Sweet Talk (5 page)

Olivia’s father shook his head and smiled condescendingly at her. “He was lying, Emma. The papers he signed clearly show he was made aware of the risks.”

Emma turned back to Olivia. “The prosecutors are involved now. They’re claiming that Jeff not only mishandled the money but also that he did it knowingly and with the intent of lining his own pockets. If there’s a trial and he’s convicted, he could go to prison and be taken away from his wife and his baby—all for something I know he didn’t do.”

Olivia turned to her father. “How much did you make on these investments?”

Her father gave a slight shrug and answered, “It’s not my responsibility to keep people from making stupid decisions. If Wilcox had chosen to invest in my Trinity Fund, he wouldn’t be in this mess, but he insisted on another route.”

“How much?” Olivia insisted.

“My five percent commission for the transactions was a low fee, considering the circumstances.”

“So you walked away with over a million and a half, and Jeff Wilcox faces prison—not to mention the charity that is destroyed.”

“I’ve wasted enough time talking about this,” her father said as he began making his way to the door. “I have to be back in New York for an event tonight.”

Olivia could barely control her anger. Her chest was tight, and she desperately needed to use her inhaler, but she didn’t dare in front of him. It would be one more thing to mock, and it would prove to him that she was, indeed, inferior.

She had known that her father’s business activities were suspect in the past, but it was as though she was seeing him without a filter for the first time. Even his attire seemed disingenuous, with his hand-tailored suit and his handsome cashmere scarf draped around his neck. Olivia watched him slip on a black wool coat that was impeccably cut and a perfect fit.

“Father?”

“Yes?” He said as he put on one leather glove and reached for the doorknob.

“This has to stop. You can’t continue to hurt people this way.”

Her father turned back to her with a compassionate smile. “Get some rest, Olivia. You look pale. That terrible disease you have . . . it’s lurking under your skin . . . waiting. You never know when it could come back.” He left without saying good-bye.

Monday morning, Olivia applied for a job with the IRS.

FOUR

“
I
don’t know what I was thinking,” Olivia told Jane. “Agent Kincaid asked me how I ended up working for the IRS, and once I started explaining . . . it got away from me.”

“Did you tell him you’re investigating your father?”

“No,” she replied. “But I went on and on about reaching my goal, and he naturally wanted to know what the goal was. I wouldn’t tell him, of course. I barely know the man. He has to think I’m crazy.”

The two women were sitting side by side in beige leather recliners in what they called the Dracula room of St. Paul’s Hospital. Olivia was giving blood her friend would receive the following afternoon.

Dressed in black silk pajamas and a hot-pink robe, birthday gifts from Sam and Collins, Jane had come down from her hospital room to keep Olivia company. Jane’s long honey-brown hair was up in a ponytail and she looked pale, terribly pale. Dr. Pardieu had ordered the blood transfusion and had told Jane that it would help immensely. It had in the past, he reminded her, and there was no reason to think it wouldn’t help now.

“You shouldn’t care what other people think.”

“I know,” Olivia agreed. “But Grayson’s . . . different. I do care what he thinks about me, and honest to Pete, I don’t have the faintest idea why.” She sounded bewildered.

“Grayson?”

“Agent Grayson Kincaid. He told me to call him Grayson.”

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Probably not,” she said and was surprised by the stab of disappointment she felt. “Let’s talk about something else. Did I mention that Jorguson told me he admires my father and that he knows people who have done quite well investing in his fund?”

“He must not have heard that you’re trying to stop him.”

“How could he have heard? Every time I make an inquiry or lodge a complaint, it’s squelched. No one’s calling me back, the SEC . . .” She took a breath. “It’s frustrating, but I’ll keep trying.”

“Tell me everything that happened at the interview,” Jane said. “Start at the beginning.”

Since Jane was looking so sickly, Olivia decided to accommodate her, and by the time she was finished, Jane had a stitch in her side from laughing so hard.

“Let me get this straight. You asked Jorguson’s bodyguard if he had a permit to carry a gun? The man’s pointing a . . . what did you call it?”

“A Glock. Agent Kincaid called it a Glock.”

“Okay then, he’s pointing a fancy Glock at you, and you want to know if he has a permit?” Jane thought, given the circumstances, the question was hilarious, and she couldn’t stop laughing.

Olivia handed her a tissue to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I watch way too much television, don’t I? On all those police shows the detectives ask the criminals if they have permits. I was trying to think of something to say to get him to stop coming toward me. It’s illegal for him to even carry the gun. I don’t know why I didn’t point that out.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

If an outsider had asked her that question, she probably would have pretended that it was no big deal, she hadn’t been scared at all. She wanted people to think she was a tough, no-nonsense kind of woman. Only Jane and the other Pips knew the real Olivia. They understood her vulnerability because they were just like her.

“Oh yes, I was scared,” she said. “But I was also so astonished by his behavior I could barely think what to do, and I was angry, really angry. People shouldn’t bring guns to five-star restaurants.”

“Is that a rule?”

Olivia laughed. “It sounded like one, didn’t it? I guess I just didn’t want to die in such a lame way.”

“Getting shot during an interview
is
a lame way to die.”

She shrugged. “I can think of better ways. Don’t laugh at me. I’m giving you my blood, which happens to have antibodies you need, so be nice to me.”

A nurse came into the room to check Olivia’s IV. After saying hello, Jane switched to French as she continued the conversation. Because of their crush on Dr. Pardieu, all the Pips eventually had become fluent in his language. It was their way of saying thank you to him for saving them.

“I’m always nice to you,” Jane said. Then, in the blink of an eye, she became melancholy. “What if the transfusion doesn’t work this time? What if I don’t feel better and I have to start chemo again?”

“The transfusion will work,” Olivia assured her.

“You’re a real contradiction, you know that?” Jane said. “You’re such an optimist with everyone, but when it comes to yourself, you only see the negative.”

Dismissing her criticism, Olivia responded, “The transfusion helped in the past, and there’s no reason to think it won’t help now. You’re just a little anemic, that’s all. Don’t stop trusting Dr. Pardieu. He’s taken good care of all of us.”

Jane was in the mood to feel sorry for herself. “But you and Collins and Sam have all been cured. I’m the only one struggling after all this time. I don’t understand it. I was feeling great until a few weeks ago.”

“We’re in remission,” she corrected. “Not cured.”

“Dr. Pardieu said you’re safe now,” she said. “And none of you have had any symptoms for years. I’m the difficult one.” Jane knew she sounded pitiful, but she didn’t care. She usually tried to be the positive, upbeat one, but she knew she didn’t have to put up any shields with Olivia or the other Pips. She could cry like a three-year-old if she wanted to and not worry that any of them would think less of her.

“You’ve always been difficult,” Olivia said, smiling. “Sam says you can be a real pain in the . . .”

Jane burst into laughter. “I guess I’m not going to get any ‘there, there, you poor thing’ from you.”

“When did you ever get any of that from me?” She shifted position in the recliner and winced when the needle moved ever so slightly.

“Never.”

“If Dr. Pardieu isn’t worried . . .”

“He says he isn’t.”

“Has he ever lied to any of us?”

“No. In fact, he’s been brutally honest.”

“So, if he isn’t worried . . .”

Jane smiled because she realized she was actually feeling much better. A little whining wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “If I don’t have to do another round of chemo, I’m going to participate in the art show at the Scripts Gallery. The artists have to be there,” she explained. “I’ll have four paintings on display. Maybe I’ll get lucky and sell one or two.”

“Are you low on funds? I could give you—”

“I’ve got more money than I know what to do with from my mom’s life insurance. I’m just saying, getting paid for my work is validation. I want you to come to the gallery, okay?”

“Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

“Logan’s going to try to come to the show, too.”

“Your brother’s out of rehab?” Olivia’s surprise was evident in her voice.

“Yes,” she replied. “And he’s doing really well this time. He seems serious about his sobriety. He’s going to meetings every single day, and he’s trying to make amends.”

“Like?”

“He comes to see me every evening on his way home from work.”

“Logan has a job?”

“He’s working as a mechanic at Roger’s Rent-A-Car company. He helps out at the counter, too. Logan says the owner is giving him more responsibility, and he doesn’t want to let him down. He worries about me. He never used to.”

“He was too drunk and too stoned to worry about anyone.” She saw Jane’s expression and hurriedly said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it was true, but not any longer. He brings me carryout and told me that when I get home, he’ll come over and cook for me.”

“Maybe rehab worked this time,” Olivia said, though she didn’t hold out much hope. Jane was an eternal optimist. Olivia wasn’t. Logan hadn’t gone willingly; rehab had been court mandated. Jane’s older brother had been a mess for as long as Olivia had known Jane. He drank alcohol like water, and his drug of choice was cocaine.

She hoped for Jane’s sake that Logan had decided to change his life. She was about to ask another question about Logan when he walked into the room. He was tall, gaunt, and painfully thin, but there was a light in his eyes Olivia hadn’t seen before. He put his finger to his lips to let Olivia know he didn’t want her to say anything, then quietly snuck up behind Jane. He leaned down and whispered, “Boo.”

Jane jumped. “Logan, will you stop doing that,” she demanded. “Why you think it’s funny to scare people is beyond me.”

He laughed. “Hi, Olivia. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she answered.

He turned to Jane then. “I’ve been all over this hospital looking for you. What are you doing here?”

“Olivia’s giving me her blood,” Jane said. “She’s keeping me alive with her antibodies.” She realized she shouldn’t have joked when she saw Logan’s expression. He looked stricken. “I’m going to be fine.”

“Don’t try to protect me,” he said. “I know you’re sick. Always tell me the truth, okay? I can handle it.”

“Jane’s anemic, that’s all,” Olivia said, trying to help Jane downplay her illness.

“And your blood will make her better?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Jane said and then hastened to change the subject. “What about the art show? Did you get permission?” Turning to Olivia she explained, “Logan has a nine o’clock curfew at the halfway house.”

Logan grinned. “Yes, I got permission. I can stay out until ten thirty.” He leaned down and kissed Jane on the cheek. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes.”

Jane waited until Logan had left the room and then said, “What do you think?”

Olivia smiled. “I think he’s on the right track.”

“I do, too. He’s different now in a good way. He’s been clean and sober over a hundred and twenty days. That’s the longest he’s ever gone,” she added. “And he isn’t hanging out with all those losers anymore. I wish Mom were alive to see his recovery.”

Jane took a breath. “Okay, we’re through talking about my brother. I’ve got really funny news to tell you. You’ll never guess what Collins did. I’m not supposed to tell you because she wants to, but you need to be warned so you won’t laugh the way I did. She was furious with me. I couldn’t help it,” she added. “I swear you’ll never, ever guess.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“No.”

“Just tell me.”

“She took the exam and she passed. Aced the interviews, too. In fact, they actually recruited her.”

“They?”

“FBI,” Jane said. “Collins has decided to become an FBI agent. It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? This news coming on the same day you have a run-in with the FBI?”

“It wasn’t a run-in. It was a mistake,” Olivia argued. “Collins in the FBI—that’s a good one.” She laughed. Miss Sensitivity an agent? Not possible.

“I’m not joking. Can you picture it? Collins carrying a gun?”

“Dibs on telling Sam.”

“I already tried,” she said. “I got voice mail. She’ll get back to me when she can.”

Olivia’s cell phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Before she looked at the iPhone screen, she checked her watch.

“Talk about a pain in the backside,” Olivia said. “Natalie’s right on time.”

“Your sister’s on time? On time for what?”

“She’s been calling every night for the past five nights at exactly seven o’clock.”

“You better answer it. You may explain after you talk to her . . . if you want to explain . . . unless it’s private . . .”

Exasperated, Olivia said, “You know I tell you everything.”

Jane nodded. “I know. I was being sensitive. It’s a new thing I’m trying. Now answer your damned phone. I want to hear what’s going on.”

Olivia didn’t want to talk to her sister, but she knew that, if she didn’t answer the call now, Natalie would continue to phone her every fifteen minutes until she got hold of her. Her sister was as tenacious as a junkyard dog, and in some instances just as mean.

“Hello, Natalie. What’s new?”

Her sister wasn’t in the mood to be chatty. “Did you talk to Aunt Emma yet?”

Olivia counted to five before she answered the question, hoping to get rid of some of her anger before she spoke. It didn’t help. “No, I did not.” Her voice was emphatic.

“She’s home from London.”

“Yes, I know.”

She could hear Natalie’s long, drawn-out sigh over the phone. “Don’t you care about our mother?”

Here comes the drama, Olivia thought. She really wasn’t in the mood to put up with Natalie’s antics tonight. She’d had enough drama today.

“Is Mother there with you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“May I speak with her?”

“She’s on the other line talking to our father . . . you know, Robert MacKenzie, the man you’ve been ignoring.”

Olivia couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm. “I thought I was ignoring our mother.”

“Don’t be rude,” Natalie snapped.

Olivia vowed she wouldn’t let her sister goad her into an argument, no matter how abrasive she became, and so she remained silent.

Another sigh, then Natalie said, “All I’m asking is that you talk to Aunt Emma and convince her to come to our father’s birthday party.”

“His birthday isn’t for several months,” Olivia stated.

“These big celebrations take time. It’s going to be an amazing event,” she said, enthusiasm lacing her words. “One of Dad’s assistants booked the grand ballroom at the Morgan Hotel over a year ago, and we’re expecting as many as three hundred guests.”

“Three hundred for a birthday party?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Amazing
was obviously Natalie’s word of the day. “Yes,” she said. “Amazing. But here’s my question. Dad lives in Manhattan. Why is he having a birthday party in Washington, D.C.?”

“Oh, there’s going to be another party in New York.”

“Two birthday parties?” she asked and began to laugh. “Isn’t that a little narcissistic?”

“Dad didn’t want to exclude anyone, and all those men and women who invested in the MacKenzie Trinity Fund want to celebrate with him. He’s made them all rich.”

“I’m betting they were already rich.”

“Yes, but Dad’s a financial genius, and he has more than doubled their investments. So many of his investors live in D.C., and that’s why he decided to throw a party there, too. There’s going to be at least three senators and twice that many congressmen attending the party and a couple of ambassadors, too.” Natalie sounded starstruck.