40
DUNCAN WAS struggling to pay attention. He was defending Jeremy Roth’s deposition, and it was taking a lot of effort just to listen to the questions and make objections.
Duncan had spent a frustrating day prepping Jeremy earlier in the week. Jeremy had shown up forty-five minutes late, looking hungover (Duncan thinking that it must be Jeremy, and not his father, that Pellettieri had called a drunken creep) and was completely uninterested in actually preparing. Jeremy seemed outright hostile: Duncan wondered if Jeremy knew about his budding involvement with Leah, and perhaps disapproved of her mingling with the help.
Dealing with Jeremy’s depo was the first real work Duncan had done since getting back from his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t been sleeping well, which at least gave him an excuse for his constant irritability. Duncan had been in no mood to try to make the prep session useful in light of Jeremy’s attitude, so they’d ended up going through the motions, the sense of mutual contempt becoming dangerously close to overt.
Jeremy had at least shown up clear-eyed and feisty for his actual deposition. If anything, too feisty: his answers were prolix and arrogant.
Duncan was mildly surprised that this deposition was taking place at all: he’d thought the case would’ve been settled by now. The plaintiffs had their hooks into Pellettieri, and that was what they were going to get. Pellettieri had made a settlement offer, which the plaintiffs had countered, but Duncan had no direct involvement with the negotiations and only a tenuous sense of where things stood.
“Mr. Roth, did you have a supervisory role in the Aurora Tower construction project?” Isaac Marcus asked. They were a couple of hours into the deposition, Marcus finally making his way into the meat of Jeremy’s testimony.
“It depends what you mean,” Jeremy replied. “I was supervising it from the developer’s perspective. Which is quite different from supervising the construction itself.”
“Would it be fair to say that you were the person at Roth Properties who knew the most about the day-to-day operations at the construction site?”
“That would be accurate as far as it goes in terms of our company, but it’s still pretty misleading. We’re not focused on the construction so much, certainly not on a day-to-day basis. That’s the general contractor’s job.”
“Prior to the accident were you aware that Pellettieri Concrete had submitted bills for what’s known as secondary support work—work that is intended to ensure the safety of concrete while it hardens?”
“This is a half-billion-dollar construction project, counsel,” Jeremy said condescendingly. “I wouldn’t be aware of every small invoice.”
“Are you aware as you sit here today that those bills were submitted?”
“Yes, they were.”
“And they were paid?”
“Of course. Contractors’ bills get paid; otherwise they don’t work, put a lien on the property.”
“Do you know whether the actual work was performed?”
“I know now it was not.”
“When did you first become aware that this work had not been performed?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeremy said.
Marcus looked skeptical. “Wasn’t this an important piece of information?” he asked.
“What was important was that three people had died at the construction site. Figuring out why came after, and whether we had paid for the work was hardly relevant.”
“Were you aware that this safety work had not been performed prior to the accident?”
“How could I have been?” Jeremy said irritably. “I was never on site, not since the groundbreaking. All I knew about the actual construction I learned at the monthly status meetings, and there was never any discussion at those meetings of a problem with the secondary supports, or with anything involving the concrete.”
“Do you think your company, as the developers of the building, had a responsibility to know that essential safety work had not been performed?”
“That question shows a basic ignorance of how real estate developers work,” Jeremy said, Duncan wishing Jeremy wasn’t laying it on quite so thick with the superiority. He’d have to try to find a polite way of conveying that at the break, though he doubted it would be of any use. “The developer isn’t hanging around on the site, making sure that everybody’s doing their job right. That’s the general contractor’s job. I’m not an expert on construction safety. We entrust that role to the contractors. I don’t really know what else I can tell you.”
EVEN BY his standards, Jeremy had been putting it back all night. Alena had asked what was bothering him as they’d sat down for dinner at Chanterelle, but Jeremy hadn’t responded, focusing on the two martinis he’d polished off before the arrival of their entrées. He’d finally loosened up around the end of dinner and their shared bottle of Chateau Haut Brion, getting more talkative, as he usually did a few drinks in. As soon as they’d arrived back at the apartment (Alena still unable to think of it as her apartment), Jeremy lit up a joint, Alena taking one hit but otherwise passing. The pot had only made Jeremy petulant and sulky. Alena ended up surfing the tube while he brooded beside her.
Jeremy had been lost in thought for most of the evening. He’d kept his shit together for the deposition, made it through that fine, but once it was over it was like every bad memory in his head had been awakened. The whole thing had been just about the worst experience of his life. As soon as Jeremy had heard about the accident at the Aurora, he’d suspected that Pellettieri was going to be mixed up in it. He should’ve known that a*shole would take advantage of their arrangement.
Their deal had been that the concrete company would overbill Roth Properties, but most of the skimmed money was to make its way to Jeremy, though Pellettieri would get a cut. It would’ve worked out for everybody, but then Pellettieri had gotten greedy. Putting people at risk had never been part of the deal.
Jeremy had felt like shit about the accident. It wasn’t his fault, other than in the sense that it’d started with the skimming. He’d also understood that it created a risk of exposing the missing money. His father had made some calls to Ron Durant at the DOB, not because he was worried about the investigation or had any idea of Jeremy’s potential exposure, but just because a protracted probe would push the building further behind schedule. Back then, Jeremy had been confident that all he had to do was wait it out, not do anything to draw any attention. And sure enough, the DOB had levied some small fines and the whole thing had looked like it was going away.
But then the newspaper article had run, stirring everything up again. It’d been a short time later that Sean Fowler had shown up at Jeremy’s office. No appointment, no warning: Fowler just strolled into the lobby.
“What’re you doing here?” Jeremy had said to Fowler once the two of them were alone in his office, the door closed.
“Nobody’s looking,” Fowler replied as he sat down across from Jeremy’s desk. He was a big guy with a beer belly, still with a cop’s swagger.
“We don’t know who’s going to be looking at what,” Jeremy replied. “We’ve got to be careful.”
“I hear the DA’s got the case now,” Fowler said casually, like he was commenting on the weather, not on a criminal investigation that could land them both in jail.
Jeremy nodded. “Which is why we’ve got to lie low. You need to make sure Pellettieri’s going to keep his mouth shut.”
“Opening his mouth’s not going to get Jack anything,” Fowler said.
Jeremy still wasn’t getting what Fowler was doing in his office. He could tell Fowler was enjoying his discomfort. Jeremy tried to tell himself that he was the one here with power: this was his office, he was the vice president of a major development company, the man across from him was just a step up from a janitor. But it didn’t feel that way, not with Fowler being the one with some kind of agenda. “So you and me, we shouldn’t talk. You shouldn’t be here.”
To Jeremy’s surprise, Fowler smiled at this. He was chewing gum, his mouth open. He looked around Jeremy’s office, making a show of taking it in. “Just wanted to tell you that I won’t be telling anyone what I know.”
Jeremy hadn’t needed to be told this, and he was sure Fowler didn’t think he had. His bad feeling was getting worse. “Of course,” he said.
“But I do think, circumstances having changed, I deserve a little something for staying out of sight.”
There it was: his hand was out. Jeremy had been afraid that this was what it was. Fowler had gotten a cut from the skim, never complained that he wasn’t getting enough. But maybe greed was contagious.
Jeremy looked at Fowler, who looked right back, still snapping his gum, no hint of shame or even uneasiness with what he was doing. “This is money you want?” Jeremy asked.
Fowler reacted like money was Jeremy’s idea. “I’d appreciate that, yeah. A little reward for loyalty.”
“I don’t have much here,” Jeremy said. “A couple hundred bucks, maybe.”
Fowler chuckled, like Jeremy had just told a pretty good joke. “I wasn’t looking to empty your wallet,” he said. “The kind of money I was thinking, you’re not going to have lying around your office.”
Jeremy had wanted to believe this wasn’t full-on blackmail. He was in over his head, wishing he could take a time-out, bring somebody in who knew how to deal with this. “What kind of number were you thinking?”
Fowler shrugged. “Two fifty large, maybe,” he said.
Jeremy was stunned. He hadn’t known what to expect, but hearing that kind of number overwhelmed him with the reality of what was happening. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” he said. “I don’t have that kind of money that I can just grab hold of.”
“Way I count it, you took at least a couple of million out of the Aurora,” Fowler replied. “I think you can pull together two fifty.”
Jeremy felt queasy. “You really want to do this?”
Fowler stood, looking down at Jeremy. “You don’t have to answer right now. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it. Don’t take twenty-five.”
Jeremy had suspected Fowler was bluffing, but he couldn’t risk it. Just the thought of having that threat hanging over him was more than he could stand. So he’d pulled together a quarter million in cash, hoping it would buy Fowler’s silence. When Jeremy had agreed to pay, he’d made it clear it was a onetime thing; Fowler had readily agreed.
It had taken less than six months for Fowler to come back for more. He’d again come unannounced to Jeremy’s office. Jeremy had been out in a meeting this time, his secretary giving him the message when he got back. The mere sight of Fowler’s name on the little pink slip had caused Jeremy’s hands to shake.
Jeremy wasn’t willing to spend the rest of his life under Fowler’s thumb. He wasn’t sure what to do, but knew he had to do something. He needed advice from someone, and his sister seemed like the least wrong choice. He’d gone over to her apartment that night.
“There’s a problem with the Aurora,” Jeremy had told her.
Leah frowned at him. “If this is a work thing, why aren’t we talking about it at work?”
“It’s not something we want to talk about in the office. I’m in a jam, Lee.”
“With the Aurora? Now? What’s going on?”
Jeremy had known she was going to be pissed—beyond pissed, probably. But he didn’t think he had a choice but to tell someone. “Pellettieri and I, we had an arrangement. Dad’s always so tight with our money still, these stupid trusts, the property we can’t sell.”
“Life’s hard on a couple of million a year, I know,” Leah interjected. “But what does that have to do with Pellettieri and the Aurora?”
“Like I said, we came to an arrangement. The concrete company was overbilling the project; I was signing off on it. It wasn’t a lot, not for a half-billion-dollar project, nothing that would keep us from making a profit. And it’s our money anyway.”
Seated beside Jeremy on her couch, Leah’s whole body seemed to have clenched together, like her entire being was making a fist. “You were stealing from the Aurora? With Pellettieri?”
“He was just supposed to be overbilling a little, not avoiding doing actual work. That was just him—the safety shit, I didn’t have any idea. I wouldn’t have let him do that.”
“Jesus, Jeremy—you could go to jail for this. What if you get linked up to the accident?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Jeremy said. “Somebody knows about it, and they want money to keep quiet.”
Leah’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“A security guard. He was working with us—on taking the money, I mean. A few months after the accident he came to me with his hand out. I told him it was a one-time-only thing, but now he’s back.”
“How much does he want?”
“Two fifty.”
Leah didn’t understand. “Two fifty what?”
“A quarter million is what he wants.”
Leah frowned slightly at the number. “What does he have on you?”
“More than enough.”
“What were you actually doing to take money?”
“It was all under the table, obviously. After we set it up, I never even talked to Pellettieri. That was the security guard, Fowler—he was our middleman.”
“If this man Fowler went to the authorities, it wouldn’t even matter whether you ended up being prosecuted. The story alone would destroy you. It might destroy our entire business. How could you be so f*cking stupid?”
“I didn’t tell you this just so you could yell at me. I need your help, Lee. I can’t just keep paying this guy off. What can I do to get him off my back?”
Leah laughed, harshly. “How the hell should I know? I’ve never been in a mess like this. What makes you think I can fix it?”
“I needed to tell somebody.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’d kill me.”
“I’d kind of like to kill you too,” Leah said. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to force herself to think. “This security guard, it’s not like he wants to turn you in because he has a guilty conscience. What he wants is money. And if you’ve already paid him once, then if he turns you in now you could do the same to him for blackmail.”
Jeremy brightened. “That’s true,” he said. “We could at least come back at him with mutually assured destruction.”
“Except you’ve got a lot more to lose than he does,” Leah said. “I’ll talk to Darryl Loomis. Maybe he can fix it. You stall the guy for as long as you can. And, Jeremy?”
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“I really f*cked up.”
Jeremy had thought Fowler’s death was the end of it, but it still wasn’t over. It was poisoning everything, including this night, the fancy dinner, the beautiful and willing woman lounging bored beside him, all of it soured by the bitter taste of the mess he’d made.
“Nobody was supposed to get hurt,” Jeremy said abruptly, breaking the long-standing silence.
Alena looked at him, puzzled. “Who got hurt?” she asked.
“Those three guys,” Jeremy said. “They died.”
“You mean the construction accident?”
“It was my fault,” Jeremy said. “Those people would still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
Alena was used to Jeremy revealing things in isolated melodramatic bursts, though she was never sure how much of it was exaggerated out of self-pity. “Is that what you’re being blackmailed about?”
“That’s over with,” Jeremy said dismissively, waving his hand like he was shooing the topic out of the conversation. “The thing with the construction guys, I never should’ve let it happen.”
Alena was not sure she was following; not sure she wanted to be. “You’re saying you knew the accident was going to happen?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I should’ve, though. I gave the concrete guys an inch, they ran a f*cking mile with it. And now it won’t go away.”
“Were you just asked about it for the court thing?”
Jeremy again waved his hand, clearly not wanting to answer her questions. “We’ve got it under control. But it still makes me feel like shit.”
“I don’t understand,” Alena said. “Why did you let it happen?”
“Why does anybody let anything happen?” Jeremy said. “I needed the f*cking money.”