John Gapper - A Fatal Debt

“Oh, good, cutlery. I knew this was a civilized joint,” he said, squeezing along the banquette. “I am glad I came. Not that it wouldn’t be a pleasure to see you anyway, Ben, but my wife’s tired of all the furor and taken the kids off to visit their grandparents, so I’m on my lonesome.”

“I’m glad. Thanks for all this,” I said as I lifted slices of pizza onto his plate. “How are you doing?”

It wasn’t an idle question. Felix was looking wearier than when I’d last encountered him on the Gulfstream. His face was pasty and his hair needed a trim. He sighed and picked up a fork, with which he speared a slice of pizza. He got it most of the way to his mouth before lowering it to speak.

“You know what? I’d say I was keeping my head above water. The place is in chaos, the last two chief executives having been taken out in one go, and I spend my working days going to meetings with lawyers. What is wrong with this country that you need an entire legal team even if you’re only a witness? When I drag myself home at the end of the day, I get bombarded with calls from journalists.”

“So what did you witness, Felix?” I asked.

He looked at me, munching the pizza, as if I were being tactlessly direct, but I didn’t care anymore-I didn’t have the energy for small talk. He had a smear of tomato sauce on his upper lip, and for an uncomfortable moment the red reminded me of the blood spilling out from Greene’s body in the crime scene photo.

“Not a nice memory, I’ve got to say. Nora called me that afternoon. She was pretty distressed, said Harry had given her the slip somehow and she needed help to find him. He’d vanished from their apartment a couple of hours before. She had visions that he’d topped himself. We almost called you, in fact.”

“I wish you had.”

“It was about five o’clock. We tried Harry’s mobile and the house. Nothing. Finally, at eight, he called from East Hampton. Nora answered. It was dreadful.” Felix closed his eyes and shuddered as he recalled the moment. “Utter fucking mess. I drove her out myself. I didn’t want her to face it alone. When we arrived, there were cops swarming the place. They’d taken Harry away from there already. Nora was hysterical, kept saying it was all her fault-you’d warned her.”

“That sounds terrible.” It did, but there was one consolation. Nora obviously knew that she should have listened to me and was prepared to acknowledge it openly. I hoped she might protect me a little-I needed it.

Felix put some pizza in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a minute or two. “It was. So how’s it going at the hospital? I imagine they’re shit scared about the whole thing, aren’t they? I hope they’re supportive.”

“Not exactly.”

“That bad?” He winced, then pushed his plate aside and poured more wine into our glasses.

“I discharged him. My signature’s on the release and no one else wants to share the blame. I only hope it doesn’t get to court.”

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows, indicating that I was out of luck. “I don’t think you should count on that. Put it this way: I think Marcus married Margaret because she was the only person on earth who scared him.”

“I’m screwed, then,” I said gloomily, taking a glug of my wine.

“There’s always Nora. Maybe she could prevail on Margaret. The Wall Street wives’ club. Even if her membership’s expired.”

He glanced at me, not sure whether he’d gone too far, but then we both snorted with laughter, like children sharing a joke out of adult earshot. I stood up and we walked to the living room, where he lounged in an armchair with his shoes off. There was a hole in one of his socks, through which a toe poked.

“Why do you think Harry did it?” I asked. “He didn’t tell me much in Riverhead, just that the bank was going to take the Gulfstream away. I suppose that felt like punishment, but all the same, shooting the messenger was extreme.”

Felix looked into his wineglass as if he might be able to read the sediment like a fortune-teller. “One thing I’ll say about Harry, Ben. You’ve only known him since he’s been ill, but he’s a delicate soul. He’s always felt like an outsider to Wall Street, not part of the club. When he was pushed out, he imagined that everyone was laughing at him.”

He seemed to have a talent as a psych. That might have been what had made Harry flip, I thought-the feeling of being dispossessed by the man who had taken over his bank. It made as much sense as anything in this affair.

“Marcus could be pretty tough when he wanted to be,” he went on. “Maybe he said something that got under Harry’s skin-the guy wasn’t stable.”

I knew as he said it that he didn’t mean any harm, but it made me throw my hands in the air with despair. “God, if anyone else says that to me, I think I’ll scream out loud. I know he wasn’t stable. I shouldn’t have discharged him.”

Felix winced. “I’m sorry-ought to have been more sensitive.”

I gave myself a moment to breathe. “Forget it, I’m on edge.”

“I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t miss him. You can watch him in action if you want. They made Harry and Marcus give evidence together to the Senate last year. There’s a video up on C-SPAN still. That’ll give you the idea.”

Felix left after midnight, when we’d drained both of the Pomerols and half a bottle of whiskey I’d found in a cupboard. I didn’t sleep well, turning back and forth under the duvet as I passed in and out of consciousness. I got up to take an Ambien, hoping it would knock me out, but it only pushed me into a disturbed sleep.

I dreamed of driving down the lane to the Shapiros’ house and turning up the drive at night. The front door was open and I walked into the house from a side I’d never been. The carpet was soft under my bare feet after the pebbled drive. The living room was dark, only a dim light coming from the ocean. Harry was sitting on the living room sofa in a blue gown, with head bowed. As I entered, he looked up. Blood poured down his face from an open wound and he stared at me fiercely, his eyes burning as they had in the ER. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He’s trying to tell me something. I need to get closer , I thought, but my feet wouldn’t grip the wooden floor.

I woke up sweating from the dream and the alcohol. It was three a.m. and I sat up in bed, my arms around my knees. I have to protect myself-I can’t let them sacrifice me , I thought. I reached for the phone and dialed.

“Dad, it’s me,” I said when he answered.

“You’re up late. Is everything okay?” replied his smooth baritone. I heard Jane’s voice in the background. “It’s Ben,” he told her. “Hold on, I’ll take it in the other room.”

After thirty seconds, he picked up the phone in his study. “Hey, Benny, we’re just having breakfast. You rushed off the other day. What’s up?”

“I’m in trouble, Dad,” I said, my voice starting to shake. “A patient killed someone and it’s being blamed on me. I couldn’t have stopped it. It wasn’t my fault.”

I felt myself babbling with exhaustion and stress, triggered by the sound of his voice and my nighttime loneliness.

“Whoa, slow down. I’m sure it wasn’t, but take it from the top.”

I told him the whole story. It took twenty minutes, and he interrupted occasionally to ask me a question, but he listened. Just talking to him made me feel overwhelmingly grateful to have someone on my side.

“Hmm,” he said at the end. “Listen, I’ve got a friend over there who’ll be able to help you, but you must promise me something. It’s important.”

“Yes, Dad,” I said, a child again.