Discretion (29 page)

Jamal and me, there was a time that was ours: the teen years left unclouded by everything else that corrupts them—until Natalie disappeared.

Then life changed without permission. Those years never saw the freedom I’d grown in to. My father became scared of my friends. He turned into an analyst of liabilities, like a litigator. Natalie became a liability. He wasn’t unbearable or mean. She reminded him of what could have been—had she not been found, he could have gone down in flames, as he’d have been the most convenient to blame. Never again, he would say countless times after that, if only to himself.

He sold the boat Natalie disappeared from for a song, once he got permission. And once it was gone, that was the end of those summer days at the lake. He allowed himself to fish on occasion, always alone. Perhaps it was his own demons he needed to resolve out there on the water.

The vibration of my phone stops my thoughts and I consider tossing the device out the window and getting a new one late next week. Or the week after.

It’s a text message, from Jackson: meet my source tomorrow at two, with an address. Score. My heart pounds and I can’t wait until the meeting—the reveal. After Mike’s disappointing news, Jackson is willing to arrange a meeting with his source. Bastard could have at any time.

Then the phone rings and I try to sound composed on answering. I sigh. Natalie is on the other end.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

“I’m worried about you.”

Silence lingers, and then I ask, “Have you prayed for me?”

“Yes.”

She’s as surprised by the question as I am. Why am I asking this? It’s not like me. “Keep at it.”

“I will. How do you feel?” Natalie asks.

“Terrified, frankly.”

“Did you talk with Mike already?”

“Jackson and I did. I’m on the way home.”

“Oh…do I want to know what happened?”

I give her the details of what Mike said earlier about leaving, the party and even the voice, telling him to leave her behind.

“Well, my father was right,” she says. “God saw me through. He protected me.”

My father was right. Natalie went to a party and didn’t say anything, but never mind. “You were abducted. How is that protection?”

“Colin, I’m alive and I wasn’t hurt—I wasn’t raped. That’s protection.” She pauses. “So what now? Did Mike give Jackson what he needs?”

I tell Natalie the details and she sighs. “So he remembers more than me, but it’s not really helpful. I can’t recall the party at all and I studied the pictures of Arocha and Dasher in the newspaper, about a year after I was home, and I couldn’t recall ever seeing them.”

My car reaches home and I pull in the garage. I kill the engine, and then shut the garage, watching the street from the rearview mirror. Once the door is closed, I quickly get out and look around.

“I should get some answers tomorrow,” I say, phone pressed to my ear. “Time will tell. I’m not expecting to like what I learn.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ll be meeting a man with answers. And I suspect he’ll lead me to someone who can remember everything.”

M
arisa is comfortable under the covers, her clothes lying on the arms of the Victorian chair in the corner. The thought to wake her comes and goes, to talk if nothing else, but she needs her rest. Her gentle snores are reassuring.

This is a new place, now. Christel is…on my side? I’ve never had to question her before, but my predicament is becoming apparent. And that I would ask Natalie if she prays for me…this is unlike me. Am I asking this question because I am sleep deprived? Stress-related?

My head finds the pillow and I hardly remember the night taking place. The sunlight of Wednesday morning greets me from behind the blinds and my eyes open before the alarm gets a chance to startle me. It’s twenty minutes before six
A.M.
and the aroma of coffee pulls me out of my tired state.

Marisa is sprawled out on the bed, her feet taking the middle space; the bed sheet partially covers her, her hair like a golden wave along her back.

I walk in the kitchen to visit with Max, my loyal Lab who wags his tail for me, despite the scraps of time he gets from his master. I refill his water jug and his food dispenser, though both are in good shape.

He lies on his side and his tail whacks the stone floor. I decide to make us some eggs and he takes to the scrambled pile in his dish with delight. Gone in ten seconds, maybe less. I take a slower pace and they’re surprisingly good—perhaps my body is that deprived.

Max sits, looking up at me, shifts his ears to and fro and stares, as if he’s expecting something else.

“Colin…” Marisa calls from down the hall. I set my coffee aside, and meander to the bedroom. I arrive as she’s stepping into the shower.

The morning routine takes place and we leave for work, arriving on time. The parting kiss and I’m off to the races, at my desk.

I distract myself with work, as if nothing happened out of the ordinary the past twelve hours. I call the hospital and Jamal is in recovery. Joanna is worn out, running on coffee and nerves at the hospital with the baby to keep her occupied. The grandparents with family from out of town make good company, so Joanna’s not alone. We end the call on a positive note and I promise to come by later. Then I remember the fight with the doctor and I’m thankful Joanna didn’t bring it up.

A gentle rap on the door startles me. Jennifer, my boss, is on the other side, peering in with a cheery look. I instinctively wave her in, though the last thing I want is to talk about work. Or about wedding plans. Or about whatever the hell else is wrong. Being seduced is hazardous to my health. She eases into her normal seat, a smirk across her face. Her tan legs cross and she grins when I notice.

A year ago, her mind would race to the gutter on these visits and I would appreciate flattering ideas. She hadn’t met Mister Perfect and Marisa and I were less serious, so it gave way to her spontaneous, tempting thoughts.

But should I doubt those thoughts? Since no history exists between Jennifer and me, should I disbelieve Christel?

“So…what’s up?” Jennifer says. She puckers her lips, like blowing a kiss. I pretend it didn’t happen.

“The market’s crazy.” Though the market is the least of my concern.

She makes a pouty face, then laughs like I told a joke. “You’ve got twenty-five percent against the market.” She pushes her hair back from her face. “I guess everyone should just get used to you being ahead of the pack. In fact, that’s what I’d like to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“More shadow trades and more assets. Management is kicking another hundred accounts to be assigned and I think you can handle it.”

“Fuck.”

Christel is silent this morning; the reports appear as normal, without the future prices. I may be doing this job for real—hopefully not for long.

Jennifer raises an eyebrow with a sinful expression. “You’ve never bucked at the idea before.”

“Things are changing too fast. Europe’s a mess. It’s going to take years to fix the leaks with currency issues and more bank defaults on the horizon. Hard to say what the world economy will look like in a few years.”

“It’s been that way and you’ve managed beautifully.” She winks at me. She shifts her legs, wrapped in a short black dress; her shoe slips off a little, pointing the black, long and narrow heel at me.

“It’s too much risk,” I say, only to realize my comment applies well to the present situation.

She smirks. “Then play the bear. I know you hate it, but that’s where most of the profits are. You’re the best at catching the downside, making you…unbeatable.”

I nod and my mind wanders back to my personal mess…what if the feds call and want more information from me? What complications will uncovering the truth from the lake cause?

“Colin? Are you…feeling okay?” Jennifer says.

It’s then I notice my mouth is hanging open. I fix the problem and try to compose myself. “Sorry. I’ve a lot on my mind.”

She would like to be a distraction for you.

The visual of my boss jumping on the desk and spreading her legs is tantalizing. A welcome distraction.

“I need you to be mentally present, Colin. And with all the new assets coming in, it’s the weight you’ll carry. It’s your performance that clients are buying.”

“And there’s the problem. We have way too much in new money coming in. I’m going to submit to close three of my models to new investors and raise my minimums.”

“Denied. All the managers are getting overworked right now. The firm needs to hire at least two more or I should say, promote at least two more people to help with the backlog. Increasing the minimum account size is a thought, but I’ll tell you now that your peers have tried and marketing will tell you to fuck off.”

We sit in silence a moment and I work at the computer, looking over my growing book of business. It’s way too much responsibility and if Christel is leaving me without her insight, it’s an impossible assignment.

“So what’s put you in such a mood?” Jennifer says.

I tell her briefly about Jamal and she listens with care and empathy. Silence passes for a moment between us. “Do you want to talk?” she asks.

She prefers sex instead.

My smartphone vibrates on the desk. I look down at it with anticipation, hoping it pulls Jennifer away before she acts on her ambitions. Fitting, it’s Marisa calling.

Do I desire Jennifer? She is tempting, but part of me disbelieves Christel…what if my boss doesn’t think this way about me at all? What if this is just a ploy by the mysterious spirit? What if she’s a dead woman who was scorned in this life and she’s back for vengeance on men? This is distressing. I cannot live with—or without—Christel.

“Do you need to grab that call? Should I be leaving?” Jennifer says, leaning toward me and pushing her hair away; an unhindered view down her dress is the result, gravity helping out.

I nod and put the phone to my ear, never so happy to have my boss leaving, before I damage my life. Again.

“Why did I have to drink so much?” Marisa asks.

“It was good wine last night. Have another cup of coffee; you should be fine.”

“I’ve put down six at least and working on a seventh now. It so ain’t happening.”

“Add Red Bull.”

She cackles. “And my heart won’t explode?”

“At least you’ll be wide awake.”

“Hmm…being awake might be overrated. I think I’ll just go face first on my desk. Do you think anyone will notice if I take a little catnap?”

“Depends. If you have cleavage showing, then you’ll have a gathering outside your office when you wake up, so don’t be alarmed.”

“There’d be some ass kicking in Chinatown.”

We share a good, much-needed laugh and hang up on a lighthearted note. Marisa’s timing is good because she needs a breather, and likes to call when life gets hard—she leans on me for relief. Mayra nixed plans for this Sunday with us, which Marisa finds odd—and I cringe at the reoccurring thought to bring her up to speed. Our relationship with the Larison’s will be very different going forward, at least for a while. Marisa lets me know she is voracious for me and that it’s going to be an eventful evening—a promise for tonight. A pleasant distraction.

I answer three emails on frivolous things, which should be taken care of by new accounts, who didn’t do the job right the first time. Apparently the company motto went missing; the standard is perfection.

Jennifer wastes no time sending new accounts, as there’s an additional forty million to manage. Thanks, boss. So much for a two-way street.

When Christel first spoke to me, years ago, she was terrifying. Surreal. I thought I was hallucinating, as if I’d wake up at any time. Despite my feelings, I hoped to stay asleep with her as my guide. With the passing of time came dependency. I stopped asking why and enjoyed her benefits. I didn’t need to understand. She became ingrained into my life, as breathing is a normal function of the body we don’t think about—yet we do it constantly. And like air, I needed her to live.

An email arrives from Teresa Diserens, who I gave my parking space to. Her message is a birth announcement and includes a picture of the baby. Grace Lillian, eight pounds, five ounces. Born this morning around three
A.M.
I’m on the long list of email recipients. It brings a smile to my face. Life begins, created.

It takes several minutes of staring into oblivion before I return to the world and resume working. I hammer through and get a sense of progress, though the job is difficult, having to rely on my own intuition.

Rebalance. Reallocate. Buys. Sells. It all comes to one pinnacle truth: the future price. Which Christel reveals to me. And I find myself strangely wondering, not if I can live without her, but how can I get her back?

I guzzle the bottle of water at my desk and click through a few screens, deciding to read over the profile for the Foronda Foundation account, just so that I can take my mind off the investment strategy.

Norman Foronda—Hall of Fame quarterback, Super Bowl rings on three fingers—chose me to manage his foundation. His baby. His passion. His legacy. Norman picked me to manage money for charitable, noble causes. Medical bills for hard-up families. Children in need. The working poor. Projects in the inner city. Education. A chance at a better life for many.

I manage that money. It’s my responsibility. They expect and deserve results. Which leads me to one sickening conclusion…

I need Christel…for better, for worse.

M
y phone vibrates again, but I ignore it. I work through emails, forcing myself to concentrate. I handle several trades, sweating on the keyboard while slugging through. At last, I understand why my colleagues stress out in this job—they are working with no knowledge of what will happen, only hypothetically what could happen. And it’s the could, with millions at stake, that drive them batshit crazy.

My phone shows no update on Jamal for the past few hours, since Joanna called, so he must be okay. I decide to go see him today, if I’m told to or not.