Chapter 10
CHAPTER
I THINK IT BEST IF WE meet in person,” said Mort Dickey over the phone.
“I have a busy week,” said Nash. He glanced at the calendar on his computer screen and his spirits fell. He had to travel out of town in two days’ time. “If we can’t talk now, how about a Zoom?”
“I’m an old-fashioned lawyer, Mr. Nash. I don’t really like being on camera. So, for me, zoom can remain a verb.”
“All right. How about tomorrow morning at eight?”
“You can’t do later?”
“Eight thirty. That’s the best I can do,” said Nash. “I’m scheduled to travel out of town early the next morning and I have a full calendar tomorrow.”
“Eight thirty then. Your father said you were some sort of big-shot money guy.”
“I’m surprised he knew anything about me,” replied Nash tersely.
“Oh, he knew a lot, Mr. Nash. A lot.”
Nash did not like the sound of that. “You intimated that my father had left me something and I was his named executor?”
“Correct.”
“What does the estate consist of?”
“Tomorrow, Mr. Nash. As you said, you’re a busy man, and I don’t like conducting business over the phone any more than I do over zooms.”
Dickey hung up on him and Nash slowly set his phone down on his desk.
Someone knocked on his door. “Yes?”
His heart skipped a beat when the door opened revealing Rhett Temple.
He rose so fast he smacked his knee on the desk’s edge.
“Rhett, what… I mean, how are you doing?”
Rhett came forward, looking deeply embarrassed. “First I want to apologize for missing the funeral. They screwed up my calendar and had the wrong day listed. I’m really sorry. I hope things went as well as possible under the circumstances.”
“Yes, yes, they did,” answered Nash, who was actually thankful that his boss had not been there to witness the personal insults his executive VP had suffered. “And it’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Walter. It was your father. Were you two close?”
“We sort of drifted apart as the years went by.”
Rhett perched on the edge of Nash’s desk. “I also had flowers delivered to your house this morning. They must have missed you?”
“Yes, but I’m sure Judith or Maggie was there to receive them. Thank you.”
“And how is that daughter of yours doing? I remember when she interned here one summer. She is smart, very quick to pick up on things.”
“Maggie wants to be a social media influencer and online content creator instead of going to college.”
“She’ll do great. And let’s face it, Walter, appearances count. And she’s got all that, just like her mother.”
“Well, we’ll see how it turns out.”
Rhett looked around Nash’s office. “I wish my space were this tidy.”
“I like things to be organized. Makes me more efficient.”
“Speaking of, your earnings quarter is shaping up to be a blow-out one. Thanks for all the hard work and contributions to the bottom line.”
Nash managed a smile. “That’s what you pay me for. And the work is… challenging, and I like a challenge.”
Like maybe bringing you and this place down brick by brick, he thought.
“Well, carry on, and, again, my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you.”
Rhett turned his back on Nash, gave an exaggerated eye roll to the wall, and left.
Nash stood there rubbing his knee and wondering what the hell all that was about.
It was clear to him that Rhett had never intended to go to his father’s funeral. So, what were the apology and the flowers for? Wait, did he know the FBI was sniffing around and he was wondering if they might have contacted Nash?
The weight of all of this collapsed his slender legs, and he fell heavily back into his chair.
He looked at his phone, where Reed Morris’s number was listed under X in his contacts.
Should he call him? And tell him what? That his chief target had apologized about the funeral and sent flowers?
Why would Morris give a crap about that?
The federal agent probably wouldn’t see any connection or threat to his case from flowers and apologies.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but who the hell can blame me?
He concentrated on his work, which included a slew of brief in-person meetings with various members of his team, emails to read and write, Zooms, and phone conversations in different time zones going over a dozen pending deals, and a host of early due diligence work on several potential acquisitions.
Before he knew it, it was well past lunchtime.
Nash normally had his secretary call something in for him and then ate at his desk.
But today he decided to stretch his legs and go for a walk.
He headed to a deli a few blocks from his office and got a pastrami and rye, some Old Bay chips, a giant pickle, and a cup of black coffee. He ate at a white plastic table in the back of the shop while brooding over his predicament.
A titan of investment eating a pastrami and rye and a fat pickle on a plastic chair.
Normally, Nash would have laughed at this silly thought. But not today.
After coming back from the restroom, Nash saw his bill was waiting for him.
He saw another piece of folded paper tucked under it.
Nash looked up quickly but saw only two customers who weren’t paying him the least bit of attention, the waiter, a woman at the cash register, and the short-order cook in the back. There was no one else in the place.
However, there was an address on the note, walkable from here. Whoever it was wanted to meet with him, in ten minutes.
Trying to remain calm, Nash paid his bill and got a fresh coffee in a to-go cup. He walked at a leisurely pace, but every step felt like he was hauling a ton of bricks on his back.
Someone is obviously watching me. It has to be Reed Morris. When he said a bit of time, he apparently really meant it.
When he rounded the last corner and approached his destination he started to do his breathing exercises.
Nash had not made a decision, and he didn’t see how he could without first finding out if there was criminal activity at his company.
And if he did decide to work with the FBI, he needed to make a full disclosure to his wife and daughter.
He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he nearly bumped into someone.
“Excuse me.” But then Nash froze as he focused on the tall woman with the long face.
What was the name again? Right, Rosie Parker, partner and lover to my late father.
“Mr. Nash?” she said tentatively, her features full of the same heightened nervousness he had observed at the church.
“Yes? Wait, did you leave that note with my bill?”
“I did,” she conceded.
“How did you manage that? I never saw you.”
“Your bill came right after you went to use the restroom. I slipped it in then.”
“So you were following me. Why?”
“I saw you leave your office. Um, have… have you talked to that lawyer yet? I saw him give you his card at the cemetery.”
“Mort Dickey? Yes, but only to make an appointment to meet with him. Why?”
“Your… father promised me certain things, Mr. Nash.”
She wants her piece of the pie. “What did he promise you, Ms. Parker?”
“Please call me Rosie.”
“And I’m Walter.”
“He, well, he said I could stay in the house.”
“All right. Is that also in his will?”
“I don’t know. I never saw his will.”
“Do you have some proof that that was his wish?”
Despite his natural suspicions, Nash couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman. Her clothes suggested extremely limited means, something he had earlier noted at the funeral service. And she was very thin and just looked worn down.
“No,” she said softly.
“Okay, well, if you can find some proof that would be good. I will learn the details of the will when I meet with Mr. Dickey. What is your cell phone number?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
That wasn’t unduly surprising to Nash. His father had never had a cell phone, at least that he knew of, though Nash had bought his mother one.
“Okay, but my father had a house phone. Is that still active?”
“Yes.”
Nash recalled the number from his childhood. He repeated it to her to make sure it hadn’t changed and she said, “That’s the number, yes.”
“Okay, I’ll call you after I’ve met with Dickey. I have to travel out of town shortly, so it might be after that.” When tears started to well up in her eyes he said firmly, “Rosie, if my father wanted you taken care of, you will be taken care of, all right? I give you my word.”
“Yes sir. All right. Thank you.”
He stood there looking at her for a moment, his curiosity ratcheting up. “How did you and my father meet?”
“I work at the VA. He came in for treatment for his… troubles.”
“I see. And what do you do at the VA?”
“I… do the bedpans, turn the patients on their backs and stomachs, pick them up when they fall. I help them safely walk the halls during their rehab. Whatever they need. I’m very strong and I work hard. I really do, sir.”
To Nash, it seemed Parker wanted to communicate that she was no freeloader.
“That is very hard work that not many people would be capable of doing. I’m sure you have helped a great many people who needed it.”
She glanced at him. “You’re nothing like Ty said you were.”
“And what did he say I was like?”
“He said you were one mean bastard. That was why I was so nervous at the church.”
“I am many things, but a mean bastard is not one of them.”
“What Shock said to you at the church? It wasn’t right,” added Parker firmly.
“But he was a wonderful friend to my father. Especially after my mother died.”
“How did you know that? Your father told me that you two weren’t close.”
The information about Shock’s consoling his father had come from the neighbor, Harriet Segura. She had told Nash that she had seen Shock over there nearly every day for six months after Nash’s mother had passed away.
Out in the backyard, holding Ty in his arms while the man was sobbing his heart out. Never seen two men, especially two men like that, act that way. What friends are supposed to be. That Isaiah York—love him or hate him, he’s the real deal.
“I had ways of keeping tabs on my father,” he replied. “Though I didn’t know about you.” He appraised her. “But you were clearly very important to him, Rosie.”
“He was a complicated man, your father. But he was real good to me.”
“Do you have any idea why he would have made me the executor of his estate? Did he ever mention me other than to say I was a mean bastard?”
“A few things here and there,” Parker said cautiously.
Nash checked his watch. “Look, when I get back to town we can meet.”
“You can come by the house. I mean, it’s your house now.”
“We won’t know that until the will terms are disclosed. But that would be nice. I haven’t been there… in a while. I’ll give you a call.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nash.”
“Please, I said it was Walter.”
“I… I know. But—”
“But what?”
“You just seem like Mr. Nash to me. I know you’re quite important.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’ve got to go. I have to catch the bus.”
“Do you need a ride? I can call you an Uber.”
“No, I… no, the bus. I prefer it. Goodbye.”
Her long legs and powerful strides ate up the pavement in huge chunks. No doubt her physical labor at the VA kept the woman strong and vigorous. And thin.
Nash walked off wondering who in his father’s world would ever have considered him important.