Heart of the Country

  And then it hit me, as if he’d stood right there and punched me across the cheek. Kicked me in the gut. Thrown me to the ground.

  “You cut me off!” I knew I sounded like we were young again, but the words just flew out of my mouth, louder than the music. “You got to Wellington! That was my fund, Jake. I’ve been working on that for six months.”

  Jake’s voice was lower, controlled. “Six months?” He snorted. “If that doesn’t tell you something, nothing will.”

  I stepped closer to him, my fists balling and heat rising on my neck. “Is this city just not big enough? Is there no way we can both make money without having to do this?”

  Jake looked at me for a long moment, his eyes tracing me, then the room. His voice grew even softer. I had to strain to hear it. “The word on the Street is that you guys are three to one liability to asset at this point.”

  I hurriedly replied, “That’s an overrated index and you know it. We’re the only fund on the Street to return over 9 percent last year. You and Dad were down, what? Two and a quarter?”

  His face was nearly expressionless, and I knew mine was filled with every emotion I’d ever felt for this man, all the way back to childhood. I’d loved him once. Idolized him. Thought he would always protect me.

  “The mortgage thing is done, Luke.”

  “We’re diversified.”

  “Not enough. Not enough.” Those tough brown eyes that used to have a soft spot for me looked worried. “Luke, I can talk to Dad if you want to come back—”

  I stepped back. “We’re fine.”

  He sighed, shook his head, looked around the room, then back at me. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .”

  “You’re being quiet over there, Mr. Diplomat.”

  Maria’s voice snapped me back to the outdoor café. I could’ve used a breeze to blow away Jake’s words, echoing in my mind, but the day was windless.

  I glanced at Faith, who smiled but also seemed concerned. Walter was returning to his seat just as my BlackBerry buzzed to life with a text.

  I read it. Reread it. My temple throbbed.

  “Hey. Everything okay?” Faith asked.

  “I need to get downtown.” I threw my napkin on my plate. “I’m, um, sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll call you . . .”

  “But wait . . . what . . . ?” Faith reached out for me.

  “Jake,” I mumbled.

  “Be nice,” she said, touching my arm.

  I took a taxi, arriving ten minutes later. I threw some large bills over the seat and slid out, looking for him. He’d said to meet at the statue of George Washington. I found him immediately, his hands coolly in his pockets. I hated that. He knew he’d be met with my frantic fear and sometimes I swear he relished it.

  I marched up to him. “You text me about an investigation? Faith was sitting right beside me.”

  “You haven’t told her.”

  “I’m not telling her anything right now. There’s no reason for her to worry.” I scraped my hands through my hair, remembering how she’d asked me point-blank about a Ponzi scheme. “You better have something real this time.”

  “The Feds are closing in on Michov. It’s all going down. Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”

  I didn’t say it, but I wondered how in the world Jake could have this kind of information. I mean, yeah, we were the Carradays, but did that really mean we ruled the world?

  I glared at him.

  “Wake up, kid.”

  “Dad sent you, didn’t he?”

  “Listen to me!”

  “I am not coming back!”

  Jake grabbed my arm, pulled me close. His face lost the tenseness and now looked sad. And it wasn’t even pity. It actually calmed me.

  He let go after a moment and then pulled out a business card, sliding it into my hand. “This guy, Tony Wright—he’s SEC, but he’s a friend of mine. Call him. Call him right now, Luke. Tell him what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You don’t have much time. You understand?”

  I watched Jake walk away, disappearing into the stream of people who continued on with their lives while mine crumbled, one little piece at a time.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I knew it was Faith. I had to snap out of this. I felt like the world was moving in slow motion around me. I could hear. I could smell. I could see. But I didn’t seem to be able to react.

  Pull. It. Together.

  I reached for the phone, a lump of regret filling my throat as I prepared my lie to her. “Hello?”

  “Luke, why were the police just here?”

  “What?” I breathed.

  “The police! At the café. They asked me—”

  “What did you tell them?” I could’ve sworn a giant was walking across my chest.

  “What is going on, Luke?” Her voice climbed high with panic.

  “What did you tell them?” My tone was too stern. I would never normally use it with her, but I had to know because as I stood there, I noticed two darkly tinted, unmarked cars pulling up. Four men in suits got out.

  “Faith?”

  “Tell me what is going on!”

  They walked swiftly toward me. One of them, with the thick mustache and the extra-dark sunglasses, flashed his badge at me. His lips were pressed tightly together. The one next to him, bald and tall, said, “Luke Carraday?”

  “Yes?”

  I dropped the phone to my side. I heard Faith’s voice, distantly. “Luke? Luke?”

  “Tony Wright. Securities and Exchange Commission. You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit federal securities fraud.” He cuffed me and it was the most surreal moment of my life. I wanted to look around, see if anyone was noticing this. But I could only stare at my hands, cuffed, still holding the phone. Faith’s voice could be heard. Something snapped me to attention. Maybe it was the Miranda rights being read to me.

  “Listen, that’s my wife on the phone. Let me at least tell her that I’m okay. She’s scared to death.”

  Mustache continued with my right to remain silent, what could be held against me in a court of law, that I’d have a court-appointed attorney should I need one. And as he did, he took the phone from me and punched the Off button.

  A small crowd gathered. Staring like I was some kind of freak show. I was whisked into one of the black cars, now grateful for the tinted windows. But through the window, I could see that the camera phones were out, and I wondered who ended up getting my picture. I wondered if any of them cared at all about what I was arrested for. Cared that this was the unraveling of my life, a heavy wooden spool falling to the ground, unwinding its string with blurry speed. And done within seconds.

  It struck me, as we rode in silence, that all I had asked Faith on the phone was what she told them. I should have reassured her. I should have done something other than try to protect myself.

  Inside that stuffy black car, I stared out the window, looking up at the skyscraping buildings, and thought of the first time I met Faith. I’d been dragged to some trendy benefit party by Jake, who indulged in a few here and there.

  “Please. Come on, have some fun,” Jake said, shooting me a sideways glance. “This is a theme party. And the theme isn’t humdrum.” Jake excused himself, abandoning me to my own social devices, which weren’t many. I was kind of like my dad. He wasn’t ever that social, either, and relied a lot on Jake. He always sent us both to do his work, which was to shake hands and make contacts, as many as possible. But somehow I always ended up at the bar, to drink and try to avoid human contact.

  As I ordered a Scotch, my avoidance of anyone in the crowd was undone by a woman with shiny black hair, tousled to look awfully unkempt. She slid up next to me.

  “Luke Carraday, right?”

  “I’m almost afraid to say yes.”

  “Maria.”

  “Maria . . .” I hated these moments. They happened so often. Too many people assumed I knew them, and my family knew so many people that I couldn’t fit the
m into a stadium. But my mother, before her abandonment of the family, had raised me to be polite. So as my Scotch slid toward me, I chatted lightly with her as she explained she worked in one of my dad’s buildings.

  Then I noticed the woman sitting next to her. Hadn’t even realized she was with a friend. She seemed to be people watching as she sipped a martini, but now all I wanted to do was watch her. She was pretty with no effort. Her hair was plainly styled but looked like it belonged on a princess. Her skin glowed through the smoky haze of the room.

  Maria droned on. “. . . I work with a number of companies, developing their customer service procedures . . .” When she realized she didn’t have my full attention, she tugged at my arm and asked me to dance.

  “Don’t dance. Sorry.” I snatched my arm back.

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “No, really. I don’t dance. Ever.”

  “Your loss, then.” She rose, carrying her martini between her middle and forefinger, dangling it almost like it was a cigarette. She never looked back but beelined it to a tall guy in the corner.

  I raised my glass to her back. “See you Thursday.”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  I glanced sideways to her friend. She shot me a short, polite smile. “She gets that way when she doesn’t get what she wants. You should see her at a Barneys sale.”

  That made me laugh. I settled onto my barstool and faced outward so I could watch the crowd too. “So, friend of yours.”

  “Best of friends.”

  “Sorry.”

  She laughed, one of those deep, throaty laughs that seems to come from the soul.

  “Luke,” I said, sticking out a hand.

  “Faith.” She shook it, her hand retreating too quickly. But not before I felt her skin. Warm and soft.

  “Faith . . . I gotta be honest. You look about as uncomfortable as I feel. . . .”

  “Watch your head.” The polite caution from Mustache returned me to my harsh, unrelenting reality. I was at the jail, in the parking garage. I’d gone from standing under bright-blue skies to the entombing darkness of underground concrete.

  No Carraday ever spent a night in jail, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be living in a nightmarish prison.

  7

  FAITH

  MARIA HAD ASKED me repeatedly what was wrong, but I didn’t answer her. I told her to leave me alone, I had something to handle. The problem was, I didn’t know what, exactly, I was handling.

  I didn’t even know where the jail was.

  The voices had cut in and out through the wind, but I knew what I did hear. “You are under arrest.”

  I returned to the apartment, then literally walked in circles and chewed through every nail I had. My fingers, bloody to the quick, raced through our Rolodex for our lawyer, but I didn’t even know his name. Luke handled all of that. Everything.

  Should I call his work?

  What would I say?

  I’d just explain it was a mistake.

  Except his voice sounded so . . . guilty.

  Hours ticked by. I sat on the sofa and stared at my phone. Maria called, but I didn’t answer. Maybe they hadn’t let him call anybody yet.

  The sun was silky orange in the late-afternoon sky. I’d wandered to the window, stared blankly, unaware of time.

  I’ve got to do something.

  I got on the computer to try to figure out where the jail was. After making some phone calls, I found out he was at central booking, in the basement of the courthouse.

  “He hasn’t been arraigned,” the lady said over the phone. “Check back tomorrow after 1 p.m.”

  “Tomorrow?” I gasped.

  “No visitors until then. It’s a long process, lots of people here. Call back.” She hung up.

  I spent a sleepless night avoiding Maria’s phone calls and trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t call Jake, could I? Or Austin? I’d never known anyone who got arrested. I wished I knew what Luke would want.

  This had to be some terrible mistake, some misunderstanding. Our last conversation played over and over in my head. . . . Why had he asked me what I’d told the police? He sounded so angry.

  As the morning dragged, the furious angst in my soul built. I decided to call a lawyer out of the phone book for some advice. “Once he’s arraigned, bail will be set,” said the man, Juan Torres. He went on to recommend a bail bondsman and his own services. “He’ll need representation when he enters a plea.”

  I thanked the man and hung up.

  I got into our safe and took the thousand dollars. I stopped by the ATM and withdrew the largest amount it would let me, five hundred dollars. I hailed a cab from the bank to central booking. By then it was afternoon.

  The cab dropped me at the curb of the courthouse. I drew in a breath, trying to feel steady like Luke.

  He’ll know what to do.

  I’d barely left the curb when I looked up and saw him trotting down the steps. My heart soared. But right behind him were Jake and a man I’d never seen before, both in dark suits.

  I hurried toward him. “Luke!” I said, waving my hand. His eyes were so startled when he saw me that I wondered if he was looking at some catastrophic weather event behind me. He whispered something to Jake, who gave him and then me a long, drawn-out look. He, in turn, whispered to the other man and they started walking the opposite direction.

  I rushed into his arms and cried. He held me tightly, but there was something reserved about how he did. I touched his face, searched his eyes. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I thought you were supposed to get a phone call from jail?” A thousand questions were lined up, one after the other, halting right at the tip of my tongue.

  “I . . . I called Jake.”

  I looked down the sidewalk. Jake was stepping into a car with the other man. He glanced back at me once and then disappeared inside it.

  “I knew he’d know what to do,” Luke added.

  I nodded, trying to understand it all. “He’ll get this straightened out, won’t he? I mean, this is some big mistake.”

  Luke let go of me, took a small step back, which on any ordinary day would’ve meant nothing to me. But today it meant everything.

  A blink.

  A breath.

  “Luke? It’s a mistake, right?”

  “I didn’t do anything illegal,” he said.

  And then I stepped back.

  We took a cab home in complete silence. My breath kept catching in my throat. Six inches separated us, but it felt like an endless chasm.

  At home, he went to the fridge, took out a beer, sat down. He did not seem to be inviting questions.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I guess,” he said, answering with a vague hollowness to his voice indicative of not even hearing the question.

  I delivered the turkey and avocado on rye, his favorite, and then sat across from him. His sandwich went untouched.

  I gathered the nerve. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I tried a small, white-flag-waving smile.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t think that’s an option.”

  His eyes, tired with dark circles under them, darted upward, his gaze boring through the thick heaviness between us.

  “There must be,” I said evenly, “a reasonable explanation.”

  His hands tore through his hair. He stood. “It’s complicated, Faith. Okay? It’s not as simple as an explanation. I can’t explain this to you.”

  “Too much for a simple country girl to understand?”

  He looked at me. “That’s not what I said. Or meant.”

  “Then you better tell me what’s going on.”

  He looked at me resentfully. My presence was no comfort to him. He turned his back and looked out the window. The dim light of the late sun cast a golden glow against him.

  “They’re going to say that I knew some
thing.”

  “Who?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Did you know something?” I finally asked.

  His shoulders slumped and his hands plunged deep into his pockets. “You won’t understand . . .”

  He was right. I walked to the bedroom and pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed. I could barely see as I threw clothes and toiletries into the bag. What was I doing? Even as I went from the bathroom to the closet to the suitcase, it felt surreal. Every few seconds, I’d glance to the door, expecting his shadow to be crossing the threshold.

  In fifteen minutes I’d finished. The zipper sounded ominously final. The suitcase was so heavy I barely got it off the bed. It thumped to the ground, landing on the tip of my big toe. I cried out in pain, but I don’t think it was my toe that hurt that badly.

  I rolled it out into the hallway and to the front door. I turned the knob and pulled it slowly open. Was this what I wanted? But how could I trust him? I didn’t even know who he was anymore.

  I didn’t dare look back, but I knew.

  He wasn’t coming after me.

  8

  LUKE

  SHE PROBABLY WOULD’VE never guessed that every time I came into a room, I looked for her. She was the first thing I looked for. She was the last thing I saw when I closed my eyes at night. But I doubted she would believe that now.

  I stared out my apartment window at Central Park. I’d lived my whole life here, in the heart of New York City, the Upper West Side. I was raised by nannies who walked me to school, then walked my dog for me while I was away. Still, I never got tired of the view. My father had once told me that I should never take this view for granted. That most people would never get a chance to stare down on this shining city, this beautiful park.

  As beautiful as this fall morning was, with the orange, yellow, and brown leaves rocking gently through the air, I couldn’t admire it. I barely noticed it. Instead I watched a little boy in a bright-yellow slicker walk with his mom below.