Seeing Julia (36 page)

Timing.

“Oh one last thing,” Kimberley says. Just like we practiced. “There are a few accounts that are unidentifiable. Perhaps Evan had money set aside for specific purposes for investment strategies for him or key clients. If we can’t identify whose assets they might belong to, beyond Julia, we’re going to transfer those to the escrow account and eventually liquidate the funds to the ones identified for charitable contributions.”

Kimberley glances over and shoots me the get-ready look. We practiced that, too.

Savannah is just sitting there and staring at a piece of paper she clutches in her hand. Then, she looks up and over at me. The poison star gaze, direct, searing, I can feel it from here, six feet away from me across the table.

“What happens to the funds you can’t identify, again?” Her voice is faint as if she’s having trouble getting air.

“If it can’t be identified, it’ll go into the escrow account and we’ll liquidate it for the charitable causes,” I say. On cue, just like we practiced.

Kimberley jumps in.
Thank God.
“For example, the SB Investments? That one? All indications are Evan coordinated all activity with that account. The trades’ history confirms his account code for making all the transactions associated with it. Since we’re not able to identify who he was making them for, we’ll transfer the money back to the escrow account.” She looks down at the client list. “Yes, the entire sum of $12,600,012 and change will go into the escrow account, since there’s no identifiable person, except Evan associated with it. No worries.”

She rewards Savannah with her most angelic smile, the one she saves for the resignation of a bad client, which she’s done, just turned them down, or turned them out for bad behavior.

“There weren’t too many of those, just a few.”

Kimberley shrugs her shoulders with nonchalance and looks around the room as most of the employees file out. Two of the last stock brokers filing out say they’ll take a look at the list and see if they can find out more information from the account files. “Great, thanks,” Kimberley says.

Timing.
Now, it’s only Kimberley, Jake, Christian, Savannah, and me.

“SB Investments?” Jake asks. He turns to Savannah. “Can I talk to you?”

“Just a minute, Jake.” Savannah is looking directly at me. “Julia, what do you want? I’m sure we could work something out about the SB Investments account.” She actually smiles.

The girl is a wonder. She’s enjoying this and thinks she can hurt me even further.

I look over at Kimberley in awe because this is all playing out just as she and Christian had predicted it would. Brad, too. Stephanie and I were the only holdouts, thinking no one would be that motivated by money alone.

“We should take this offline,” I say just the way we practiced. Savannah has this smoldering look again and it becomes clear even to my naive way of thinking it was always about the money for her and never about Jake or Evan.

“No,” she says. “There’s no need for that. What do you want?”

“What are you offering?” My response is not part of the plan. Christian and Kimberley both shift in their seats when I say this.

Savannah looks confused as if no one has ever dared ask her to give up anything before. I can see the tipping point coming in her. She’s looks more unbalanced, more desperate, as her breathing becomes erratic and the panic sets in. Her violet-blue eyes become more opaque because as she now knows, I hold all the cards. And she wants her money, one way, or the other, at the expense of everyone else, even Jake.

I steal a look at him, but he’s focused on the client list and asking Christian a question. I’m getting confused by how calm everyone is. I glance at Kimberley who subtly nods—it’s our signal—to go ahead and again suggest we take this offline, just as we practiced.

This whole thing is so surreal, a play happening in slow motion, Shakespeare, no doubt.

“It’s mine. What … do you want?” Savannah asks, again.

“Well,” I say, standing up and moving to the head of the table again.

Not in the plan.
The plan was to get her to confirm knowledge of the account which she’s just done. Stop here. Let it go. Play her out, with everyone predicting she’ll come to me in the next day or so, in private, and we’ll tell her what we already know: she has no rights to the money whatsoever. But she seems to have that figured out already and now she’s playing me. So, I deviate from the plan.

“Truthfully, I’d like you to share with the group the story you told me that has caused me so much heartbreak for the past five weeks,” I say. I sense Jake looking up and over at me, but I concentrate on Savannah and hold my serve, look directly at her, and withstand her fiery gaze. “But no, I think there’s been enough suffering, among all of us, in relation to
you
. So, I’ll ask you, again; what are you offering?”

I start for the door, just as Kimberley has prepared me to do. I steal a look at Jake and see the clenching of his jaw and know he’s beginning to figure out what I’ve just said and watch this latest revelation come down on him.

“Him,” Savannah says.

Her single utterance hits me like an unexpected storm gust off the ocean. This sudden rage for what’s she done to us and what she’s doing to him for money takes over. I whirl around and face her, my hands clenched, knowing what I’m about to do is so not a part of the plan. I look at Kimberley and she looks a little scared because I’m sure I have this crazed look as if I’ve just woken up and realized where I am. And maybe, I have. Because I just got back from L.A. where I bought a kite and the new Julia can handle this.

“Here’s my offer.” I look at my watch, glance at Kimmy, then Christian. “I cut you a check for the amount Kimberley just read off and you are out of this office, out of this building, out of this city, and out of my life, and his and his family’s, too. That’s the deal. It’s non-negotiable. You have five minutes to decide what you want to do. Five minutes to clear out and five hours in which to make it happen, verified by an escort of this firm, or the check becomes invalid. I’ll cancel the whole God damn thing and you won’t see a dime.
Ever
.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. She doesn’t even get that vexed look as if to say I’m thinking this through. She just stands up in her perfect poison star form with her chic designer suit, smooths down her skirt with her flawless manicure, and rewards us with one of her most radiant smiles, Scarlet O’Hara style, as if she’s just having a setback. It’s just been
one of those days
at Tara. She doesn’t even glance in Jake’s direction when she says, “Done.”

I take a shallow breath and hold it for a moment while she just watches me. We stare each other down. I allow myself a little smile and she smiles back. The rest of the room is dead silent.

“Well then, cut the lady a check, Christian,” I finally say.

From the credenza, I grab the silver gift box with her black bikini swimsuit inside and slide it—
jam it
—across the conference table her way. I can’t even look at Jake.

“You left this in Malibu,” I say.

And I walk out.

≈
≈*

The elevator whisks me down to the parking garage, where I walk around in a daze, loaded down with all of this stuff, and look for Evan’s car. Minutes later, I discover a black Mercedes covered in a fine film of dust located in a parking space marked
Reserved for
: Evan Hamilton.

There it is, just one more token item that compensates me in some innocuous way for what Evan did to me. I wipe away sudden tears with my only free hand, hit the unlock button on the key fob, and toss everything into the trunk.

As soon as I shut the car door the closed space swallows me up. Silence, absolute silence greets me. I sit back, close my eyes, and replay what just took place.

Two dominant emotions rain down on me: euphoria for standing up to Savannah and this profound disenchantment with Jake’s passive reaction to her greedy vile behavior.

Don’t think about him. It’s over. It’s done.

I glide the car out of the garage and onto the crowded streets of Manhattan. I’m a long way from Amagansett, but I’m definitely going home. I console myself with this thought as I navigate the traffic.

It’s another fifteen minutes before Kimberley calls. “Nice adjustment to the plan!”

“I can’t really talk…right now.”

“Hold up. Take a breath. Everything’s fine. I’ll be with you soon at the hotel.”

I grimace, knowing she’ll figure out soon enough I’m not going to the hotel.
Stick to the plan. The plan, Julia.

“Take another breath,” Kimberley says in a consoling tone. “My God, your mother would be so proud.
Jackie O
would be proud. I just can’t believe how you handled everything. You are a superstar and so ready to fly, soaring already. My God, it was fantastic, such a rush.”

“You’re killin’ me.” I do my best to concentrate on the road. “Is she gone?” I grip the steering wheel tighter.

“Oh yes. She’s gone, cleared out. Christian and Jake had her sign some paperwork; I’m not sure what that was all about, but it’s done. Christian escorted her out of the building and on to the airport,” she says with a hint of wonder in her voice. “Unbelievable, huh? I knew she’d take the cash. Hold on a second, I have another call.”

The cell call goes silent. I nose the car onto the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge.

Kimberley breaks in. “Where
are
you? That was the driver asking when you’re coming down. He’s been waiting for the last twenty minutes. I waited to call you because there’s no cell service in the garage. God damn it, Julia! Where are you?”

“Don’t panic. I’m going home. I just want to see Reid, walk the beach, clear my head.”

“Oh Julia.” Kimberley sounds so disappointed. I start to feel guilty about leaving her to handle everything.

“I just need some time to figure things out, now that everything’s finished.” The vestiges of heartbreak begin to weigh me down.” I’m still dealing with Evan’s betrayal and now Jake must hate me for provoking her.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she says in a low voice.

“I just want a normal life, Kimmy,” I say with a deep sigh. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

“A normal life sounds good. I
get
it. I know. I just want you to be happy.”

“I want that, too. For me, for Reid.”

“Why do I have the distinct impression you’re leaving me again?”

“Not for long and not until tomorrow or the next day. L.A. sounds good for a while.”

“But for how long?” Kimberley asks.

“Not long, a week or two. I want to check out the house. The painting should be done; the new carpet—”

“Maybe, you should just slow down. Wait a little while. I’ll go with you. I’ve got some contacts lined up for the business. We need to come up with a name.”