Buying Time (17 page)

Dre laughed. “’Cuz everything you’ve said about the dude tells me he’s a punk.”

Angela grew serious. “Don’t worry. Cornell would never do anything that might soil his stellar reputation. He just can’t face letting me go.”

“I can understand that. I wouldn’t wanna let you go either.” Dre reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s been a while since you’ve lived alone. I think I should probably spend the first few nights with you. In case you get scared.”

Angela smiled. “You’re something else, you know that?” She picked up her menu. “What do you want to eat?”

Dre winked seductively. “You.”

Angela peered at him from atop the menu. “Just a few more days,” she said, her voice full of mischief, “and I’m all yours.”

E
rickson had not seen Sophia or Ashley in the five days since the coroner’s van pulled out of the driveway. Now that Claire was gone, they were no longer a family. Not that they ever really had been.

Sitting on the patio, enjoying his garden, he took a sip of scotch and pondered his situation. Things could not have worked out more perfectly. Claire’s cause of death had been listed as pancreatic cancer. He didn’t know how Becker had pulled it off, but the man was a master.

Erickson’s only problem now was Ashley. She was running around telling anyone willing to listen that Erickson had murdered Claire. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop her character assassination. What was he going to do? Call up all their friends and explain that his stepdaughter was a catty little bitch just like her mother?

No matter what, Erickson refused to hide or cower. He just prayed that the White House never got wind of Ashley’s lies. Such allegations against the chairman of one of the nation’s most well-regarded law firms would be a big news story. The same allegations against the next U.S. Attorney General would set off a media firestorm. He had considered eliciting Sophia’s help in silencing Ashley, but wasn’t sure he’d get it.

Erickson walked back inside to refresh his drink, reveling in the almost magical silence that now engulfed the home. He was alone in the world again and that suited him just fine. Erickson had not been in contact with what remained of his own family for years. He had a sister in Michigan and cousins he’d never been close to in Ohio. His escape to New York by way of NYU Law School had been his way out of the harsh Chicago winters and he had never looked back.

Without thinking it through, he picked up the telephone from the kitchen counter and called Sophia’s cell.

The minute she picked up, he had second thoughts, but proceeded anyway. “It’s Larry. How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Sophia said. “And you?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances.” He cleared his throat and decided to skip the phony chitchat. “I’d like you to speak to Ashley and ask her to stop her preposterous allegations. If she wasn’t family, I would have already stepped in to stop her.”

“Ashley’s taking her mother’s death very hard.”

“We all are. But her allegations are ridiculous.”

Sophia did not reply.

When Erickson translated the meaning of her silence, he almost dropped his scotch. “You can’t possibly believe what Ashley’s been saying.”

“Claire was doing fine when I left that morning,” Sophia said coldly. “On top of that, I was as shocked as Ashley was to learn that Claire had sold her insurance policy. It seems strange that she hadn’t mentioned it to either of us.”

Erickson tried to rein in his burgeoning rage. “Like I told you, Claire sold that policy to pay for an experimental operation. She didn’t tell you about it because she didn’t want to raise your hopes unnecessarily. But later on, she changed her mind about going through with the procedure.”

“If you say so.”

Anger bubbled in Erickson’s chest. “Exactly what are you insinuating?”

“I’m not
insinuating
anything,” Sophia replied curtly. “I’m
saying
that I don’t think there ever was an operation. Ashley was Claire’s sole beneficiary. She thinks you convinced Claire to sell that insurance policy so you’d be able to keep the money.  And so do I.”

“Are you nuts? I offered to give it to Ashley, but she refused to take it. And anyway, I’m not exactly hurting for cash.”

“As I understand it, some people can never have enough money. I think you knew Ashley wouldn’t accept a dime from you.”

“I’m telling you the truth!”

“I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe that Claire would have wanted her only child to end up with nothing.”

Erickson closed his eyes and pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Nothing? Ashley gets three grand a month from her grandparents’ estate. Claire knew she’d be taken care of. Just do me a favor and talk to her. I can’t afford to have her lies picked up by the media.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The bitterness in Sophia’s voice told him she would do absolutely nothing to help him.

“I’ve relayed Claire’s wishes regarding her services to the funeral home.” Erickson was now anxious to end the call. “If you and Ashley would like to keep the ashes, I don’t have a problem with that.”

Sophia gasped. “Ashes? What ashes?”

“Claire wanted to be cremated. She didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. I—I can’t believe she would’ve wanted to be cremated. She never shared that with me.”

“She told me she planned to talk to you.”

“Well, she didn’t.”

Erickson reached for his scotch glass. “Claire said she would write everything down, but she never got around to it.”

Sophia paused for a prolonged beat. “I’m really having trouble with what you’re telling me. Claire always said she—”

“I don’t care what she told you.  This is what she wanted,” Erickson said, flustered. “I have to go now.”

“I don’t think Ashley’s going to be happy about this.”

“Why should I be concerned about whether Ashley’s happy or not? She isn’t concerned about destroying my reputation.”

Erickson hung up without saying good-bye. He refilled his glass with scotch, then made his way to his study. With Claire out of the way, he could enjoy his personal pleasures without fear of discovery. He turned on his computer, took a seat and waited as it booted up. He now wisely restricted his viewing habits to websites featuring women who were of age, but looked much younger. Erickson had also checked every crevice of the room to ensure that there were no recording devices Claire had neglected to remove.

He was fairly confident now that there were no copies of the DVD. Like the things Claire had failed to share with Sophia and Ashley, his indiscretions were something she had wisely kept to herself.

Before he could get settled in, the phone rang. It was the director of the funeral home. “Mr. Erickson, I’ve just received a call halting your wife’s cremation.”

Erickson sat forward in his chair. “What? From who?”

“From your wife’s daughter. Ashley Morgan.”

“She doesn’t have the authority to—”

“I’m sorry, but when these types of family disputes arise, we can’t proceed until they’ve been resolved. She told us she’s asking the authorities to perform an autopsy. In light of that, legally we can’t proceed. I’m sure you understand.”

No, he did not understand.

“I wish Ashley had talked to me,” he said. “She’s been under tremendous stress. But do what you have to do. I have no problem with postponing the cremation until we get this all straightened out.”

Erickson hung up the telephone and hurled his drink across the room. The glass shattered, leaving a light stain on the white wall.

For months, it had been Claire he feared. But now Ashley had taken the baton and run with it. He could not let the White House get even a whiff of his family drama. Even a request for an autopsy could wreck his chances of getting the nomination.

Erickson still had no idea of Claire’s true cause of death. He had honored his agreement with Becker to never broach the subject again. But he was racked with curiosity. Instead of heading for the bathroom during his visit, Becker had obviously slipped into Claire’s room. Had he drugged her? If so, what would an autopsy reveal?

He snatched the phone to call Becker, then almost as quickly set it back on the desk. He did not want phone records to show that immediately after speaking to the funeral director, he had called his law partner. That could unnecessarily implicate Becker.

Erickson walked back into the kitchen to fix himself another drink. He chastised himself for sounding so alarmed when the funeral director called. A man who had nothing to hide wouldn’t fear an autopsy. He would not make the same mistake again.

But he had to get Ashley under control. No matter what it took to make that happen.

N
obody knew the down side of procrastination better than Waverly Sloan. Ignoring a problem, he knew, never helped. So why didn’t he just pick up the telephone and tell Britney that he couldn’t sell her policy?

He stared down at the documents spread across his desk. Britney had an eighty-thousand-dollar policy and the medical records her doctor provided showed that she had Stage 2 colon cancer, which meant her prognosis for a complete recovery was good. No one would want to buy her policy under those conditions. Making it even harder, she had a group policy from her company. If she got fired from her job, the premiums to maintain the policy would be expensive. The investor would have to take on that cost, too.

Waverly’s BlackBerry chirped and when he saw Britney’s number, he grimaced. He decided not to answer it, but on the fourth ring, he picked up anyway.

“How are you doing?” Britney asked.

Waverly could tell that she was trying to sound upbeat. “I’m fine. What about you?”

“Not too good.” She spoke just above a whisper. “But I’ll feel a lot better if you tell me you’ll be able to sell my policy. Have you had a chance to go over my medical records? I missed work again today. I think my boss is about to fire me and I don’t have much money saved up.”

Waverly sighed. “Most of the investors I spoke to weren’t interested in buying your policy,” he lied. “You—”

“Why? Because I’m not dying fast enough?” She broke into a sob. “If I lose my job, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Disability isn’t even enough to cover my rent. My only option is to go back to St. Paul and move in with my sister.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Waverly said. “I found an investor.” He rubbed his forehead in consternation. He would just buy the damn policy himself. “But I could only get you thirty thousand.”

Britney’s sobs grew louder, but he could tell that she was crying tears of appreciation, not sadness.

“Thank you so much! I didn’t know what I was going to do. Thank you so much!”

Waverly felt like her white knight . . . until he hung up. He’d let his emotions cause him to do something stupid again. His viatical license expressly prevented him from investing in the policy of a client. He could end up having his license revoked, which was a foolish risk to take. But no more foolish than laundering Rico’s dirty money.

He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out his flask and poured a shot of brandy into his coffee cup. A thought came to him. He did have another option. He could use Rico’s money to purchase Britney’s policy. He’d been funneling so many policies through Goldman Investments that there was a good chance Rico wouldn’t examine it too closely.

Rico’s calls inquiring about whether any of his policyholders had died yet had reached an annoying level. Of the deals he’d brokered for Goldman Investments, Inc., two of the clients died within days, netting Rico more than thirty percent on both investments. He’d even decided to use Rico’s money to purchase Jerry Billington’s three-hundred-thousand-dollar policy.

Waverly pulled up Britney’s file on his computer and did something he prayed did not come back to haunt him. He changed her doctor’s diagnosis of
stage 2 colon cancer
to
stage 4
. On the line for life expectancy, he deleted the words
unpredictable at this time
and replaced them with
five months
.

A knock on his open door startled him.

“Hey, son-in-law.” Leon Barrett was standing in the doorway of his office. Waverly was so surprised he could barely open his mouth. He wondered how Leon had gotten past the receptionist.

His father-in-law marched up to his desk and stuck out his hand. “I was in the neighborhood and decided to look you up.”

Yeah, sure
. Waverly shook his extended hand without getting up.

Leon’s critical eyes surveyed the office. “Pretty nice digs.” He peered over Waverly’s shoulder at the L.A. skyline. “This place is twice as large as your other office. How much does the lease on a palace like this run?”

None of your damn business.
Waverly chuckled. “Money and politics are two things I never talk about, especially with family. What brought you to this side of town?”

It took a second for Leon to come up with a response. “Just meeting a friend.”

“Really?” Waverly’s brows knitted together. “Who?”

The two most important men in Deidra’s life stared each other down, their years of dislike and mistrust suddenly out in the open.

 “An old business associate of mine.” Leon sat down though Waverly hadn’t invited him to. “Guy Robinson. I don’t think you know him.”

Waverly made a show of checking his watch. “I was in the process of preparing for a client meeting which starts in a few minutes. I’m sorry, but I can’t shoot the breeze with you right now.”

Leon refused to take the hint. “You know, I was asking Deidra about your new business and, to my surprise, she couldn’t explain to me exactly what you do.”

“You know Deidra,” Waverly replied. “As long as the bills are paid and she can shop all day long, she’s not really interested in  hearing about the particulars of how I make a living.”

“The way I see it, if you have to hide what you do from your wife, it can’t be too above board.” Leon got to his feet and pointed a finger in Waverly’s direction. “But mark my words, son. The fast money always runs out.”