“Thank you, Mr. De L– Francis.” Adam extended his hand for a closing shake, but Francis shifted around his outstretched arm to move to the window.
“There was something that I had hoped to discuss with you, actually. Somewhat of a favor.”
“Sure. Of course. You’ve been very kind to me these past couple days.” Adam nodded, lowering his hand as he spoke. He took a few steps to follow Francis to the window; it was apparently his favorite spot to converse.
Francis gazed out at the town below as if he didn’t already have every building in the skyline memorized.
“Yes. I admit, I’ve taken a special interest in you. I see bright things in your future, Adam. Once this tragedy is behind you, I know you will go on to great things. I’d like to be a part of that. Tell me, Adam, do you have children?” Adam shook his head.
“No? That’s a shame. Children are the way we pass on what we are. Our talents, our knowledge, our blood. My daughter–” Something in Francis’ voice faltered– “Was taken with a different philosophy. But you and I, Adam, we are cut from the same cloth. I could make introductions... Help guide you.”
“All due respect, Mr. De La Poer,” Adam emphasized the last name to show his intent. “I just need to find my wife. We can talk about business as much as you want afterwards.” Francis turned around, his elbows by his sides with his palms raised.
“This is... Awkward. I’ve instructed my staff not to bring it up, but I feel as though I must. Naturally, it’s related to my hope of our work together. Out of respect, I had insisted that we take care of your wife’s bill, given the tragedy that has befallen your family. But Adam, that was close to two weeks ago, and she had stayed here for some time before that. Look, I’ve got a rather large group coming to stay this weekend, and your card was declined.”
Adam turned beet red. The bender he’d fallen into when he had found out his wife was missing had been charged to his one and only card. And while Susan had constantly funded his business enterprises, he expected that most of the money had been coming from her family. The two of them together were usually close to broke, but his finances in particular had been a mess since his window business had collapsed.
“Now, a man as intelligent as you doesn’t need to fret over a thing like that. I was just speaking with my colleague Ms. Moore,” Francis gestured to the door where she had recently exited, “And I’d like to offer you a deal. I can take care of your bills here, in exchange for just a fraction of your time while you look for your wife.”
Adam hesitated. For all the times he had been laughed out of loan offices, humiliated by Susan’s parents, and even heard doubt from his wife, no one had ever expressed the brazen, forceful confidence in him that Francis had. Perhaps misinterpreting Adam’s silence, Francis continued.
“Of course, there would also be a stipend. A thousand dollars a week, for expenses and your time.”
Adam audibly gasped. The opportunity to see the inside of an operation like Francis’ and to make a considerable sum seemed almost too good to be true. He started to shake his head with sudden shame. It felt like charity. Francis must be taking pity on him, given the absence of his wife.
Upon seeing the glint of those green eyes, the thought was driven from his mind. They were open, hungry, like he wanted his own eyes to look. The crispness of the knot of Francis’ tie showed the kind of discipline that Adam’s mother had always extolled, and the watch on his wrist glimmered in the sunlight, shining brightly in Adam’s eyes. His answer was simple, but did little to conceal his eagerness.
“Yes.” Adam stated. The two of them clasped hands, and Francis De La Poer smiled.
Chapter Seven
Lunchtime at the bar in the Tower was surprisingly busy. The fourth floor, where Adam had spent the morning, made a habit of coming down at half past one to avoid a the main rush. And if this later crowd was any indication, the crowd at noon must have been packed like sardines.
It was his kind of crowd. They casually threw out the names of some of the highest figures in finance and real estate between sips of wine or cocktails. Adam sat between Alisha, who seemed above even the handful of CEOs of the various companies in the floors above, and a very young woman named Regina. She was distant, standoffish. Adam hadn’t been able to gather much about her aside from the fact that she clearly thought she was above everyone else at the bar. Regina had ordered no food, but sipped lightly at a glass of white wine.
Alisha, on the other hand, was scarfing down oysters in a volume so alarming that Adam wondered where she was hiding them in her petite frame.
“Regina is one of the tenants here,” Alisha began, gesturing toward the young woman. “She also invests in some of the finance and real estate funds. She’s something of Francis’ successor in their little non-pro.”
Adam was surprised. He didn’t know if he was more amazed by the cavalier familiarity she said his first name with now that he was no longer present, or the fact that a man like Francis had gotten his start in a non-profit. He decided it was the latter.
“Francis used to run a non-profit?” He tried to keep the full measure of surprise from his voice, but judging from Alisha’s light chuckle he had failed.
“Three-Roads,” She nodded at Regina, who responded with a scowl. “Some kind of educational and scholarship program or some such.” Regina nodded.
“We help working adults in the business sphere learn the fundamentals they’ll need to rise above their current circumstances.” Regina said by way of explanation. “We being myself, Lydia,” with that she gestured at a younger blond woman sitting at a table some distance away, “and several others in the Tower.” Adam was still amazed.
“But Francis seemed so…” he faltered, unable or unwilling to find the words.
“Cannibalistic?” Regina asked, in a mocking tone.
Adam shook his head. Whatever he had been meaning to say, it certainly wasn’t that.
“I wasn’t going to say that!” Adam barked out, feeling obligated to jump to the defense of a man who had shown him such kindness recently. “Mr. De La Poer is a savvy businessman. Given his current stature in the private sector, it was surprising, that’s all.” His tone held a note of finality.
Alisha either chose to ignore the hint, or was a bit too deep in her Manhattans to care.
“Francis had his own investments, of course, before the funds. And being a CEO of a 501(c) can be a lot more profitable than you’d think.” She said with a knowing glance at Regina. “In fact-”
“Regina! Alisha! You simply must introduce me.” A voice interrupted. Adam gazed up at the newcomer; she was incredibly familiar. She had thick red hair and struck an elegant figure in a simple green dress, devoid of any frills. Her jewelry was likewise simple and graceful: a pair of flashing emerald earrings to match her blazing eyes and an engagement ring made up of a ruby solitaire in a platinum band. Her eyes were locked onto Adam’s.
“Of course.” Alisha shot up from her chair, racing to be ahead of Regina. She gestured down at the table. “Esmeralda, this is Adam. Adam, this is Esmeralda.” Adam reached out his hand to shake hers, suddenly feeling clumsy and overly modern.
“Adam. Charmed”. She murmured warmly. Adam could’ve sworn he had met her before, though he couldn’t recall where. But he knew her; her voice, her eyes. Even the ruby ring that sparkled on her hand.
“It’s a pleasure.” He managed to force the words past his thoughts.
“Your husband seems to have taken a shine to our young Adam here,” Regina mentioned. Adam thought she sounded bitter about it.
“Oh, that Adam! Yes, I am glad to meet you. My Francis does seem to have quite the soft spot for you.” She made a gesture toward the figure haunting the bar, who disappeared as if on command.
Adam had absolutely no idea how to respond. Esmeralda made him feel like his clothes didn’t fit anymore, or like he was the clumsiest man on earth. It wasn’t only her grace that was off-putting to Adam. It was something else, somethin
g in her manner. An aggressiveness that put Adam on edge. He had spent the whole morning with Alisha and Regina, both of whom had more than proven their assertiveness, so he couldn’t simply attribute it to Esmeralda’s station. It was something in his gut whispering a warning.
“It’s a pleasure,” Adam flushed, realizing he had repeated himself. It was possible he had never felt more out of place.
The man behind the bar suddenly reappeared, carrying a chair which he set down at the three-top table where they had been sitting.
“I understand you’re going to be working much more closely with my husband. How is that going?” She asked absently. Adam hesitated, then fell into rambling.
“Well, I got to do a round of introductions. We started with Vasigo Capital, and I got to meet Joe Vasigo and the other guys.” Adam kept going, seemingly unencumbered by all the names he didn’t know, but was marginally impressed with himself at all the names he actually recalled. Through all of it he watched Esmeralda’s flat green eyes, hard as the facets of an emerald.
“Well, your head must be absolutely swimming,” Esmeralda said, crossing her arms. Something dark glinted on her expression. “What does he have you working on?”
“Francis asked me to work with him,” Adam began, suddenly faltering. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. “Uh.” Esmeralda’s eyes laughed.
“Don’t fret little fly. Francis is like that. After all these years, even I don’t think I understand him half the time.” She smiled a tight smile over her glass, which she raised in a salute to Adam. He couldn’t help but feel as though she was having a private joke at his expense.
Chapter Eight
Adam returned to his room and flopped down on the bed. His head was teeming with passing thoughts. The business men and women of the Tower kept him on edge. Every question and conversation felt like a struggle. He was incredibly embarrassed that he still had no clue what Francis expected of him. In any other situation he might have been inclined to dally in the meantime, but Francis had really seemed to see something in him.
Still, he supposed first days were all about introductions and easing into the transition. He would endeavor to work ferociously the following day to banish any doubt in is co workers over his own abilities. For now, the pressing business of the morning loomed.
Adam stretched out his hand to the phone on the nightstand, now more confident than he had been even just a few hours before.
The phone rang briefly, before the same secretary answered.
“Slendervale Police Department–”
“I need to speak with Detective Caputo, please,” Adam cut her off before her emergency spiel.
“One moment.” She replied, voice taut with annoyance.
The phone rang twice.
“Detective Caputo, Missing Persons.” Adam exhaled slowly before he began.
“Detective Caputo, this is Adam Church. I have new information that might relate to the disappearance of my wife.”
Caputo snorted as Adam explained that he had gone to the Tower in an effort to discover more than the police, but grew silent and more attentive when he described the events of the previous day. When he got to the package that was left on his doorstep he could almost hear the wheels turning in Caputo’s mind.
“Tell me you didn’t open it,” Caputo interrupted.
“I did. There was no reason to expect it was important,” Adam said defensively. “Inside was a shirt, which I believe belonged to my wife. I think it’s been stained with blood.”
“Well, it’s probably all contaminated to shit now. Fuck.” Adam winced. If he had known it could have hurt the investigation, he never would have opened the box. “Tell you what, you staying there for a minute?”
Adam indicated that he had planned to.
“Right. I can come pick it up for us this evening. We’ll take a look at those bloodstains of yours and see if we can get anything from them.”
Adam expressed his gratitude to Caputo before they disconnected. The detective seemed somewhat taken aback by it, considering his previous encounters with Adam.
He returned the phone to the receiver energetically before striding across the room to the minibar. He would be glad to see what fiendish secrets might be uncovered under Caputo’s trained eye. He paused a moment, thoughtful. Why had Caputo asked to meet at the Tower? Why not set an appointment at the police station?
Something more pressing shoved aside his other thoughts. Adam wondered and what he would say, were Susan to be returned to him so soon. A bouquet of emotion stirred up within him. Concern, anger, shame swirled around in his mind; shame being predominant amongst them. He would apologize, he resolved. He would apologize for his behavior, his moods, his seemingly endless list of failures as a man. He would apologize for his egregious error as a husband.
And Susan– his poor Susan, who was no doubt being held by some amateur kidnappers hoping to score big– she would be shaken, but would no doubt return to him now that this terrible ordeal was over. She would take him back without question and return to her writing. Not the piece about the Tower, naturally. Adam was certain he could convince her of Francis’ noble spirit.
Adam poured one of the miniature bottles of liquor into an upturned glass on the desk. He was feeling elated, almost triumphant, at having cracked the case wide open in little more than a few days. He congratulated himself heartily, dreaming of remarkable scenario after remarkable scenario.
As he turned away from the mini fridge, something jostled; the notebook he had tucked into his pocket. Susan’s notebook. Adam brought it out, examining the wrinkled yellow legal paper in the dim light of his desk lamp. He could have opened the curtains, but those heavy hotel drapes were always a hassle to open and close.
He flipped through the first few pages and barely skimmed the writing, but hesitated when he got to Regina’s name. It sat at the top of a page next to Esmeralda, with multiple questions marks at the end of each. Beyond that was some kind of organizational chart, listing Lydia and one ‘Madam Ubasa’s names on the second tier, followed by several others.
There wasn’t much else. Adam had never really looked into Susan’s work before, but he knew she was usually more organized than this. Something toward the last of the written pages gave him pause as he flipped back over it: a name, Varro. And a room number, 1625. Something about it was off. He flipped to the front of the pad.
There they were, names and room numbers. For some reason this one was separate. Not only that, it was separated by a few blank pages from the hierarchy chart for Three Roads, Regina’s non-profit. Adam flipped back, a serpent stirring within his veins. Something about it was definitely off. He ripped it out of the pad with an angry jerk, and flipped back to the front.
Adam’s vision turned red. The handwriting was different. He compared the wobbly O from Varro to the perfect, careful O in De La Poer. It was obviously penned in a different hand. Adam could only think of a few reasons why that might be, and none of them jibed with his previous sense of joy.
He threw back the rest of his drink, slamming the glass onto the desk with a thump. It was time to pay this Varro a visit.
Adam’s rapid steps carried him toward the elevator, quickened by his anger. He didn’t encounter a single soul in the hallway. He jabbed his finger impatiently against the button to call the elevator. The doors chimed open, and Adam strode inside with a few long paces.
It was at that moment that Bartholomew the bellhop rounded the corner, wheeling his customary steel cart. Adam pressed the ‘close door’ button repeatedly. He couldn’t handle sharing an elevator with that creep, not now.
Gray, discolored fingernails clutched at the edge of one of the elevator doors, just preventing them from closing. Adam stared at the nails, chipped and long like those of a half-rotted corpse. Soon the dirty black elbow of Bartholomew’s suit was pressed against the steel door as well, preceding his entry into the elevator.
He started wheeling the cart in backward, casting a
slimy shadow over Adam. Peeking behind him to check his clearance, he nodded to Adam, not startled in the least. “My apologies sir. I didn’t know there was anyone in here. On my way up to the seventh floor, a young couple on vacation needed their bags brought down.” He smiled his plaque-ridden grin as he whispered ‘vacation’ in his customary unsettling tone.
That was all Adam needed before reason was shaken from him with the thrumming of his thick blood. He planted himself in the center of the elevator, firmly denying Bartholomew the space he needed. Realizing that the two of them would no longer fit, the bellhop pushed his cart out of the elevator at a leisurely pace. Vacation. The effect of the words enraged him like the words of some black magick spell.
The elevator doors closed and the steel cage seemed to constrict around Adam. He ripped open his top button with such ferocity he would have expected it to come off had he the presence of mind to think about it. The elevator seemed to make it harder to breathe, something he was now doing increasingly faster. The short quick breaths only served to stoke the fire in his core, an inferno growing so large that it was threatening to consume him.
The elevator rose steadily, Adam’s anger following close behind. The doors opened on the sixteenth floor. Adam fumed wordlessly, the grinding of his teeth echoing weirdly as he exited into the hall. He turned a corner sharply, almost running into a maid.
“Move!” He growled, surprised by his own ferociousness. The maid flinched away from him, pressing her back to the wall.
Adam strode past her, whipped into such a fury that he had to physically slow himself down to count the room numbers. 1621. 1623. 1625. Adam hammered on the door with the edge of a closed fist. The banging echoed weirdly throughout the hallway.
He could hear a surprised grunt from inside the room, followed by a scramble. Adam knocked again, more intensely. There was a rational voice, quiet against the cyclone of his temper, that told him he had no plan or any idea what he was doing. Adam drowned that voice in the gasoline that pumped through his skull.
Heritage (The Slendervale Series Book 2) Page 5