Erica Orloff - The Golden Girl

Troy came into her office carrying two tablets of legal paper and several pens, looking as if he was ready for a meeting.

Once they were ensconced inside, Troy shut the door and Madison tossed the file from Katherine Gould on the table.

“This came from Bing’s assistant.”

“What is it?”

“We’re about to find out together. She was visibly upset.”

Madison opened the file folder. “Holy shit!”

Inside were photocopies of some of the same pages Claire had squirreled away in her safe-deposit box. There was also what looked to be a secret memo from her father to Claire authorizing some of the shell companies.

“This looks really bad, Troy.”

“Sure does.”

“God, what a mess. I think Bing knows. He implied my father and I had orchestrated this whole thing. I think, as my father’s handpicked choice to follow in his footsteps, Bing thinks I am in on it, too.”

“I guess I’ll take these pages to the forensics accountants, too.”

“You know, let me hold on to them for a day or so. It’s my company—and if irregular accounting is going on, I’d like to have a clear idea of what’s involved.”

“Okay. Watch your back.”

“I’m starting to develop eyes in the back of my head from watching my back so much.”

Troy left her office, and Madison glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock. No one in the office budged. Not at Pruitt & Pruitt. To succeed in the corporation, junior executives were expected to put in a minimum of sixty hours a week at the office. Most put in more, always trying to get ahead of the person at the desk next to them. Usually at seven, some people started to put on coats. At nine, a few souls still toiled, and at ten o’clock, fewer still—but the office wasn’t empty. By the next day, people would start coming in around five-thirty in the morning.

Madison picked up the phone and buzzed her assistant.

“I’m going to put in a long night. Please order me up a two-liter of Diet Coke, a Cobb salad and a basket of bread rolls from the executive dining room.”

Madison hung up the phone and took off her suit jacket. She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and went over to her conference table. It was going to be a long night.

Hours later, her salad was barely touched. A croissant was half eaten and all the Diet Coke was gone. Around midnight, Madison called for the car service. She wasn’t tired—and it wasn’t a caffeine buzz. What Madison had discovered was so chilling that she was pretty sure she’d lie wide awake until morning.

Chapter 18

Madison burned the candle at both ends. She was developing a theory—one so bizarre she refused to share it with Troy. She barely could acknowledge it in her own mind. She pored over records and combed the Internet researching the Russian mob, in particular the Kremlin Killers, as well as going to the New York Public Library to take out several books on the Pruitt-family kidnapping.

In between all that, she had her new agenda as CEO. She had a press conference on Tuesday morning, and she was fielding more phone calls than ever. Ryan Greene sent her an enormous flower arrangement as a token of “congratulations” on her new position, though his note was sweet enough to comment that he wished the appointment was under less stressful circumstances.

She called to thank him.

“It was nothing.”

“Ten orchids and sprays of lilies of the valley, flown in from Hawaii at this time of year, aren’t nothing. So just accept my thanks. Though I’m sure you’re buttering me up so you can fight me over property I want in the Meatpacking district—the old beef plant I hear we both want. I’m going to put up a hotel.”

“You wound me, dear Madison. Can’t one friend send another friend flowers without it meaning I’m trying to gain the upper hand?”

“Not when it’s you, dear, sweet, conniving Ryan.” She knew he was capable of utter ruthlessness. More than one Pruitt & Pruitt employee had come to her firm after being fired by Ryan Greene, usually for reasons so preposterous Madison would laugh.

“You flatter me. Hey…in all seriousness, congratulations, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You going to Ellie Richardson’s thing on Thursday?”

“Yes.” The Senator Richardson fund-raiser, with a Christmas theme, would be the kickoff of the holiday season’s whirl of social activities.

“Want to go together?”

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“You?”

“Am I that hard up?”

“You’re stunning, darling, it’s just I can’t recall your last date during the social season.”

“Well, I have one.”

“Who is it? Julian Knight from Keller and Knight?”

“No.”

“Keith Swanson—the guy running the gallery?”

“He’d be more likely to ask you out.”

“He’s gay?”

“Yeah. You must have no gaydar, my friend.”

“All right. No more guessing. Just fess up.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Hmm. You’re being very mysterious. You know you’re making me jealous.”

“I doubt it. But I’ll see you Thursday.”

“See you Thursday. And you can be sure I’ll try to steal you away from your date.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Thursday lunch, Madison met her father at the intimate restaurant Chez Bella. He was waiting when she arrived, and she bent down to kiss his cheek as she reached his table.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi.” He motioned to the chair opposite and then waved a waiter over.

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt?”

“Madison, what will you have?”

“A Perrier with a twist.”

The waiter nodded and discreetly disappeared.

“Dad?” Madison said as she settled in her chair.

“Hmm?”

“Dad, did your family ever talk about your brother’s kidnapping?”

“Well, that’s an odd lunch topic. Why would you bring that up? It’s ancient history. Before I was even born, honey.”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. Such a weird chapter in the family history.”

“Well, we didn’t really talk about it. Bing was the oldest, and I doubt he remembers much either—other than he once said he remembered being assigned bodyguards. Off-duty cops. But, your grandmother had a nervous breakdown, and it was just understood that it wasn’t something to talk about. At least not in front of her.”

“The man who did it…he always said he was innocent.”

“Yeah.” Her father nodded. “He was a Russian immigrant. He swore his confession was both coerced and without the benefit of an interpreter.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, there was overwhelming evidence against him, Madison. The ransom money. Baby William’s clothes buried in his backyard.”

She nodded. Looking at her father closely, she didn’t detect any nervousness. But, like her, he was used to staring down enemies across the negotiating table. Never let ’em see you sweat was his mantra.

“Okay. I was just curious.”

“Now I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“Do you have any plans to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Madison flushed for a minute. “How would you know about that?”

“My tailor, dear. You women have your hairstylists, we have our tailors.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “Who knew there was a tailor code of honor?”

“More like a fatherly one. Morris has a daughter around your age.”

“Great,” Madison said unenthusiastically.

“Well? Who is he?”

“Let’s drop it. You won’t approve.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, he’s poor.”

“So? I’ve met enough rich assholes for one lifetime. It takes more than money to impress me. What does he do?”