Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Twelve

As soon as he arrived at his office Horace Blair plunged into a meeting to discuss plans to merge one of his companies with a British telecom company. The issues were complex, and Carrie and the prenup were soon forgotten. By the time the meeting adjourned, at nine in the evening, Horace was exhausted and could not wait to get into bed. As he pulled his Bentley into his four-car garage, Blair was surprised to see a strange car parked near his front door.

When Blair entered the house, Walter was waiting for him.

“Has Mrs. Blair come home?” Horace asked his houseman.

“No, sir, and she hasn’t called.”

“Then whose car is that?”

“It belongs to a Mr. Charles Benedict. Normally I wouldn’t have let him wait, but he said it concerned Mrs. Blair.”

“What about her?”

“He wouldn’t give me any specifics.”

“Very well, Walter. Where did you put him?”

“In the library.”

Blair walked down a hall that led to the back of the mansion and entered a room lined with bookshelves. Charles Benedict was sitting in front of a fire Walter had laid for him, reading a biography of Harry Houdini. He stood when his host walked in.

“Mr. Blair, I’m Charles Benedict. I apologize for intruding but I’m in possession of information that will save you millions of dollars.”

“If you’re selling something, stop right now.”

“This concerns your prenuptial agreement with your wife. I know it terminates tomorrow and I know you’ll have to pay Carrie twenty million dollars—two million for every year she’s been married to you—if she’s remained faithful.”

Blair flushed with anger. “How do you know the details of our agreement?”

“Carrie told me after we’d slept together.”

“What!”

“I’m an attorney, Mr. Blair. My specialty is criminal defense. Your wife and I have tried cases against each other. One evening, we met in her office after one of our trials recessed.” Benedict shrugged. “One thing led to another and we made love. After that, we started meeting regularly.”

“Can you prove any of this?”

“Oh, yes. Take me to your front door. I have something to show you.”

“My front door?”

“You’ll understand in a minute.”

Blair was about to say something. Then he changed his mind and led the way to the front hall. The lawyer opened the front door.

“Please give me your front-door key.”

Blair looked confused, but he fished his keys out of his pocket and took the front-door key off of his key chain.

“I’m going to step outside and close the door. When I’m outside, check the door to make sure it’s locked.”

Benedict stepped outside and closed the door. Horace tested the door to make sure it was locked. Moments later, Benedict opened the locked door.

“What does this prove?” Blair asked.

Benedict handed Blair the key he held in his hand.

“Most of the time, Carrie came to my condo when we made love,” Benedict said as Horace put the key back on his key chain, “but she was into risk and we made love here on several occasions when you were away. I would wait until she called me and I’d drive over. Carrie gave me this.”

Benedict took a key out of his pocket that was identical to the key Blair had given him. He opened the front door again.

“Make sure it’s locked,” Benedict instructed before he stepped outside and shut the door. Moments later, he reentered the front hall.

“This is your proof?” Blair asked. “No court will rule that Carrie violated the prenup because you have a key to my front door.”

Benedict removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket.

“I also have a DVD showing Carrie and me making love. Would you like to see it?”

Blair’s shoulders sagged and he suddenly looked his age. His marriage to Carrie had disintegrated but he was still shocked that he had never suspected that she was cheating on him.

“How much do you want, Mr. Benedict?”

The lawyer looked confused. Then he looked offended.

“You think I came here to ask for money?”

“Well, I . . . naturally.”

“No, no, I should have made myself clear from the start. I was in love with Carrie, and I thought she cared for me. She told me she had to stay with you because of the prenup, but she swore she loved me and would marry me when she got your money and could divorce. Then she dumped me.”

Benedict looked down. “She said she’d found someone else. She said she was bored with me. I couldn’t believe how callous she was. She’d been using me all along, Mr. Blair, the same way she used you.

“No, Mr. Blair, I don’t want money, I want her to pay for the way she treated me. Carrie took advantage of both of us and I want to see her suffer the way she’s made me suffer.”

Benedict held out the sex tape. “This DVD is my gift to you. Make good use of it.”



Benedict and Blair shared a drink and talked for another half hour. As soon as the lawyer left, Horace phoned Jack Pratt, his attorney at Rankin, Lusk, and told him to come to his estate. It was late, and senior partners at Rankin, Lusk rarely made house calls, but Horace had been one of Pratt’s best clients for years.

As soon as Walter showed Pratt into the library, Horace motioned the lawyer toward the armchair Charles Benedict had recently vacated and handed him a glass of the aged single-malt scotch the attorney favored.

It would be difficult to guess that Jack Pratt was in his mid-sixties. He worked out every day in the firm’s gym with a personal trainer. His suits, which were hand-tailored in London, fit like the proverbial glove, his teeth gleamed, and not a strand of his sleek, expertly dyed black hair was out of place. Pratt had cultivated manners that would have met with approval in the home of a British royal, and even though he was ruthless in legal matters his adversaries rarely disliked him.

“I’ve received some very upsetting news, Jack.”

Blair, who was not given to emotional displays, was visibly upset.

“What happened?” Pratt asked.

“Carrie has disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. This morning, I received a visit from a Lee County homicide detective. No one has seen Carrie since Monday afternoon. She hasn’t come home or to her job, and no one knows where she is.”

“You said a homicide detective. Do they think she’s been murdered?”

“They don’t know. She’s just disappeared.”

Pratt frowned. “This can’t be good, Horace. Carrie has every reason to be here this week.”

“Yes, she does, and the prenup is the reason I called you. I had a visitor this evening. Do you know a lawyer named Charles Benedict?”

“I don’t know him, but I’ve heard of him.”

“What’s his reputation like?” Blair asked.

“I really don’t know. He practices criminal law, so we don’t run in the same circles. Do you want me to check him out?”

Blair nodded. Suddenly Pratt smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Horace asked.

“I just remembered. Benedict is an amateur magician. I saw him perform at a Virginia Bar Association awards dinner a few years ago. He did card tricks, and he was pretty good.”

“There’s nothing funny about what happened tonight. Benedict knows about the prenup.”

Pratt stopped smiling. “How did he find out?”

“Carrie told him after they . . .” Horace flushed. “He was screwing her, Jack. She cheated on me, and Benedict isn’t her only lover.” Horace held up the DVD. “He gave me this. It’s a recording of them . . . doing it. I want you to take it and put it somewhere safe. I don’t know why she’s gone missing but she’s going to show up again to demand her money.”

Blair paused. Pratt could see that he was furious. “She is not to get one penny, Jack. Not one red cent.”