False Convictions (31 page)

Massimo snickered, slicked his hair, and said, “Yeah, you do. Going all the way to the Caribbean for some guy’s load. You’re
some gal.”

Napoli coughed and gave her a yellow grin.

Casey’s spine stiffened. “Robert Graham needs to admit publicly that he’s a piece of shit, that he twisted this case, that
he lied, faked the evidence, everything. He needs to fall on his sword. You do that and you’ll get your files. Otherwise,
the hell with all of you. Those blaze orange jumpsuits will go good with your tans.”

Casey stood, sending her chair screeching across the floor.

Napoli shook his head at Jake and said, “That’s not smart.”

“She’s not a good listener,” Jake said, rising from the table himself, “but let’s not get excited. This’ll be easier than
you think.”

“We’re talking about a lot of money we stand to lose if our partner isn’t successful,” Todora said. “That’s not something
we can overlook. It’s too much.”

“That’s why I brought you this,” Casey said, patting the folder.

“Quit with the riddles,” Todora said.

“When this story breaks,” Casey said, “everything Graham has is going to come unraveled. His entire empire will fall. The
banks, investors, every creditor he’s got will be scrambling for hard assets.”

“You mean us, too,” Napoli said.

“That’s why we put these together,” Casey said, opening the file and pushing it across the table to Napoli. “Confessions of
judgment. You get Graham to sign these and you walk away with his mansions in Seattle, Aspen, and Palm Beach. His jet and
a three-hundred-foot yacht. Over ninety million in assets are yours, and you’re almost whole.”

Napoli looked through the papers and said, “Yes.”

“You get Graham to come clean, first,” Casey said, “then you have him sign those papers, then we give you his tax files.”

“In the environmental business,” Massimo said in a growl, “things get cleaned up just one way, and the mess stays gone.”

“I’ll do the cleaning,” Jake said, taking something small from his pocket and holding it out so that all three men leaned
close. “You just call a sit-down with Graham. I’ll take care of the rest.”

L
ITTLE HOUSES stood crowded together along twisting streets that overlooked the river. Next to the railroad tracks below, the
broken rubble of a razed factory sprouted blue PVC piping, wells sunk deep in the ground to collect and filter the poison
of bygone days. On the corner, Ferrari’s Restaurant stood like a resolute ironworker, aged and worn but refusing to fall victim
to the blight surrounding him. The restaurant boasted a wooden sign, the red-and-black shield of the famous carmaker.

Casey and Jake walked through the bar, past the dining room and the kitchen, then followed Dora up a narrow set of stairs
in the back. The equipment had been set up around what looked like the bedroom of a child, with a circuit board and a computer
resting on the single bed and several monitors crowded onto the desktop amid sloppily painted toy soldiers. Colored cables
twisted themselves into a spaghetti of confusion on the braided rug in the center of the cramped room. A faded Bills banner
hung on one wall and a Sabers pennant hung by two thumbtacks on the slanted ceiling. Gray light seeped in through a single
narrow window, but their eyes were glued to the monitors, which gave them five different angles of the table in the corner.

“I set the whole thing up on my own,” Dora said proudly. “Had the crew drop everything on the curb. Angelo gave them a bag
of egg and pepper sandwiches and off they went to the casino in Niagara Falls. Didn’t want anyone asking questions.”

“It looks great,” Jake said.

“Yeah,” Casey said, trusting Jake’s opinion and taking a seat next to him in a rickety folding chair.

They didn’t have long to wait. Only twenty minutes passed before John Napoli got rolled in by his driver, who positioned himself
at the corner table and then quickly disappeared. The waitress muttered shyly and Napoli ordered anisette and a plate of olives.
Niko Todora appeared in the entryway and swam through the tables, pushing chairs aside to make room for his bulk. Todora sat
in the corner and Massimo took the chair opposite Napoli. While Massimo asked for a glass of Chianti, Todora ordered only
Pellegrino and limes and told the girl to have Angelo send out some food.

The food came in waves, salad swimming in a bowl of dressing, a similar family-style bowl full of Italian potatoes, plates
of lasagna, dishes of cooked greens. Todora began to eat and Massimo tucked a napkin into the collar of his custom shirt before
digging in. Napoli picked at his olives and sniffed at the mounds of food. As the three men ate, they talked about the Buffalo
Bills’ offense and whether the new quarterback could put up the points necessary to make their games interesting. Casey could
only assume by their casual demeanor that deception was a regular part of their business and something as comfortable as a
featherbed.

Dora began to fret, checking her watch and shaking her knee until Jake encouraged her to show Casey how she could adjust the
shots, zooming in and out with several deft strokes on her computer.

“Obviously, I can’t pan side to side,” Dora said.

Casey gave her a look.

“The filaments are embedded in the wall,” Dora said. “Nothing bigger than a pinhole, so while in and out works, there’s no
lateral movement.”

“That’s why we’ve got five cameras,” Jake said.

“To give us some different angles when we cut it,” Dora said.

“It’s amazing how well you can hear them,” Casey said. “Like we’re sitting at the table.”

“Two mikes,” Dora said, pointing to the screen. “One in the candle and the second is more directional, and I put it on the
side of that picture frame.”

Casey studied the screen to show her appreciation.

“He’s here,” Jake said, sitting straight and pointing to the screen on the left, which showed the entrance to the dining room
and Robert Graham striding in. “You rolling?”

“I was rolling from the minute I had them in,” Dora said. “You think I’d mess this up?”

Graham rubbed his hands together as if to warm them. Some of his polish got lost in the black-and-white images of the monitor.
He looked more like a construction worker than a billionaire financier in his Timberlands, jeans, and flannel shirt.

Graham shook hands all the way around and his partners grinned at him as he took up the seat facing Todora.

“Sit,” Massimo said through a mouthful of greens and beans, “eat.”

Graham sat and spooned some food onto his plate, accepting a glass of water from the waitress.

“So you’ve had some trouble,” Todora said, without wasting time.

Graham’s fork stopped in midair as he considered the enormous man, searching his face for clues. Casey knew that while Graham
would have no reason to suspect that Todora knew about his tax files, guilt would make him wary, especially since the files
were no longer under his control.

“With that bitch lawyer,” Graham said, shaking his head, “but who cares? I fixed that other bitch.”

“The Rivers woman,” Todora said, stoking his mouth with a hunk of lasagna, “the judge.”

“Yeah,” Graham said, leaning back and pointing with his fork, trying to look tough with his day-old beard. “She fucked with
the wrong people.”

“You made a lot of noise,” Todora said, wheezing a bit as he twisted the juice out of a lime wedge and sipped at his drink.

“You gotta break eggs to make an omelet,” Graham said, daring to shovel in a mouthful of salad.

“How’d you do that whole thing?” Massimo asked, tilting his head. “I mean with that hot little redhead and the spunk sample
from that mope down in the Caribbean? I mean, that wasn’t really her, was it? Much as I’d like to think it, she didn’t seem
the type. I’m talking on TV and all.”

“No, she had finer tastes than that,” Graham said with a wink as he chewed, “if you know what I mean.”

“You dipped into that?” Massimo said, clapping Graham on the back.

“I like redheads,” Graham said, stabbing a single ziti noodle.

“Nice.”

“I’m confused by the timing,” Napoli said, clearing some phlegm in his throat. “She was down there with Rivers’s son, or she
wasn’t?”

“Not that complicated,” Graham said, swallowing and offering up a smile. “I had my guy Ralph fly down to Turks and Caicos
with a hooker, find Rivers’s son half shit-faced in a local bar, blow him, spit it into a cup, and get out of Dodge.”

“I knew there was a reason I always liked to make ’em swallow,” Massimo said, clapping Graham again, this time hard enough
to shift him in his seat.

The rest of them chuckled and Graham joined in.

“I used some grease to get the security guard at the warehouse to let Ralph in,” Graham said. “He switched the samples, and
bingo, Dwayne Hubbard walks free.”

“A sick fuck,” Todora said.

“Absolutely,” Graham said, raising his fork, “but necessary to discredit our judge. She’s finished. All the bitch had to do
was take our money and work with us. Then I ran the lawyer down there with me for some personal fun, got her together with
Rivers’s son, and painted a slightly different picture for the press. The perfect lie is one composed of different truths.”

Graham looked around, expectant.

“But you shouldn’t blame a person for not taking our money,” Todora said with a serious face and using his own fork to point.

“No, that’s true,” Graham said, dabbing his awkward smile with a napkin.

“It should make people nervous, the idea of taking
our
money,” Todora said. “We worked hard for it. We did things that make some people uncomfortable. No one should want to take
our money.”

“What do you mean?” Graham asked, one hand clutching his fork, the other balling up the skirt of the checkered tablecloth.

C
ASEY’S STOMACH tightened. She looked at Jake, whose eyes had also gone wide, as if he, too, expected something to go bad.

“It’s on tape,” Jake said in a whisper, as if afraid the men downstairs could hear. “They’re not going to do anything crazy.”

Massimo reached into his jacket.

“Is that a gun?” Casey said, knowing they could kill them all and make the tape go away.

Massimo’s hand came out of his jacket with a cigar that he tucked up underneath his nose to sniff. Casey let out a long breath.

“I mean just what I said,” Todora said. “This Patricia Rivers, she’s a judge. She’s not supposed to take anyone’s money.”

“Well,” Graham said, “she didn’t. So I had to put my foot on her neck. She made it easy, fucking with that Hubbard case, even
if it was twenty years ago. I enjoyed the whole thing, actually, working the system, playing the media like a herd of cows.”

“You did that,” Massimo said, clapping Graham’s shoulder another time. “That crazy fuck Brad Pitt and all that, then the story
on the redhead. Perfect.”

“Brad Pitt’s a putz,” Graham said, his hands relaxing. “I bought him off like I did the redhead. When you’re in my position,
you learn pretty quick that everyone has their price.”

“We got ours, right?” Todora said, leaning forward with a scowl.

Graham shifted in his seat and spoke in nearly a whisper. “I didn’t mean you, Mr. Todora.”

Todora broke out in a laugh and they all joined in, Graham loudest of all.

“I meant it,” Todora said, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “I got my price. John, Massimo, they got theirs.
You got yours, we all do. It’s human nature.

“So, you set the redhead up? Looks like she’s got a nice ass.”

Graham chuckled. “Like a college coed. Did you see her face when they took her into the police station in cuffs?”

“She looked good in cuffs,” Massimo said, piling more food into his mouth. “Sexy.”

“She had her chance,” Graham said.

“The worst,” Massimo said, chewing. “Dumb broad.”

Napoli swatted the air.

“You done now with the Freedom Project bit?” Massimo asked.

Graham wrinkled his face and took a bite of salad. “The Project is good cover for a lot of things. It’s public relations.
The image I’ve developed being on their board and other charities helps in business, and when I want to create a story, good
or bad, I’ve got the platform to do it. I use charities like toilet paper.”

“Ruthless,” Napoli said. “You remind me of some people I used to know.”

Graham inclined his head. “Thanks.”

“You like being on TV, don’t you?” Todora asked.

“It works for my skill set,” Graham said. “I’m comfortable with it.”

“That’s a good thing,” Todora said, raising his fork in the air, “comfort with your skill set. That’s a West Coast term, right?”

Graham shrugged.

Todora motioned to a large man in the doorway. “Now I think it’s time to cut the bullshit. Ask those people upstairs if they
got everything they need before we finish this. My meal isn’t sitting right, looking at this guy.”

A moment later, the big man knocked at the door and looked in on Casey, Jake, and Dora.

“You good?”

“Perfect,” Jake said.

The man nodded and left and they returned their attention to the monitors.

The big man passed on the message in a whisper and returned to his station in the doorway.

“Good,” Todora said, pointing to Napoli, “give him that stuff.”

Todora motioned to the waitress to remove Graham’s plate. Napoli brought the folder Casey had prepared out from his wheelchair
and pushed it across the table with a pen.

“You need to sign these,” Napoli said.

Graham blinked and his mouth fell open. He opened the file and looked at the documents.

“What are you talking about?” Graham asked, holding up one of the papers. “What’s this?”

“We know all about it,” Todora said. “And we figured before the whole game turns to shit, you’d want to make sure we got our
money back.”

“These are my homes,” Graham said, beginning to whine. “I can fix this. We’re fine.”

Todora flipped the fork over in his hand and slammed it into the table so that it stuck. His face turned purple and his hand
trembled without releasing the fork.