Sweet Talk (21 page)

At her insistence, they stopped at a McDonald’s. She ate a chicken wrap and drank a Diet Coke and told Grayson it was delicious.

“It doesn’t take much to make you happy,” he remarked.

She smiled as she sipped the last of her Coke. “I’m a simple girl at heart,” she said. Carefully folding the wrapper and napkin so that no crumbs would fall, she placed them in the paper bag.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to say to Wilcox?” he asked.

She had given some thought to the conversation, but she couldn’t know how Wilcox would react to seeing her. Would he remember her? Would he freak out when he heard her name? She practiced a couple of approaches on Grayson and was feeling pretty good about her plan . . . until she walked into the jail. She was immediately sorry she’d eaten anything because her stomach started doing flips. The rancid smell of what she suspected to be rotting mice in the walls was overwhelming, and everything looked old and decayed. The few pieces of furniture were broken-down and ready for the dump. Grayson told her the jail was going to be closed just as soon as a new facility was finished, but with budget cuts, no one knew exactly when that would be.

The air in the cell block was heavy with sweat. The cells were so crowded, there was barely room to walk around. A jailer with dark circles under his eyes and a weariness to his gait led Jeff Wilcox into a small interrogation room. Wilcox sat on one side of a small wobbly table. He looked scared and overwhelmed.

He saw Grayson’s FBI badge and said, “Am I being charged with mail fraud, too?” His voice was flat, with little emotion.

“No,” Grayson answered.

“Shouldn’t my attorney be here for this interrogation?”

“It’s not an interrogation. We’re having a conversation,” Grayson said.

Wilcox was focused on Grayson and was obviously afraid of him or possibly what he thought he was going to hear from the FBI agent. Olivia had time to study the man. The longer she watched him, the angrier she became on his behalf. She was seeing one of her father’s victims up close and personal.

“You’re going to fire your attorney,” Grayson said very matter-of-factly. He stood next to Olivia with his arms folded across his chest, his stance relaxed.

“Why?”

Grayson looked at Olivia. “Do you want to start explaining?”

Jeff Wilcox turned to face her then, and his eyes widened.

“Hi, Jeff,” she began. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Olivia—”

He almost came out of his chair. “MacKenzie,” he finished. “I remember you.” His demeanor changed immediately to anger. “You’re that bastard’s—”

She cut him off. “Listen carefully. Yes, I’m that bastard’s daughter, and I know what he is. I’m here to help you.” She rushed to continue before he could turn away from her. “You have a new attorney. His name is Mitchell Kaplan. Have you heard of him?”

“Of course, I have. He’s famous. I can’t afford . . .”

“I’m paying for his services,” Olivia said.

“Did he agree to take my case? Does he know what I’ve been charged with?”

Before Olivia could answer, he listed them. “Investment fraud, securities fraud, investment adviser fraud, and my attorney says, if I take the deal, they won’t add mail fraud.”

“What is the deal?” Grayson asked.

“Twenty-five years. Solid twenty-five years.” He put his head in his hands. “I swear to God I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear it, but my attorney said that, given the atmosphere, the prosecutor could add another twenty and get it.”

She thought he might start crying. Who could blame him? She put her briefcase on the chair across from him, pulled out a manila folder, and placed it in front of him.

“I know you’re innocent, and I know what you’re up against. Mr. Kaplan has written you a letter. Please read it, and then if you agree, sign the attached paper authorizing him to take over your defense. You can either choose to let Kaplan prove your innocence or . . . not. It’s up to you.”

She could see the confusion in his eyes. He wanted to believe but was afraid.

“Why do you want to help me?”

Tears came into her eyes. “I told you why,” she said, her voice shaking. “I know what he is, and he has to be stopped. I would like your help to do that, but even if you can’t, or won’t, I’ll still keep trying until I succeed.”

“Read the letter,” Grayson suggested.

“How do I know this is real?” He looked at Olivia and said, “Your father showed me investment statements on official letterheads, and it was all a fake.”

“Read the letter, Wilcox,” Grayson repeated more firmly. “You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

His hands shook as he opened the envelope. Olivia’s hands were shaking, too. She hadn’t realized how anxious she’d been about this meeting. She felt as though she’d just put herself through a wringer. Her nerves were stretched tight, and she could only imagine how Jeff was feeling.

Jeff looked up from the page he was reading. “Mr. Kaplan says he’ll have me out of here by tonight. Can he do that?”

“If he says he can, then he can,” Olivia replied. “You’ll be under house arrest, but you’ll be home with your wife and your baby.”

Jeff was starting to believe. She could see it in his eyes. She watched him go through the rest of the folder, scouring every page.

“There are copies of all these papers for you to keep.”

“Do either of you have a pen?”

Jeff signed two papers, one firing his current attorney, Howard Asher, and another retaining Mitchell Kaplan.

He’d just handed the papers back to Olivia when Asher walked in.

“What’s going on here?” he bellowed.

Asher wasn’t what she’d expected. Because Olivia had heard how inept the man was, she had made the assumption that he was young and inexperienced and perhaps had only just passed the bar. Asher was in his late thirties or early forties. He was dressed in a business suit and tie, but there was still something disheveled about him. She noticed the expensive Rolex watch he was wearing when he reached out to shake Jeff’s hand.

She decided he was also sleazy when he wouldn’t stop giving her the once-over. Her chest and legs seemed to captivate him.

“This is for you,” Jeff said, reaching out with the signed document in his hand.

Asher was still staring at Olivia when he asked, “What is it?”

“A paper I signed, firing you,” Jeff answered.

That got his attention. He whirled around and snatched the paper. “What’s this about? You need an attorney, Jeff.”

“Mitchell Kaplan will be handling my defense.”

Asher’s mouth dropped open. “Kaplan? You can’t afford Mitchell Kaplan. You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Mr. Kaplan has agreed to represent me.”

Asher shook his head. “Prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove it. You’re fired. That’s all you need to know.”

“It’s too late,” Asher stammered. “We’ve made a deal.”

Jeff looked to Olivia for help.

“Then you’re in trouble, Mr. Asher,” she said, “because Jeff hasn’t agreed to any deals.”

“Exactly who did you make this deal with?” Grayson wanted to know.

Asher looked as though he needed to sit. His face was gray. “This can’t be happening. How did you ever get Kaplan interested . . .”

“I think we’re done here,” Olivia said.

“Wait . . . now, wait here,” Asher demanded. “Jeff, you’ll get fifty years or more if you don’t take the deal. You can’t take this to trial. You’ll get . . .”

He stopped arguing when Jeff put his hand up. “I’m not taking any deals, and you’re no longer my attorney.”

Grayson could see the panic in Asher’s eyes. The attorney had gotten past his surprise and was now letting his anger control him. His body was rigid and his hands were fisted at his sides.

“Jeff, it’s time to go back to your cell,” Grayson said as he motioned to the jailer.

“Wait,” Asher demanded. “Just wait a minute. We’re not finished here.”

“Yes, we are finished,” Olivia stated emphatically.

Asher turned to her and took a threatening step forward. Grayson pulled Olivia into his side.

“Listen, you,” Asher muttered, “go back to your boss and tell him we’ve already made the deal and it’s solid. It’s done. Kaplan will just have to step back.”

Olivia had had it. She took a step toward Asher and said, “No, you listen. There isn’t any deal. Got that? No deal. And, by the way, I don’t work for Mitchell Kaplan.”

Asher was obviously scrambling to keep his sinking ship afloat. His eyes darted back and forth between Jeff and Olivia while he tried to think of a way to stop what was happening.

The jailer escorted Jeff out of the interrogation room. Asher didn’t move. He seemed rooted to the floor, he was so livid. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you’re messing with the wrong people,” he hissed. “Powerful people.”

“Oh, I think I know exactly who I’m messing with,” she replied. Her voice was as smooth as a summer breeze. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Olivia MacKenzie.”

She picked up her briefcase and walked to the door. Grayson pulled it open for her. She looked back over her shoulder and said, “Tell my father I’ll see him in court.”

TWENTY-ONE

G
rayson arrived at the Morgan Hotel a little after nine o’clock. He noticed all the security as soon as he walked inside. Because he’d worn a gun—he never left home without it—he had to show his credentials three separate times before he reached the guarded ballroom doors.

Ronan caught up with him as he was going in.

“Wait up,” he called. He showed his identification to another guard and started to walk past. The guard reached out and put his hand on Ronan’s arm. “Do you have an invitation? I don’t see one. You can’t go inside without an invitation. There’s some very important people in there.”

One glacial look from Ronan, and the guard immediately pulled his hand back. The antagonism in his voice irritated Ronan. “I’m FBI. I can go wherever the hell I want to go. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.” The guard hastily opened the door and stepped away.

“What are you doing here?” Grayson asked.

“I didn’t want to miss the show.”

“You’ve met MacKenzie,” he reminded. “You interviewed him, remember?”

Ronan grinned. “Of course I remember, but that was one-on-one, and I want to see what he’s like in a crowd. I’m betting he’s as humble as he was with me. He’s a real nice guy,” he added. “Just ask anyone.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on Grayson. “Yeah, right. Nice guy. Olivia’s worried I’ll like him.”

Ronan shook his head. “Did you tell her we put a lot of nice guys in prison every damn day?”

“Sure I did.”

The two agents moved to the back of the room and tried not to draw any attention as they watched the guests.

Four bars were set up, one in each corner, and people thronged around them as the bartenders rushed to fill their drink orders. Waiters passed among the crowd, offering dainty canapés or glasses of wine from their silver trays. The double doors to the adjacent ballroom were open, and there were stations with every kind of delicacy to eat. The best of everything. Guests were encouraged to help themselves to whatever they wanted.

A man walked past carrying a heaping plate piled with oysters, crackers, and a mound of caviar. The glutton was practically drooling in anticipation of his feast.

“I wonder how these people would react if they knew they were paying for this,” Grayson said.

“I think they’re going to be real pissed when they find out they paid for his mansion on the beach.”

“You’re right. No expense spared tonight. Do you know how much a bottle of that champagne costs?” he asked when a waiter offered fluted glasses to a couple in front of them.

“I drink beer, not champagne, but I’m guessing a whole lot.”

Grayson laughed. “Yes, a whole lot. It tastes like seawater, too.”

Grayson spotted Olivia’s brother-in-law, George, and pointed him out. There was a woman next to him, smiling and sipping champagne. She didn’t look anything like Olivia, but Grayson was sure she was her sister because she was holding George’s hand and occasionally smiling at him. Grayson thought the affection looked forced. George appeared to be miserable.

“I wonder if he paid the loan shark back,” Ronan remarked.

“It’s easy to check.”

“From the look on his face, I’m guessing, no. Is that his wife with him? She’s pretty. There’s a small resemblance to Olivia.”

“I don’t see it.” But then he knew what a witch Natalie was to her sister.

It took a lot to surprise Grayson, but he nearly did a double take when he saw who walked in the door.

“Olivia and I went to see one of MacKenzie’s victims today,” he told Ronan. He then explained everything that had happened with Jeff Wilcox.

Ronan was impressed that Mitchell Kaplan had taken the case. “The prosecutor won’t like that.”

Grayson shrugged. “Asher’s reaction was telling. He went into a panic.”

“His reaction to getting fired? From what I know about him, he’s got to be used to it. I’ve heard he’s a terrible attorney.”

“I’m going to look into his finances. I think he was paid to make the deal and put Wilcox away. The last thing Robert MacKenzie wants is a trial.”

“Are you thinking MacKenzie paid Asher?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Not directly, of course. The guy’s one shrewd son of a bitch.”

“It’s going to be tough to prove that Asher even knows MacKenzie,” Ronan said.

Grayson smiled. “Not that tough. Asher just walked in the door.”

“Are you kidding me? Showing up here . . . not real bright. I’ll get some pictures of him with MacKenzie. I’m gonna have to use my cell phone,” he said. “And I can’t let MacKenzie see me do it. Where’s Asher now?”

“At the bar on the left. He’s gulping down whiskey.”

“From what you’ve told me, Asher has had one hell of a day. He must need courage before he talks to MacKenzie. Real stupid to talk to him here, though. Speaking of the devil, there he is. The birthday boy. I’ll see what I can do about pictures.”

The crowd had parted, and Grayson had a clear view of Robert MacKenzie. He was standing by the French doors to the terrace, surrounded by well-wishers. His wife stood just behind him. There was no doubt who the stunning woman was, for Olivia was her spitting image.

Grayson dismissed her and focused on MacKenzie. The man was quite the showman. He had an easy smile and a charming way about him. Self-confidence oozed from his pores. Grayson watched him closely and decided that what made him so charismatic wasn’t just his handsome looks or his personality but the way he interacted with other people. It was a talent really. His gaze never left the person he was talking to. He didn’t once glance to the left or the right. His concentration couldn’t be broken. If he were talking or listening to a woman, he added touch to his repertoire. He would pat her arm or clasp her hand, nodding sagely when the woman paused for a response, and all the while his eyes would be locked on hers. He appeared to be fascinated by whatever his companion was saying. His intelligent eyes reeked sincerity.

MacKenzie reminded Grayson of a sorcerer. He could be all things to all people. He made them feel as though they could whisper their secrets, and he alone would keep them safe. He didn’t pretend to be God, just one of His agents.

How could they not trust him? Grayson was impressed. He was watching a master work the crowd, and because MacKenzie’s guests were all so spellbound, they couldn’t see what he really was.

MacKenzie used their greed to lure them in. He didn’t go after all the wealthy people, just the ones who coveted more. There were plenty of rich, successful people who were prudent with their money, who used their wealth wisely and generously, but Robert MacKenzie knew how to weed them out. He went after those who were never satisfied. He understood their twisted and pathetic insecurity, and he pounced on it. He knew exactly how to snare them: You’re a rich man now, but is it enough? And will it last? With your well-deserved, though admittedly lavish, lifestyle and with rampant inflation? No, of course it won’t last. How could it? Can you envision what your life will be like when it’s all gone? Do not worry, my friends. Give me your millions, and like a modern-day Midas, I’ll double it . . . triple it . . . quadruple it.

He made them believers.

And because they were the superrich, others wanted to emulate them. People who aspired to such wealth looked to these paragons of affluence for examples of what to do. The hopefuls believed the rich had an in, that they were in the know and understood the fluctuating market. If the man who signed their checks invested with MacKenzie’s Trinity Fund, shouldn’t they take their meager life savings and invest, too?

It was the domino effect, Grayson thought. From the top to the bottom, from the first to the last, they would all fall.

Drink in hand, Asher was weaving his way through the crowd to get to MacKenzie. When he reached him, he motioned to MacKenzie’s wife and waited a few feet away. MacKenzie ignored him and everyone else until he finished his conversation, then, with a whispered word from his wife, he excused himself and joined Asher.

The attorney’s forehead was beaded with sweat, and as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat away, he talked fast and furiously. Grayson waited to see how MacKenzie would react to Asher’s bad news.

Had he not been watching so closely, he would have missed it. For a second or two, but certainly no longer, MacKenzie’s expression cracked. Grayson saw real, raw anger. Then—wham bam—Mr. Nice Guy was back. Smiling broadly, he put his arm around Asher’s shoulders. He looked like a man who couldn’t have been happier to see an old friend and hear the latest news. MacKenzie was good, all right, a pro playing his role.

Grayson thought about Olivia and the hell she’d endured from the time she was just a little older than Henry, and he suddenly wanted to smash his fist into MacKenzie’s sparkling white teeth.

Ronan came back carrying a stemmed glass of ice water and a small digital camera. “I got some great photos with this camera and my phone. I’ve already sent a couple of them on to our computers.”

“Where’d you get the camera?”

“I confiscated it.” He slipped the camera into his pocket and said, “Hey, isn’t that Senator What’s His Name?”

Grayson nodded. “Yeah.”

“What a schmuck.”

“Yeah, he is.” He lost sight of Asher and asked Ronan if he knew where he was.

They both spotted him at the same time. Asher was standing by the entrance, guzzling one last drink. He put the glass down and headed for the door.

“Who’s that calling out to Asher?” Ronan asked. “I can’t see his face.”

“Neither can I,” Grayson said.

They watched Asher drag his feet as he crossed the ballroom. The man demanding his attention finally separated himself from the crowd.

“Carl Simmons,” Ronan said. “Wonder what MacKenzie’s top attorney wants to chat with Asher about.” He was grinning as he asked the foolish question. “Talk about a schmuck.”

“No, Simmons is much worse than a schmuck.”

“He’s got an alibi for the night of the shooting. While Olivia was taking three bullets, Simmons was with a woman. According to her, they were supposed to attend a party but decided to spend the night in bed instead. Of course, Simmons could have paid someone to shoot Olivia, so, yes, you’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“He stays on the list.” He pulled out the camera he’d lifted and said, “I think I’ll get some shots of Asher with Simmons. Look how scared Asher is. Maybe I can capture that expression and show it to him when we pull him in.”

Ronan left on his errand, but Grayson stayed where he was and kept his eyes on Simmons. The longer Asher talked to him, the more Simmons’s outrage grew.

Olivia was going to get her security guard back whether she wanted it or not. Simmons’s expression went way beyond anger, and Grayson knew his hate would be directed at her.

If Simmons was going to do something, it would be soon, and with that possibility in mind, Grayson called two bodyguards on his list and sent both of them to Olivia’s apartment. One would stay outside her door, the other in the lobby.

He then phoned Olivia. Hell, what if she wasn’t home? He took a breath when she answered.

“Is your door locked?”

“Grayson, where are you? I can barely hear you.”

He walked into a back hallway. “Is this better?”

“Much better,” she said. “Where are you? I thought you were going to the birthday party.”

“I’m at the party . . .”

“Have you seen him?”

He could hear the anxiety. “I’ll tell you all about it. You’re staying in tonight, right?”

“No, I was just leaving. Jane’s back in the hospital, and I thought I’d sit with her for a while.”

“Does she know you’re coming?”

“No.”

“Good. Then you won’t have to call and tell her you’re staying home.” He told her about Asher and Simmons. “I’ve got a feeling Simmons is going to do something. The look on his face . . . he’s going to come after you. Could be as soon as tonight. You have to stay home. Check your door and make sure the deadbolt is in place. I’m sending over a couple of bodyguards, and I’m going to come by as soon as I’m finished here.”

“Yes, all right.”

“I mean it. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said without hesitation.

“Don’t let anyone in, no matter who it is. If your sister or your mother knocks on the door, don’t answer.”

“I understand,” she insisted. “Stop worrying. I won’t let anyone but you in.”

“One more thing,” he said. “If one of your kids calls, you don’t leave. You call me. I’ll leave here in five and be at your apartment in fifteen. If you need to go, I’ll drive you.”

“Okay.”

Her quick agreement pleased him. He checked the time, then went to find Ronan. He spotted Asher leaving the ballroom. The guy was practically jogging, he was in such a hurry to get away. Simmons was on his cell phone and followed Asher at a much slower pace. He wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going and nearly knocked a waiter over.

Ronan came up behind Grayson. “Want to say hello to the birthday boy?”

Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that. Got to make it quick, though. I’m going to stay with Olivia tonight. I’ve got an uneasy feeling . . . probably nothing, but I want to hang around.”

MacKenzie saw them coming. He had just blown out candles on a gigantic birthday cake amid cheers.

“What’s the wife’s name?” Grayson asked.

“Deborah.”

“Olivia looks like her.”

“Wait until you get a close look at her father. Same color eyes.”

“Ronan.” MacKenzie said his name and extended his hand. “Good to see you again. How is your investigation going? Have you arrested the man responsible for shooting my daughter?”

“Not yet,” Ronan answered.

“Then what brings you here?” MacKenzie asked pleasantly. He looked at Grayson and then back to Ronan.

“I heard it was your birthday, and I wanted to give my congratulations,” Ronan responded.

Without so much as a blink, MacKenzie smiled broadly and said, “I appreciate that. Please . . . have a drink and something to eat. Enjoy yourself.” He paused and then turned to his wife. “Where are my manners. Deborah, this is Agent Ronan Conrad. He was assigned to our daughter’s investigation.”