Mike Offit: Nothing Personal: A Novel of Wall Street

They also poked their heads into the five other bedrooms, each immaculate, carefully decorated, and cheerful. The house had an air of space and comfort, not ostentation or great wealth. The only people meant to be entertained in this house were its occupants and a few close friends. Warren and Sam felt at ease. The architect, a hundred-odd years earlier, had understood how to design rooms and proportions that did not intimidate or confine.

“I think this will do,” Sam said happily, plopping down on the cream-colored sofa in the living room. “I am very happy here.”

“Yeah. This is pretty easy to take.” Warren was poking around in the liquor cabinet and found an open bottle of single-malt Scotch. “Care for a small drink?”

He poured them each an inch of the liquor and nestled down next to her on the couch. “I guess it pays to have incredibly wealthy friends with great houses.”

“I guess. I can’t believe you grew up out here.”

“Why not? Besides, we left when I was pretty young. And our house would have fit in the garage here.”

“I don’t know. It seems so Puritan out here or something. Like the natives are all fishermen or oystermen or something like that. Were you some kind of quahog-digger or something?” She was taking the tiniest sips of the strong Scotch. “Jesus, this stuff tastes like Sterno that’s been strained through peat moss.”

“Aye, lassie, that’s the bite of the true Highlands,” Warren said in a decent Scottish brogue.

She laughed and put the drink down on the walnut coffee table. She thought twice and picked the glass back up, slipping one of the magazines underneath it to protect the finish. The smile faded, and her expression shifted slightly.

“What is it?” Warren picked up on the change immediately.

“Look, we, like, never talk about it, but I think we ought to. I mean, it’s not just some fantasy or something. That trip was real. Those bank accounts were real. That money is real. What are you going to do with it? What is your plan?” She sat up and looked at him. “We can’t just pretend none of it ever happened.”

Warren nodded and sipped his drink. “I know. I know. You’re right. It is real. Very real. And I do have a plan. Look, I don’t know if anyone is looking for that money. There’s been nothing unusual at the office, and it’s been a pretty long time. No inquiries, no questions, nothing. Nothing at the banks either, as far as I can tell. They’re still doing business. I think Warner’s going to go under eventually, but it may take a while yet. The money isn’t going anywhere. If everything works out, maybe we keep it or donate it to charity or something. If not, maybe they’ll find it and figure out a way to take it back. Just so long as are not connected to it until it’s all over. There’s just one piece that’s missing.”

“What’s that exactly?”

“Who killed Anson and Bill. Somebody killed them both, and I don’t believe it was a coincidence. If it weren’t for my alibis, the cops would have arrested me for it. I think they may figure I hired someone to do it. It doesn’t matter, though, because they’ll never be able to prove that I did.”

“Because you didn’t, right? I mean, I’m not engaged to a murderer, right? You’re not going to knock me off for the insurance or anything, are you?”

“What insurance?”

“The life insurance you want to take out on me.”

“I don’t want to take out any life insurance on you. What are you talking about?” Warren turned to face her, completely flabbergasted.

“Come on. I got that letter and application from your company’s insurance agent.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Warren was smiling. “Good joke.”

“Warren, I’m dead serious. I thought it was nice, you adding me to your medical coverage. And I thought it was generous that Weldon allows you to insure your fiancée.”

“They don’t. I didn’t. I mean, I would, but I didn’t. What application? Did you send it in?”

“No, not yet. What do you mean you didn’t send me the application? If you didn’t, who did?” She was sitting straight up.

“I don’t know. But it sounds like a problem.”

“A problem? Someone sends me an insurance application? That’s a weird problem. I can see how you’d be concerned if I’d made an appointment to talk to a salesman or something. Actually, that’s worse than dying. But who would bother?”

“Someone who is trying to set me up?”

“But set you up for what? Dental coverage?”

“Think about it for a minute.” He tapped his head.

“Oh, thanks for pointing. I forgot where to think.” Sam paused for a moment. It was obvious. “But, if they were trying to set you up to look like you killed me, isn’t it a little simpleminded? What difference could a half a million dollars make? No one would believe you’d want to kill me to collect a half a million bucks of insurance. That’s no money to you big investment bankers.”

“An obvious setup might be something a clever guy like me would do to cover his tracks.”

“You read too many cheap mystery books. Jesus. Take out insurance on me to make you a suspect, but then point out that you’re way too smart and sophisticated to do something so stupid, therefore the insurance policy would actually have been a way to prove it wasn’t you. And you’d get to keep the money.”

“The application itself could start a fight. You could start to suspect me. Who the hell knows? All I know is that you could be in trouble. Or I could. I can. There’s too much money at stake here. I don’t get it. Why try to set me up? These are some very confusing bad guys. Why don’t they just ask for the fucking money back? It’s not like I can tell anyone about it. They could threaten me. Threaten you. My mother. My father. Kneecap me. Break my fingers one at a time. Disfigure my face. Offer to kill me quick and painlessly if I tell them without a struggle. I’d crack eventually.”

“I’ve got news for you. You’ve already cracked. Boy. I thought you had a plan.”

“I thought I did too. Hmmm. Insurance policy? It just doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

“Hey, maybe someone in your benefits department heard you were engaged and sent you the insurance forms. Maybe you’re paranoid,” Sam said.

“Maybe. Probably. Or, it could just be a warning. Threatening you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. But two people who were pretty tough business are already dead. I think this is gonna have to work itself out soon, or I’m going to just kill myself so I won’t have to deal with the anxiety.”

“Oh. Okay. How much insurance is there on you? Can I be the beneficiary? Are you worth more dead or alive?”

“Nice. Let’s go check out that bed up there, then you can answer that question. All this thinking is wearing me out.” Warren stood up and stretched.

“Why is it every time you say you’re tired, I wind up feeling like I’m in some nature show about rutting antelopes or wildebeests?’

“I dunno. Meet me in the Wild Kingdom. I’m going to take a shower and think all this over.” He tugged her up off the couch, and he tickled her as they climbed the stairs.

“Hey! Cut it out!” She whacked him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna get it!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of….” They turned down the hall, giggling, for the time being.

When he got back to work the next week, he had a busy schedule. First, Warren asked Annlois to book him on a flight to Los Angeles and reserve a room for three nights at the Beverly Wilshire. He told Malcolm that he needed to catch up on things with the banks, that Karlheinz had asked him to come out and review their strategies for the new year, and that he would stop in at Golden State as well. To build up some background, he put in a call to Bill Scherrer in the Reorganization Group and chatted with him for fifteen minutes about some of the bank recapitalizations that Weldon had been hired to complete. It seemed, Warren explained, that the West Coast thrifts were all going to need to be restructured eventually, and getting in the door early couldn’t hurt. He’d met Bill through Larisa and thought he was bright and capable.