I, however, was too upset to even protest. Decline. To. Prosecute. The demon from hell who called himself my father. They were letting him go.
29
“What the fuck happened?” Eric demanded. “We practically gift-wrapped that indictment for them. The man is conspiring to produce and sell fucking nuclear weapons to an enemy of the state. How in the fuck doesn’t that put him away for life? The attorney general should be salivating over this shit.”
“The short?” Zola asked. “Look, you know as well as I do that the current administration is basically in Carson’s pockets. We’ve talked about this. A pardon was always a possibility. Now it’s just…a reality, I guess.”
I stared at my wine, watching the liquid dribble down the side of the bowl. Fucking fuck. Eric was right. John Carson was a monster. We had proved it how many different ways? But no one fucking cared.
“We should take it to the press,” Eric was saying. “I’ll give an interview to the Times. Try his ass in the court of public opinion. Isn’t that how they got that campaign manager indicted in 2017? Where’s the fucking accountability?”
I winced at the bitterness in his voice. Yeah, I felt that shit too.
“I’d wait on that for a minute,” Zola said. “There’s another way to go. One that won’t give away your hand.”
“Like murder?” Eric muttered.
I elbowed him in the ribs. Thankfully, Zola just looked bemused.
“Kidding,” Eric said. “Sort of.”
“Look, maybe the feds aren’t prosecuting, but the Brooklyn DA sure as hell is,” Zola continued. “He’s interested in the state attorney general position. Booking one of the biggest white-collar criminals of this century will go a long way with voters.”
“Ramirez for sure wants to prosecute?” I asked. We’d talked about this before, but Zola’s boss had been waiting to see what the DOJ wanted to do. Juan Ramirez was known as an honest DA, as far as they went in New York City. But that didn’t mean he would necessarily take on the federal government.
“He’s keeping it close to the chest, but yeah, he does,” Zola said. “Only one other guy in my bureau is on the case, and we’re working in conjunction with the Manhattan DA. No one else knows. But yeah, after the way your arrest embarrassed the Manhattan DA, he’s as eager as Ramirez to lock the motherfucker up.” Zola took a sip of wine. “It might not surprise you to know that this isn’t the first time John Carson has evaded arrest in New York. Juan is pretty keen to put him in his place.”
“Because kidnapping, murder, illegal arms dealing, and treason aren’t enough, right?” I commented.
“So what needs to happen?” Eric asked. “What are you waiting for?”
“If he’s not in the city, they don’t have jurisdiction,” I said. “And if the feds don’t care, there is no way to arrest.”
My fingers itched to draw. I really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Talking about my father took me back to Korea, which inevitably took me back to the dark place. As if he knew what I was thinking, Eric captured my hand in his and held it securely in his lap.
“Look,” Zola said. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’ve already presented to a grand jury. The second John Carson enters NYPD jurisdiction, he’ll be indicted. It’s just a matter of getting him here.”
“I see.” I took a long sip of wine. It really was good. “So what you’re saying is, you need a trap.”
Zola nodded. “I suppose we do.”
We sat there, the three of us, ruminating. Eric kept fidgeting, tipping his head back and forth like a bobble head figure and glancing at me again and again.
“Oh my God,” I said finally. “Zola can hear you thinking across the damn room. Just say whatever’s on your mind.”
Eric inhaled uneasily. “You’re not going to like this.”
I sighed. “Just spit it out, Petri dish.”
That dark look reappeared. “Jane.”
But I wasn’t having it. “Eric.”
He glared at me, then exhaled a deep breath. “Janus.”
I blinked again, adjusting my glasses while the word sank in. And when it did, it was like a bomb. “Janus? As in the secret society full of members who want to kill you? Are you serious right now?”
“Well, it was just Jude and Carson, but I know. I know. Carson’s not just going to saunter into New York and turn himself in, though. He’ll only come if he thinks he’s safe and for something legitimately important. For instance, if I mounted a challenge.”
“A challenge?” Zola asked.
Eric quickly reminded Zola about the de Vries family’s history as Caesars. “Theoretically, I have a right to the position. Now, consider this: Carson gets half his power just from being able to manage the members of Janus. He’s probably the only one who even knows who they all are. But I can’t be the only one he’s targeted over the years. I think if I challenge his power, there will be support. People will show up, especially the ones who supported my dad. But Carson will defend his position, considering everything he did to get it. So, he shows up. Bam, arrest the fucker.”
“Won’t you…” I trailed off, toying with my wine stem. “First of all, won’t you get in trouble with the members for staging a meeting just to share it with the cops? Last I checked, secret societies kind of frown on their centuries-old covers being blown. And second of all, don’t you have to meet in New Haven? That’s still out of jurisdiction.”
Eric shrugged. “The Janus society has used different meeting places for decades. Portas is hardly the only one. It’s just one of the oldest. And Jude liked the bedrooms.”
I made a face. Eric had filled me in before about Jude’s “contributions.”
“That’s so gross. Can you have him arrested too for sex trafficking?”
“We’re working on it,” Zola said dryly. Clearly it wasn’t going very well either.
I deflated even more. Eric still wouldn’t release my other hand. “There are a few meeting sites in New York. One is even under the St. Mark’s Graveyard. Where my family is buried.”
I stared at him. “This society is really morbid.”
“They usually are,” Eric replied.
Zola just waited.
“I don’t like it,” I said finally. “It seems dangerous. Going to ground like you’re warrior bunnies in Watership Down. It’ll be you against all of them. What if you’re branded a traitor? What if you’re stuck in an underground dungeon and you can’t communicate with anyone?” I shook my head. “No, no, no. That’s not going to work for me. I’m not interested in anyone else in this family being taken prisoner by this draconian nightmare who donated half my genes.”
“But—”
“No.” My voice shook, but I turned to face Eric. He needed to know I meant what I said. “He’ll know what you’re doing. He’s thought one step ahead of you this whole time. Eric, he will know.”
Eric looked like he wanted to argue with me. Well, he could try all he wanted. I was never going to be okay with him setting a trap for a big bad wolf without any way of calling for backup.
Before he could say anything at all, another loud buzz interrupted us. Eric pressed his lips into a thin line, then rose to answer.
“We’re not done,” he informed me.
I raised my glass to toast the pending clash.
He just rolled his eyes and pressed the intercom button. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Gardner is here,” Tony said.
“Oh?”
Eric and I traded frowns. Nina had been visiting me a lot, but never at this time of night.
“Sure,” Eric said. “Send her up.”
A few moments later, Nina opened the door, shaking rain off her sleek shoulders.
“Hello, hello, I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening,” she blustered, tossing a thick binder on the foyer table so she could properly remove her Burberry coat. “I’m a bit desperate, and I needed to see Jane immediately. I—oh!” When she turned around, it was as if Nina had run smack into an
imaginary post. “Matthew,” she breathed, looking for all the world like she’d seen a ghost.
For his part, Zola looked like he had just been hit across the face. Hard. His pale olive skin was completely flushed.
“Nina,” he breathed.
Well, well, well. What did we have here?
Eric glanced between Nina and Zola as he hung Nina’s coat. “You two know each other?”
Nina recovered her placid expression, smoothed her tasteful gabardine shift dress, then retrieved the binder from the entry table. “We’ve met,” she said smoothly and made her way across the room. “Calvin made a donation to Juan Ramirez’s campaign last year. It was at the fundraiser, wasn’t it, Matthew?”
Zola seemed far too interested in her legs to answer.
Eric raised a brow, but went to the kitchen to get Nina a glass of wine. My expression probably mimicked his. I had known Matthew Zola since, well, since he had become friends with Skylar and Brandon, way back when. Not once had I heard a single soul refer to him as Matthew.
Zola cleared his throat. “Oh. Yeah, um, yes. Yes, that was probably it. Good to see you again, doll.”
The harmless moniker hung in the air like a bell that had just been rung. Now it was Nina’s turn to blush. Well, hell’s bells, then. Someone had a bit of a crush on our handsome Italian lawman.
Eric returned with Nina’s wine and shot me a curious look as his cousin turned the most peculiar shade of pink from head to toe. I shook my head minutely. It would have to wait.
Nina accepted her wine glass gratefully and took a very long drink. Several seconds later, she cleared her throat. “Ah, yes. Yes, it’s nice to see you too, Matthew.” She blinked, like she was only just remembering where she was. “Actually, Jane, this isn’t purely a social visit. I have a dreadful favor to ask you.”
She joined me on the couch and dropped her giant binder in the middle of the coffee table. Eric scowled, clearly unhappy with being usurped. I blew him a kiss. The left side of his lips quirked deliciously before he grabbed the other chair next to Zola.
“What is this?” I asked as Nina opened the binder.
“It’s some of the materials that Grandmother put together when she was helping plan the Met Gala,” she said. “She was on the board of the Costume Institute. I assumed you knew that.”
Now I was the one changing colors: about five different shades of white. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold the phone complete with a Tiffany’s dialer. Did you just say Celeste was helping to plan the Met Gala?”
Nina nodded, now paging through the materials. “Yes, that’s right. Grandmother worked on the committee every year. She helped plan the theme, the exhibit, all of it. Obviously it’s Cora Spring’s baby, but Grandmother had her fingers in everything. After all, it wasn’t really possible without her money.”
I blinked. During her final months, Celeste and I had enjoyed the Costume Institute plenty of times on our frequent sojourns to the Met, but she had never mentioned that she was involved in it. Now that I thought about it, though, she had been as knowledgeable about that part of the museum as any docent.
“Nina,” Eric said. “Look, I get that this is a big deal, but we were kind of in the middle—”
“Shhhhhh, Petri, take a Xanax, all right?” I cut him off immediately. “No one delays the Met Gala.”
Both Eric and Zola just stared at me like I’d told them to jump off a cliff.
“The Met Gala,” I repeated. When neither of them answered, I started to sputter. “Eric! Come on, I would have expected better from you, at least. The Met Gala. First Monday in May. Fashion prom. It’s the giant fundraiser of the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum, overseen by the editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine. One of the most exclusive tickets on the planet, and something you do not say no to. Ever!”
By the time I was finished with my rant, Eric at least looked more in the know, although Zola certainly didn’t. He peered at Nina, who seemed to be looking at everything else but him.
I threw a pillow at Eric, who calmly batted it to the floor. “Amateurs,” I muttered before turning to Nina. “Okay, so what’s up?”
“It’s awful, just awful. I took over Grandmother’s seat on the committee, of course. There wasn’t time for them to find someone else. I had intended to give it to you—I think that’s what she wanted, since the two of you spent so much time at the institute in her last days, and to be honest, I don’t really know much about fashion beyond the houses I like myself. But you and Eric had so many…challenges…over the past few months, I thought it best to do it myself this year. Except I’m absolutely all wrong for it!”
“Wrong for what, Nina?” Eric wondered.
Nina flipped open the binder to a large picture: a black-and-white photo of a man about to break his guitar, over the words London Calling. “Wrong for this. I can’t help organize a party around this theme. I know absolutely nothing about it.”
“Oh my merry Mick Jones,” I breathed as I stared at the cover of my favorite album of all time. “You have got to be kidding. Have I died and gone to heaven?”
“What?” Eric asked.
“Is that The Clash?” Zola said. “Hey, I like that song.”
“It’s the theme,” I said with a grin. “They choose one every year for the exhibit and the gala itself, and this year it’s ‘London Calling.’ Cora Spring and the Metropolitan Museum are using The freaking Clash as their inspiration!”
“Which is why I don’t know what I’m doing!” Nina burst out.
Zola reached across the coffee table like he wanted to take her hand, but then, as if he realized they weren’t alone, pulled it back again. I watched the moment, then mouthed “wow” at Eric before turning back to the binder. He hid a smile behind his vodka.
“So you see,” Nina was saying, “you have to take my spot, Jane.”
My head sprang up so fast I was basically a Jack-in-the-Box. “Come again now?”
Nina pushed the binder toward me. “Cora is absolutely sick of me, but if we don’t do this, the family loses its seat on the committee. Which we do not want. Grandmother would turn in her grave, believe me. I know you’ve been busy, but—”
“She hasn’t,” Eric put in, ignoring my immediate glare. “Not one damn bit. Unless you count the mountains of outfits she’s been designing.”
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Monopoly. How would you know what I’ve been doing all day?” I shot back.
“Want me to show them your sketches?”
I flushed. Not that I wasn’t proud of my design work, but showing them to someone like Nina was another thing completely.
Nina, however, ignored Eric’s and my little spat. “So you’ll do it?”
Suddenly every eye in the room was on me. I swallowed thickly. “Just to be clear, you are asking me to help the editor of the world’s most prestigious fashion magazine and a bunch of the other most stylish people in the world plan the world’s most exclusive fashion event?”
Without a flinch, Nina nodded. “Please, please, please. I look like a fool.”
“Well, I only have one question,” I said slowly, fingering my wine glass again. “Do I get to go too?”
“Oh, of course! You and Eric are already on the guestlist. Heather and Mother too. Didn’t I tell you? The family always has a table.”
“Ah, no!” I practically jumped out of my seat. “You most certainly did not!” And then I proceeded to scream with the kind of joy I usually reserved for Skylar.
Nina grinned, maybe a little too widely, but took my frantic hugs good-naturedly. When I finally released her, I found Eric grinning ear to ear as he watched.
“You look way too happy about this for a man who just committed his wife to a massive time commitment for the next three months,” I said as I returned to my seat. “First Monday in May is right around the corner.”
“So it is,” Eric said, “which also gives me an idea.” He tapped a pen on the table. “Maybe…we don’t need a secret lair to trap the big fish
. Maybe we just need a really exclusive event. And the right date to toss out a lure?”
“Uh-oh. Someone is going Scooby-Doo on us,” I said to Nina. “Who do you think is under the mask, Fred?”
Nina, unfortunately, just looked confused. Dammit. I was going to have to teach this girl my jokes.
Zola snorted. “Who are you thinking?” he asked, clearly following Eric’s logic. “We’ve tried the Jane card before. Yu-na too. He’s not biting.”
“No,” Eric said. “But we haven’t tried my mother.”
30
I awoke that morning like I had every morning for weeks now—as if I had been out for a month, not just a night. Eric and I had fallen asleep in the middle of the alpaca rug in the living room again, a wool blanket thrown over our naked bodies. We’d destroyed at least one pillow the night before, and possibly ruined a throw blanket with candles. Gingerly, I touched a small burn on my wrist. Wax play wasn’t for the weak of heart.
Catharsis.
Eric’s one-word call to action over the last several months. His mission, for both of us.
The demons that Eric and I had needed to be appeased, and every night that’s what we did. For his part, Eric was more, ah, creative than he had ever been, more than willing to indulge those random moments when one of us needed things to be a little harsher than before.
But it wasn’t just that bittersweet purging that continued to heal us through the spring. It was also the renewed sense of purpose we both gained as the weeks passed—Eric in finally taking full control over his family’s generations-built company. Me, strangely, at the Met, where I had found the people I’d never known I needed.
Cora Spring, editor in chief.
Art Nguyen, head curator.
A whole table full of connoisseurs, donors, designers, planners—all of them people who lived and breathed fashion. They fervently embraced the passion I’d always told myself was just a hobby, despite the fact that it was where my heart had been my entire life. For the first time in years, I went to my “work” with excitement, not just duty. And now, as the big day approached, I was dreading that it was going to end.
The Love Trap (Quicksilver Book 3) Page 29