THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (37 page)

“What no good are you up to now, Louis?” Jackie asked.

“Just looking after my interests,” Visconti replied with a chuckle. “How are you coming along with Kerri’s divorce?”

“At the usual breathtaking pace. Why? You anxious to marry her? You don’t deserve her, you know. She’s far too young, beautiful and honest for you.”

“I probably don’t, but I still want to marry her. I also want you to prepare a prenuptial agreement. In it, I want a clause giving her fifty percent of everything I own. No conditions.”

“Sounds like she took my advice. Smart girl. What about survivorship? You want her to have all your worldly wealth in the fortunate event of your death?”

“Don’t be nasty… Sure. Make it reciprocal.”

“How soon do you want it?”

“Courier it to my office before six.”

“Wow! You must be in some kind of hurry.”

“Just do it, Jackie. See you around.”

Kerri received a call from Dan Turner at two-fifteen. “Kerri, my name is Dan Turner. I’m an attorney in Toronto. I act for your father.”

“Hi. Yes, my father told me who you are. He spoke very highly of you.”

“I advised him that it’s time to move the funds in the King’s trust out of Louis Visconti’s hands. He suggested they could be held by Iacardi & Sons.”

“Good. Shortly, you will be contacted by a lawyer in New York. His name is Thomas Hinkin. He’ll tell you exactly what he needs and what he wants you to do. Any problems?”

“Sure. I’ll have to clear it with my boss. His name is Miles Dennis.”

“How much does he know?”

“Everything. I had to tell him to preserve my sanity. Don’t worry. I trust him completely. If you don’t hear from me within ten minutes, assume it’s clear.”

“Thank you,” Turner said, concerned about the growing list of people who knew everything.

“Don’t hang up… Would you please tell my father that Louis is planning to run to Europe tomorrow. I’m going with him.”

“Damn! Then we’ll have to move fast.”

CHAPTER 88

New York. Friday, September 14.

Visconti telephoned Nick Bennedetti at three P.M. “Nick, it’s Louis. It’s time to move on Phillip Servito.”

“Now?”

“Yup. I also want you to do a man who lives in Zurich. His name is Alfred Schnieder. He’s…”

“Hold it, Louis. Time out. I don’t do European jobs. Too risky. Too many borders. You couldn’t pay me enough to get involved. It’s going to be tough enough doing this Canadian job.”

“You might be wrong about that, Nick. There’s a lot of money in it for you.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m definitely not interested. Find yourself some people in Europe.”

“Okay, but I want a fast clean job on the kid.”

“Trust me Louis. He won’t know what hit him.”

Visconti drove Kerri to his apartment at six-thirty. He smiled proudly as he presented her with two copies of the agreement Jackie Crawford had prepared that afternoon. “This’ll prove that I’m a man of my word. It’s all there, everything we talked about at lunch today.” He removed a gold pen from his jacket and signed both copies in front of her.

Kerri’s hands trembled as she attempted to read one of the copies. The words a blurred as too many thoughts raced through her head. She had to delay. She looked up at Louis with pleading eyes. “Would you mind if I talked to Jackie about this tomorrow?” she asked. “I don’t doubt your word, but I don’t understand all this legal jargon.”

Visconti sensed that Kerri had reached the limit of her stress tolerance, and that to hassle her might push her over the top. In spite of his haste to leave the country, he desperately wanted, needed her to go with him. He smiled and nodded. “You do that. You should have legal advice before you sign it.”

September 13. Four, P.M.

Mike ran to his car and returned an urgent call from Dan Turner. “Margaret said your call was urgent,” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

“It was. I just got a call from Thomas Hinkin. He did not have good news. We were too late. Visconti scooped everything. To punctuate his timing, he told Hinkin to fuck himself.”

“That’s just wonderful,” Mike groaned. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Well I suggest you buckle up. You have no choice. You should also know that Kerri just told me he’s leaving for Europe today, and that she’s going with him.”

“I’ll call you right back,” Mike said, his mind racing to process the implications of the new equation. He hung up and dialed Visconti’s office number, a mixture of rage and anxiety boiling inside him.

“Long time no talk to, Mike,” Visconti sang. “How the hell are you?”

“Where’s the money?”

“In a very safe place. I used it to make a fabulous investment for the benefit of your trust. I know you’re going to like it.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“We bought all the outstanding shares of a tremendously promising company. It’s called Forta Equitas. I’ll send you a prospectus with my next quarterly report.”

“No bull-shit, Visconti! Where’s the money.”

Visconti chuckled. “I’ll tell you a little secret. A decade ago Alfred Schnieder told me the whole nasty story about Phillip’s natural father. I was amazed when he told me how Jim Servito managed to accumulate a fortune by evading gasoline taxes. Alfred also told me your dirty little secret. He said you had decided to keep the money. You’re a bad boy. You really should have turned it over to the Feds, like a good honest citizen. Withholding hundreds of millions of tax dollars is a very serious crime… Now, before I let you go, allow me to give you some friendly advice. If you even think about breathing a word about this to anyone, I’ll blow the whistle on you and Karen so fast you won’t even have time to take a nervous shit.”

“I promise you’ll regret this,” Mike said, then terminated the call and pressed the redial for Turner’s office. He told Turner the story of his conversation with Visconti. “I concede, Dan. Visconti wins. That money’s cursed. It’s been nothing but misery for anyone who’s had anything to do with it. I’m going to wash my hands of it and let it ruin Visconti’s life,” he said.

“So be it, but I must remind you that the Feds are still breathing fire. What about Phillip?”

“I’m going to tell him everything, including Visconti’s plan to kill him. We’re probably going to have to hide him somewhere.”

“Good luck and stay in touch.”

Mike terminated the call, then called Kerri. “Hi… I hope your day’s been better than mine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dan Turner just told me Hinkin was too late.”

“Damn! Did he find out what Louis did with the money?”

“No. I did. I phoned Louis and he told me he used it to buy the shares of a company called Forta Equitas. He made it obvious that the move was nothing but a scam to scoop the money. I hope he rots in hell.”

“I’m going to make sure he does because I’m going to hell with him.”

“Kerri, you can’t. It’s far too dangerous. If he’s prepared to kill Phillip, he won’t hesitate to kill you, too.”

“I don’t care how dangerous he is. I’m going to follow him everywhere he goes. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’m going to stop him.”

Mike was brutally reminded of his own resolve to stop Jim Servito, a long time ago. No amount of convincing would have changed his mind. “Is there any way I can convince you not to go?”

“No.”

“Then be careful and call me collect, as often as you can. And remember that I love you.”

“I will. I love you too, dad.”

CHAPTER 89

Toronto. Friday, September 14. Nine, A.M.

Phillip entered Mike’s office. He had a new mission. “I had to come to the office to pick up my paycheck… So, I thought I would drop in and ask if you gave the money to your charity,” he said, his hands in his pockets and squirming uneasily.

Mike looked up, glared at him, then threw his pen to the desk. “It might surprise you to learn that your friend Visconti spent the last ten years losing almost half of your money in senseless investments. To complete the job, he’s embezzled what’s left of it and fucked off to Europe.”

“How do you know?” Phillip asked, stunned, disappointed and astonished that Visconti would do such a thing, and that Mike would know.

“I called him earlier today. He took perverse pleasure in rubbing it in my face.” Mike pointed to the couch. “Sit down. I have something far more important to tell you.” He waited until Phillip was seated, then leveled his eyes at his step-son. “You should also know that Visconti has a hundred thousand dollar contract on your life. He wants you dead.”

Phillip flashed a nervous smile. “I think you’re full of shit! There’s no way he’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna…”

“He’s going to do what, help you get your money? I know all about your little agreement with Visconti. I also know you had no intention of ever changing your mind about the money… Maybe Visconti would be doing me a favor,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.

Tears appeared in Phillip’s eyes as he clenched his teeth and fists. “I hate your guts!” he shouted. “You were never a father to me. You were always more interested in messing with my life.” He pointed his index finger at Mike. “Now I’m going to mess with yours.” He sprang to his feet, ran from the office and headed for his company van. He slammed the door, started the engine and jerked the gearshift into drive. He stomped the accelerator to the floor with his foot, causing the rear wheels to screech as they laid strips of rubber on the parking lot. “I’ll show those bastards!” he muttered, his eyes glazed, his fingers applying a death grip on the steering wheel.

Slightly over an hour later, Phillip once again faced David Savage in the regional office of Revenue Canada. Savage had turned on a tape recorder in anticipation of what his visitor was about to say. “Now Mister Servito, you said you had something to tell me,” he prompted.

Phillip nodded, his face still crimson with anger. “Yah. You remember I told you I might know where the money my real father left me is? Well all of a sudden I found it.” He paused, grinning at Savage and taking sadistic pleasure in the delay.

“You found it! Where?” Savage asked, prompting with his hands, urging Phillip to continue.

“My stepfather’s been hiding it all these years. It’s in a trust in New York.”

“Where in New York?”

“Louis Visconti manages it. He works for a company by the name of Mara, Griesdorf and Visconti. His office is in the World Trade Center.”

“How were you able to find it?” Savage asked, continuing to prompt with his hands.

“Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Visconti scooped all of the money and went to Europe with it.”

“How do you know that?”

“My stepfather just told me.”

“How does he know?”

“Visconti just ruined his day with that news,” Phillip hissed, frowning in frustration. “I think it was yesterday.”

“How do you know it was yesterday?”

“Because that’s what my stepfather just told me.”

“Do you or your stepfather know where in Europe Louis Visconti went?”

“I don’t, and I don’t know if he does or not.”

“Do you have anything further to add?” Savage asked, disappointed not to have gleaned any further knowledge.

“Nope. I think that’s it.”

“Does anyone else know of the existence or location of this money?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does your stepfather know you’re talking to us?”

“Nope.”

“Thank you, Mister Servito. You’ve been most helpful. I’m sure others in this department will want to talk to you about this. Are you still at the same address?”

“Yup.”

“You’re free to go now.”

Phillip climbed into his van and headed west on the Gardiner Expressway. He was startled to hear a hoarse male voice, close to his right ear. “Don’t turn around or I’ll blow your ear off, kid. I have a gun pointed right at it.”

Terrified, Phillip glanced in the rear view mirror to see a man wearing dark sun glasses. His long straight gray hair extended below a light brown fedora. His teeth were crooked and stained. A large dimple punctuated his chin.

“Just keep driving this thing until I tell you to stop.”

Phillip’s body stiffened. While he focused on the road with his eyes, his mind focused on the gut-wrenching possibility that Mike’s warning was valid. He was going to die.

His passenger forced him to continue driving until he entered an auto wrecking yard in the northeast end of Hamilton. Following orders, he drove behind a large corrugated metal building. The adjacent yard was strewn with rusted metal, the ground saturated with an ugly mixture of oil and water. “Stop right here and get out,” the man bellowed.

His heart pounding, body shaking, knees close to buckling, Phillip stopped the van and climbed out. His passenger followed him out the same door, then pointed his gun at Phillip’s heart and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. As the bullets pierced his heart, Phillip’s body jerked violently, then slumped to the ground. The man lifted the lifeless body into the van, then drove to the side door of the metal building. Two men hurried from the building, removed the body from the van, and carried it inside. There, the wounds were exposed, the body photographed, then stuffed into a heavy steel drum. The drum was sealed, then hydraulically crushed to a fraction of its original size. The crushed drum was dropped into a second steel drum which was subsequently filled with cement, then sealed.