Foreclosure: A Novel (27 page)

“Why’d Vasquez ask if Xerxes Capital is an investor?” David had stopped the Saab at a red light.

Frank rested his head against the passenger seat. “I wondered the same thing. It hasn’t come up in any of the lawsuits.”

“If Xerxes is an investor, you’ve got a big problem. Under the statute, you’re required to keep those escrow deposits with an independent financial institution. It can’t be an affiliate. And it has to have a five-million-dollar net worth.”

“Xerxes Capital is more than qualified.”

“They don’t have a stake in the company?” David asked.

Frank shook his head.

David studied him, still waiting for the light to turn green. “Is Xerxes
the
investor?”

Frank sighed. “Let me worry about Xerxes Capital.” He leaned forward and turned down the stereo. “This music you listen to gives me a headache.”

As David was about the hit the gas for the green light, Frank opened the passenger door. “I’ll get out here,” he said and hopped out of the car. Car horns began blaring for David to go, but Frank was still leaning through the passenger window. “So what do we do now?”

“We wait for Glades to finish his investigation. And we mediate with the bank.”

“Then schedule that mediation.” Frank nodded, turned, and disappeared around the corner.

That night, David slept on his couch and dreamed about the storm that hit Gaspar Beach the night the south tower exploded. In his dream, someone was testifying about the gas line explosion, but David couldn’t tell whether the witness—a male voice—was being interviewed or testifying in court or giving a deposition. David knew that everything the man said was true, but he couldn’t see the man’s face. And though the man’s voice was clear, David couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.

David realized he’d been dreaming, but he sensed that it was really storming outside. Straddling sleep and consciousness, he rolled off the couch and glanced at the clock on his cable box: 12:59. Underneath, Conan O’Brien cracked a joke on the muted television. Across the room, his iPod was docked and playing Freddie King’s “Have You Ever Loved a Woman.” David didn’t remember leaving his iPod on shuffle, but the song sounded perfect for stormy weather and whatever else he’d been dreaming about. Then he felt a quick rush of adrenaline, like he was supposed to be awake for a reason. He realized he would never get back to sleep tonight. Outside, rain and wind were beating every wall of the town house. He turned the television off just as another bolt of lightning lit the sky and thunder boomed in his front yard. Then another light appeared, glowing through the front window—a softer light. There were two of them.

David peered outside and saw headlights glowing through the rain, illuminating the driveway. He opened the front door. Beth’s Camry stared back. He waved but couldn’t see inside the car. The car idled, its wipers beating back and forth under a deluge of rain. David slipped on his flip-flops and remembered that his umbrella was in the Saab’s trunk. He grabbed a dirty sweatshirt from the laundry room, covered his head with it, and ran to Beth and started knocking on her window.

Beth didn’t respond. She just sat there, gripping the steering wheel.

“What are you doing?” he yelled.

No answer. A moment later, she opened the door and left the engine running. She stepped into the downpour, unfazed by the rain, and before he had time to ask her what was wrong, she pushed her lips against his. It was as though she’d lost her inhibitions again, like the Beth he’d known in law school on Friday nights, long before they both died to their careers and let each other go.

David kissed her back, but she kept her mouth closed tight.

“Can we go inside?” she said as the rain fell harder.

“No one can see us,” he whispered.

She looked up and down the desolate, dark row of townhomes. He wondered whether every unit on his street had been foreclosed. Then she pulled him toward the town house. Not worrying about her car, she sprinted for the front door, and he followed.

He caught her as she entered the foyer. Leaving the door half-open, they fell together onto the tile floor, kissing like it was their first time. He was on top of her, holding her wet back off the ground with his left arm, balancing their weight with his right. He felt her legs slide around his hips. He grabbed her as close as he could, stood, and carried her the few feet over to the stairs, up two steps, and gently set her down. He kissed her neck and chest while she tangled her warm, wet fingers in his hair.

He slid his hand down. She was wearing nothing under her skirt. As he was about to lose his pants, she touched her finger to his lips and ran it back and forth.

“Will you leave him for me?” she asked.

“Who?”

“You know who. You know the truth, David. I can’t see you anymore.”

“Why did you come here, then?” he asked. He tried to pull away, but she gripped him with her long, firm, smooth legs, and it felt like he was caught in a trap.

“Make love to me,” she said. “While you can.”

“You’re hiding something from me,” David said.

“You know the truth, David.” She released her grip and slid off the stairs. Before he knew it she was outside again, and he was chasing her through the rain once more. She returned to her car. It was still running, headlights on.

“What are
you
hiding?” she asked. The rain stopped on a dime, and her voice echoed with the last stroke of thunder.

“I’m not hiding anything,” he lied.

She pulled the car door open. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Is that what you came here for? To tell me that?”

“I came here to wake you up, David.”

“I am awake. I’m standing in the rain talking to you.” As if on cue, it began to pour again.

“You need to wake up, David. You need to wake up.”

A violent roar of thunder jarred David awake on his couch. He gasped and rolled over, certain this time that he was awake. The clock on the television blinked 1:49. An infomercial for a convection roaster played on the television.

He hopped up and checked the front window. The dark sky was illuminated with flashes from a heat storm rolling off the Gulf, blowing wind but no rain. David could smell Beth; he knew everything she’d said in the dream was true. He picked up his BlackBerry, ready to call her. He entered his password and saw an email had arrived in his in-box shortly before midnight. It was from Inspector Glades, and copied Ashcroft.

They wanted to meet with David and Frank in the morning at nine sharp.

“Are they going to arrest me?” Frank asked as David parked the Saab behind the sheriff’s office.

“Do they have reason to?”

“You know as much as I do.”

David killed the engine and looked at Frank. “I haven’t seen any evidence of a crime. We’ll see what they found.” He opened his door, but Frank sat still.

“Wouldn’t be the first time an innocent man was arrested,” Frank said.

David closed his door again. “Listen, I’m not a criminal lawyer. Do you want me to call someone else in for this meeting?”

Frank donned his sunglasses. “They arrest me, you’d be shit out of luck, wouldn’t you? No one to pay your bills.”

“Not that anyone’s paying them now.”

Frank opened his door. “Let’s go in.”

A few minutes later, they followed Glades into the same conference room where last month Frank had met the firing squad and heard the news about Katherine. Today, it was filled with the same investigators surrounding Ashcroft, and the overhead air-conditioning vent blew the same stale, lukewarm air.

“We’ve completed our investigation,” Glades said before David and Frank could take their seats.

David glanced at Glades, whose eyes were locked on Frank. In fact, all eyes were on Frank, and David could practically hear and feel Frank gritting his teeth and holding his breath.

Glades raised his voice. “We have been unable to rule out human involvement in this case. We believe the fire was incendiary, but we have found no evidence tying any individual to the fire.”

“So what are you saying?” Frank asked, his voice almost a quiver.

“They believe it was arson,” David said, “but they can’t pin it on anyone.”

Ashcroft nodded. “That’s essentially correct.”

Frank slowly eased into his chair, like someone had just released an air valve on his back.

“Why do you think it was arson?” David asked.

Glades shook his head. “We have our reasons.”

“So no charges?” David asked.

Ashcroft nodded. “No charges.”

“Have you shared this with the insurance company?” David asked.

“We’ll make our report public when it’s finished.”

Frank stood. “Can I go?”

Glades nodded. The investigators stood and walked past Frank and David, one by one. If they weren’t shaking their heads, they were hanging them low.

David turned to Frank and put his arm around his neck. “I think you were more worried than you let on there. I thought you were going to pop.”

Frank sighed and rubbed his head. David could sense the pressure building in it.

“Come on,” David said. “I’ve got to make a call.”

David sat at a red light with his BlackBerry to his ear, while Frank stared out the window at a mother pushing a stroller along the sidewalk.

“Chaska,” David said into his phone. “You’re a tough son of a bitch to get hold of.”

“Leave my mom out of this. We had issues to resolve before I could call you.”

David sped through the green light. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. How’s this for a resolution: the fire inspector cleared O’Reilly of all involvement with the fire. They’re pressing no charges.”

“Sometimes the ball just bounces your way.”

“So how about that mediation?” David asked.

“In light of recent developments, I don’t think a formal mediation will be necessary. How about a settlement conference?”

“Just name the place.”

They met in a grimy conference room at the airport. David figured Justin didn’t want to return to the Alderman Room, and with Chaska coming from Miami and Frank’s office burned to the ground, this was the only viable option. Chaska, Justin, and another banker David didn’t recognize were huddled in the corner—whispering, David hoped, about how they just wanted to settle this and get home to their wives (or, in Justin’s case, Lana). Justin looked tired, like he’d been drafting an agreement all night. After another moment of deliberation, Chaska led his group to the cheap conference table where David and Frank waited.

Chaska spoke while his clients took their seats. “We’re going to make this short and simple. We propose dismissing the lawsuit without prejudice, each party to bear its own fees and costs. We’ll also waive any defaults under the mortgage that existed as of August thirteenth, 2008.”

“In exchange for what?” David asked.

“You waive all claims at law and equity against the bank, its successors and assigns.”

David looked at Frank and nodded.

Frank leaned over. “Successors and assigns?”

“It’s routine language,” David whispered. He turned back to Chaska. “So did the insurance company pay off the mortgage yet?”

Chaska glanced at Justin. “We’re not at liberty to discuss that.” Chaska pulled an agreement across the table. David took the document and glanced at Justin. Justin was avoiding eye contact.

David took a moment to read. Then he looked up at Chaska. “Can you give me time to discuss this with my client?”

“Of course.” Chaska nodded for his coterie to follow him outside.

After the bankers left, David turned to Frank, expecting to see a relieved man. Instead, Frank held his head, grimacing like he just wanted to get through this.

“Do you have any questions?” David asked Frank.

He weakly nodded and pointed to his eyes. “I can’t read today. The fucking pain and pressure. Just tell me whether to sign.”

“You’ll still have to get current on your loan.”

“That won’t be a problem if we get paid by the insurer.”

“And if you don’t?”

Frank winced. “Damn it, we will.”

Frank’s confidence slowed David. He couldn’t help feeling like he was missing something, or, as Terry would put it, he was in over his head. Everything was moving too fast, but there was no turning back now. He called Chaska and the bankers back into the room.

A few minutes later, Frank scribbled his signature on the last page of the agreement and slid it across the table. The banker David didn’t know countersigned it for the bank. Justin still hadn’t made eye contact.

“Easy enough,” David said. He offered Chaska his hand.

Frank rushed to the door, uninterested in pleasantries.

Justin tried doing the same, but David stopped him near the door. “How about a smile, Justin? You should be happy.”

But Justin’s scowl rivaled Frank’s. David wondered whether Lana was okay, or if someone might be dying.

“We need to talk,” Justin said.

“Let’s do that soon. Real soon. First, I’m taking my client out to dinner.”

David watched Frank shovel a green enchilada into his mouth. Frank was comfortably numb after a smoke fest earlier that afternoon at the safe house. David had offered to buy him dinner at the Gulfview Grill, but that hit too close to home for Frank. So they settled for a taco joint south of downtown that David knew had live music most nights but Sunday. David had forgotten Thursday was mariachi night.

A plate of
carnitas
on soft corn tortillas sat in front of David, growing cold and the fatty meat congealed. “There’s no doubt in my mind that Continental paid the mortgage off. There’s no other reason they’d settle on those terms.”

“So why did they insist on making it confidential?” Frank asked while chewing.

“Routine. Everything in that agreement was routine. But insurance companies are as stealthy as they come.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Frank said.

David was too, but he wouldn’t admit it—at least not to Frank. He picked up a chunk of pork, dipped it in the table salsa, and popped it in his mouth. “Frank, we’re not out of the woods yet. But if the insurance company wants to fight you based on this evidence, they’ll be putting a pretty solid bad-faith case right in our lap. I’m talking punitive damages.”