Social Lives (9 page)

“I only have an hour. Mrs. Linder took the baby to the doctor, but she wants to get her hair done.” Kelly dropped the cigarette into the coffee mug, then turned on a fan to push the smoke out the window. “Goddamned cigarettes.”

Jacks reached out and touched her hand. “It's okay. You do what you can do.”

Kelly smiled and nodded, but the sadness on her face was unwavering. Nothing she did would ever be enough. Not now. Not ever. Her face turned deadly serious. “This can't happen. Not after all these years . . . after everything.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other then, and in a way that took them both back in time. It had been years, decades since they'd shared this look. Not that anything had been forgotten, or ever could be. But there had been a sense of calm, a reordering of priorities. Urgency had been replaced with long-term planning, parochial school for Kelly's children, a college fund. They were close to teenagers now. They were almost there. She had refused to take a dime for anything else, not a piece of clothing or furniture or food. It was more than just her pride, though her pride was not insignificant. Kelly understood people, even people like David Halstead. It was how she had gotten by for so many years. Giving the poor relations money for school made him feel good. Wondering what might be next—loans for the phone bill, a new car, the list could be endless—would make him feel used. Kelly knew the difference, and so she remained disciplined, even in the face of deprivation. She accepted the school tuition and, at Christmas, a small trip somewhere, a time when the two families could be together on equal footing. The cousins had grown close because of it, and in spite of the vast disparities in wealth. Kelly had dreamed of their futures, the things that college could give them. The things she had never had. It was the light at the end of this long, miserable tunnel, the reason she tolerated one boss who grabbed her ass and another who belittled her. It couldn't be for nothing.

There was a knock at the front door, and Kelly jumped to get it. From her seat at the table, Jacks watched as a chubby middle-aged man passed through the entry and into the house. She could smell the stale alcohol from across the room.

They spoke quietly for a moment, this odd little man and her sister, and it soon became clear from Kelly's demeanor that she was uncomfortable around him. He was standing close, too close even for a hushed conversation, and though Kelly hid it, Jacks could see the repulsion spreading across her face. A pasty, bloated hand reached out for Kelly's waist, accompanied by a seedy grin, and that was, apparently, the last straw. Kelly pushed him away and turned toward the table, where Jacks was waiting. The man followed, somehow amused by this most recent interaction.

“This is Red,” Kelly announced, her eyes avoiding the man. “My neighbor.”

Red extended his hand, and Jacks felt obliged to take it. “Red?” she
asked, observing the waxy white pool ball of a head that seemed to be resting on the man's sternum. Not a neck in sight.

He chuckled and rubbed his scalp, clearly unaware of just how unattractive he truly was. “Yeah. Used to have a full mop. You have to get to know me a lot better to see the evidence.” He winked then, eyebrows raised, provoking a loud sigh from Kelly.

“Christ, Red, give it a rest.”

Jacks smiled politely and changed the subject. “So . . . Kelly said you were an accountant?”

Red sat down, nodding with pride. “
Am
an accountant. Just between firms at the moment. I think I'm gonna open my own . . . you know, get some clients, hang a shingle. Everybody's got taxes, right? I'm what you'd call a necessary evil.”

“You should pass out some business cards at the Pink Panty,” Kelly said, stifling her disgust. Red had moved in next door three months ago following his release from prison on a vehicular homicide. He'd plowed down an old man after a night of heavy drinking. Now he spent his days and nights at a sleazy strip club, drinking away what was left of his savings, and his conscience.

“I might just do that. Those girls make a lot of dough. I keep telling your sister . . . she could work half the hours—”

“Well, thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Jacks said, interrupting his train of thought before Kelly took a bat to his bald little head.

“Oh, yeah. No problem. I know it doesn't look that way, but I handled a lot of corporate investment reports. I know my way around the paperwork.”

Jacks could see he was serious, though Kelly was now rolling her eyes. No matter—even if he was merely half the man he seemed to think himself, he was free and far from Wilshire. She cleared her throat, then reached for the papers she'd copied through the night. “I brought what I could. I know there's over seven million dollars missing from all of our assets.”

Red took the papers, his interest now piqued. “Seven million, you said?” Still, his tone was nonchalant. “And you said there were letters from the government?”

Jacks nodded. “They're in there—at the back. They haven't charged him with anything. That's good, right? Wouldn't they charge him if he'd done something wrong?”

“Depends,” he said, reading over the letters from the U.S. Attorney's office. “They're still asking for explanations.”

“For what?”

He looked up then, his face solemn. “This statute—the one they've cited here. It's . . . well, it's basically embezzlement.”

The words tore through her. She knew what David did for a living—gathering other people's money, pooling it all, and investing it in large-scale deals that none of them could afford on their own. There were no stocks or bonds, no securities regulations he had to worry about. The hedge fund business had been the Wild West of Wall Street. Private money. Private investments. And just enough rope for David to hang himself with.

Kelly reached out and took her sister's hand. “Red, what does this mean? What has her husband done with the money?”

“That's what the government wants to know. It looks like he and his partner raised two funds. It's the second group of investors that have lodged the complaint. They're probably gearing up for a civil suit—the criminal complaint is the first step.”

“But what would he have done with their money!” Kelly was growing impatient. They needed answers, and they needed them soon.

“Look—there could be tens of millions that disappeared here. And that would be a small fund for this business. Could be in the hundreds.”

“Hundreds of millions?” Jacks hadn't imagined it could be that much. “What would he have done with hundreds of millions of dollars? And why would he need our seven?”

Red shrugged as he dug through the pile of papers. “Just give me a minute—let me see if there's anything here—”

“This can't be happening. . . .” Jacks got up from the table, her face flushed with panic. “Why is this happening?”

Kelly left Red at the table and joined her sister. It was incredible, impossible. David Halstead was as steady as they came. Duke undergrad. Harvard Business School. Five years at a top firm, then many more years of success on his own. His two lovely parents had retired to a farm in Vermont. His sister was a nurse. They were good people. Solid people. How could Jacks have been so wrong?

Standing behind Jacks now, Kelly wrapped her arms around her little sister and rested her chin on her shoulder. Cheek to cheek, she whispered into
Jacks's ear, “It's okay . . . we'll be okay,” and Jacks was taken back to that dark night three decades gone, when Kelly had left for good, left her alone to wait and hope and fear what might be coming. It was months before she'd returned for Jacks. The familiar desperation was in her now, the feeling that all was lost. How easily it came back, after so many years—years that had been filled with contentment, even joy at times. They had made it out. Kelly had saved them back then, but things were different now. They couldn't scrap it out day by day, sleep in the subway, clean up in a public bathroom somewhere. They had five children between them.

A moment passed before the two women let go of each other. Their connection was like a force field, their minds running along the same track. They were apples from the same tree, and even now, living lives at polar extremes, they moved in unison.

“Maybe he's tucked it away somewhere—the Caymans . . . ,” Kelly said, releasing Jacks from her arms.

Jacks shook her head, smiling sadly. They both knew that wasn't the case. It just didn't fit.

“Yeah.” Kelly nodded. “Wishful thinking.”

“What if I just tell him? At least then we'd know what's going on.”

Kelly's face tightened. She took a step toward her sister and grabbed hold of her arms. “You can't. Tell me—promise me you won't!”

Jacks was puzzled by the intensity of her sister's reaction. “He's my
husband
, Kel. He'll tell me the truth.”

“Really? Is that why he's been hiding it all these weeks?”

“He's just afraid. And ashamed.”

Kelly walked away then, past Red, who was pretending not to listen, and into the kitchen, where she lit another cigarette. Jacks followed.

“It's not the same,” Jacks said. This was not the first time they had covered this ground.

Kelly took a long drag, then let it out. “No, it's not the same. This time there are other lives at stake.”

“Oh, Kel. You think I don't know that?”

Kelly turned then to face Jacks. “It's too late now.”

“Too late for what?”

“Too late to trust him,” Kelly said, her words pleading. “He's lied to you for weeks, maybe years. He's taken every asset he could get his hands on.
Can't you see? He's already done it! This isn't something that's happened
to
him. He did it to himself—and now it's on you, the lives of these children.” Her eyes grew wide as she made her case. “We have to rethink everything we've ever believed about him. People don't just up and do something like this. Are you really willing to bet your life on a man who's stolen your future?”

Jacks felt the shift inside her, the same shift she'd been having for weeks, back and forth, back and forth between two versions of the same reality. David Halstead, loving father and husband. David Halstead, thief. And who was she, the comfortable housewife or the woman on the brink of ruin?

“I'm sorry,” Red said loudly from his seat in the other room. “I need more time to look through this. Can I have a day or so?”

Jacks started to turn for the doorway, but Kelly took hold of her arm one last time. “Promise me,” she said.

In spite of everything Jacks had come to know, the safety of being one in a couple, a wife to a wealthy man, she could feel herself residing now in the past lived not with David, but with the woman whose blood she shared. Telling David was a one-way street. There would be no turning back. She couldn't afford to lose any option that came her way.

Jacks nodded then, and Kelly slowly released her hold. Pulling themselves together, the sisters returned to the living room and stood beside Red.

“Please—just give me your gut reaction,” Jacks said, ready to get down to business.

Red sighed, his face almost apologetic for what he was about to say. “I think he lost it.”

“Lost it? How can you lose that much money?” Kelly asked.

“Bad investments. I think he lost most of the first fund, then raised a second fund to cover the first, hoping to buy some time.”

“To do what?” Jacks was confused. “Why wouldn't he just tell the investors the deals went bad?”

“He probably thought he could hit a big payoff with whatever money he had left. Then he could show a decent return on the second fund—not great, but nothing to raise eyebrows—and he'd be saved. His firm, his reputation. All of it would be saved.”

Kelly got it. “It's a pyramid scheme. Isn't that what you've just described?”

“Basically. And it's illegal. He could face jail time. And all of your assets—”

“What's left of them—”

“What's left of them. They could be seized as well.”

Jacks nodded with resignation. It was all just speculation, but something about it struck her as real. She just couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was the humiliation of choosing the wrong deals or stocks or whatever he'd sunk his investors' money into that had driven him to this point. He was Harvard. He was Wall Street. He was a winner. Still, this was far more than unwise investing. He'd spiraled out of control, and she could not stop the image of her father from transposing with that of her husband. But all this wondering, this bone-deep confusion about who her husband really was or was not—that was beside the point. Kelly's words resounded inside her. This was on her now.

She looked at her sister and drew a long breath. “Call me when you know something.”

“We will. Red can stay all day. Can't you, Red?”

It would be a long day crunching through these papers, not so much as a beer in sight. But there was something in the room, a profound need—and with it a sense of purpose—that had taken hold. He nodded. “I'll stay.”