Read Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Online
Authors: Christopher Smith
No, it isn’t.
This was a mistake.
She went to the elevator, pushed the
down button, but nothing happened.
She looked up at the dial, and saw that the elevator was still on the
seventy-first floor.
Why won’t the door open?
Beneath the button was a
keyhole.
To operate the elevator at
this level, you needed a key.
There
was no way out.
Essentially, she
was a prisoner until he returned.
When he did, he looked at
her with concern.
“Did you want to leave,
Miss Redman?”
How did he know?
There
are
cameras on me.
“Actually, I do.
I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“But everything is in
order.
Mr. Elling is ready to see
you now.”
“I’d really rather go.”
“Many people have second
thoughts.
We understand that this
is an unnatural situation for many people.
We’re sensitive to that.
But
something drove you to us, Miss Redman, and we’re here to help in any way that
we can.
It doesn’t have to be what
you’re imagining.
It doesn’t have
to be
that
, though it can be
that
if you want it to be.
But if it isn’t, then we can creatively
handle whatever situation you’re in.
Why don’t you come with me and meet Mr. Elling?
I think you’ll find that once you meet
him and talk with him—and you realize the options that are available to
you—that your fears will recede.”
He stepped to the side
and opened the door wider so she could walk through.
“A talk isn’t going to hurt anyone.
But I have to tell you, Miss Redman, we
can’t have you walk out on us now.
We were clear with you before we gave you our address.
You made a verbal commitment over the
phone.
You now know who we are and
where our office is.
For all we
know, you could go to the police after this and then where would we be?
Or, frankly, where would you be?
We expect you to honor your commitment
and be part of the process.
Because
being part of the process makes you as guilty as any of us would be and that
lessens the chances of you making a stupid mistake and calling us out.
You now are part of what will happen to
Leana Redman.
Everything is being
filmed and it will continue to be filmed.
It’s just our way of protecting ourselves should you have second
thoughts later on.
So, come.
Follow me.
Let’s talk over the options.
Whatever you decide is the right way to
go, I think you’ll find the process painless.
For Leana Redman, however, it will be
anything but.”
*
*
*
Two hours later, when a
shaken Pepper Redman emerged from the building and stepped into her car, she
was too distracted and unnerved to see the man in the vehicle parked on the
opposite side of the street.
She
didn’t see the powerful camera he held in his hands, and she wasn’t aware that
he was taking photographs of her leaving the building.
Just as he had when she
entered it.
On Chamber’s Street,
Marty Spellman left the Surrogate’s Court with a manila envelope that contained
a copy of Louis Ryan’s last will and testament.
He hailed a cab, gave the driver his
address at Sixty-Third and Fifth, and started uptown.
In the cab’s backseat, he
opened the envelope, removed the will, flipped through it, and checked for
names.
The executor was James
Cullen, which sounded familiar to him, though he wasn’t sure why.
There were several beneficiaries, two of
which stopped him cold—Florence Holt and Charles Stout.
Each had been left five million dollars,
as had the other beneficiaries.
These names he didn’t recognize—Piggy French, the Baron and
Baroness of Dorchester, Rowena Clark and Peter Horrigan.
Marty put the will in his
lap and looked out the window.
As
his stomach sank, the city sped by in colorful vignettes.
He reached into his pocket for his
iPhone and brought up the browser.
He went to Google News and typed in Piggy French’s name.
And Marty closed his
eyes.
The top link was her
obituary in the
Times
.
Date
of death?
Nearly two weeks
ago.
He searched for the others and
felt a chill when he saw that all were now recently dead.
A murder/suicide for the baron and
baroness.
A fall down the stairs
for Rowena Clark.
A hit-and-run for
Peter Horrigan.
Florence Holt was
murdered.
Charles Stout was
murdered.
Though it wasn’t revealed
how Piggy French died, the other deaths either were accidental or, in the case
of the baroness, murder at the hands of her husband.
Somehow, Marty didn’t
quite believe that the baron pulled the trigger.
He didn’t believe that at all.
Had anyone else made these connections?
Unlikely, with the exception of James
Cullen, who must have made them.
Had he said anything to the police?
Certainly, he must have.
At
the very least, he’d not only be concerned for his own life, but also have to
wonder why, in such a short period of time, all of Ryan’s beneficiaries had
died.
But why were they
dead?
They obviously were friends
of Ryan’s—he left them millions.
He looked down at the will and wondered.
What’s the bridge that
ties their deaths to what’s happening to Leana Redman and her brother now?
It didn’t make any
logical sense that there should be one, but Marty knew there had to be.
Obviously, Ryan was key, but how?
At some point, Marty knew that George
Redman would be targeted.
It was
just a matter of time, and then the circle would be complete.
But why this circle?
Why target Ryan’s enemies and those who
were his friends?
What he considered
earlier—that someone was fulfilling Ryan’s plans to murder all of the
Redmans out of some sort of twisted loyalty to him—now made no
sense.
The fact that each of his
beneficiaries was dead ruled that out.
There had to be a third party behind this.
But who?
And why?
Worse, his other theory—that to
deflect attention from themselves, someone was merely using Ryan’s
well-publicized plot against the Redmans in their favor—also was in the
toilet.
Killing Holt and Stout was
enough to throw someone off.
It
created the smoke-and-mirror effect they might have been seeking.
But killing all of these people?
No way.
It was too risky.
This smacked of a revenge plot that
stretched beyond the Redmans to also include Ryan’s friends.
Why?
Did someone have a grudge against Ryan
and
Redman?
Think.
But Marty realized that
until he met James Cullen and questioned him, he’d have no idea why.
*
*
*
When he arrived home, he
called his ex-wife, Gloria, who lived on the West Side with their daughters and
her new husband, Jack.
“Got a minute?”
“I’m just about to run
out.
Katie wants a new book.
Beth wants to look at the boys at the
bookstore.”
“Of course she does.”
“We’re at that age.
But I’ve got a minute.
What’s going on?”
“Why do I know of a James
Cullen?”
“Because we met him years
ago at a dinner party.
He’s old
money, so you wouldn’t have paid much attention.
Naturally, I did, because I just wanted
to sell him and everyone else in that room my paintings.
It took a while, but it worked.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s his lineage and his
gigantic trust fund.
New York money
that bloomed in Philadelphia.
Great-grandfather was a banker.
Grandfather was in politics at a high level.
I think maybe a senator, but you’d need
to check into that.
Father was a
serious and successful investor.
All went to good schools.
All are in the book.
James
reaped the benefits.”
“Was he friends with
Louis Ryan?”
“No idea, but that’s hard
to imagine.
Ryan was new money and
new money doesn’t mix well with old money, unless there’s something in it for
them.
You know that.
So, maybe there’s a connection
there.
A business deal would make
sense.
I can see that happening.”
“I think it runs deeper
than that,” Marty said.
“How so?”
“He was the executor of
Ryan’s will.”
“You’re joking?”
“I’m not.
They must have been friends on some
level.”
“Apparently.
But who knew?
I assume this is about Leana?”
“It is.”
“I’m glad you took the
job—she’s a good friend.
What’s happening to her?”
“This morning was our
first meeting, and already my head is spinning.
This one’s going to be difficult.”
“You’ll do it.
You always come through.”
He smiled at that.
Gloria had been his college
sweetheart.
They had married twice
and divorced twice.
And now, after
several years of having a strained relationship, he was pleased that they were
talking again.
She had Jack.
He had his wife, Jennifer.
For the moment, all seemed to be well
between the two families,
especially considering what had happened to them a year
ago
.
He was grateful for
that.
“Give the girls my love,”
he said.
“I will.
And Marty?”
“What?”
“Find out who’s doing
this before it’s too late.”
Anastassios Fondaras put
his hand on Leana’s shoulder and walked with her through the lobby of 157
Columbus Circle, which was alive with activity as workers put the finishing
touches on the massive space.
“You’ve got to give it to
your father,” he said.
“George
knows what he’s doing.
Even in this
economy, he’s got a winner.
It’s
beautiful, Leana.”
He let a beat of
silence pass.
“I do have to say I’m
surprised that you’re working for him.”
Leana turned to him with
a smile.
“It took you ten minutes
to bring that up,” she said.
“You’ve got restraint.”
“Apparently, you don’t.”
“You know I’ve always
wanted this.”
“But that was then.
You’ve got your own thing going on
now.
You’ve got The Park.
And then something else after that.
I don’t understand.”
“Few do.”
“You’re referring to
Mario?”
“How did you guess?”
“Greek intuition.”
“That’s a new one.”
“What do you think Harold
would say?”
How many times am I going
to hear this?
“He’d be disappointed.
I seem to generate disappointment.
I’d manufacture it and sell it if I
could, but I hear it isn’t popular.”