Zelman was already packed and his suitcase was in the car with his passport. A private jet waited for him at the hangar. There was just one more piece of business to handle before he could leave for Florida, then on to his new location, which he wasn’t even going to tell his pilot until they got to Miami. He would get his children back from Jade, that’s for sure. He would pay to have her permanently removed from the equation, then he would legally have custody.
Once he received his cryptocurrency transfer, he would cash out enough to repay his mobster partner, then retrieve the rest when he landed overseas. He was trying to decide between Aruba and the Yucatan.
First things first though. Zelman pulled a burner phone from his bottom drawer and dialed a number he’d written on a memo pad on his desk. When a man’s voice answered, he said. “Please have the transfer made at 5 p.m. today.”
“We are not children,” the man said. “We know how to tell time.” Then he hung up.
Zelman dropped the phone in his trash. He was so sick of dealing with Sicilians. It was all about being macho and intimidating their business partners into compliance. When he was approached with the idea of making two million dollars profit in less than a month, it almost seemed too good to be true, but he’d had these guys checked out, and they were for real. A Tucson family who lived by the border and needed a quick forty million to get the Mexicans to send their fentanyl. Zelman was merely the digital banker.
Ropa stuck his head into the open doorway. “He’s here.”
“Great,” Zelman’s smile grew as his son walked into his office wearing gray jeans and a tie-dye T-shirt.
Jerry Zelman gave his dad a wave. “Thanks for calling.”
“Of course, of course,” Zelman said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Jerry sat down and looked around the office. “You’ve really added a lot of stuff.”
Zelman followed his gaze. “Yeah, you haven’t been here for a while have you?”
“Nope.”
“I want to tell you something,” Zelman said, getting serious.
“Shoot.”
“Well, it’s hard to explain, but I’m going to be leaving for a while. Maybe a long while.”
Jerry seemed to understand. He knew all about his father’s reputation and must’ve known about the seedy business he’d been associated with.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Where?”
“I’m not quite sure yet.”
“You’re leaving today, but you don’t know where you’re going? You know how sketchy that sounds?”
Zelman grinned at his oldest. “Yeah, that does sound vague doesn’t it. I’ll text you once I get there. I promise.”
“Jade called me.”
“And?”
“And nothing. She told me she was leaving too. Is there something happening I should know about?”
“No. I’m going to put some money in your account to keep you afloat for a while. How’s the band doing anyway?”
“Good, we’re booked up through January.”
“And that’s where you make your money, right?”
“Yeah,” Jerry edged forward on his chair. “So, I had this guy approach me at a show recently. He said he was a producer in the industry.”
“What’s his name?”
Jerry patted his pockets, but didn’t reach inside. “I don’t remember. He gave me some good advice though. Told me to get rid of the plastic partition in front of the drums so the crowd could feel the rhythm section.”
“But wouldn’t that drown out your vocals?”
“That’s what I said, but then he explained that’s what our mixing board was for. And he was right. The guy running our board was inept and couldn’t balance things out. We found a new guy who could run the entire mix through his tablet and it sounds great.”
“Well, problem solved. Great advice.”
“Yeah, he was pretty sharp. He told me something else. You know that streaming service you own? Isn’t that part of Entertainment Resources?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it possible you could use your pull to get us more rotations? Apparently, there’s a way to manipulate the algorithm to find more plays for our music, especially since we play all types of stuff. Hard, soft, pop, alternative. We could show up on multiple genres. See what I mean?”
Zelman was liking the way his boy had become more interested in the business aspect of the band. “I know precisely what you mean. And yes, that is something I could do for you.”
Jerry pulled out a flash drive and walked around the desk. “Here, let me play that new song I was telling you about.”
Zelman got up from his seat while Jerry slipped the flash drive into the USB port, then respectfully looked away from the computer to allow Zelman privacy while he tapped in his password. Once the computer sprung to life, Zelman said, “There you go.”
Jerry turned back, then clicked the keyboard a couple of times. A second later the sound of a jangly guitar jumped out of the speaker. Jerry adjusted the volume and walked away from the chair so his father could sit.
Zelman sat back and crossed his right leg over his left and rested his head back and smiled. “Yeah,” he said, his toe moving to the rhythm.
Jerry returned to his seat and enjoyed the experience. The two of them listening to his creation, not a care in the world.
When it was over, Zelman pointed a finger. “You have a gift.”
“Thanks.”
“I do not know where it came from. Not from me, that is for sure.”
Jerry came around the desk again and pulled out his flash drive. “Will you let me know where you land?”
Zelman placed a hand on his arm and Jerry stiffened. Old wounds, Zelman thought. Jade was right.
“I love you, son.”
“I love you too, Dad.”