Blind Man's Alley (35 page)

46

E
-MAILS REGARDING
Candace’s article claiming that Jack Pellettieri was facing imminent indictment by a grand jury on manslaughter and fraud charges had started hitting Duncan’s BlackBerry before he’d even woken up, and as soon as he’d read the story he got himself in gear to get to the office ASAP.

Blake summoned Duncan as soon as he got in, Lily already in Blake’s office when Duncan arrived. “We need to get as close to in front of this as we can,” Blake said. “Obviously the concern for our client is whether there’s any way this goes higher up the food chain.”

“How can Pellettieri blame anyone else?” Lily asked.

“People facing a murder indictment can get real creative.”

Pellettieri’s behavior at his deposition flashed unbidden to Duncan’s mind. Pellettieri knew something that could hurt the Roths; Duncan could feel it. He tried to figure out how to say that to Blake.

“I think maybe we need to ask Jeremy Roth point-blank what Pellettieri has on him,” Duncan said.

Blake turned to Duncan, clearly not liking the sound of that. “This is from the depo?”

“Right,” Duncan said. He’d told Blake about Pellettieri’s outburst the day it happened, Blake remaining poker-faced in response, thanking Duncan for telling him but showing zero interest in discussing what it might mean. Jeremy’s name hadn’t come up in that initial conversation.

“I’ll talk to Jeremy,” Blake said. “See if there’s something specific we need to be worried about.”

LEAH ROTH
called Duncan almost as soon as he returned to his desk.

“Why haven’t you called me?” Leah demanded, her voice tight. She sounded panicked, Duncan thought. He was surprised she was so quick to show fear—it made him wonder what it was exactly she was afraid of.

“Blake is calling your dad in a minute,” Duncan said. “It’s not my place to preempt him.”

“They’re really trying to make this into murder? It was an accident.”

“It can be an accident and still be manslaughter,” Duncan said. “Like driving drunk. Pellettieri knew he was putting people’s lives at risk.”

“We can’t be dragged into this.”

Duncan didn’t understand how Leah, a lawyer herself, not to mention a shrewd and coolly reflective businesswoman, could be looking for the sort of assurance that he clearly was not going to be able to provide. “What is it you want us to do, Leah?” he asked.

“It sounds like you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do,” Leah replied, her voice rising.

“We’re on it,” Duncan said. “But we can’t magically make a sitting grand jury disappear.”

“I’m not asking for magic; I’m asking for results. And I expect to see some.”

“I think you’re being a little—”

“I’d be very careful right now if I were you,” Leah interrupted, her voice steely. “Don’t think our personal relationship affects your firm’s representation of my family. Understood?”

“Of course we’ll get results,” Duncan said after a moment. But he’d said it to an empty room—Leah had already hung up on him.

47

W
HY DO
I have to come?” Alena protested. She was putting on her makeup in the bathroom with the door open, calling out to Jeremy, who was leaning forward on the couch, rolling a joint.

Jeremy was taking Mattar Al-Falasi out to dinner. The Al-Falasi family had left the country a few weeks ago without anything being decided on going into business together. Simon Roth had met with Mattar’s father, Ubayd, right before they’d returned to Dubai, finally making the formal pitch, but without getting much in the way of a clear response. Then a few days ago Mattar had sent Jeremy an e-mail saying he was going to be in New York and proposing dinner. It was less an invitation than it was a summons, Jeremy thought resentfully, though he had dutifully feigned enthusiasm in reply.

“Mattar seemed to like you the last time,” he called back to Alena.

“You don’t want me to pimp out Ivy again?”

Jeremy resisted the impulse to tell her about Mattar’s faux pas at the club. “I got the sense he wasn’t so into her,” he said instead.

“Don’t the two of you need to talk business?”

“It’s the dads who will be doing that. I’m just supposed to provide the entertainment.”

“And what is it I’m supposed to provide?” Alena asked, strolling into the room. She was dressed for going out, in a wine-colored sleeveless dress. Jeremy felt a stirring of desire just looking at her. Alena had a virtually flawless ability to clothe herself in a way that showed her body off to maximum advantage.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means.”

“Jesus, what—are you studying Zen now or something?”

“It means I don’t understand why you want me to come.”

“It’ll make it more comfortable, having you there. I don’t really know how to talk to this guy either. He can’t just come out and say anything; it’s all gotta be in code.”

They were due to pick up Mattar at his hotel in ten minutes. Jeremy had a limo waiting for them downstairs. He lit the joint, wanting a quick smoke before going down. They had dinner reservations at Peter Luger, Mattar’s idea, the Brooklyn steak house’s legend apparently carrying all the way to Dubai.

“What am I going to eat at Peter Luger?” Alena said, shaking off the offered joint as Jeremy exhaled.

“You could eat steak for once in your life.”

“You know I don’t eat red meat.”

“You’re not on the runway tomorrow or anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped taking care of myself.”

“Taking care of yourself is overrated,” Jeremy said.

THEY HAD
to wait at the bar for fifteen minutes for their table, Peter Luger not being the kind of place where the concept of VIP meant much. Bill Murray was having a drink a few feet away from them, and to Jeremy’s surprise this prompted wide-eyed enthusiasm in Mattar, whose recall of the plots of
Ghostbusters
and
Stripes
far exceeded Jeremy’s own. Even after they were seated Mattar was still buzzing about seeing the movie star.

Jeremy didn’t really understand the purpose of the present outing. His father was having dinner with Mattar’s father in a couple of days, which figured to be the do-or-die discussion on the Dubai family’s coming on board. Jeremy knew full well that his dad wouldn’t want him to be involved in the seduction dance if Simon had felt confident that the deal would close.

An awkward silence descended after they’d ordered, which Jeremy fought to clear. He was feeling talkative, as he often did when high, but he didn’t want to babble on, make a fool of himself. Alena had retreated into herself, not making any effort, clearly intending to coast through the evening. Mattar also seemed slightly tense, as if he too was there subject to some larger plan. Jeremy ordered a martini, Mattar doing the same, Jeremy hoping some alcohol would loosen things up.

“So,” Jeremy said, “I hope we have many more dinners to come. As business partners, I mean.”

“My father, he has some concerns.”

Jeremy was irritated but told himself to focus, wondering where the hell this was going. “What sort of concerns?”

“You must, of course, understand that we from the Middle East who are supporters of your country realize that some Americans distrust us. The business with your country’s ports, that was most unfortunate. And embarrassing for us too, I must say. Dubai is a friend to America, and we hope to be treated as a friend is treated.”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy said emphatically, utterly lost as to where Mattar was going with this. Mattar sat ramrod straight in his chair, maintaining eye contact with Jeremy, poised and assured.

“When engaging in business deals here, we need to be very careful about how they are perceived. We need to try to make sure they will not involve us in controversy, because when they do, there is focus on us, the Arabs, which can be most unfortunate. You understand?”

Jeremy didn’t. “Sure,” he said.

“The accident that happened last year … The police are still investigating, is what we understand.”

Jeremy was blindsided. He felt hot, a prickle of sweat on his forehead, his tie tight on his neck. He took a sip of his martini, too big, so that he then coughed, needing to reach for his water to wash down the vodka. Alena was staring at him like he was a bug that had just started crawling across the table.

“That’s all going to blow over,” Jeremy said, trying to force some confidence into his voice. “The accident was tragic, of course, but these things do happen in construction. If anyone was to blame, it was a subcontractor.”

“But there has been quite a lot of publicity regarding it, even to this day. You sued the newspaper.”

“My father did, yes, for libeling him.”

“I understand in this country lawsuits are part of how some people choose to do business. When you have a disagreement, you can choose to fight. But we do not have that luxury.”

Jeremy wondered why Mattar was bringing this up with him, before the meeting between their fathers. He was sure that Mattar wasn’t acting on his own initiative; this had to be something that the Dubai family had decided on. A warning shot across the bow, perhaps, or a way of setting the stage for walking away from the deal.

“I hear you,” Jeremy said, fighting against his indignation at Mattar’s presumption. Did he expect Jeremy to pretend that his father was going to change the bare-knuckled way he did business at this stage of the game, just to please some towelheads who had a place at the table only because a perverse God had stuck oil under their otherwise wretched portion of the earth?

“But we bore your friend with this unpleasant talk of business,” Mattar said, turning to Alena and offering a wide smile. “Permit me to say you look particularly lovely this evening.”

“Thank you,” Alena said, with the rote brightness of a woman who’d been complimented on her looks all her life.

“As I’m sure you know, the traditions where I am from do not permit a woman to display her beauty in the ways that are customary here. I must admit, as a man, it is a luxury of coming to this land. I of course mean nothing forward by that,” Mattar added quickly, glancing over at Jeremy.

“I took it in the spirit it was intended,” Alena said, Jeremy wondering just what the hell she meant by that.

“Excellent,” Mattar said. “Is it a cliché to ask whether you were ever a model?”

“Yes,” Alena said.

“Yes, it is a cliché, or yes, you were?” Mattar asked with a smile.

“She was a model,” Jeremy said, not trusting Alena to answer.

“I still am a model,” Alena said.

“In your country, there is such a cult of youth. I think a woman should look like a woman, not a girl.”

Jeremy felt his irritation rising—he was sure that Mattar was flirting with Alena, right there in front of him. Then again, he was stoned, and sometimes weed made him paranoid about the intentions of others.

AFTER THEY’D
eaten, Mattar suggested a nightcap back in Manhattan. Jeremy agreed, having little choice. When Mattar excused himself for the men’s room Alena turned to Jeremy, her look frosty. “Can I plead tired and go home, let the two of you finish this as a boys’ night out?” she asked.

“I don’t want to be alone with him,” Jeremy protested. “Besides, I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

“I suspect there’s a reason for that,” Alena said.

“He’s just excited to be around a woman who doesn’t have a scarf over her face,” Jeremy said. “Who can blame him for that?”

“I know a bit more about spoiled rich men than you do. Well, I suppose that’s not precisely true.”

Jeremy ignored the insult. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’d just like to go.”

“We’ll get one drink somewhere back in the city, yawn a couple of times while we’re drinking it, say we’re tired, and then go home. That’s not so bad, right?”

Alena wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re the boss,” she said.

THEY WENT
for drinks at Plunge, a rooftop bar in the Meatpacking District, not all that far from the apartment where Alena was staying. The bar had enjoyed a vogue a couple of years ago, though the trendsetters had moved on. But Mattar had suggested going somewhere where they could be outside, and Jeremy actually liked the place more now that it’d settled down.

Alena excused herself to use the bathroom as soon as they arrived, telling Jeremy to order her a glass of chardonnay if the waiter came by. When she was gone Mattar turned to Jeremy, smiling. “Since we stay out so late, I take it you are not married?”

Again confused by Mattar’s question, Jeremy offered a forced laugh. “To Alena? God, no.”

“Not to Alena, no. I meant someone from society? Is that how you would say it here?”

“You mean like a socialite?” Jeremy asked. “I’m not married to anybody.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nobody besides Alena.”

Mattar frowned slightly, hesitating a little before speaking. “But she is not the one you take home to your father, as they say, no?”

“That’s true.”

“There are women like Alena in Dubai. More than you might think.”

“I don’t find that so hard to believe. Hopefully I can get over there sometime soon.”

“But this one, Alena. She has a fire, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say. Yes, indeed.”

“That can be very compelling in a woman. Like you must tame her.”

Jeremy, uncomfortable, busied himself flagging down a waiter.

“I can talk to my father,” Mattar said. “If I reassure him about working with your family, I think that would help him feel more comfortable.”

“That would be great,” Jeremy said.

“I am happy to do you this favor,” Mattar said. There was something in his voice. Jeremy looked at him, trying to gather focus. Mattar was proposing a trade.

“I appreciate that,” Jeremy said as Alena rejoined them. He was distracted, trying to work it through. The sales at the Aurora that had been expected to cover most of the $300 million in short-term construction loans had not materialized, and with the collapse of the credit market their lenders were insisting on getting their money. A year ago getting an extension on construction loans was a matter of course—especially given the high interest such loans carried. But now the money was gone, and if the Al-Falasi family did not step in, the Roths would have to personally come up with the money.

They didn’t have it. On paper, his father was a billionaire, easy, but most of their money at any given time was in actual real estate. The only way they could come up with $300 million was to sell an entire skyscraper. Doing so right now would be almost impossible—prices were in free fall, yet nobody was looking to buy, and if they put something on the market priced to sell, people would smell blood in the water. And once weakness was detected, everybody would turn on them, try to take advantage. Everything that had been built over the last sixty years could be potentially destroyed, or at least severely wounded, by one building with terrible timing. The first building where Jeremy had been in charge too—it would be viewed as his fault, proof that he wasn’t capable of filling his father’s shoes. And their last best chance to stop that from happening was sitting across the table from Jeremy, making a play on his girl.