The Deal (23 page)

I actually tried to. The scene playing out in my head ended when Ray Slevin awkwardly missed and hit the deck with a thud.

“How about you two?”

“Perry seems to have—”

“Run into a minor snag,” she interjected. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

She winked at me, her way of thanking me for helping her to channel her energy correctly.

“And you?”

I looked at my watch.

“I should be hearing something shortly.”

“Time to play catch up, kids. Old Jake seems to be out in front.”

Chapter 25

I was on speakerphone with Andreu Zhamovsky.

“I understand, Jonah. And don’t get me wrong, it sounds like you are all making some serious progress.”

“You have no idea what you have asked us to do, Andreu. Under the circumstances, I’d say we’re moving fucking mountains.”

“Didn’t mean to steer us off course. All of the sudden you Americans have me nervous,” he went on, chuckling. “I mean your country couldn’t even keep their eye on that Fabergé egg. Maybe we should have kept that one over here.”

“How do you know about that?”

“How do I know about what?”

“The egg.”

“The whole world knows about it. I don’t know if you’re following any of this, but those damn eggs are like national treasures over here.”

For obvious reasons, the conversation was turning in a direction that had me uncomfortable. Andreu was as pro-Russky as they get. I didn’t want to think about how he’d react to believing I’d fucked with his homeland. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Why talk of the egg? Why now?

“Andreu, you want to talk expensive egg memorabilia or are you ready to get back to business?”

“I don’t mean to come on as unappreciative. I simply called to remind you that we’re now into week number two.”

“Off. You don’t mean to come off as unappreciative.”

“I’m sorry, Jonah?”

“Forget it. Look, I know where we are with time. What—”

Carolyn peeked into my office. I turned to her.

“What is it?”

She held out a small package.

“This was just delivered for you.”

I wasn’t expecting anything.

“Who is it from?”

“No return address.”

I returned my attention to the phone.

“Give me one more second, Andreu.”

I moved my eyes back to Carolyn.

“When I didn’t see a sender I asked the messenger center downstairs where it came from. All they said was that it was dropped off by someone.”

Great, a fucking suspicious package. Keep your cool, I reminded myself. Carolyn can be quite resourceful. Don’t give her a reason to become curious.

“Not a problem, Carolyn. Just put it on one of the chairs.”

“Andreu, as I was saying, I don’t want you to become concerned with time. We plan on having inspections begin by the end of the week, as planned.”

I was trying my best to forget about the package, but I couldn’t. I was even making a concerted effort not to look at it. Eventually my curiosity got the best of me, and my eyes became glued to it as if they were fruit flies and the package was a sliced-open watermelon. I stood up, my vision deadlocked on the small brown box.

“What I need you to be focused on right now is the earnest money we’re going to need to even get in the door. Your bank is ready at this point to transfer funds, I take it?”

“They are. Have you been in contact yet with Igor?”

“I have.”

“Then feel free to use him as you need him. That’s what he’s there for.”

I started toward the package.

“Now what I also need is for your attorneys to be brought up to speed. I will need them to all be on call twenty-four hours a day starting as soon as we get the green light for the first project. Even though our counsel, through power of attorney, will be handling everything from the contracts to the transfer of title, which, of course, you will be billed back for—”

“Cheap bastard,” Andreu said with a light chuckle.

I looked at the box closely. It was small, about big enough for a softball to fit inside. There was nothing on the outside aside from my name and address written with a black Sharpie. My palms began sweating so I wiped them on my pants.

“— I will want your lawyers to have a look at everything simultaneously, as close to real time as that can be due to the distance between us, strictly for your comfort level. I know you trust me, Andreu, but this way there aren’t any legal questions later on about the way we handled things. Any questions you may have can be dealt with immediately.”

“I appreciate that suggestion, Jonah.”

I took a semi-deep breath and lifted the package. It was light, almost as if it were empty.

“When do you plan on speaking with Mr. Merrill again?”

I returned to the chair behind my desk and sat down, still holding the small box up in front of my eyes.

“Shortly. Take a deep breath, Andreu. Go out and enjoy yourself, leave the business worries to us. I’ll continue to keep you up to date. I’m going to switch you over to Carolyn now so you can double-check with her that we have all of the correct contact information for your attorneys.”

“Remember, Jonah—Mr. Worldwide. We can’t afford any snags. Let me know if you need something. Anything.”

With that Andreu Zhamovsky was gone. I glanced at the door, knowing that even when I was alone in my office I wasn’t really alone. I lowered the package and placed it between my feet, out of the hallway’s view. I tore off the outer shell of thick, brown paper. Underneath was a plain, white cardboard box. I lifted open the top flap. Inside was some white tissue paper. I pulled it back, letting it drape over the sides of the box. When I found the object of my search, I became confused, startled. It was a lock of auburn hair, secured in the middle by a rubber band.

“Jonah?”

Carolyn’s voice was coming through the intercom.

“What is it, Carolyn?”

“I have Angie on the phone again. She says it’s urgent. She says you have something of hers that she needs to discuss.”

I looked at the lock of hair.

“Put her through.”

There was a three-second pause, then a beep. I pushed the button for line four and picked up the receiver.

“Why would you send me that?” I asked.

“Why won’t you see me? You were supposed to call me last night. Why won’t you at least try to explore what we could have?”

“You didn’t answer me. Why would you send me that?”

“It’s always about you, Jonah, isn’t it? Everything is all about how it relates to you. What you can handle and what you can’t, what you have time for and what you don’t. Just like yesterday and just like the other night. You just profess what you want, what you need, and expect that the words you have spoken become fucking gospel.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Again, it’s all about you.”

“What do you want!?”

“I have never felt this crazy before, Jonah. This empty. Each time we make love —”

My mind was beginning to flip.

“That’s not making love, Angie. That’s called fucking. Straight up, lust drenched, substance-laden fucking. And as I have already mentioned, however narcissistic it may be, I am extremely busy.”

“I wanted to hurt myself. Last night, when I was alone, after waiting for hours to hear from you, I had this urge come over me unlike anything I have ever felt before. I wanted to hurt myself. I was thinking about all the different ways I could—”

She paused, as if she were waiting for me to jump in. I didn’t.

“—I could, you know—”

The situation was fully getting out of control. The deal, the egg, this girl. I needed to contain it. But what was really happening? I still wasn’t sure if I was dealing with someone connected to the egg, or just some psycho who couldn’t get enough of me.

I needed to be careful. I needed to tiptoe. I needed to, as always, be proactive. I had an idea.

“I’m not worth it, Angie. Really—”

“The other night at the wedding, Jonah, I’ve never felt that special.”

“I find that hard to believe, Angie. From the second I met you, I simply took you for the beautiful, sexy, confident girl you appeared to be.”

“I wish I was those things, Jonah. Unfortunately, I’m a little bit more insecure than that.”

Gee, really? Is that so, you fucking sick, crazy, warped, hair-sending, possessed, twisted, psychotic, pathetic loon of a human being, who on the other hand is possibly just some damn fine actress trying to set me up?

“Look, I’m not bullshitting you when I say I’m in the middle of the craziest business deal you can imagine. But if it means that much to you, I can meet up with you this evening. Now I must tell you, I have a dinner appointment.”

Get her in person, spend only a few minutes, douse the fire.

“But I’d be happy to meet for a cocktail around seven so we could talk about this.”

“I’d like that, Jonah. I’m happy I sent you the lock of hair. I just wanted to put a part of me in front of you, something to remind you that I exist and I’m thinking of you. I’m happy I kept it simple.”

I could literally feel myself move from nervous to terrified.

“As opposed to?”

I was almost sorry I had asked before the words had come out.

“I was thinking either my pinkie toe or ear. Maybe the tip of my tongue.”

I couldn’t fight the image of a tongue-tip-less Angie spitting uncontrollably while butchering the English language.

“Something small enough to deliver, yet serious enough to send the message that nothing could hurt as much as what I’m feeling right now.”

I picked up the phone and dialed. I waited for an answer.

“Sam Archmont.”

“Any surfing this morning, young fella?”

“Sticking to indoor sports today with the new missus, if you know what I mean. She can’t get enough of me or my Viagra.”

“Well in that case, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother, Jonah. You know that. I spoke with Merrill. He says the two of you had an interesting meeting.”

“Depends on your definition of interesting.”

“What’d you think of him?”

“I think he’s a pussycat.”

“Atta boy.”

“Actually, Sam, it isn’t Jack Merrill that I’m calling about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Your neighbors, the Sheppards.”

“Good people, Jonah. What’s the interest?”

“I’m curious about their daughter, Angie.”

“Sweet kid.”

“So you know her well?”

“I knew her quite well. She used to run the beaches along the back of our homes all summer long.”

“So you haven’t seen her in a while?”

“No one has, Jonah. She was killed in a car wreck about five years ago.”

Chapter 26

At three fifty-five I was sitting in my office, ensconced in technology. Files and documents littered my computer screen. I had fourteen windows minimized at the bottom of the flat-screened monitor. The file that was open was in Acrobat Reader. It was a final draft of the contract between PCBL and the firm that would be responsible for the HVAC inspection of the Madison properties.

As I was sitting there, evaluating a document that was simply regurgitating terms I helped put together, I found myself doing something I had never before done in my entire professional life. I was pretending to work. Sam Archmont’s little morsel of information had completely thrown me.

I had become paranoid to the point of believing that my office’s phone and computer activity were possibly being monitored. A few minutes earlier I had used one of the vacant offices two floors down, the ones set aside for new administrative underlings brought on board, to do a little research on Angie Sheppard. I Googled her and, in fact, Angie had died not five but six years earlier one summer night in the Hamptons. She was close to her family’s home when the accident happened. It was on Ocean Drive. Her BMW was crushed by an SUV being driven by a young guy more hammered than Eddie Van Halen at a bachelor party. The Angie I knew was not only a complete lunatic, but she was also a complete fraud.

“Jonah?”

Carolyn’s voice came through the intercom, shaking me from my reflective, façade-driven state.

“Yes, Carolyn.”

“I have Jack Merrill on line one.”

I literally gritted my teeth. All I wanted was the solitude to examine what was happening, what I might have missed.

“Please put him through.”

As I waited, I turned and stared blankly at the cardboard box I had thrown in my trash can.

“Jonah.”

“Jack. How are you this afternoon?”

“I feel good. I apologize for not getting back to you earlier in the day, but I was still waiting on word from the final decision makers. I must say, Jonah, they found the offer very interesting.”

I rolled my eyes. We both knew they were all probably doing their best to avoid the champagne corks being shot around the conference room.

“I can’t say I’m shocked. Frankly, I’m amazed it took so long for them to agree that this purchase price for an all-cash transaction is a no-brainer.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jonah. I never said they had yet agreed on the purchase price.”

“Please, Jack. I should probably mention that this call is being recorded. Don’t force me to make you look like an ass when I play this for our peers, and show them you had the nerve to ask for a higher price. You know what has been offered here is the aggressive, overinflated price of a very eager buyer.”

I wasn’t kidding. The price I had gone in with was decided upon for one reason. To allow them to make a quick, easy decision.

“Not my call, Jonah. I’m simply the messenger on this one.”

I could feel my real estate instincts starting to take over.

“You’re the chief real estate advisor, Jack. Did you advise the final decision makers on just how stellar of an offer this was? Or did you not?”

We both knew the answer to that question.

“I acted in a manner most appropriate in terms of assessing the situation and guiding my company.”

“Basically, that’s code for saying you told them you had a serious buyer who you should take a chance on squeezing.”

“The Madisons are two trophy-caliber buildings, Jonah. We’re not just going to let someone come in and bully their way into taking them into their possession. Now as I mentioned, we have found the offer to be quite intriguing.”