Taking Stock (44 page)

At least the money in the farmhouse was safe. He hadn’t left a single clue to its whereabouts. The tight stacks would be there in the wall when he got out. He just hoped he’d be young enough to enjoy them.

Sharon
and Marty refused to help. They could afford the bail, but not the embarrassment. Brad had the money, too. The lawyer could get his account number and code from the bag in the Corvette, but once he had it, he could take everything. Brad thought of people he might send to the farmhouse, but he imagined each of them ripping the walls apart, taking the money and flying off. Every scenario left him alone in the cell.

“Foster, you have a visitor,” a voice boomed down the concrete hall.

Brad didn’t know if Marty and
Sharon
had come through with his bail or if Sarah and Stan had come to grill him. The guard escorted him to a series of booths facing a plexiglass wall. He sat opposite a stiff man in a brown suit, late fifties with a long, narrow face.

The man picked up the phone and introduced himself as Russell Egan.

“What do you want
?
”

“I’m here to help.”

“
Sharon
and Marty send you
?
”

“No, a mutual friend. You called him, I believe.”

Brad recalled the first time Herman whispered a tip about a stock that was going to tank. Every moment since had run straight downhill to this cell. Payback was coming. Herman was about to save him five-to-ten.

“I can get you out, but I have some conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“Never contact my client again.”

“Done.”

“I’ll argue your defense and you’ll follow my instructions precisely.”

Brad agreed, but no matter what Russell said, he was leaving the country. No lawyer could win this case.

Thirty minutes later, Brad watched Russell hand his passport over the counter. The original was in his bag in the Corvette’s trunk. How Russell could get into an impounded vehicle without his permission was beyond him, so he assumed the passport was a phony.

Russell’s car was a long black sedan with tinted windows. Brad stretched out on the plush, back seat and watched Russell fight his way onto the expressway.

“Where are we going
?
”

“
Providence
. They’ll be looking for your face in
Boston
.”

“How about papers
?
”

“All set and waiting.”

Brad wondered how long it would be before the police found the bag in his trunk. They hadn’t opened it yet or they wouldn’t have released him. When they eventually played the tapes, they’d launch a man hunt for Herman Richards and Brad Foster. Brad would have started a new life as Jean-Claude Verrier by then. That would be justice. Herman would get what he deserved and Brad would end up with twenty million in cash.

Russell drove faster than the speed limit, but not fast enough to attract attention. The pace bored Brad. He imagined himself on a warm sandy beach watching well-tanned young women parade past in colorful bikinis. He wouldn’t settle right away. He’d sample a few islands, anywhere with a steady stream of tourists.
Rio
would be his first stop.

Russell turned off the highway and stopped the car alongside a river trimmed with intricate stone work. Pedestrians walked within a few feet of Brad’s window.

“We’re going to dinner,” Russell announced and stepped outside.

Brad hadn’t eaten well in jail, but the sudden stop had him feeling out of control. “Why here
?
”

“The food’s good. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Can’t we eat at the airport
?
”

“Do I need to spell it out for you
?
”

Apparently he did.

“I can’t help you skip bail. I’ll lose my law license. We’re going to part ways publicly. We’re going in together and leaving separately. After I’ve been gone awhile, you come outside and I’ll pick you up.”

They passed a dozen empty parking spaces on the walk and Brad had a feeling Russell was taking the cloak-and-dagger a bit too far. Russell turned down a side street and pointed to the next corner. “When you leave, go to the corner and turn right. I’ll be waiting halfway down.”

Brad wondered if he’d really be there, but being ditched in
Providence
was far better than the cell he’d come from. He followed Egan into the restaurant. If he disappeared, Brad would find his own ride to the airport.

Three women in long summer dresses sat at the bar. Beyond them, couples chatted at small tables scattered around the room. The men were dressed much like Russell, in suits or at least ties and the women wore light summer dresses. Brad’s faded jeans and torn shirt were all wrong. On a younger man the look might have worked, but at his age the outfit smelled of gardening or worse, prison. He’d buy some new clothes when he landed.

Russell chose a seat just a few steps from the door even though the restaurant was half empty. The stream of footsteps at his back made Brad edgy, but he enjoyed dinner despite the lousy seat. Russell was well traveled and suggested several places for Brad to visit. Brad discussed his flights around
France
and
Italy
and watched several couples at tables nearby. He didn’t notice how quickly Russell ate until he pushed his empty plate forward and dabbed gently at the corners of his mouth. Brad’s plate was half-full when Russell announced, a bit too loudly, that he had a late appointment and needed to go. He slipped two hundred dollars across the table and whispered, “Give me twenty minutes.”

Russell stood up and extended a hand to Brad as the waitress approached from the bar. “I’ll see you Monday. It was good to meet you, Mr. Foster.”

“Was everything ok
?
” the waitress asked.

“Wonderful as always. I’m late for an appointment, but my friend will take good care of you.” Egan winked at the waitress and marched to the door.

Brad filled twenty minutes watching faces around the restaurant. He focused on the three women at the bar. What would they say if he asked them to run away with him to live on some exotic beach halfway around the world
?
Would they believe him
?
Could anyone drop everything and move on a whim
?
He knew it was too late, but he romanticized about the opportunity he could offer. How many women would jump at the chance for a life of leisure
?
He remembered women he’d dated and wished he could take with him, but there was no time.

He left the two hundred on the table without waiting for change and found Russell in the car where he said he’d be. Brad decided he’d be safer up front and climbed in. Russell didn’t protest. He shifted into gear and they were underway.

Sarah felt a flash of panic when Herman closed the heavy wooden door. Staffers were leaving the office in droves and by the time this discussion was over, there’d be few people left to witness her exit. Thoughts of physical harm were irrational here in the CEO’s office. Marty was a gentle old guy, smaller in stature than she. Still she was wary.

It was Herman’s glib look in the doorway that had her on edge. She’d been to visit Brad earlier and been told he’d made bail. Frightening that he could be arrested for attempted murder – witnessed by seven police officers and videotaped – and released the next day on bail. Power had its privileges.
Eric
a’s theories about Brad’s partners seemed conservative. His network covered his mistakes in the office and on the outside as well.

Eric
a had gone back into hiding when she heard the news. No wonder. He’d tried to kill her twice. He’d stolen her work and planted evidence in her office. How far did his influence stretch
?
She wondered if Herman’s persecution of
Eric
a was driven by his investigative instincts or an obligation to Brad. Gooseflesh rose up on her arms as Herman circled behind her and took a seat on the corner of Marty’s desk.

“Do you know where
Eric
a is
?
”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning. You told her to leave pending the background check,” Sarah said.

“Good thing I did.” Herman took a few pages from the desk, leaned over and dropped them in Sarah’s lap. He operated with frightening efficiency. In just a few hours he’d summarized
Eric
a’s financial life into a stack of laser-printed pages.

The first thing Sarah noticed was the size of the direct deposit: almost double her own. The balance wasn’t significant though, and a search through a few months of statements yielded the explanation in the form of a significant check to
Northeastern
University
. Her 401(k) was typically meager for someone her age. Nothing looked that surprising, nothing to warrant Herman’s excitement, until she reached the final page of the stack. The checking account was in a different bank than the one that received her direct deposit. The page showed only two transactions. An initial deposit of one hundred dollars two years earlier and a ten million dollar deposit two weeks earlier.

Herman smiled broadly when she looked up.

“I was just as surprised,” Marty said.

“We’d like to give her an opportunity to explain before we call the police,” Herman said smugly.

Herman wanted to do this personally.

Marty probably harbored some secret hope that she’d give the money back, help the firm avoid the negative press, and save his embattled career from imploding. They stood waiting, expecting her to jump from her chair, run out and drag
Eric
a to justice. But it didn’t fit. The ten million was deposited weeks ago, but its appearance, like the gun in her desk drawer seemed too convenient, too careless for a woman as smart as
Eric
a. Stan’s assessment was starting to make sense. She wasn’t the type. The man who was had just vanished from a jail cell.

Herman and Marty seemed angered with her unwillingness to flip-flop.

Herman put a heavy hand on her shoulder rousing her from her thoughts. “Sarah,” he said, jolting her to attention.  “This will go better for all concerned if you help us. With everyone in the same room we can figure this out. We don’t want a public spectacle, but this needs to be resolved. There’s no avoiding it. We need your help to bring her in.”

To cover this up, she wanted to say. “Why
?
So you can lynch her
?
”

“Surely, you don’t still believe she’s innocent.”

“It doesn’t fit. She’s smarter than this.”