A Family Affair (16 page)

When she woke the next morning, after eight o’clock, she called room service for a pot of coffee. She was too nervous to eat anything just yet. She waited for it to arrive before she called Ernie. It was still early in Vegas. Ernie could be a bear, she’d heard, early in the morning. Nonetheless, nine o’clock Vegas time wasn’t
that
early.

Trish poured her coffee. As she was bringing the cup to her lips, she had a wild thought. Could drinking a lot of coffee prevent her from getting pregnant? The thought was so ludicrous, she gulped at the coffee in her cup and finished it in two long swallows. She poured a second cup, leaned back in the chair, propped her feet on the coffee table, and called Ernie.

The two old friends talked for a good thirty minutes, playing catch up. They talked about the cold weather, the snow, the skiing in Tahoe, the latest casino gossip, and a new dance routine he was trying to perfect. They switched over to Soraya and how things were in Dubai. Then he talked about his new wife and how happy he was.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Ernie said, “Talk to me, Trish. I need precise details, your objectives, what exactly you want and expect. I know. I know. Connie explained it all, but I want to hear it from you, too. Your reasons don’t matter to me or to the person who will be working with you on this. We just all have to be on the same page.

“I have to tell you straight up that this guy is one expensive dude. His fee is whatever slice of beachfront property he has his eye on. I think I can safely say he’s never taken a job for less than seven figures. Tell me now if that is going to be a problem. It could be quadruple that amount, so you need to know that before I put you in touch with him.”

“What kind of guarantee does he give that he can get the information I want?” Trish asked.

“There are no guarantees in this life, Trish. You know better than that. I will tell you this. He, to my knowledge—and I would have heard otherwise—has never failed to deliver. There’s no one better. Now, having said that, you might not like his results, but boo hoo to you. You will get what you ask and pay for. The results are something he cannot control. So, should I call him to pave the way or not?”

“Beachfront property, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ernie drawled.

T
RISH SAT AND TWIDDLED HER THUMBS AND SIPPED COFFEE
, her gaze on the huge window in her hotel suite. Snow flurries were swirling about. That had to mean it was going to be cold outside. She thought about turning on the television to check the weather.
Why bother?
Snow flurries meant it was around thirty-two degrees. As she sipped at her still-hot coffee, she wished she had asked Ernie if the nameless person would call her soon or later. No sooner had the thought entered and exited her head than the phone rang. With the words
beachfront property
swirling around inside her head, she answered her cell phone, but not before she took a huge deep breath.

Trish wasn’t quite sure what she expected to hear, but the soft, cultured voice that said, “I’m a friend of Ernie,” wasn’t it. “He asked me to call you. Tell me how I can help you.”

“Ah, yes. Did Ernie share our conversation?” Trish asked. She took a moment to wonder why she was feeling so jittery and nervous. Maybe because she knew she was breaking the law, and the voice that was speaking to her was going to help her do it.

“Only that you needed help and could afford my fee.”

Trish cleared her throat, her eyes on the snow swirling outside the hotel window. She wondered where the man talking to her lived. Probably on some luxurious secluded island that he owned, basking in warm sunshine. “It’s complicated. It’s just not one person. It’s four people, maybe five. I want . . . It’s a package deal. Does that mean four or five beachfront properties or just one?”

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed. It was a nice sound. Trish found herself relaxing. “One fee. Now, tell me what you
need.
Then tell me what you
want.
After that, tell me what you will
settle
for.”

“I can’t settle, and what I want isn’t relevant. I need what I am about to tell you.”

“Well, that’s settled, then. Do we have a time frame?”

Did she have a time frame? She hadn’t thought of it in those terms. “Well, my plans right now are rather vague. I’m planning on leaving the country possibly by the end of the week. I’d like this put to bed before I leave. I guess I should say I’m flexible.”

“That’s good to know. Tell me now what it is you need. I don’t want to know the why of it, so be concise.”

Trish licked at her dry lips. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. She could change her mind, back out, decide not to break any laws right now. All she had to do was break the connection.

“I can’t tell you what I need without telling you some of the why. So here goes. Five years ago this man, Jefferson Davis, divorced my sister and took her to the cleaners. Since then, she has lived below the poverty level. He hid his money, while my sister had to scrimp and scrape just to get through each day. He gave her the house, but she couldn’t afford to keep it. This is all because when they got married, he insisted she give up her job to be a wife and mother. After the divorce, he got himself a trophy wife, and then, because he had the money, he took my sister’s daughter, my niece, too.

“The story is essentially the same with the other three men and my sister’s friends, who were left in the same position. These four men are all lawyers, so the deck was stacked against the women from the get-go. They all made sure that the women didn’t have the funds to hire decent lawyers. In the end, they just gave up. The four men were friends prior to their divorces, though they worked for different law firms. They all resigned and formed their own firm, and now they’re international lawyers.

“I think they are laundering money in the Middle East, but I don’t have any way to prove it. I just have suspicions, but my gut instinct has always been good. I don’t think I’m wrong. I want you to find out where the money is, how much there is, and how we can make it disappear. By disappear, I mean just some of it. Actually, I’m not sure what I mean in regard to the money. If there’s a way to do it with no blowback, we can give it to children’s charities, women’s shelters, that kind of thing. I want what those women were cheated out of to be given back to them. I hope I said that right.

“Then I want the IRS and the authorities to invade their lives. Long prison terms would make everyone but the four men, and anyone else involved who has to serve them, happy. I would not be devastated if you could find a way for their identities, as well as their money, to disappear. In other words, I want their lives reduced to rubble. I’d also like to see them lose those fancy houses they live in with their trophy wives. And if you can find a way to cancel their country-club memberships, do that, too. And while you’re at it, I’d like some misery to befall the
skanky
lawyer who represented all four men in their divorces. Just make it five in total. I’m sure your fee will reflect all five men. I don’t want any of the fallout to touch my sister or her friends. They have to be kept out of it entirely.”

The silence on the other end of the phone bothered Trish. Finally, she heard the cultured voice say, “It’s all doable. My best estimate would be three days, possibly four. If it goes longer, I will apprise you of the fact. I’m going to need to know where you want the proceeds—let’s call it the ladies’ severance—to go.”

“I thought about that. I’m going to open a bank account in Las Vegas when I return tomorrow. I assume you want me to have Ernie be our go-between. When I have it all set up, I’ll be in touch. Unless you can come up with something better.”

“I think I can come up with something better. I’ll be in touch. But I will need the amount of money you want allocated for each woman. I assume you want interest, and money for the misery they endured, to be added to the total amount.” Trish loved the amused tone in the man’s voice.

“You assume right. I have to figure out the amount. It will be fair. Maybe on top of the interest and misery, we could add a bonus, not outrageous, but a bonus nonetheless.”

“Doable. Tell me why and how you think these men are in the money-laundering business.”

“You said you didn’t want to know the why or to get into personalities.”

“I did say that, but I need something more to go on.”

“I just know bits and pieces I’ve picked up on. The emirates are known for money laundering. I live in Dubai. I understand that before I moved there, His Royal Highness, along with the leaders of the other six emirates, signed a deal with these four lawyers to bring new business to them because the oil will be running out soon. A contract was signed. When my husband’s father died, he took over the reins. He was educated here in the States and knows business. Actually, he has a doctorate, as does his second in command. I heard them talking and, as I said, picked up things here and there. I think the contract is up for renewal soon. I know that sounds vague, but it’s all I have.”

“Does Mr. Davis know you are married to the current emir of Dubai?”

“I don’t know. My sister assured me that she never told anyone, not even her three friends. Even my niece didn’t know. I asked my sister yesterday if that was still true, and she said yes. Jeff isn’t stupid, though. He’s slick, and he’s manipulative. If their contract is up for renewal, I can almost guarantee that my husband will not go along with it. As emir of Dubai, he is also the prime minister of the emirates, with veto power over really important national policies, as enacted by the legislature. So, if he balks, the other leaders will go along. It’s the best I can offer up.”

“It’s enough for a start. I’ll do my own research. Now let’s discuss my fee. Here is what I propose. For something as complicated as this, my fee would usually be five million dollars. But considering the details of what you want done with the monies liberated and the potential size of those funds, I suggest that after whatever the total amount to be distributed to the four ex-wives is deducted, I retain five million dollars plus five percent of whatever is left. So, if, say, one hundred five million is left after distributing money to the ex-wives, I would keep ten million—five million plus five percent of a hundred million. As long as the amount I receive that way is at least five million dollars, I will return your fee. In other words, your fee will be treated as a deposit. Does that sound fair to you?”

Trish listened, swallowed hard, and managed to squeak out a verbal okay.

“Do you have a pen handy?” When Trish said she did, the voice rattled off wiring instructions. “When your fee slash deposit is confirmed, I’ll send you a confirmation, and I’ll start working on your case. Is that acceptable?”

“It is.”

“Then we should hang up. I’ll be in touch.”

Trish’s hands were shaking when she placed the cell phone on the table. She opened the coffee carafe. The coffee was cold. She called room service and ordered a fresh pot. Then she paced around the suite until the coffee arrived. She gulped at the first cup she poured. Then she opened up her laptop and flexed her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut. So much money, and she was breaking the law in the bargain. She knew she could still back out if she wanted to. All it would take was a phone call to Ernie.

Before she could change her mind, Trish tapped out the letters and numbers that would allow her to transfer five million dollars to a man she didn’t even know, so he would do something that could put her in jail for the rest of her life.

Done!

Still dressed in the hotel robe, Trish reached for one of the hotel’s notepads and pens. She scribbled numbers, then added them, subtracted some, added more, until she was satisfied that she had something worthy enough to run by her sister. If the numbers worked for Emma, they would work for Clare, Robin, and Alice.

Trish was momentarily distracted when her cell pinged, the signal that a text was coming through. Malik. Two words.

Good morning.

Trish supposed it was a good morning. Did he text her because he’d just been informed that she had wired out a very large sum of money? Probably. The thought annoyed her. She grew more annoyed, the more she thought about her husband being apprised of everything she did the moment she did it. He probably wouldn’t even mention it unless she did. She decided to ignore the text for the moment.

Trish concentrated on her pad and the numbers she was scribbling. The marital home Emma had lived in with Jeff and Missy had been sold for three million dollars when Jeff took it back. Emma’s half should have been half of that. Five years’ salary of roughly sixty thousand dollars had been lost. If she had worked at her modeling career, it would have been more. Perhaps a small bonus on top of the salary. A new car. Medical insurance. Wardrobe. Miscellaneous costs.

Trish totaled her numbers. She stared at the bottom line—$2.5 million. She pursed her lips, then chewed on the end of the pen. The number sounded good, but it wasn’t enough. She decided to round it out to an even three million. The girls would need good tax attorneys. If they invested their money wisely, they would be able to get by in the years to come without worrying about going on a breadline. Especially Clare, with her perilous health condition.

Satisfied that she’d done all she could for her sister and her sister’s friends, Trish closed her laptop, ripped up the papers with the columns of numbers, and flushed them. She decided she had had enough coffee for one morning and wheeled the cart out to the hallway, then headed for the shower. She heard her cell ping just as she was stepping into the shower. She knew the incoming text would be from Soraya. Just enough time had gone by since Malik’s for him to have gotten in touch with his sister.

Under the needle-sharp spray of the shower, Trish’s thoughts were all over the map. For sure, she wasn’t happy. But she wasn’t sure if returning to Dubai would make her happy, either. She felt like she was in a no-man’s-land. The bottom line was that she would have to return and talk things out with her husband before she had a chance at the happiness she’d once had.

It wasn’t that the love she had for her husband had wavered. She still loved him heart and soul. But she had to be sure Malik still felt the same way. If she had to leave the emirate, then she would leave. It was that simple.

Trish took her time toweling off and getting dressed because she didn’t want to have to look at Soraya’s text. Or reread Malik’s.

Dressed now for the day in wool slacks, boots, and a turtleneck sweater, Trish felt brave enough to face the world, her sister, and her sister’s friends, to update them on the latest. At first she had thought she’d keep her activities secret, but she had nixed that idea pretty quickly. The women had a right to know that the wrath of one Trish Holiday Mohammed was bearing fruit. Not for the first time, Trish realized the power of money and what it could do. And yet, she’d give it all up, every single penny, if she could just go back to the life she’d had with Malik before....
Before ... what?

Her head hurt from thinking about her husband. Still, she had to read Soraya’s text. It was so like her sister-in-law. The message was simple. Are you all right? Can I do anything? Is it snowing?

Trish knew she couldn’t answer Soraya unless she also answered Malik’s text. They were both being so political by not asking her when or even if she was coming back.

Trish looked out the window. The flurries were gone. Now it was actually snowing. She hoped there would be no accumulation to prevent her from flying out tomorrow morning.

Trish drew in a deep breath and prepared to send a text to her husband.

Good morning to you, too, Malik.

The second message was a tad longer.

I’m fine. No, there is nothing for you to do for me. Thank you for asking. It is snowing as I type this.

Trish’s last text was to Ernie. It read, Tell your friend the amount is three million each. For now, offshore. I’m going to be unavailable for the rest of the day. I’ll see you tomorrow, upon my return.

A soft knock sounded on the door. She heard the maid say, “Housekeeping.”

Trish gathered up her jacket and purse. She looked down at the two cell phones and decided to leave them on the desk. At the last second, she picked up the Dubai phone and put it in her purse. She might need it if an emergency cropped up out on the road. She wanted to spend her last day with her sister without interruptions. Who knew when she’d see her again?