Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Jason Sakstra looked uncomfortable as he waited on the sidewalk as Archer strolled up. He offered his hand. "Archer, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I'm sure your schedule is packed."
"Not a problem," Archer said.
Jason glanced around. "So where's the restaurant?"
They’d met in Montmartre, on a street that sloped beneath their feet, cobblestones uneven and worn smooth by centuries of traffic.
Cafés and small shops crowded close to the street, their windows aglow in the early evening light.
It wasn't Archer’s usual neighborhood for dinner, at least not at this point in his life.
But there had been a time when he'd been a street rat and spent many hours in this part of Paris.
He'd spent his youth in London and Rome as well.
If there was trouble, he found it. He'd excelled at it.
He pushed those thoughts back into the depths from where they'd come.
"I assumed you wanted to have a serious conversation," Archer said. "One you'd prefer to keep from prying eyes and listening ears."
Jason hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. So that's why we're not at one of the usual places. None of the five-star hotels or Michelin-starred restaurants we normally walk into in Paris."
"I can guarantee someone would pay attention." Archer started walking, guiding his companion down a narrow street, keeping up a constant patter of small talk until they reached the restaurant.
"In here," he said, stopping in front of a modest storefront tucked between a bakery and a shuttered gallery.
Jason glanced at the exterior, surprise flickering across his face. He gave a small shrug and walked inside. Archer followed.
The man behind the counter looked up and broke into a wide smile.
"Archer! ?a fait longtemps. Comment vas-tu, mon ami?"
"?a fait longtemps, Jean-Pierre, mais je suis très bien. Et vous?"
"Très, très, très bien!" Jean-Pierre clasped his hands together, then switched to English. "It is good to see you. I have your favorite table."
He led them to the back of the restaurant, to a corner table.
The place was a hole in the wall. Ten tables total.
Low ceilings, closely spaced chairs, the air warm with garlic, wine, and simmering stock.
The food was exquisite, the company even better, and Archer trusted every single person in the room.
He took the seat with his back to the wall. Jason sat across from him.
Jean-Pierre glanced at Jason. "Any dietary restrictions?"
Archer already knew the answer. Part of the job. As head of the Lock and Key Society, he made it a point to know everything. Most of it was memorized.
"No," Jason said quickly. "I'm good. Whatever you recommend."
"Excellent." Archer nodded. "Jean-Pierre, we're at your mercy."
Jean-Pierre smiled, rubbed his hands together, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"So," Archer said, "you wanted to talk?"
Jason was still looking around. "This is quite a bit different from what I anticipated," he said with a short laugh.
"Yes. But the food will be fantastic."
"I have no doubt."
Jean-Pierre returned with two wine glasses and filled them with a deep, velvety-looking red before vanishing again.
Jason lifted his glass and took a generous sip.
Archer waited. Patience was part of his job, though he found his personal supply thinning these days.
Jason set the glass down. "You're worried about people hearing our conversation."
"I think you're probably more worried about that than I am," Archer pointed out. "But I'd like to give you as much privacy as possible. Unfortunately, these days my privacy comes at a cost."
Jason snorted. "Austin Davis really has it out for you."
Normally, Archer wouldn't respond to a comment like that. But Jason was struggling to get to the point, and Archer wanted him to relax.
"He does seem to have me in his sights," Archer said.
"You think he's having you followed? Bugging your rooms? Things like that?" Jason's concern was written plainly across his face.
Archer had no intention of getting into it. He couldn't tell this man the truth, however, he found he didn't want to lie about it either. "I think that's my problem to worry about, not yours. So why don't you tell me what your problem is?"
Jean-Pierre arrived just then, setting a basket of fragrant bread between them before disappearing again.
Jason picked up a small baguette and proceeded to tear it apart with his fingers. Not eating. Just occupying his hands. Nervous energy, Archer noted.
"You know about Granite Industries?" Jason asked. "You're familiar?"
"So that's what this is about," Archer said. "The Ponzi scheme."
Jason nodded. "I assume you're aware of what happened."
"I am."
Jason hesitated, then admitted, "I lost a lot of money."
"I'm sorry," Archer said quietly.
Jason shook his head. "It was a horrible business. Were you? Caught up in it, that is?"
The question carried weight. Archer could hear it in Jason's voice, not curiosity, but the need for someone else to share the damage. Misery liked company.
"No," Archer said. "I'm forbidden from investing the Society's resources in any company owned by a member."
Jason blinked. "That must make it very hard to invest. Our members seem to own most of the top companies in the world, or at the very least work at the C level in them."
Archer smiled faintly. "It does, quite frankly. But we've managed workarounds. We have accounts in many of them, but we keep them as anonymous as possible. Our members don't know that we have accounts at their companies. It's worked so far."
"And you personally?" Jason asked. He took another sip of wine, smaller this time.
"No." Archer didn't bother to add anything to that. There was nothing else he could say.
Jason exhaled. "You were smart, then."
"It's not about being smart," Archer said. "It's about the rules of my employment."
He didn't mention that there was no chance in hell he would have invested with those three idiots anyway.
There was no need to make Jason feel worse, and despite his reputation, Archer found himself wanting to soften the blow.
After all, Jason was a board member, and it was looking more and more like there would be a day when Archer might need his support to keep Austin Davis at bay.
"So…" Archer paused. "What is it you're hoping I can help you with?"
Jason hesitated again, as if weighing the question.
Jean-Pierre returned and set two bowls of soup on the table. "French onion," he said, then vanished back into the kitchen.
"Sorry," Jason said. "What were we saying?"
"We were discussing your losses," Archer said.
Jason lifted his glass and finished the wine. "I lost a lot of money. And not just mine."
Archer's stomach tightened. "Jason," he said carefully, "I can't help you financially."
Jason dropped his head into his hands. "No. No, that's not what I'm asking." He looked up again. "What I am asking is… do you know where they put the money?"
Archer didn't answer right away.
"As head of the Society," Jason continued, "you know things which aren't common knowledge. I just really need the money back."
Archer's stomach tightened further. He felt for Jason.
More than he liked to admit. In fact, he felt for all of the people who had invested with those idiots, Vincent Kelly, Richard North, and Timothy Lebowitz.
They were all blowhards with far too much money and far too little conscience.
Assholes of the worst order, and, much to Archer's regret, all members in good standing in the Society.
He had never liked any of them, but the damage they'd inflicted went far beyond personal dislike.
Their Ponzi scheme had reached the highest echelons not only in New York but also in several other major cities, all the way down to retirees whose life savings had vanished in an instant.
Although it was only the retirees making noise.
No one rich wanted to admit openly they'd lost money.
Damaged reputations came with far more consequences.
Archer took a few spoonfuls of his soup.
"Jason," he said, setting the spoon down, "I honestly do not know where that money is. None. And even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you or do anything about it. You know the rules."
Jason's shoulders sagged. He dropped his head into his hands.
"I'm sorry," Archer said. He was uncomfortable with the other man's grief. There was nothing he could do to fix it, and quite frankly, he didn't want to be any more involved than he already was.
Jason straightened and gave himself a small shake. "It's my fault. I never should have invested with them. I should've known better."
"Obviously, you weren't the only one," Archer said.
"Those three assholes hurt a lot of people.
" The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He normally never made mistakes like that.
Wine, he thought, but he'd only had a couple of sips.
Fatigue, maybe. Or possibly he was simply losing his ability to give a damn.
"I know," Jason said. "I know. But honestly, that doesn't really help."
"No," Archer agreed. "I'm sure it doesn't. How much did you lose?"
"Everything. I lost everything," Jason said.
"At this point, I have no savings. My wife, the kids…
The only blessing is that the house is already paid off.
We're living paycheck to paycheck. And don't get me wrong, my paychecks are great as an investment banker, but because of the Ponzi scheme, I might lose my job. The debate is ongoing."
He rubbed his face. "The only upside is I wasn't the only broker who invested. Most of them did. Even the top tier. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but even the board was involved. There isn't anyone at the firm who wasn't touched to some degree."
Archer listened without interrupting.
"What works in my favor," Jason continued, "is that I was reluctant at first, one of the few who hesitated. Another member of the board pushed me. I was smart enough to document it."
Corporate duplicity didn't surprise Archer. Being pressured from the top and then hung out to dry was practically a daily occurrence. Jason had been smart to keep proof that the decision hadn't been his.
"The real issue," Jason said quietly, "is that it's going to take years to rebuild the money and the trust of my clients. My top clients. Having that money back would go a long way toward securing my future."
He laughed without humor. "I feel like I'm twenty-two again, just starting out. I'm forty-three. Twenty-one years in, and I don't want to start over. I need that money. My kids will be going to college soon, and I don't have the money to pay for it anymore."
A young busboy cleared the soup bowls away as Jean-Pierre placed two plates on the table, announcing the dish as some sort of bouillabaisse.
Archer caught the gist. His French was excellent, but Jean-Pierre had a habit of getting fast and loose with details.
The food looked good regardless. Jean-Pierre pressed his fingertips to his lips in a chef’s kiss gesture, then disappeared again.
Normally, red wine with fish would have raised an eyebrow, but Archer trusted Jean-Pierre. He took a bite. It was excellent. The wine paired perfectly. If only his dinner companion weren't so completely wrecked.
"Can you help me in any way? Is there anything you can do?" Jason asked, desperation creeping back into his voice.
Archer chose his words carefully. "What I can do, Jason, is this; If any information comes to me that I'm able to share about the money, or about future investments, I will. But only if it falls within the rules of the Society. I have to abide by them."
Hope flared in Jason's eyes.
Archer immediately lost his appetite.
He hadn't meant to give the man false hope. The odds were slim, very slim. But as cruel as it felt, Archer needed Jason's support as a board member. If a little hope helped Jason hang on, then Archer would live with it. He didn't have to like it.
Jason tucked into his fish, energized now, and the rest of the meal passed in polite conversation.
Outside on the sidewalk, Jason offered his hand. "Thank you, Archer. I know you'll do what you can. I really appreciate it."
Archer considered cautioning him and then decided it was pointless. Jason had heard what he wanted to hear.
He nodded, and Jason strode off down the street.
Archer watched him go and realized two things.
First, he had made several mistakes that evening, letting show what he actually felt about the situation. That was unlike him. Sloppy. He didn't do sloppy.
Second, he was losing his taste for lying to people. For manipulating them. For being around them at all.
Maybe it was time to leave the Society. Of course, he couldn't leave it in Austin Davis's hands. That was unthinkable.
And to leave, he was supposed to die. No one retired from running the Lock and Key Society.
Also unthinkable.
But maybe, just maybe, there was a third avenue available to him.
Archer turned and walked the other way, taking in the sights and sounds of Montmartre as he turned it over in his mind. Did he really want to leave? Maybe. Or maybe he was just having a bad day, week, month, or possibly year. It didn't hurt to work out a plan regardless.
Planning, after all, was the key to everything.