Social Lives (41 page)

There were no cars in the driveway, no Jacks, no Beth. The other girls should have been home by now as well, and the nanny, the maid. The house always filled up after 3
P.M
.

“Jacks?” he called out. There was no answer. He moved faster now, his mind spinning with thoughts too horrible to imagine. He thought about that execution years before, the husband facedown in a pool of blood on the closet floor, but when he raced through the remaining rooms of the house he found that they, too, were all empty.

Bounding back down the stairs, he retraced his steps in search of clues. It was then that he found the note on the counter. It was from his wife, and he
scanned it quickly before reading each word.
The man left willingly. It was just a scare. Kids are fine, at a friend's house, but not sure if it's safe to say where. Tell you in person later. Everything is going to be OK. Please, just wait for me.

David set the briefcase down, felt the charges settle inside him. They were safe for the moment, or so it seemed. Jacks was clever, she would have dropped some clue in the note if she'd been forced to write it. And her car was gone. No signs of struggle, which surely there would have been if they had taken Beth.

No, this wasn't like that. They just wanted the money, whoever they were; he didn't even know for sure. Everything had been arranged through that lawyer. It had all seemed so businesslike. Posh offices with secretaries. A Park Avenue address, fancy suits. He'd signed legal contracts, documents that had been notarized to obtain the loans, and he'd told himself they were nothing worse than junk bonds. Exorbitant interest, but that was to be expected given the level of risk he was asking them to take on. And now, one deadline come and gone and they were calling his house, his office. Sending a man to his home, scaring his wife, threatening his child. It was surreal, and yet the message had been delivered. This would never stop, would never end, because what he had in that briefcase was not even the first installment of what he now owed.

He looked out the window at the white, glistening snow. He saw the dog settling down, chasing after a squirrel. The tree swing swayed against the cold bursts of wind that the day had brought, along with the piercing sunshine and bitter cold temperatures. He took it all in, soaked it into his bones, then he grabbed the briefcase and went up the stairs.

In his study, he searched his files for the deed to the house. He pulled it out and signed it over to his wife, forging a notary's signature the best he could under the circumstances. Then he folded the deed and placed it inside the briefcase with the rest of the family's assets. He was on autopilot now, the fear gone, the panic subdued. What was left he couldn't recognize, but it propelled him forward and he didn't try to stop it. He didn't know how to begin to stop it after everything he'd done.

In the back of his closet, on the top shelf, was his hunting rifle, the one he'd been given as a gift by the Barlows years before and that had been put away soon after. David was not a hunter, though Barlow had dragged him along on a couple of his excursions. He knew how to use it. It wasn't that complicated.

His blood was moving faster now, though he had slowed his body, taking each step as it came, being careful. He walked inside the bathroom and closed the door, locking it shut. Then he laid the briefcase on the vanity counter, popping open the lid to expose the contents freely.

How had this happened? How had it come to this? Part of him was fighting it now, screaming that it couldn't be what it was. He thought back on his pleasant childhood, his years at Harvard and working on Wall Street. Then his own firm, and clients, the expensive lunches and golf conferences out west. Three children, a house in Wilshire, private schools, expensive cars. It couldn't all be gone after one mistake; it was not possible. But no, there had been more than one mistake.
Think about it!
He could not afford to have pity after what he'd done. He had not secured the insurance on the hotel; the most important detail had slipped right past him in his moment of arrogance, or forgetfulness. He'd jumped the gun; maybe he'd been too eager to get the investors on board, and in the end he had not done the due diligence. How and why, he could not say for sure. But the lapse occurred after the property transfer. It was on him and only him.

Still, is that all it took to ruin a man? One mistake? No, it was all that he had done after that, the covering up, raising a second fund to cover the first. It was fraud, and that was the moment he'd become more than a careless investor. He'd become a criminal. And the crime had been exposed, and then needed to be managed. It had seemed manageable that day in Angelo Ferrino's office. He had talked about it like any lawyer would, with a series of actions that could be taken to solve the problem. Only the solution relied upon David coming up with more money, more investors at a time when the market was taking a sudden dive and he was fresh off a criminal investigation. It was his own arrogance that had made the plan seem possible, and of course Ferrino had known that. He'd been banking on it.

David could see the road map now, the twists and turns he'd taken to get to this place. He had not been the victim of circumstance. There was no hand-wringing to be done. If he were on his own, he might find a way to disappear. Leave the money and the house and pray that it would be enough for them. But you can't hide a wife and three little girls. He had a two-million-dollar life insurance policy that Ferrino and his clients could never touch.

David Halstead was a lot of things, but he had never been a coward. He took the gun and headed outside to the woodshed.

 

 

 

 

 

B
ARLOW WALKED IN THE
room to find her standing by the window, watching the wind blow up the snow. The door was heavy as it closed behind him, but she did not turn around. Not yet. Still, he saw her take a heavy breath as he set his keys on the nightstand.

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking a few steps closer to her before stopping.

Jacks nodded. Then she twisted her neck to look at him. “I'm fine. Sorry about the message . . . if I worried you.”

He smiled then, warmly, and she finally allowed herself to face him. “It's okay. No trouble. I'm sorry I never called.”

He had promised last week in the parking lot, but Jacks had known then as she did now that the affair was over for him, that the promise had been a polite way of ending the conversation.

“Don't be sorry,” Jacks said. If anyone needed to be sorry, it was she. And not only for drawing him into this sordid mess, but for what she was about to do. This was the moment that all of those stolen afternoons had been about. She'd gone over it with her sister, what she would say, how she would say it so he would understand what he had to do to save his marriage, his reputation. She would be as cold as she needed to be to make him believe
she was serious, to make him feel the sting of her betrayal. He could not think for a moment that she would back down. It had to be all or nothing. The money for her silence.

She had the evidence—hotel receipts, text messages, and photos of him sleeping taken on her cell phone. It was textbook, cliché. But it was real. She had this all in her purse, which was next to her on the floor—the things that could destroy his life and that would surely destroy everything that remained of hers when she finished saving her husband.

Barlow walked closer to her, studied her face. “Eva called me just after you. Any idea what she wanted?” he asked.

Jacks shrugged, thankful he hadn't spoken to her yet. “Probably something about the speaker tonight.”

Barlow nodded. “Of course.”

It was awkward now, with both of them knowing it was over, but Jacks having called the meeting, having said she was desperate to see him.

With his eyes on hers, he pulled off his shoes, then his jacket. He reached for the buttons on his shirt, but Jacks walked quickly to where he stood, closing her hands around his.

“What is it?” he asked. “I thought . . .”

“Stop. Just stop. We both know it's over.”

Barlow kissed her on the cheek, then buttoned the shirt. “Then why? Why am I here?”

She turned away, unable to think with all the voices screaming in her head. She could hear her sister pleading with her to get the money and run like hell.
Remember the past, nothing can change, not ever.
But then she heard David weeping in his sleep, her children laughing in the yard. She let the voices scream until she heard her own voice rising above all of them, though it sounded strange to her. Still, it was hers, and she knew she had to listen.

She turned back toward the window and grabbed her purse. Then she looked at Barlow for a long time, as though she might not ever see him quite the same way again, soft and loving.

“I have to go. This was a mistake.” She walked past him quickly before she could change her mind. She had come so close, and that was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. But that was all she could withstand. The degradation she almost inflicted upon her soul would have
ripped out what was left of her humanity, leaving her with nothing but a shell. She could not do that to her children. Or to herself.

“Are you sure? You said you had something to tell me?” Barlow sounded confused.

“No. Please. Let me go.” This was over for her. David would be coming home and they had an entire life to re-create. It would be drastic, devastating, but nothing could be worse than what she had almost done in this room.

As she turned away, Barlow grabbed her, pulling her back to him. With his strong arms, he held her tightly, then began to whisper in her ear.

“You have a good heart, Jacks. No matter what happens, I know you have a good heart, and I love you for it.”

Taking in his words, Jacks pulled away and stood before him.

His face was serious now, serious and concerned.

“I've just made a call to my accountant. It seems there's a great deal on a hotel in Vegas that I simply can't pass up. The first owner lost it to a fire early on in the construction, and the insurance had lapsed.”

Jacks was breathless, unable to speak or move. All she could do was listen as Barlow told his story.

“It's a shame because it has a lot of potential. Great piece of property. Just needs some cleaning up on the money end. Some debts and other things. But I've already gotten started on that.”

Jacks shook her head, her hands pressed to her face trying to hold back the tears, but it was futile. He had lied about speaking with Eva, who now knew everything. Eva had insisted on it—names, dates, amounts. She'd written all of it down, and Jacks hadn't a clue what for, though her mind was reeling with possibilities of what might be done to them, and how having a witness might be useful. So she had complied with every request, then let Eva take Beth and the other girls to her house for the afternoon. Eva must have known she was coming right here, straight to this hotel room to ruin a man's life.

“It's going to be okay now” were the last words Barlow said before holding her, and she stayed there, crying for a long while, whispering over and over, “I'm sorry.” Barlow stroked her hair and cried with her, for her. What had this life done to this woman? He'd have given her the money months ago if only she had asked. But that wasn't in the rulebook; there was no rule-book for what had happened to David Halstead.

“I have to go to him. He'll be worried sick about us,” Jacks said. Then she kissed Barlow on his face and stared straight into his eyes.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

Barlow smiled in that disarming way of his. “What for? Some great sex?”

“Don't joke, please. I need to know. When I see you again—if I see you again—will you be able to look at me?”

“Of course. Go home to your family.”

Jacks gathered her things, then faced Barlow one last time before leaving. He was a good man, generous and kind. For all his weaknesses and betrayals, he was still all of that. He'd told her she had a good heart, that he loved her. That all would be just as it was, but Jacks knew that would never be. She hadn't gone through with the blackmail, but she had seduced him to that end, and that was something that might be forgiven, but never forgotten. This was the last time she would share an intimate moment with this man, this man she'd known for fifteen years and who had become her dear friend. He was a casualty in all of this, along with the piece of her she would never, ever be able to get back.