“We start with D, M and V, then, hey? And we hope you have licenses for driving. Also, I have peoples who search birthing records. We find you, Aleks Bag-guh-duh-sarian. Maybe you do not like who we find, but we find you.”
• • • • •
CHAPTER 53
“Are you trying to sabotage us, Aleks? Are you one of those people who can’t handle success? Who fail deliberately? What the fuck?”
Aleks was seated in Step’s office in the A/S/B Financial suite. Step was pacing, waving a handful of spreadsheets through the air. He plopped them down angrily on his desk.
“I can’t fucking believe this!”
Aleks was unusually demure. He realized now that he’d been foolish to think he could hide his losses from Step. Losses that had eaten into their cash reserves. Threatened to force A/S/B Financial into bankruptcy. Put them out of business.
“I don’t know what to say, Step. I-I got seduced by the whole dot-com thing. I thought it was a…a…a sure thing.”
“There’s no such thing as a sure thing, Aleks! Christ! This isn’t Stratton Oakmont! This is us! We’re better than that.”
Step placed both hands on his desktop, leaned toward his brother, who cowered like a chastised child.
“All you had to do was stick with the program, Aleks. You got greedy. You’ve always been greedy.”
Aleks knew there was nothing he could say to defend his position. Step was right. Greed had always been his curse. Although, he’d always subscribed to the philosophy that greed isn’t all bad, all the time. There can be some good in greed. It can serve a bigger purpose.
Despite being in the midst of a heated discussion with his brother, he conjured up the image of a suave Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko, his favorite movie character, delivering his famous lines in Wall Street, his favorite movie. “The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed – for lack of a better word – is good. Greed is right. Greed works.”
Of course, Gekko failed miserably in the end.
“…telling me everything, Aleks? Aleks? Earth to Aleks!”
Step was snapping his fingers in front of his unresponsive brother’s nose. The image of Gekko evaporated as Aleks concentrated on Step’s angry eyes.
“Well? Have you told me everything?”
Aleks, of course, hadn’t mentioned the Russian and the half million dollars. Couldn’t bring himself to reveal it at that point.
“How…how bad is it, Binyak?” he asked timidly, almost meekly.
Step was indignant.
“Really? You’re gonna play the Binyak card? Expect me to be sympathetic because you’re my twin brother?”
Aleks looked like a puppy who’d just been scolded for peeing on the floor.
“Not gonna work, Binyak,” Step continued, sarcastically using their pet name. “We’re fucked, Binyak. I’m going to see if I can move some things around. Look into any kind of leverage we may have. But you’ve put A/S/B Financial on the brink of ruin, Binyak. I’m not sure we can pull ourselves out of this.”
Averting his gaze downward, Aleks noticed his shoes needed a shine. Which would have been unacceptable, embarrassing, had he been with a client. He’d always prided himself on having pristine footwear. Connie’s comment on the topic came to mind.
‘Wins always says, Shoes make the man’. I say, ‘Let the man make the shoes…for the woman!’
“What about your father-in-law?” he asked Step abruptly. “Couldn’t we work something out with Wins Stanton?”
Step’s look was sheer astonishment.
“You want me to run back to Wins? With my tail between my legs? Because of your screw up? Do you have any idea what you’re asking, Aleks? Any concept at all?”
Aleks said nothing. Step continued his berating.
“Why would you do something so reckless, Al? And why didn’t you come to me sooner?”
Step plopped the paperwork he’d been holding onto his desk, sat against the front edge, regarded his brother.
“Maybe you need another ‘road trip.’” He waggled his fingers, indicating quotation marks. “Clear your mind. Cleanse your soul. Find yourself.
“While you’re out there, find us a million dollars to right this sinking ship!”
Make that a million and a half, Aleks wordlessly corrected.
He believed his brother was over-dramatizing their situation. In their world of high finance, millions of dollars were made – and lost – transferred hands, daily. One-and-a-half million dollars, while a lot of money, wasn’t that much in the overall scheme of things.
Step knew Aleks was underestimating the damage he’d done.
“Worst case scenario, we file bankruptcy. Close up shop,” the irate brother declared. “We probably lose our licenses. If that happens, we won’t ever be able to trade again. We wind up back at Merrill fucking Lynch. Counting beans!”
No, worst case scenario, the Russian kills me, Aleks thought.
“You liked working at Merrill Lynch,” he muttered.
Step launched himself off the edge of the desk. Aleks cringed.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you even know how much of an asshole you are?” Step scoffed. “Yeah, I liked my job at ML,” he admitted. “I liked working for Wins Stanton, too. But I love working at A/S/B. This is our dream, Aleks. Was our dream. We could lose it all. We could lose everything.”
He swept his arm wide, taking in the entire A/S/B Financial office.
“Don’t talk to me about loss,” Aleks snapped back. “I’ve already lost everything. Remember Jills? The woman I was going to marry? Nothing compares to losing her, Step. Nothing. This isn’t even close.”
Step wasn’t about to let Aleks divert attention away from the issue at hand.
“I’m not saying it is, Aleks. You know I would never say that. But it’s two entirely different things. Changing the focus doesn’t change what we’re dealing with here.”
He studied his brother, wondered where things had gone wrong for him. All Aleks had had to do was stay the course. Schmooze the investors. Apply Step’s system. Had that been too easy? Too mundane for his older twin?
He sat down heavily, put his head in his hands.
“Is it salvageable, Step?” Aleks asked quietly.
Step looked up.
“I don’t know.”
He sat back, sprawled in the seat, his long legs flung out to the sides.
“Whatever happens,” he said, looking Aleks directly in the eyes. “We’ll face it together. We always have.”
Despite the gravity of the situation Aleks took satisfaction in hearing Step utter those words. He’d often questioned his brother’s commitment to A/S/B. It had been Aleks who’d always been the impetus behind the dream. Aleks who’d forced his twin brother to take the plunge when Step was content working for Wins Stanton. True, it had been Step’s plan that helped A/S/B turn the corner. Put them on the slow, steady path to success. After months of struggling. Aleks was the one who’d strayed from that path. Aleks, subscribing to Gordon Gekko’s “greed is good” philosophy, who’d succumbed to his greatest weakness. His Achilles’s heel.
Aleks and his greed had put the Bagdasarian brothers where they found themselves on that Monday evening, September 10th, 2001. In the morning, their lives, like the lives of so many Americans, would be changed forever. And nothing they’d discussed that night before 9/11 would matter.
But not before Fate staged one final gambit to set in motion events that would take the brothers on disparate journeys.
• • • • •
PART IV
STEPAN EMERGES
CHAPTER 54
“Unless you are one persons living two lives, you do not make twin brother up, hey?”
Griggor smiled at the tall stranger as he approached their usual booth in Nadia’s. Where Aleks waited patiently on pins and needles.
“He is real. Also, you are right, Al
eks. About his name. It is starting with ‘S,’ hey? It is Stepan.”
The old Romanian slapped two New York state driver’s licenses on the table.
“My peoples, they are able to make copies of licenses for driving. One for you. One for twin brother. For Stepan.”
The old man slid into the booth, thanked Nadia, who had immediately appeared with a cup of coffee.
“Multumesc.”
“Stepan,” Aleks mumbled. “Aleks and Stepan Bagdasarian. A/S/B Financial.”
Another piece to the puzzle had been fitted into place.
He picked the licenses off the tabletop. First his, then Stepan’s. Examined them. The faces were identical. The information almost identical as well. Different only by first name, ID number and height. Aleks was listed as an inch taller. 6’ 6” to Stepan’s 6’5”.
He felt a pang of aloneness as he studied his twin brother’s picture.
I miss you, Binyak.
“Resemblance, it is uncanny, hey? You could be either one,” Griggor observed.
Aleks continued to stare at his twin brother’s photo.
Step, he thought affectionately.
“You will have duplicate certificates of birthing within week. Copies of social security cards, they take longer, hey?”
Though more familiar with identity theft and creating false IDs, Griggor’s contacts had been able to cut through red tape, circumvent procedures. Expedite matters.
“Thank you, Griggor,” Aleks said meekly. “I…I’m sorry for being such an idiot. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me. For us.”
Griggor accepted the apology graciously.
“You now have addresses you need. Tribeca addresses. They are current. Hathaway. Schuyler Building. I do not think you have any trouble to get in. You are Aleks at one, Stepan at other. No one knows you are not who you say you are, hey?”
The old Romanian hesitated a moment.
“My peoples, they also find one more document with your–…scuzé, with Stepan’s name. License for wedding, hey? Constance Stanton. Connie? She is wife for Stepan.”
The image of a naked Connie lolling seductively on a bed flashed into his mind. Her vivid blue eyes were mischievous. Alive, thankfully, he thought. Before the realization hit him.
Connie wasn’t my wife. Binyak wasn’t having an affair with my wife. She was his wife. That means I was… Connie and I were…
He stared off into space.
Then why would I kill her? And why would I kill Binyak?
Griggor seemed uneasy. A bit ruffled. Which was out of character for the usually stoic Romanian. He cleared his throat.
“There is one thing more,” he said solemnly as he slid two documents across the table. “Two things, hey? Certificates of moarte (death). For your nene. Your baba. Mirlinda Bag-guh-duh-sarian. That is mama, nu? She dies from cancer in one-nine and nine-three. Armend Bag-guh-duh-sarian. He is father? He dies after, also in one-nine and nine-three.”
Aleks waited for Griggor to provide the cause of death for Baba, as well. Was confused that the old man didn’t offer one.
“From?”
Griggor was hesitant, seemed unwilling to share Baba’s fate.
“How did he die, Griggor? What was Baba’s cause of–?”
“It is suicide.”
Aleks gawked at the old Romanian as the information about his parents settled in. He blinked, looked down at the death certificates. He’d already believed Nene and Baba were dead. Now he knew. His parents were dead. His only brother was dead. He was the only one left. He had no family. He was alone.
Oddly, the line from an old nursery rhyme popped into his mind.
The cheese stands alone, he thought.
It was accompanied by a cockney-accented voice.
“I say, ma’ey, the big cheese stands alone, it does!”
He assumed Baba’s suicide had taken place after Nene’s death. Didn’t think the news was all that surprising. Nene had been Baba’s life. And vice versa. Without his beloved Mir, his father would have been lost. Would have had little to live for. He could understand the depths of Baba’s despair. Had felt similar impulses himself. Was feeling them now.
“Which building do you like to visit first, hey?” Griggor interrupted. “Your place? Hathaway?”
Still pondering his loss of family, Aleks answered the old man absently.
“Makes no difference to me. But, I’d prefer to go alone, Griggor.”
Though he was concerned for Aleks’s safety, puzzled by his secrecy, Griggor consented.
“Mr. Aleks, my man! How y’all bin? We ’uz worried ’bout ch’all, man! Thought ch’all wuz kilt in da Towers. So glad to see y’all made it out. Merci beaucoup!”
The doorman, a middle-aged black man named Charles, according to his nametag, seemed ecstatic to see Aleks. He shook the tall man’s hand, patted him on the back cordially. He and Charles seemed to have a close relationship.
Aleks had no recollection of the man.
“I was…uh…I was injured,” he said, pointing to his head. “Step’s been caring for me.”
Assuming Charles knew his brother, Aleks said nothing further, entered the building as Charles held the door, wished him a good day.
Inside, the desk clerk, a pimply-faced man, seemed almost equally happy to see Aleks, though he was much more formal. And somewhat wary.
“Mr. Bagdasarian!” Pimple Face announced with some trepidation. “It’s nice to see you again. Have you been traveling, sir?”
Aleks ignored the inquiry, checked the man’s name tag to identify who he was dealing with.
“My key, please, Vinnie.”
Vinnie gaped at him, broke out in a wide grin. He aimed both hands at Aleks as though they were pistols, cocked his head, winked.
“Ha. Ya almost got me, sir. No keys here at The Hathaway. You know that, of course. Haven’t forgotten your code, have you?”
Aleks stared blankly for a moment, chuckled with mild amusement.
“No, Vinnie. I haven’t forgotten.”
Code? Fuck! What code?
He turned, intending to take the elevator, stopped when he didn’t recognize which way to go. He glanced back to Vinnie, who pointed both fingers, pistol-like again, this time toward a hallway on the left.
1-1-6-6 opened the keyless entry lock and Aleks had no trouble entering the apartment.
Which was a mess. Pillows and newspapers were strewn about. Pizza boxes, Chinese food containers and unfinished cups of various liquids littered the coffee table. Ashtrays, resembling crowded cemeteries with cigarette butts bent every which way, like crooked tombstones, overflowed onto the coffee table.
I was a smoker?
He didn’t want to accept that.
The bedroom scene was even worse. Open drawers puking shorts and t-shirts onto the floor. Mattress askew. It took Aleks only a few moments to realize his apartment had been ransacked.
The Russians Griggor mentioned? Looking for what? Money? Me?
He thought he heard a noise in the hallway. Someone bumping into a table maybe.
They’re back. They know I’m here. Fucking Pimple-Face called them! Fucking Vinnie!
He dared to open the door, peered out into the hallway, saw no one. Only a door several apartments away swinging shut. He turned to go back inside. A hand appeared on the doorknob, held the door open. Aleks’s heart skipped a beat.
The old Romanian pushed him inside the apartment, followed him in.
“What the fuck, Griggor? You scared the piss out of me. I thought you were the Russians.”
“Scuzati-ma, Aleks.”
Aleks gaped at the old man.
“Da, I follow you. I tell you. I do not trust Roosha. Please forgive, hey?”
Griggor surveyed the apartment.
“Roosh, they wait here, hey? For Bagman.”
Aleks suddenly realized the Russians had not only searched his apartment, they’d been squatting in it. Awaiting his return. Apparently they’d waited sever
al days.
“But why do they wait for Aleks, hey? If it is Stepan who is Bagman?”
Always suspicious, huh, Griggor? Aleks thought. It never stops.
“I don’t know. Maybe they knew we were twins. Or maybe they just followed the wrong Bagdasarian home from the office.”
“You are lucky they do not find you,” Griggor cautioned.
The thought that he could have been abducted, possibly killed, spooked Aleks, made him slightly nauseous. He was suddenly ready to abandon his own search of the apartment. Was pretty certain he wouldn’t find anything anyway.
“There’s nothing here, Griggor. Let’s go,” he said with some nervousness.
“Nu, nu. Let us take quick look-see. Maybe we find something…”
A cursory search turned up nothing of importance. They found no computer. Aleks’s file cabinet had been emptied. There was an area in one closet where a safe had apparently been bolted to the floor. The safe was gone. The bolts left lying on the carpet. Like dead soldiers abandoned on a battlefield.
Aleks wasn’t so troubled that his apartment had been ransacked. He was more disturbed by the nagging thought that it may well have been him who was Ilya’s Bagman. The possibility that he had been living two lives, as Griggor had flippantly suggested earlier, also crossed his mind. Obtaining a separate driver’s license in Step’s name wouldn’t have been difficult. He wondered what they’d find at The Schuyler Building apartment.
“Can we get out of here now?” he growled to a mildly surprised Griggor.
At The Schuyler Building, Griggor accompanied Aleks to Step’s apartment on the eighth floor. Aleks was apprehensive as he swung the door open, relieved to see the rooms were neat, orderly. Griggor reluctantly acquiesced when Aleks asked him to wait in the lobby.
The tall stranger felt an odd sense of déjà vu immediately upon entering the modest three-bedroom flat. Step’s place was immaculate, bordering on sterile. The modern décor adding to its stark atmosphere. There wasn’t a single dish in the sink. Not a single piece of litter to be found. Everything was placed exactly as it should be. Nothing incongruent. Nothing askew. Step’s appeared to be a well-organized, orderly life.
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