THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (32 page)

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on the road?”

“I won’t stay long. I just wanted to find out if you’ve heard from the Feds yet.”

Mike nodded.

Phillip’s grin disappeared. “I wanted it to be a warning, to prove I’m serious. Next time I see them I’ll give them the rest of the story.”

“How much did you tell them?”

“Enough to make them interested.”

Mike frowned and gritted his teeth. “You may have started something that can’t be stopped.”

“Sure it can. All you have to do is give me the money.”

“I told you that’s not going to happen. The only way you’re going to get it is over my dead body. Now get your lazy ass out of my sight!” Mike turned and continued toward his office.

“Have a nice day, boss,” Phillip shouted, raising his right hand and pointing its middle finger skyward.

CHAPTER 79

Newark International Airport. 9:35 P.M.

Thirty minutes before Phillip’s Air Canada DC-9 touched down, a heavy downpour had drenched the area, bringing welcome relief from the sweltering heat of late August. A spectacular sunset caused the night sky to explode into a pyrotechnical delight.

Phillip’s yellow taxi splashed to a stop in front of Visconti’s apartment building forty minutes later. The western sky, although almost dark, still glowed with a reddish purple hue. Phillip paid the driver and jumped out. When he reached the front door of the building, he tried to open one of the twin plate glass doors by pulling its gold plated handle. Realizing the door was locked, he pressed polished brass doorbell button on the concrete wall beside the doors.

Seconds later, he heard a man’s voice in the stainless steel grating above the button. “Are you visiting, sir?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Louis Visconti. He’s expecting me,” Phillip replied.

“Your name please?”

“Phillip Servito.”

“One moment, sir.”

Thirty seconds later, Phillip heard an electronic buzz inside the lock between the doors. “You may open the door now, Mister Servito,” the security guard said. “Mister Visconti is on the sixth floor. He’ll be waiting for you when you get off the elevator.”

“When the doors to the ancient elevator opened on the sixth floor, Phillip stepped out to meet Visconti. “Phillip, good to see you,” Visconti said, forcing a smile and attempting to ignore his visitor’s scruffy and unshaven appearance. “Welcome to New York and to my home. It’s just down the hallway. Follow me.” Visconti led his guest to the apartment and to the door of his den. “Take the most comfortable seat you can find in there. I’m going to the kitchen to get myself some tea. Can I get you something?”

“You got any beer?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back,” Visconti said, then hurried to the kitchen. He found Kerri dressed in her pale pink robe and preparing a small pot of tea. “You look outrageously beautiful,” he said, wrapping her in his arms and planting an apologetic kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry I had to screw up our Friday night.”

Kerri smiled and kissed Visconti’s cheek. “I really don’t mind. I’m going upstairs to have a long hot bath and a good sleep. I need both.”

“Stop by the den on your way. I’ll introduce you to Phillip. You’ve got to see this kid. You won’t believe him. He looks like a leftover from Woodstock.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Visconti poured himself some tea, removed a can of Heineken from the fridge, then hurried back to the den. He handed the can to Phillip, then took a seat on the couch beside him. “I’m curious to know why you’re using your given name. I understand Mike adopted you some time ago.”

Phillip snapped the lid of the beer can and chugged several mouthfuls. “I hate Mike King and everything he stands for,” he declared, then wiped his mouth with his hand.

Distracted, Visconti shifted his eyes toward the door. “Kerri, come in and meet Phillip,” he said, smiling and jumping to his feet.

Phillip turned to face Kerri. His mouth opened involuntarily as he slowly lifted himself from the couch, captivated by her beauty and staring at her as if mesmerized.

Kerri raised her right hand. “Hi,” she said, not the slightest bit interested in Visconti’s slovenly guest.

“Good to meet you,” Phillip said.

“Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Yah. Pretty fast though.”

“Will you be staying here tonight?”

“That’s a good idea,” Visconti said. “Why don’t you stay with us, Phillip? We’ve got all kinds of room in this place.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Kerri said, then blew Visconti a kiss and left.

“Let’s talk about money,” Visconti said, anxious to know Phillip’s intentions and exactly where he was positioned in an increasingly complex equation. “You mentioned that Mike and your mother are planning to give it to charity.”

Phillip sat on the couch and took another large gulp of beer. “Yah. It’s all King’s idea. I had to do something to stop him. That money’s mine. My real father left it to me and I should be the one who decides what to do with it.”

“So what do you think Mike’s going to do now?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve scared the shit out of him.”

Phillip’s statement worried Visconti. “Are you bluffing or would you really go to the Feds?”

“No bluff. I’ve already talked to them.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“I didn’t tell them much. I just told them King and I might know where the money is. I didn’t say I knew for sure. I just wanted to scare the hell out of King.”

“Did you tell them anything else?”

“Yah. I told them how much money was in the trust.”

Visconti winced. “How much did you say there was?”

“Three hundred million, but that’s all I said. The Feds can’t do a damn thing to him. They don’t have enough information.”

“Would you like another beer?” Visconti asked, now certain that Phillip had become a major and disruptive factor.

“Sure.”

Visconti picked up Phillip’s empty can and hurried to the kitchen. He closed the door, rushed to the telephone and dialed Nick Bennedetti’s office number. After three rings, he heard a click, then Bennedetti’s answering machine tape. “Bennedetti For Hire… Sorry I’m out… Leave a damn short message at the tone, and I’ll get back to you, real soon.”

Visconti waited for the tone. “Nick, it’s Louis. It’s Friday night. I need you to do a job, a big one. Call me back. I’ll be at the apartment for the weekend.” He hung up, raced to the refrigerator, removed a can of beer, then hurried back to the den. “Phillip, what would you say if I told you to go ahead and let Mike give the money to charity?”

“I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“What if I told you it would result in you getting your money?”

“How?”

“Mike recently contacted Alfred Schnieder at his home in Switzerland and asked him to be an intermediary in giving your money to charity. Alfred didn’t think he was qualified, so he found a banker in Geneva who is. Obviously, Mike has to contact me before he can make this transfer, so Alfred and I have made arrangements with that banker in Geneva to make it appear that the money has gone to Mike’s charity. In reality, that charity will never get it.”

“Who will?”

“Us.”

“How the hell can you do that?” Phillip asked.

“The banker in Geneva will call Mike and confirm that all of the money was transferred to the charity. Then he’ll transfer it to us. That’s all it takes… You interested?”

“What happens if Mike gets suspicious and checks it out?”

“Come on, think about it,” Visconti cajoled. “Do you think he’s going to risk being discovered by going to the charity and asking them if they received the money?”

Phillip’s skeptical frown graduated to a broad smile. “So you guys are planning to steal stolen money.”

“That’s too harsh. We’re just going to divert it.” Visconti’s larcenous grin gave way to a cold gray stare. “Of course we’ll need to get paid for the service.”

“How much?”

“Thirty percent. That’ll leave you with seventy percent. You’ll get two hundred and ten million.”

Phillip’s expression saddened. “Sounds great, but I’m not sure I can convince King that I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think he’s going to believe me.”

“Don’t talk like that. He’s got to believe you. If he does’t, our plan washes and we end up with a big zero.”

“But how can I do it? I’m going to look like an idiot if I suddenly tell him I don’t want the money. I don’t think it’ll matter what I say to him, he’s not going to believe it.”

“Tell him you went away for the weekend to think about it. Tell him you’re sick with remorse. Tell him the Feds have been bugging you ever since you went to see them. Show some tears and say the whole thing’s driving you crazy. Tell him that even though you still want the money, you’ve decided you can’t do anything to hurt your mother. That should do it.”

Phillip’s frown melted. Visconti was right. His mother would be the convincing factor.

“Do we have a deal?” Visconti asked, extending his hand.

“We have a deal.”

“Great! Then we can work out the details tomorrow. We’ll get you a flight to Toronto and you can relax here until then. I’ll get a cab to drive you to the airport.”

“Where am I going to sleep?”

“I’ll show you. Follow me.” Visconti led him up the winding stairway to the bedroom across the hall from Kerri’s, then turned to face him. “I forgot to ask. Do you have a bag?”

“Nope,” Phillip said, patting the pocket of his jacket. My toothbrush and paste are right in here. That’s all I brought.”

“Okay. When you wake up, go to the kitchen. Just keep walking past the den. You’ll run right into it. You’ll find all kinds of food in the refrigerator… See you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 80

Saturday, August 25.

Kerri awoke at nine, showered, put on her pink gown and hurried to the kitchen. She found Phillip sitting at the bar and sipping a glass of orange juice. Same clothes. Blue Jay’s cap on backward. His stubble ten hours longer. “Good morning,” she said with a warm smile.

Phillip waved his right hand. “Hi,” he replied with a lecherous smirk while he examined every inch of Kerri.

“Have you seen Louis?”

“Yah. He told me to tell you he went jogging. He left about fifteen minutes ago. He said he would be back in an hour.”

Kerri poured herself a glass of orange juice, then sat on the stool beside Phillip. “Why do you hate Mike King?” she asked, looking straight ahead.

“How do you know I do?” Phillip asked, surprised by Kerri’s question.

“I was standing in the doorway to the den last night. I heard you say it just before Louis introduced us.”

“Do you know him?”

Kerri shrugged her shoulders, continuing to look straight ahead. “I know a man by that name but he’s probably not the same Mike King… How old is he?”

“About fifty.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He owns Reserve Oil. It’s a big gasoline company in Canada. Ever heard of it?”

Kerri shook her head. “Tell me what he looks like.”

“He’s a pretty big guy, about six foot two. He’s got blond hair, but it’s turning gray now.”

“Would you say he’s good looking?”

“Yah, probably.”

“What color are his eyes?”

“Blue.”

The coincidence was utterly preposterous. Even though Phillip had given Kerri all the right answers, she still found it difficult to believe they were talking about the same man, her father. She turned to face him. “Would you mind going upstairs with me? I want to show you something.”

“Sure. No problem. Can I take my juice?”

Kerri nodded, then jumped from the stool and led Phillip to the master bedroom. She opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and removed her photograph of her father and mother from beneath her clothing. “Is that him?” she asked, handing the photograph to Phillip.

“Holy shit!” Phillip declared, staring at the photograph in astonishment. “That’s him! Where the hell did you get this?”

Kerri was speechless, overcome with joy. She showed a half smile, but her inner jubilation had rendered her incapable of hearing the question. Under the most incredible of circumstances, she had actually found her father.

“Hey, Kerri! You still with me?” Phillip asked, waving the photograph close to her face.

Kerri’s eyes focused on Phillip. “What did you say?”

“It’s him. The guy in this photograph is my stepfather. He’s married to my real mother. How the hell did you get this?”

“You sure?” she asked, still unable to accept the wonderful reality of her discovery.

Phillip glanced at the photograph again, then turned to Kerri. “I’d recognize that asshole from a thousand yards,” he declared, scowling as he handed it to her. “Where did you get this?”

“The woman in that photograph is my mother. She dated Mike King a long time ago,” Kerri said, unwilling to let Phillip know the truth, at least until she found out why he hated Mike King, and the circumstances under which he became her father’s stepson.