Cold Ambition (Jordan James, PI) Read online

  He nodded and turned his attention back to the well-lit, overhead menu, which had been crudely decorated with plastic garland. “So, what do you get here?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Well, that’s a good suggestion,” he laughed. When it was our turn, he turned to me. “What would you like?”

  “Uh, an iced coffee and one glazed, please.” I reached into my purse, but he held up his hand.

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  “Well, I appreciate it," I began, "but I can pay for myself.”

  He pulled out his wallet and paid the cashier before I could argue. Another employee handed me my coffee and a small bag with my donut.

  “You didn’t want anything?” I asked as we walked to a small table near the window. He shook his head.

  “No, I don’t really like coffee,” he admitted.

  “How did you and Jon ever end up as roommates?” I asked wonderingly.

  “The university’s random allotment system?”

  I began to pick small pieces off my donut. “Well, you’re definitely different.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “Well, sure,” I looked down at my donut and then cleared my throat. “I know you said that you didn’t have anything better to do today, but I really don’t want to waste your time. So, I wanted to discuss what you found out about your father’s case.”

  Rick nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “To be honest, I never thought my mother would discuss it with me. All my life I’ve had questions and I’ve asked her things, but she wouldn’t talk about it. She said it was too painful. I was shocked when Jon turned up at our house that afternoon and somehow managed to get her to open up.”

  I took a sip of coffee. “So you weren’t expecting him?”

  Rick shook his head. “No, he said that you asked him to stop by and check with me about a few things while you were out of town.”

  He seemed to be expecting a reply, so I nodded in between sips. “Oh, yes, that’s right, I wanted Jon to go over the, uh . . .”

  “The contract, right?”

  “Yes! That’s it. Of course. The contract.” I asked tentatively, “Did you sign a contract?”

  “No, no. Jon said you wanted him to explain my contractual obligation to your agency and how I would be charged. Things like that.”

  “Oh, of course, that’s right,” I replied casually. I was certain that, if I acted like I was relieved by this statement or appeared at all uneasy since I hadn’t spoken with Jon in nearly a week and he was acting on my behalf, it might hamper my case. “So you found some things out I’m assuming?”

  Rick nodded. “Yeah, I found a lot out. I mean, this may not be relevant to our case, but when I said my mother would not discuss the situation, I also meant she wouldn’t really discuss anything about my father. It was too painful.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “So what did you find out?”

  Rick scratched his jaw and looked out the window. I followed his gaze to see that the overcast sky had opened up into a light snowfall. He looked back at me.

  ”At least we’re inside.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. It may not last long. It’s been snowing lightly off and on all week. It just hasn’t warmed up enough to melt the snow on the ground. What frustrates me is when it turns to ice.”

  I glanced down at my broken arm and nodded. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of the ice, either. Well, let’s get started. What can you tell me about your father?”

  “Well, for starters, my parents met at NYU in an English class. My dad was an accounting major, and my mom was a history major. I think they met their sophomore year, but I’m not sure. Anyway, they got married right after graduation, and my dad took a job with a small accounting firm.”

  “I thought your father worked for Hepstadt & Lower,” I interrupted.

  Rick cleared his throat and stared at me. “How’d you know that?”

  “You hired me to solve a crime,” I reminded him. “I did do a little research.”

  “Well, yeah, but I didn’t think you were going to start until today. Anyway, he did work for Hepstadt & Lower but not right out of college. He first worked for some small accounting firm. I think they were called Donovan Brothers or something.”

  I had pulled the small notepad from my purse and was jotting down shorthand notes as he spoke. “When was this?”

  Rick looked out the window again at the snow, which was now falling sideways thanks to the strong winds. He exhaled slowly and bit his lip. “I think he graduated college in 1973. So probably in 1973.”

  I jotted down what he said, then took another sip of coffee. “I’m sorry I interrupted. Please continue.” Rick pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began to tear it into small pieces. “Well, according to my mom, he had been working at Donovan’s for about two years when he was first approached to work at Hepstadt & Lower. She didn’t go into any details about how he was approached or where, but somehow they convinced him to join their company.”

  “And this was in 1975?”

  “Yeah, she said it was around 1975.”

  “So, he left an established company to join a start-up firm?”

  Rick stopped tearing the napkin and looked at me blankly. “What do you mean a start-up?”

  I flipped through the notes I had made on the plane. “According to their website, Hepstadt & Lower started in 1975.”

  Rick narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “That can’t be right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “Well, my mom said they hired him as an assistant accountant but they offered him a large salary to come on board. How could a start-up firm do that?”

  That was a very good question, and one that I intended to answer. We stayed at Dunkin’ for about two more hours, just talking and waiting for the storm to blow over. During that time, I learned a lot about David Michaels. Hepstadt & Lower was an amazing firm. Although David was hired as an assistant accountant, the company recognized his talent and invested a great deal of time into furthering his career.

  Rick said that his father was sent all over the world to confer with customers and to attend trade conferences, and they often paid for his wife to travel with him.

  “My mom said that she mainly went on these business trips during the summer when she wasn’t teaching,” Rick explained. “She said that between 1977 and 1986, she traveled to London and Paris, and they took side trips to Germany and Austria. She also said she went to Tokyo and Hong Kong a few times.”

  I was baffled. He had listed nearly every place that Hepstadt & Lower claimed to have offices. Why would this firm see the need to send a rookie assistant accountant all over the world?

  “So he made a lot of money there right away?”

  “Apparently he made so much money that they were able to purchase an apartment overlooking Central Park.”

  “You know, Rick, Hepstadt & Lower’s website says it is an import/export firm," I tapped my pen on the notepad. "Do you know what they import and export?”

  Rick shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think my mom mentioned it. I can ask her if you want.”

  “Yes, that would be helpful.”

  Rick explained that his dad had continued to advance in the company, and by 1985, he was the assistant to the CFO. It was only a few months after this appointment that the CFO was tragically killed in a mugging. David was chosen to fill the position. He held the second-highest position in the company.

  “So, ten years into working for this company, your father finds himself the Chief Financial Officer?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy, right? And according to my mom, it was a huge responsibility. It had become
a well-connected company in the 1980s. This development was apparently because it had been acquired by a multinational corporation ranked high in every major financial rating service of businesses worldwide. My dad was thirty-three years old and the CFO of an increasingly profitable affiliate of a mega-corporation!”

  I was in awe of the implications. A young go-getter named David Michaels is lured into the employment of a financially sound, import/export company that was just getting started. He is sent all over the world for “conferences.” They even graciously foot the bill for his wife to come along. His hard work and intelligence helps him advance quickly. Suddenly, after being appointed assistant to the CFO, the CFO conveniently dies. Although the mystery of this case was deepening with each passing moment, I was fairly certain Hepstadt & Lower would somehow factor in to David Michaels’ sensational death.

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” I mused. “How did your father handle this promotion?”

  Rick brushed his hair back and leaned forward on his elbows. “I was wondering that myself. I mean, I never got to know my dad, so I asked that same question.”

  “What did your mother say?”

  He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “She said he thrived and excelled. She said that he was a very hard worker.” He unconsciously chewed on his lower lip. “She gave me the impression that they were expecting him to be, I don’t know, complacent, maybe? But he wasn’t. He accepted the job and the vast responsibility behind it and moved forward. He worked diligently to clean up loose ends and found efficient ways to improve the company. One fact she offered was that Hepstadt & Lower’s stock rose ten percent within three months of his becoming CFO. Ten percent! All because of his hard work.”

  I nodded, vainly trying to hide my ignorance about stock values. “You said they expected him to be complacent. Did they want a figurehead instead of an active CFO? How did they reward his ambitions and hard work?”

  Rick began to neatly move the torn napkin bits to the center of the table and to create a small pile. “Actually, from what she could tell, they were thrilled. He received a huge salary increase after the stock’s value rose.”

  “How much of an increase?”

  Rick glanced up at me with his startlingly blue eyes and offered a half-smile. “Well, she didn’t give me a dollar amount, but she did say with the income he was receiving, they could have retired within five years and never would have had to consider working again.”

  I nodded absently. I was feeling slightly troubled. Why would the new CFO of a successful, increasingly profitable business who had just received a large pay increase leave a company that was treating him so well? I nodded again and scanned my notes.

  “Okay. So tell me. What could lead a man named CFO to quit abruptly less than three years into his tenure?”

  Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. But something definitely happened.”

  He turned his attention back to the falling snow. Two brave individuals were rushing through the white wind, determined not to be deterred by nature’s cold inclinations. I turned my attention back to Rick and waited patiently. Realizing he was not going to offer anything else without a little effort on my part, I cleared my throat.

  “Did your mother mention any behavioral changes in your father between his promotion in 1985 and his resignation in 1989?”

  Rick glanced at me and nodded once. “You know, she did mention something about his behavior.”

  “What was it?”

  He scratched the back of his head and stared at the table. “Well, she said that she was afraid he was having an affair.”

  This comment struck me, and I quickly replied, “What led to that conclusion?”

  “Well, they found out they were pregnant with me in the fall of 1985. She said everything was going great. But about the time she reached her second trimester in early 1986, his behavior had changed.”

  “How?”

  “Uh, well, she said he had always worked long hours, even longer ones when he was promoted, but in early 1986, she barely saw him at all. When she did see him, she said he wasn’t really himself…cold, distant, distracted. She said he started smoking again. He apparently hadn’t touched a cigarette since New Year’s Eve of 1977. And there were weird, late-night phone calls.”

  My ears pricked up at this. “Late-night phone calls?”

  “Yeah, she said that’s what made her really suspect he was being unfaithful. The phone would ring at eleven or midnight, and when she answered it, the person on the other end would hang up.”

  “Why didn’t she check to see who was calling her? The number I mean?”

  Rick grinned. “That’s what I said. My mother had to remind me there was no caller ID back in the 1980s. Not for normal people anyway.”

  I scribbled as fast as I could. Rick suddenly stood up. “I’m thirsty. I’m going to grab a soda. Want anything?”

  I hastily attempted to pull my wallet from my purse. This act was more difficult than I initially thought because I had forgotten about the cast and nearly spilled the contents of my purse with one clumsy motion because of this oversight. Trying to maintain some grace I replied, “No, but please let me treat you.”

  He shook his head and smiled again. “No, that’s all right.”

  I watched him as he strode to the counter. Trying not to feel like a jerk, I shoved my wallet back in my purse and stared down at my notes again. This case was getting more confusing by the second. Something happened at Hepstadt & Lower that put David in a position where he felt he had no choice but to quit an executive job with a lucrative salary and a promising future. It must have been something significant, and either he couldn’t find a job in New York after quitting or he desperately wanted to get away from the company . . . or maybe from his mistress?

  I was so deep in thought that I didn’t realize Rick was sitting across from me again at the table until I noticed him holding up a donut. “I bought you another donut.”

  I smiled politely. I wasn’t hungry, but I also had no intention of alienating my polite and generous, not-to-mention only client. “Thank you,” I replied, accepting the donut as he took a swig of soda.

  “Did your mother have any tangible proof that your father was cheating on her?”

  “None whatsoever. It was just a feeling she had because of his behavior and the phone calls.”

  “So there was no proof,” I repeated. “Okay, what happened next?”

  “She said things calmed down and seemed to go back to normal. She still felt something was off, but my father appeared to be behaving more like himself. I was born in July of 1986, and as far as I know, things calmed down.”

  “So, no more phone calls, your dad was more like himself.”

  “Yeah, she said things got better, and they focused on adjusting to life as parents.”

  “Okay. How was his work?”

  Rick shrugged and took another sip. “From what my mother could tell, things were okay. He was still going on business trips but not as many as before. Everything was okay until Christmas of 1988.”

  My right hand was cramping from writing so much, but I ignored the pain. “What happened at Christmas?”

  Rick shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. “She said it was one of the scariest moments of her life. She and my father took me to Rockefeller Plaza to watch the lighting of the Christmas tree. It was a bitterly cold December night, and we were all bundled up. Some time during the festivities, my mom said she wanted to go inside to warm up because she was afraid I would get sick.” I looked up briefly and realized Rick was looking through me, almost as if he were reliving the event. “So my father suggested we go inside NBC Studios to get warm. He guided us through the crowd toward the building. Shortly before we got there, a masked man ran up to my father and stabbed him with a knife and then took off. My father rush
ed us inside the building and only then did my mother notice his parka was torn and when he opened it, they realized he was bleeding.”

  I was so disturbed by this comment that I dropped my pen. It bounced once on the table before landing on the sticky, wet floor. I sighed and reached down to retrieve it. It returned to me relatively unscathed albeit soaking wet from melted snow and covered in sticky dirt. I grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and brushed the slimy goop off. I then crumpled the napkin and shoved it in my pocket. Rick was staring at me with a half-smile on his face. I self-consciously brushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear and focused on catching up in my notes.

  “Someone stabbed him.” I repeated. Rick’s smile was gone in an instant, and he gravely nodded.

  “Yes. It wasn’t deep. It was, thankfully, rather minor. According to my mother, the doctor said the knife came within inches of piercing his abdominal aorta which could have been fatal. Both my father’s coat and the fact that he turned at the moment the knife went in saved his life.”

  “This masked man, he didn’t go for your dad’s wallet? Why would someone randomly stab a man without a good reason?”

  Rick stared down at the table and began fixing the pile of torn napkin bits again. “Well, my mother said that my father didn’t think it was random at all. That it was—” he hesitated. “This is going to sound crazy, but he thought it was an assassination attempt.”

  “An assassination attempt?” I repeated. Normally, I would have thought that this was a ridiculous concept. During college my roommate and I took several trips to New York, and, although it’s an exciting place to visit, it can also be dangerous if you’re not careful. We ourselves averted some potentially dangerous situations brought on by our combined lack of common sense which I attributed in large part to our youth. Again, I digress. The reason I didn’t find this theory completely unbelievable was that David Michaels did turn up murdered less than a year later.