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“Has it arrived yet?”
Sweeney sat at his antique mahogany desk in the enormous office on the penthouse level of his downtown office building, surrounded by a floor-to-wall window on the east side, Louis XIV furniture, enough art of pay off the national debt, and two people. Standing at his side was Prudence Hancock, the woman who would do anything for him. Seated in the chair on the opposite side of the desk was Bradley Ellison, the man who in many ways was directly responsible for the problem that now confronted him.
Sweeney leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands in his lap, the position he had assumed on so many previous occasions, a visual reflection of his inner calm and confidence. And power.
But not today. Today it was a pose he was assuming to present the façade of inner calm and confidence, a calm he did not possess and a confidence that was eroding by inches.
Pike set a trap and he fell into it. He knew that. Bad enough that Pike had hurt his business enterprises, over and over again. Bad enough that Pike had thwarted his carefully laid schemes and presented the first serious threat he had encountered in his entire adult life.
Pike played him. Pike played on his vanity, knowing he would get a predictable response. Sweeney was accustomed to playing others for fools. Not being one.
What wanted to do was slam his fists down on the desk, bellow like a madman, and bash a Van Gogh over someone’s head. But instead, he smiled slightly and spoke in level, measured tones.
“Let me ask again. Has it arrived yet?”
Prudence stood at attention, not quite looking at her boss. “No. But we know it’s on its way. Shawna tells me Pike has already filed.”
“So we can expect a visitor.”
“I assume the process server will be here any minute. Want me to give him the runaround?”
“And have the press report that I’m ducking service? No. By the way, how is our friend in the court clerk’s office?”
“Worried. Not liking this at all.”
“Is she a threat?”
“No.” Prudence thought a moment, then corrected herself. “I mean, I don’t think so. You could destroy her life if she talked. And her nephew’s life. But she wants out.”
“She’s in too deep.”
“And she knows too much. So I told her to cowboy up and stop whining.”
“Monitor the situation. If she needs to be replaced...or eliminated, let me know. At the first sign of trouble.” He paused, laying heavy emphasis on the words that followed. “Not the last.”
Prudence looked wounded. “Sir, I hope you’re not blaming me—”
“You knew Pike was there.”
“And I told you Pike was there.”
“You did not tell me he intended to cause a disruption.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you think he was there to throw bouquets?”
“Did you?”
They stared at each other, eyes wide. That was as close as Prudence had come to insubordination in fourteen years of working for him.
It would sting more if he didn’t know she was right. He could’ve foreseen what arose just as easily as she did. But he let his confidence get the best of him. And now there would be hell to pay.
He changed the subject. “What are the allegations?”
“Just as you expected. Defamation. Slander, specifically. Damages to business and character. He’s asking for ten million dollars.”
Sweeney snorted. “If I just give it to him, would he go away?”
“I don’t know. But I do know you won’t give it to him.”
“True.” And the sad, utterly humiliating truth was, he couldn’t. Not right now. After the bad investment in the Coleman bio-quantum computing system turned into a giant sinkhole, the disruption of the sex-trafficking network, and now serious damage to the organ-smuggling operation, he was experiencing cash flow problems the like of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a young millionaire of twenty. “That is not currently an option.”
“Pardon me for reminding you of this, sir.” Prudence hesitated. “I don’t wish to anger you. But you could eliminate any possible cash flow issues by selling a few of the many works of art adorning this floor.”
“Out of the question.”
“You would still have enough to float a museum. Probably several museums.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Dr. Sweeney—”
“Prudence, would you sell your children?”
“Well...no.”
“And neither shall I.” He looked down at his hands. Were they trembling? Probably just a trick of the light. “So we will be forced to fight.”
“You’ll win. I know you will. You always win.”
He ignored the last part, so obviously not in keeping with recent events. “This isn’t about winning the lawsuit. Pike couldn’t care less about the money. He already has more than enough for a small-minded insect like him. What he’s done is create an environment in which he can compel people to talk. A civil lawsuit. Subpoena power. The right to take depositions.”
“He can’t make people tell the truth.”
“Does he want to? He can get far more mileage out of catching someone telling a lie.”
“You can take the fifth.”
“Only by suggesting that statement might incriminate me.”
“You have the best lawyers in town. They can spin Pike around, file motions, demand discovery, delay, delay, delay.”
“Perhaps. But Pike is an experienced attorney. He knows the tricks. And he will make sure any evasion is dutifully reported in the press. ‘Why won’t Sweeney talk? What is he hiding?’ I can’t bear it.’”
Ellison had been silent so far. As a retired police officer, he had undoubtedly learned that he gained more information from listening than from talking. “I have some friends at the Times. I can talk to them if you like. Make sure this is reported as a waste of taxpayer money. An act of vengeance from a crooked attorney. That sort of thing.”
“Good. Do it. But I don’t think it will help much. Get it on the internet, too.”
“I also have many contacts on the force. I can get the word out. No one will talk.”
“Then they’ll be held in contempt of court.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that. No one will tell Pike anything useful. Nothing he wats to hear. Cops stick together.”
“Pike’s father was a cop. Police solidarity didn’t help him much.”
Ellison pursed his lips. “That was a special case.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“When a man murders a fellow officer in cold blood, no one can help him.”
Sweeney leaned forward a bit. “Especially when another officer testifies against him. Says the words that get him put away for life.”
“I only told what happened.”
“Part of what happened.”
Ellison’s face flushed. He was getting visibly heated. “I testified about what I saw with my own eyes. I saw Pike’s father fire the gun. I saw his victim fall down and die.”
“You’ve been telling that story so long I wonder if you know what really happened. Memory is a fragile thing.”
“Not mine. I remember every damn second.”
“Let’s hope so. I’m counting on you.”
“You have my complete support.”
Sweeney leaned closer, knowing full well that the overhead lighting would cast his face in shadow, masking his eyes. “You know that in a very real way, you’re responsible for this problem that now besets me.”
“I—I don’t follow.”
“You created Pike. When you arranged for his father to be incarcerated for murder.” His voice crept louder. “You created this self-righteous crusader for justice. But for you and your imbecilic accomplices, I wouldn’t be facing this crisis.” He pointed a finger. “I blame you.”
Ellison’s neck stiffened. “Blame Pike, not me.”
“I choose to blame you both. And I expect you to do something about it.”
“I don’t think this is a crisis,” Prudence said, in an obvious, awkward attempt to redirect the conversation. “You’ve faced worse problems.”
“Have I?”
“And if you want to take out your frustration on someone...the logical candidate would be Pike.”
“We have tried to eliminate him. But like a bad penny, he just keeps turning up. Over and over again.”
Prudence lifted her chin. “Then perhaps it’s time to take off the kid gloves.”
“What are you suggesting?”
She didn’t quite make eye contact. “The final solution.”
“And by that you mean...?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I’d like to hear it from your lips.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, making is harder to speak. “I am simply suggesting that if you believe this man, this lawsuit, is so dangerous...then maybe it’s time to take him out of the equation.”
“You’re suggesting I should kill him. Or have him killed?”
“It would reduce the threat level considerably. If the plaintiff dies, the lawsuit is probably dismissed.”
“That is true. But what would be the fun of that?” He placed his hands flat against the immaculately clear desktop. “No, that’s too easy. Too obvious. With the suit pending. Even people who like me would assume I was behind it. We have to be more subtle.”
“What do you suggest?”
He pivoted, casting his eyes upon the Old Master painting currently hanging directly behind his desk. “Do you know what I love most about this work of art, Prudence?”
“It’s a Vermeer?”
“More than that.”
“It’s a Vermeer and thus worth millions.”
“Keep trying.”
“It’s a painting most people don’t even know exists?”
“No. I love it because it is a work of genius created by an artist in his prime. And do you know how he did it?”
“Umm...oil on canvas?”
“Planning. Elaborate, painstaking planning. That’s the true secret of all genius. Not DNA. Not talent, though that is useful. Planning. That’s what makes a man great. And that is why I will emerge from this situation victorious.”
“Because you have a plan.”
Sweeney leaned back in his chair. “We’ll go along with the suit. At least for now. We will present the public image of compliance...while making sure Pike gets nothing. Death would provide little satisfaction. Seeing him utterly humiliated would be far more pleasing. Let him be exposed as the arrogant ass that he is.”
Prudence stiffened. “If you say so.”
“We need to find a different way to send a message. A more...subtle way. Humiliation. Exposure. Loss of professional credibility.”
Ellison nodded. “A fitting coda.”
“Coda?” Sweeney laughed. “No. Prelude. First we destroy him. First we crush him beneath my feet and leave him broken and penniless, turning tricks in bathroom stalls for chump change.” Sweeney rubbed his hands together, a smile finally returning to his face. “And then, once the public eye is turned in a different direction...then we kill him.”