James Grippando - Money to Burn

I didn’t know what to think, but an idea came to me on how to get to the bottom of it. I looked at McVee and asked, “How do you know Ivy was sleeping with your son?”

“Eric told me,” he said.

“Just like Eric told you in the dining room!” said Ivy. “It’s a lie, Michael.”

I wasn’t sure how she knew about that conversation, but it didn’t matter.

“That’s not exactly what Eric told me,” I said. “He said it was Kyle who told him that Ivy was sleeping with Marcus.”

McVee glanced at Eric, and I could see from the expression on his face that I’d raised his suspicions. “That’s not true,” said McVee. “Eric was the one who told me.”

Again, Eric was under the microscope. He wasn’t holding up well.

“Look,” he said, his voice shaking. It was as if he had finally realized that he was in way over his head. “I’m not trying to get anyone hurt or…killed. I’m just-”

“Shut up!” said McVee.

His words startled Eric-and everyone else as well. The tension in the air may have made it the worst conceivable moment for me to speak up, but it felt like now or never. I spoke straight to McVee, as if it were just the two of us in the hangar.

“Eric is lying,” I said. “And the reason he’s lying is because your son didn’t commit suicide.”

Thankfully McVee wasn’t holding a gun, because he would have shot me dead right then and there.

“No, I don’t mean he disappeared like Ivy,” I said, clarifying. “I mean his death wasn’t suicide.”

Slowly McVee’s need to hear me out prevailed. And even though I was speculating to a large extent, it wasn’t just something that had popped into my head on the spot. My suspicions had begun when Ivy told me that Andrea was FBI, and my focus had turned to Eric during our conversation in the WhiteSands’ dining room. I had to believe that everything Ivy and I had shared four years ago was real, and that Eric’s claims were false. There was no way she would have prostituted herself on a corporate espionage mission for WhiteSands. I knew she wasn’t just pretending to love me. I knew she didn’t marry me just to facilitate a plan to escape. Eric was lying. And people usually lie to protect themselves.

I had to go with my instincts on this one. It was life or death-literally.

“I knew Marcus,” I said. “Your son was a savvy businessman who did his homework. So savvy that I think he knew Ivy was a mole. He used her; she didn’t use him.”

“What are you talking about?” said Eric.

I continued my focus on McVee, ignoring Eric and everyone else. “Eric hired Ivy to work undercover and prove that Ploutus was spreading false rumors about WhiteSands to manipulate the stock price. The reality was, Marcus wasn’t spreading false rumors. The dirt he uncovered was absolutely true.”

“That’s preposterous,” said Eric.

“Maybe that information wasn’t just damaging to WhiteSands,” I said. “Maybe it was embarrassing to Eric, personally.”

“Michael, that’s enough.”

I was on to something. I could hear it in Eric’s voice. “Are you going to make me keep guessing, Eric? Or are you going to tell me what laws you broke?”

“Michael, stop right now, or you are going to take us both down.”

“Is that what you told Marcus,” I said, “when he confronted you with his discovery?”

Eric was silent, and I knew him well enough to realize what his silence meant. I almost couldn’t believe what I was saying, but everything was suddenly making sense to me.

“That’s why you killed him, isn’t it, Eric. Or maybe you had him killed. Made it look like he took his own life. Then you went to his father to tell him how sorry you were for the loss of his son. To tell him that it was all Ivy’s fault, that you never dreamed she would push him to suicide in playing her role. I’m guessing that you didn’t anticipate what Kyle McVee’s reaction would be-that he’d want Ivy dead.”

Ivy filled in the rest, with me every step. “So you helped me disappear, which worked out very nicely for you. That left no one to dispute your version of what happened between Marcus and me.”

“Once Ivy was gone,” said McVee, his train of thought lining up right behind ours, “I stopped looking for the person who was really responsible for Marcus’ death.”

His glare came to rest on Eric.

There was chilling silence in the hangar as the truth settled in. Ivy, her mother, McVee, and on down the line-everyone was waiting for Eric to say something in his defense. But even Eric knew that there was no convincing anyone any longer. McVee stepped away from the helicopter. He stopped just a few feet away from me, his gaze still fixed singularly on Eric.

“Jason,” he said to his nephew, “spill the fuel.”

“WHOA, WHOA,” SAID BURN.

I was so spent, I’d almost forgotten that he was still standing on the boarding step at the open door to the Sikorsky, a head taller than Ivy.

Wald was approaching the helicopter and stopped suddenly, a fuel can in each hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you nuts?” said Burn. “You can’t just dump that much fuel inside a helicopter hangar.”

Wald lowered the cans to the floor, practically dropping them. Five gallons of jet fuel were much heavier than he had expected. “Who’s going to stop me, the EPA?”

Burn grabbed Ivy by the hair, as if reining her in. “This one’s itching to try another disappearing act. What do you think will happen if this building is filled with fumes when I have to shoot her? Each one of those cans is like eight hundred sticks of dynamite. We could all be toast.”

McVee and his nephew exchanged glances. It seemed they had finally seen eye to eye on something: the wisdom of having a guy like Burn in charge.

“What’s your plan?” asked McVee.

“I’m thinking a fuel leak from the helicopter, maybe from a bad filter seal or ruptured fuel line. An untimely spark. Tragic results. Help me get these guys aboard, then beat it. I’ll take care of the spilled fuel.”

“Good luck with that,” I said. “I count four of us, three of you, and only one gun.”

“Two guns,” said Wald as he pulled a pistol from his coat.

Burn pushed his gun against Ivy’s head with so much force that her chin hit her chest. “And there can easily be one less of you.”

Ivy said, “Don’t try anything stupid, Michael. Just do what they say. The FBI is on the way.”

“Yeah, sure,” Burn said with a chuckle. “The FBI, the cavalry-they’re all rushing right over here.”

“I’m not lying,” said Ivy.

“There’s not a person here that you haven’t lied to,” said Burn.

“What if she’s telling the truth?” Wald asked nervously. “What if the FBI is coming?”

“No chance,” said Burn. “Michael played a voice mail from Agent Henning right before you arrived. It was on speaker. Henning would have said they were on the way, if, in fact, they were.”

McVee smiled at me. “I knew you didn’t go to the FBI.” He turned to his nephew and said, “Give me your gun.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t your son who was killed.”

Wald didn’t like it, but he removed the safety and, with a push-pull of the slide, loaded a round into the chamber.

“You’re ready to go,” he said, handing it over.

McVee pointed the gun at Eric. “All right, Volke. You first. Get on the helicopter.”

“Me? Why me? You don’t believe all that bullshit, do you?”

“Get on the helicopter,” said McVee, his eyes narrowing.

Eric stared right back. There was no way to win this argument, but he dug in his heels anyway. “Kiss my ass, Kyle. I’m not getting in that helicopter.”