out to be macaroni and cheese; tomato soup; a salad of romaine lettuce, shredded carrots, pickled beets and Thousand Island dressing; watermelon with balsamic vinegar and feta cheese, crusty sourdough bread, and a brownie. All my favorites in one place. I had no idea when she ordered up all that food.
I didn’t think I could eat anything but I took one bite and then I ate like I hadn’t had a meal in a month.
Jorjana watched as I devoured the food. Concern was written all over her face but she kept her silence and let me eat. Jorjana is nothing if not patient. She lost her only child to a freak ski accident when the girl was six. The same accident landed Jorjana in her wheelchair. In the thirty or so years since, Jorjana has cultivated a patience that is almost super human. She would wait for the right moment before asking me what the hell happened.
Not that I had anything to tell. I honestly couldn’t recall any events between my grocery trip to Ralph’s and waking up in the ugly house in Van Nuys. The loss of time was unsettling to say the least. The reassurance from Dr. Coshow that I was not physically violated didn’t calm my nerves as much as I would have liked. No matter how much food I stuffed in my mouth, the sense that I’d lost control of my life would not go away.
It wasn’t until the brownie was gone that Jorjana spoke.
“What is this matter Richard wishes to discuss?” Jorjana asked. “I fear you are not up to a meeting. Surely it can be postponed?”
“I’m better now that I’ve eaten,” I lied. “I don’t think it will take long anyway. But I really need to see him. Why don’t you wait for me upstairs and I’ll be right back?”
Silently I thanked Richard for not letting Jorjana or David know about my missing money. The last thing I needed was explaining why all my money had been stashed in a checking account at the local bank. I was in no mood for the lectures that would follow.
But Jorjana wasn’t going to let me out of her sight. She rang for her nurse.
“Richard has arrived and awaits us in the library,” she said.
I had no idea how she knew that.
Chapter Eight
The York Library is an octagonal-shaped room on the first floor of the house. The space is two stories high with the requisite mahogany paneling and endless stacks of musty books. A massive fireplace dwarfs a seating area of oversized leather chairs and a couch the size of a bed. A desk slightly smaller than a skating rink is where Franklin York conducts his daily business.
It is a beautiful room but it gives me the heebie-jeebies. Every time I enter walk in there it is because I am in trouble. This time was no different.
The library was full of men and none of them looked happy. Franklin York sat at the desk looking for all the world like he smelled something foul.
Richard Lafferty stood by the fireplace holding a file folder that looked like it weighed eighty pounds.
Seated on the couch were Rusty, the head of York Security and another guy that I didn’t know. Both of them stared intently at a laptop computer on the coffee table.
Rounding out the party was David Currie who said nothing, which was akin to pigs flying.
Richard tucked the big file under his arm, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. It occurred to me that Richard’s cold was now the least of my worries.
The nurse settled Jorjana next to David and took her leave. A York security guard closed the glass doors to the room and stood with his back to us. I couldn’t help but notice he carried a gun in a holster, which is normally against all of Jorjana’s rules.
Richard spoke first. His voice carried concern, which bothered me. Usually when something goes wrong, Richard yells.
“This is Jim Schilling. He’s the guy I told you about.” Richard pointed to the guy I didn’t know.
“Why don’t you sit next to him?” Richard suggested.
I did as I was told and Jim Schilling turned the laptop so I could see the screen. It showed a fuzzy black and white image. I recognized it as security footage of the fJimt door to my home. Jim pushed a button as Rusty, the York security chief, supplied the commentary.
“When you didn’t show up yesterday, Mrs. York called David,” Rusty began. “When David found your car in the parking lot at Ralph’s and we knew something was wrong. I went to your house and found the door unlocked. I pulled this footage from your security camera.”
The computer screen showed a video of me approaching the front door. I carried my handbag and a grocery bag and I walked like I’d had a few too many. A man followed me and steadied me as I dug into my bag for my keys. I recognized him as the dead guy. I got the door open and the guy and I went inside.
“This footage is from eleven twenty-seven yesterday morning. You were in the house for about twenty minutes,” Rusty said. He pushed a few buttons and the footage moved ahead. The front door opened and I marched out like I was about to confront a party crasher. Seconds later the guy raced after me, my laptop under his arm.
Rusty stopped the feed.
“Your front door was unlocked and there was a grocery bag sitting on the counter. Nothing was disturbed in the house but your laptop was missing from your office. I asked Mrs. York to call the police but they wouldn’t do anything for forty-eight hours. So she called Stan.”
Stan Sanchez was the cop that had been my plus-one for nearly two years.
“Stan pulled some strings and got a BOLO out for you but we got nowhere. By then it was past five o’clock.”
“That’s the guy who is dead, isn’t it?” I had to clarify. My head was not as clear as I would have liked.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
Force of habit made me look at Richard before answering. He gave me the go ahead sign- an exasperated sigh and a nod.
“I ran into him in Ralph’s. Literally. The place was packed and he stopped suddenly and my cart ran into him. And then some woman ran into me.”
I explained Dr. Coshow’s theory about the Ketamine injection.
“That makes sense,” Jim Schilling said.
He pounded the keys of the laptop and a page showing my account activity popped up. The page indicated that at eleven thirty-eight the previous morning, a transfer of funds was completed.
“After you went into your house you transferred nearly all the money from your bank account to an account in the Cayman Islands,” Jim Schilling said. “People do weird stuff when under the influence of Ketamine. I’ve seen this scam before, Mrs. Fox. This guy targeted you to steal your money.”
Jorjana gasped.
Richard groaned.
David remained silent.
Franklin, ever the practical one, had a question.
“How much money did you have in that account, Alana?”
I told him.
“You kept over twelve million in cash in the bank?” Franklin yelled. “Are you crazy?”
Not crazy. Maybe lazy. Truth was, I liked having a pile of cash available at a moments notice. I liked watching the interest grow. And since the bank was insured I felt my funds were safe. Unlike the stock market which swung too wildly for my taste.
The silence that followed seemed endless. My mind raced with all that I had lost- which was everything.
“Alana, you do have other resources, do you not?” Jorjana asked.
“Yes, I do,” I lied.
“I’m gonna need those account numbers then,” Jim Schilling said. “Have you checked them to see if this guy got that money, too?”
“Uh, no.” That was true enough.
“Alana, darling, you are as white as a ghost.” David was by my side in two steps.
“You must rest,” Jorjana insisted.
“Put your head between your knees, darling, you look like
you are going to faint.”
The fussing went on and on. Franklin launched into a lecture about financial prudence. Jorjana wrung her hands and blinked back tears. Richard blew his nose. David was silent and his silence sounded as loud as a bomb to me. I felt the library walls closing in on me. I had to get out of there.
“Stop it!” I held my hands up. “Just stop! Jim’s here to help me get the money back. Please give me a minute to let him help me.”
To their credit, they all backed off. They didn’t leave the library but they all gathered around Jorjana, which gave me some space.
“Make a list of your other accounts and the passwords.” Jim Schilling slid his laptop onto my lap. A blank screen faced me.
I took a moment as if recalling the passwords. Jorjana, David, Richard and Franklin spoke quietly together. I had no doubts as to what the conversation was about.
After a suitable pause, I typed a message on the laptop and handed it back to Jim Schilling. The message read:
“This was all the money I had in the world. Please get it back. Please don’t tell the others.”
Jim Schilling barely blinked an eye as he read the message.
“This is helpful, Mrs. Fox. Not to worry, we’ll get your money back.”
He returned to pounding the keyboard like it was an annoying fly he was trying to swat. I took a moment to get a better look at the guy.
He was in his mid-sixties. He was of average height with grey hair cut close to his scalp. He stared at the screen with an intensity that I could feel. Yet, I suspected that he was still aware of all the activity going on around him.
Richard broke away from the others and stood next to me.
“Jim is a forensic accountant by trade but now he owns a company that specializes both in personal security and financial fraud,” Richard said. “I called him as soon as I got off the phone with you this morning.”
Jim stopped typing long enough to explain further.
“My guys know how to trace money,” Jim said. “Richard gave us the info we needed to follow the trail. Unfortunately, this guy had almost twenty-four hours head start on us. It looks like the money that you deposited into the Cayman Islands account was split up and sent in different directions. We call that spider-webbing.”
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