The Elite: The Complete Series of Boomer and Player (With Bonus) (56 page)

Lance Toffer

Attorney at Law

The name was in bold print on the frosted glass door of the small brick building that was a renovated version of a historical house, set in the middle of a row of similar houses, that now served as offices for high level professionals. The town was a forty-minute drive inland from Holiday Cove. I’d never been there before but it was easy enough to follow my GPS system to the address listed on the card that Frankie had given me.

This was it, sink or swim. In my mind, there were only two ways the meeting could go. The first—and preferable—would be that he could waggle a way around O’Keefe’s threat to myself and my friend Rick, or maybe he could identify a loophole in the contract that would allow me to flip the script on O’Keefe once and for all. Or, worst case scenario, he’d advise me to sell the business and start over, as far away from Holiday Cove as possible. All I knew was, one day I was sitting pretty with the biggest—and most profitable—air museum in the world, and now…I was afraid of losing it. Over what? A stupid fight in a parking lot? Fuck me.

I exhaled sharply, emptying my lungs, before pulling the door open.

“Good morning,” a perky brunette with dark glasses greeted me from her seat behind an elegant desk carved from a dark wood and polished to gleaming perfection.

The receptionist was leaning over, consulting the screen of the expensive looking computer system, when I walked in, and although she straightened quickly, she’d lingered just long enough for me to be able to see down the top of her blue dress. It was nearly impossible to keep my mind from wandering through a half a dozen scenarios, all of which involved her wearing a
lot
less clothing. But, halfway through the first, a vision of Gemma down on her knees intervened, and threw my imagination back on track.

I shook my head, dazed by the sudden shift.
That’s never happened before…

“Are you all right?” The woman’s eyebrows creased with concern over her glasses.

“Yeah. Sorry. Uh, my name is Aaron Rosen. I called last night and made an appointment with Mr. Toffer,” I answered, pulling myself back together, blotting out the warring fantasies in my mind.

The woman smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. “Yes, of course. I’m Poppy, Mr. Toffer’s assistant. I’ll let him know you’re here. Would you care for anything while you wait? Coffee? Tea? Sparkling water?”

I shook my head and held up a hand. “No, but thank you.”

“Okay.” She bobbed her head and waved at the plush leather seats along one wall. “Feel free to take a seat. It shouldn’t be long. Mr. Toffer is just wrapping up.”

I nodded and pocketed my good hand as I took a few meandering steps to the middle chair. I absorbed the mix of modern and classic decor. The desk that Poppy had just left looked like something that could have been original to the hundred-plus-year-old house, but then the leather chairs, contemporary artwork on the walls, and the sleek computer system all fell in stark contrast, jarring me from the historic feel of the exterior.

As I waited, with nothing but some tinkling music in the background to keep my thoughts busy, my anxiety swelled in my chest like a balloon. I wiped my palm on my jeans and briefly wondered if I should have changed into something more professional. My jeans were one of the few pairs I owned that weren’t riddled with holes, but still…considering my surrounding, and the fairly upscale dress of Mr. Toffer’s assistant, I was beginning to feel out of place.

It was odd to have a constant cloud of worry hanging over my head. I’d gone through my whole life with the chip on my shoulder, a get-what-I-want-no-matter-the-price attitude, and to have that confidence evaporate overnight was like wearing someone else’s skin. Thinking back over the past few days, I realized the only time I truly felt like myself was when I was with Gemma. She unleashed the real version of me—which only added to the intoxicating feeling of being around her. Being
with
her. It was freeing from all the bullshit that had stacked up against me and had me running scared for the first time in my life.

Approaching footsteps interrupted my train of thought.

“Mr. Rosen,” Mr. Toffer’s commanding voice cut into the wild thoughts swirling around my head, saving me from what was starting to feel like a dog chasing its tail. I stood up and extended a hand for his. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Let’s go to my office and chat.”

I nodded and flicked a glance at Poppy as she waited in the wings, another man in a suit standing beside her, obviously the previous client. I followed Mr. Toffer down the hall and heard retreating footsteps from the other direction and Poppy’s voice as she saw the other client out the front door.

The hallway was short but led to a large room, that I imagined, had once been the dining room of the old estate. Now, it was decked out with dark hardwood floors, a thick rug, and a desk that matched the one in the lobby area. Mr. Toffer rounded the desk and took his seat in a high backed leather chair and gestured for me to take my pick of the three upholstered seats opposite his. I chose the middle one and sank down, resting my broken arm on the armrest, and used my other hand to fish the folded contract pages from the inside pocket of my leather jacket.

“First of all, thank you for calling me. I trust that I’ll be able to provide the highest quality assistance to you in this matter and am eager to get started. I don’t like to beat around the bush. So, that being said, my night receptionist is the one who took the message, and while I got the details from her, I’d like to start out by having you explain everything to me.” He rested his hands on the top of his desk at the conclusion of his welcoming spiel, and waited patiently.

I took a deep breath and launched into the full story, just as I had when explaining things to the FAA agents, but adding in the more
colorful
details that I’d left out when recounting the events to them. When I wrapped up, I’d covered everything from the first time O’Keefe and I met, the fight in the parking lot, the resulting visit from Talia and him—including the part about me sleeping with Talia—and then the night of the crash and the fallout since then. At the end, I handed him the contract pages that I’d been unintentionally crunching in my grip as the story spilled from my mouth.

The lawyer took them and pushed on a pair of spectacles that looked nearly identical to the ones I’d seen on Poppy. I briefly wondered if there was something more than just a boss/assistant relationship going on if they’d gone to the same eye glasses shop, but dismissed the thought. First of all, it wasn’t any of my business—I was with Gemma and had no interest in Poppy. And secondly, as long as it didn’t interfere in his representation of my case, it really wasn’t any of my business who he was banging on the side.

I kept quiet, studying him as he read through the pages of the contract. I watched for any flicker of change in his expression, but he remained steady and unreadable all the way through the last line. Something told me he hadn’t missed a single dot or letter. When he was done, he set the pages in front of him on the desk and dropped the glasses on top. “Well, Mr. Rosen, this is a tangled little web, isn’t it?”

I let out a nervous bark of laughter. “To say the least…”

He looked down at the contracts again, a storm of thoughts brewing in his sharp grey eyes. When he brought them back to meet mine, he smiled slightly. “They don’t give a degree in shit storm maneuvering at Harvard Law, but I consider it something of a specialty. Especially when it comes to dealing with the red tape you’re bound to encounter now that the FAA and FBI are crawling up your ass.”

His frankness surprised me but flooded me with hope. “So, it’s not a lost cause?”

“No such thing.” He shook his head. “I do have a few questions for you before I can offer my best advice.”

“Fire away.”

“First of all, what do you want to happen? In a perfect world.”

“I want to keep my museum, but not at the cost of throwing my friend under the bus. If I can’t find a way out of this without hurting Rick, then I’d be willing to walk from the museum, but only if I can keep the planes. The building, while important, is still, at the end of the day, just four walls. It’s the planes and the memorabilia that matters the most. I’m not willing to give that up. Especially not to O’Keefe.” My words gradually turned sharp, until they came out just under a yell.

Lance didn’t flicker.

“And, just as a reminder, whatever you tell me doesn’t leave this office. But, I have to ask, what’s your ties to Rick? You’re not tangled up in his smuggling business, are you?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve used his charter service before, but all for above board reasons. I’ve never helped him smuggle in anything, but at the same time, I’m not exactly immune since I knew what he was doing was shady as shit.”

Lance nodded slowly, processing. “It’s possible they could charge you as an accessory, since you knew what was going on, but it’s unlikely. You could plead out in exchange for your testimony if worst came to worst.”

I opened my mouth, prepared to argue that I would never go to court and help the prosecutors put away my friend.

“I said worst case scenario,” he reiterated before I could voice my objection. “As far as O’Keefe and this contract goes, my advice would be to stay away from him until the FAA and FBI complete their investigation, especially if you’re right about him being the one who tampered with the lines—or even hired the person who did it and is after you.”

“Should I tell the FBI what I think about him being involved? I don’t have any concrete proof, but it seems like they should have a heads up.”

Lance nodded. “It can’t hurt. They have resources available that could help. For all you know, he’s someone already on a watch list somewhere. If he’s really the one behind the crash, this likely isn’t his first rodeo, and he might have done something in the past.”

“Wouldn’t they have caught him? If he left clues before?”

“They might have not had enough to take to the DA. It’s not as clean cut and simple as TV shows make it out to be,” he answered with a smile. “But, seeing as how your physical safety—as well as that of your staff and clients—is in danger until this case is solved, I would recommend staying away from him.”

I sighed. “Well, the problem is that he gave me three days to sign them or he would go to the cops with the information about Rick. I don’t want to call his bluff because he’s crazy enough he might do it.”

Lance shook his head. “He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“People like Henry O’Keefe come across as brash and impatient, but it’s a facade. He’s playing a long game here. He’s used up a lot of manipulation and scare tactics thus far. He started off by offering you Talia, and when you didn’t take that, he resorted to threatening and putting the heat on her in hopes of flushing you out. When that didn’t work, he turned to blackmail. He’s not going to gamble on his last remaining chip. He’ll hold onto it to get what he really wants.”

“The museum,” I said, watching the pieces fit snugly together as Lance painted the full picture.

“Exactly. So, go hang out, do whatever you gotta do, but I’d stay away from the places he knows he can find you. The museum, your home, anything like that. Lay low until the FAA and FBI can finish their investigation. Let them know everything you know. Obviously, without bringing Rick into it. I doubt they’d pursue it. That’s not their deal, but just to play it safe, leave him out of it.”

“I can’t go home?”

“Not right now, since it’s right next to the museum. I have a few friends and I’ll look into this thoroughly.” The confidence in his tone went a long way towards soothing away the frayed edges of my nerves.

“And when the time comes, if this goes to court, I’ll represent you and make sure you stay out of prison.” He set his glasses aside and picked up the contracts. He handed them back to me across the desk. “And whatever you do, don’t sign these.”

I laughed. “No problem there. I’m not letting that bastard get my museum.”

“Good.” Lance stood and I followed suite. He reached across the desk. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Rosen. If the FAA or FBI have questions, just give them my number. I’ll field all of that for you. You just relax, work on your recovery,” he gestured to my broken arm. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Thank you, Mr. Toffer.”

“Of course. Poppy will see you out,” he said, cutting his glance to the doorway. The door had slid open without a sound and Poppy was standing there, smiling serenely at me.

I nodded back at him and let Poppy lead me out of the room. She paused when we reached the front desk and she gave me an invoice for the consultation. I kept my eyes in my head at the figure on the sheet, but obviously not quick enough. “It goes towards the retainer fee if you choose to keep Mr. Toffer as your counsel,” Poppy purred, her soft voice taking some of the sting away.

“It’s not a problem,” I hurried to say, reaching for my back pocket. I dug out my wallet and flipped a shiny silver card at her.

She nodded and went to work on the computer, ringing up the transaction. I hadn’t thought to ask what the services would cost, which, in hindsight seemed completely idiotic, but I’d been consumed with doing whatever it took to save the museum and get out of O’Keefe’s warpath, that it hadn’t occurred to me.

And I could guarantee that O’Keefe’s legal team would cost a helluva lot more than Mr. Toffer.

Poppy handed me back the card and waited for the printer to spit out the receipt. “How much longer do you have to wear that?” She asked, nudging her chin at the black wrapping of my cast as it peeked out from the cuff of my jacket.

“Four weeks,” I answered, my voice flat. Gemma had said four to six, but I was going to push my luck and try to sweet talk her into taking it off as soon as humanly possible. The damn thing was driving me insane and it hadn’t even been a full week.

“I’m sorry. I broke my arm in high school. I was a cheerleader…” she trailed her words, spinning them in a way that left no choice but to flick a glance over her and imagine what her lush curves would look like spilling out of a tight cheerleading uniform.