Brian Haig - The Capitol Game

“A little of this, a little of that. Nothing interesting.”

The waitress arrived. Wallerman ordered two gin and tonics, and make it fast. He reached into his pocket, dug out his cell phone, and carefully positioned it on its backside in the center of the table. “I’m expecting an important business call. No rest for the greedy.”

The phone had been loaned to him only an hour before by Morgan, who at that moment was hunched over in a black Dodge van outside in the parking lot, overhearing every word. The phone had been recently reconfigured by TFAC’s tech department-the insides had been gutted and replaced by two wide-angle lenses facing apart, and a digital microphone so sensitive it could hear a fly fart. TFAC was quite proud of it. This was the first time the newest marvel would see use in a real-life setting.

Morgan, munching popcorn in the van, had his eyes glued to the side-by-side video monitors. Jack’s face appeared on the left screen; Wallerman’s on the right. He slapped the console and blurted out, “Ha, got you now, you bastard.”

Jack was staring straight ahead at Wallerman. “You seem to be doing well, Lew.” His tone was edged with surprise.

Immaculately dressed as he was, in a brand-new, two-thousand-dollar blue suit bought by the TFAC boys, he looked like he was doing better than well. His nails were neatly buffed, his hair smartly trimmed by a two-hundred-dollar stylist. Even his teeth had been whitened and varnished to a high sheen. It took a lot of time and money, but he looked exactly like what he wasn’t: a Wall Street fat cat loaded with cash ready to pitch a deal worth millions, or billions.

“I have to admit I’m doing better than I ever expected,” Wallerman offered, trying to capture just the right dose of humility. No answer from Jack, and it was clear he didn’t want to talk. “So, you married yet?” Wallerman asked in an effort to keep the conversation flowing.

“No. You?”

“Tried it once. That was one more than enough. Caught her red-handed in bed with this guy I was doing a hundred million deal with. I didn’t mind losing her, really. I married her because she put out. Turned out she put out for everybody. The hundred million broke my heart.”

Jack laughed, politely at best. Rich-boy humor.

Wallerman let a moment pass, then admitted very softly, “Truth is, Jack, I expected to find you here.”

His eyes glued to the screen, Morgan studied Jack’s face for a response to this interesting confession. He was instantly rewarded by a dramatic change in expression-stage fright might be a good word to describe it. “What’s this about?” Jack asked, unable to hide his concern.

“Let’s talk about Edith Warbinger first,” Lew insisted. “Long time ago, I know, but surely you remember her.”

“Oh, that.” Jack leaned back in his chair, a clumsy attempt to look indifferent. “Too bad what happened to the old girl. But you’re right, it’s ancient history.”

“She’s gone but not forgotten, Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when I asked you to cut me in? If I recall your exact words, you told me to screw myself. I needed the money back then. Needed it badly. It would’ve changed my life, Jack. You really hurt my feelings. An old pal from college, I introduced you to the firm and even vouched for you. How could you blow me off that way?”

Jack sat stiffly in his chair and listened; he said nothing. He definitely looked rattled, though, in Morgan’s view. His lips were pursed. The skin seemed to tighten on his face. A pair of long creases appeared between his eyes.

Morgan edged closer to the screen and couldn’t stop himself-he laughed. Ha-thought it was all behind you, didn’t you, you slick bastard. The perfect crime, perfectly executed, perfectly forgotten. Boo! Here comes Edith clawing her way out of a watery grave, come to exact her revenge.

Wallerman was spinning a table knife on the tablecloth, a fitful effort at smothering his euphoria. All those years spent dreaming of getting back at Jack, years of digging and hoping and waiting, finally the moment was here. Morgan admired the way Wallerman dragged this out; the impulse to blurt everything, to stuff it all in Jack’s face had to be killing him. Hold on to it as long as you can, he wanted to say; let Jack contemplate all the ugly possibilities. Let him stuffer and stew.

Eventually, Lew informed Jack, “After you left, I went through everything. Your files, your computer records, your client statements. You were good, Jack. You left nothing behind.”

Jack seemed to relax. “Too bad, you wasted your time. You always were a jerk.”

“Well, almost nothing,” Wallerman continued, still spinning the knife, still ignoring Jack’s face, but carefully dropping one little note of concern. “A few months later I was sitting in an investing conference, bored out of my mind, when I got a fresh idea.”

“Oh, come on, Lew. You cheated your way through Princeton and stole investing ideas at Primo. You wouldn’t know a fresh idea if it sat on your lap.”

Wallerman smiled at the insult. “Is there anything Jack might’ve forgotten? Anything he overlooked? You see, you had become a fixation for me. I couldn’t get you out of my mind-you ran with all those millions and left me in a lousy firm filled with greedy scum, backstabbers, and liars.”

“Think about this, Lew. Maybe you belonged there.”

Again, Wallerman seemed to enjoy the insult. This was his moment of triumph, and he wasn’t about to let Jack spoil the fun. “Then it hit me.”

“This is fascinating. Tell me what you think I forgot.”

“Your travel records. The second the conference ended I raced back to the firm travel office. I scoured the records for hours. You made plenty of overseas trips during those years old Edith was supposed to be on that boat.”

“Now you’re boring me.” He didn’t sound bored, though.

“You went to Copenhagen the week before Edith arrived. In fact, you stayed in the same hotel she later checked into. You even billed it to the firm. What were you doing there, Jack?”

“Good customer relations. Making arrangements for Edith’s trip.”

“How thoughtful. You sure burned through a pile of cash on your charge cards. Over twenty thousand on women’s clothing, another five thousand for luxury luggage. I’ve got copies of the receipts, in case you’re interested.”

“I’m not. Are you through?”

“Hardly. See, I asked myself, why would Jack be buying all those clothes and luggage for an old broad with all that dough? Then I answered myself-you weren’t.”

“Now you’re speculating, Lew.”

“The nurse you hired to take Edith’s place, she needed to look the part. She had to show up in fine clothes, hauling fancy luggage, looking like she could buy the damn boat.”

Jack managed to produce a nonchalant shrug. It was unconvincing. He never dreamed he’d be hearing these words.

“Then, about twice a year, you continued to make trips to a variety of locales spread around Europe and Asia. I’ll admit, Jack, I didn’t get it. Not until I plotted all those locations on maps did it make sense. They were all seaports.”

“I like seafood and sunshine. Are you through now?”

“Almost, Jack, almost. Next, I contacted Vermillion Shipping Lines, the company that owned Edith’s cruise ship. They were kind enough to check the log. You know what?” He paused to stare at Jack’s face, as if searching for a true answer. “Yeah, I guess you know. The dates and locations of your trips were an exact match to the days Edith’s ship visited those ports.”

Out in the parking lot, Morgan couldn’t tear his eyes from Jack’s face. Not for a second; he didn’t want to miss a single grimace, a single erratic shift of the eyes, a single pained mood swing. He was stuffing popcorn into his mouth, chewing violently, enjoying himself immensely. Jack seemed to sink lower in his chair. He began rubbing his temples, as if his head was splitting. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Mr. Cool and Calm was wilting before Morgan’s eyes, every twitch and pregnant pause being recorded in digital, high-definition color by the tiny cameras hidden in plain sight in the center of the table. Wallerman was masterful. Morgan greatly admired the performance.