Forty Acres: A Thriller (9 page)

CHAPTER 26

T
he following afternoon Martin stepped off an elevator on the forty-fourth floor of 1114 Avenue of the Americas in midtown Manhattan. Martin’s heels clicked as he moved down a short marble hall and pushed through a set of hissing glass doors. He entered a chic waiting area with an angular slab of glass and black marble that served as the reception desk. Over the desk, a backlit brushed-steel sign declared “Darrell and Associates.”

Two young receptionists, one male, the other female, both African American, tag teamed the nonstop phones. The girl, while chirping into her headset, flashed Martin a welcoming smile and raised a
just a second
finger.

Martin was there to meet Damon for lunch.

The receptionist returned her attention to Martin. “Please have a seat, Mr. Grey. Mr. Darrell’s assistant will be with you in a moment.”

Martin’s brow wrinkled. “Thanks, but how did you know who I am?”

She smiled. “You’re kind of famous around here.”

*   *   *

The receptionist’s statement was confirmed moments later when Irene, Damon’s executive assistant, escorted Martin through the firm’s sprawling halls. Curious faces popped up from cubicles and peeked from office doorways. Martin noticed a definite drop in the clatter of office work as he passed. He also noticed something else. Although he did spot a few white, Asian, and Latino faces, by far the majority of Damon’s employees were black.

Irene, a Halle Berry look-alike in a slim business suit, gave him a teasing look. “So, how does it feel to be in enemy territory?”

It felt awkward, Martin thought. A few weeks ago most of these suits were probably working overtime to help their boss best him in court. Now here he was strolling through their ranks like a conquering general.

“I’ll look out for flying paper clips,” Martin said, to a chuckle from Irene.

They approached a wooden door flanked by two busy secretaries. Both women paused to greet Martin with a smile, then got back to work. Irene opened the heavy door and waved Martin forward. “Mr. Darrell’s right inside.”

As Martin expected, Damon’s office was huge. Glass walls offered a dizzying view of the Empire State Building and downtown Manhattan. A legal library took up one corner, and in the other a spacious lounge area was anchored by a fully stocked bar. Damon, dressed sharp as always, rounded a desk cluttered with case folders, his hand out. “There he is. Pretty nice, huh?”

“It’s like I’ve entered executive heaven.”

Damon laughed and led Martin into the lounge. Martin noticed the large pizza box, plates, and utensils waiting on the coffee table.

“Hope you don’t mind if we eat here,” Damon said. “Something came up. I only have about twenty minutes and I didn’t want to cancel.”

Martin assured him that he didn’t mind at all.

Damon opened the pizza box and groaned when he saw that the pie was uncut. He returned to his desk, grabbed a letter opener, and used it to cut two slices. He handed one to Martin, then raised his own to make a toast. “To Autostone Industries.”

Martin blinked. “Why Autostone?”

“If not for them,” Damon said, “you and I never would have met.”

They bumped slices and ate. The pizza was as good as everything else Damon had presented to Martin so far.

“One day,” Damon said, between bites, “you’ll have an office like this. Even bigger. I’m serious. You’ll see. Remember this moment.”

Martin set down his pizza. “Why are you doing this?”

“What am I doing?”

“This. Hanging out with me. Introducing me to your friends. You setting me up for some sort of revenge?”

Damon chuckled. “Nope. It’s much cornier than that.”

Martin waited as Damon took another bite. Finally Damon said, “You remind me of me.”

Martin made a face.

“I warned you it was corny. But it’s true. Before all this, I was like you. Talent, smarts, and more passion than most, but stuck.”

“I wouldn’t say that I was stuck.”

Damon smiled. “I know. But point is, someone showed me, and I want to show you. It’s that simple. You okay with that?”

Martin gazed out the windows at the rushing city below.
Does this really happen?
Was this how you went from an average career and an average life to—what? Is this how you reached the top of the world?

Martin nodded. “I’m fine with it,” he said.

“Good. Have you thought about the trip?”

“Of course.”

Damon stopped eating to give Martin his full attention. “Look, this is more than just a white-water rafting trip. You know that. These men, they don’t extend this sort of invitation lightly. This is an opportunity. A beginning. And I’ll be right there for you.” Damon patted his arm. “Kind of like your big brother.”

Martin watched as his host finished his slice, then used the letter opener to cut another. A few weeks ago Damon Darrell was just a name in the newspapers, just a mouth barking into banks of TV microphones, a figure larger than life. But now, somehow, this man was his friend and, odd as it seemed, his mentor.

“Pizza’s getting cold,” Damon said. “You all right?”

Martin nodded. “I am. It’s just—I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s easy,” Damon said. “Say you’ll come on the trip.”

CHAPTER 27

Y
ou’re going
where
?”

As Martin recoiled, it occurred to him that maybe it would have been better to wait until their dinner with Glen and Lisa had concluded before breaking the news to Anna. Martin had assumed that Anna wouldn’t make too big a fuss in front of their guests at the dining table. But judging by the ice in Anna’s eyes and the way she clenched her steak knife, Martin had assumed wrong.

Glen was surprised by Martin’s news as well, but his reaction was the opposite. “Holy shit.” Glen looked up from the steak he was cutting. “That’s big. When were you going to tell me?”

“They just asked me at the poker game the other night.”

“So, give me some details. Where? When?”

“In two weeks. We leave Thursday the twenty-fourth. Return the following Monday. The Wenatchee River. It’s in Washington State, somewhere outside of Seattle. That’s where they always go. And get this—we’re taking Solomon’s corporate jet.”

“Nice. Now that’s the way to travel.”

“Yeah, it should be fun.”

Anna, having heard enough, slapped down her fork and knife and glared at Martin. “I don’t believe this. Don’t you remember our talk in the car? No crazy rafting trips. You promised me.”

Martin shook his head. “No, I think my exact words were ‘I’m not interested in going.’ Can you actually tell me when I used the word
promise
?”

Anna bristled. “Don’t do that. You know I hate it when you do that.”

Nothing drove Anna crazier than having Martin shift into lawyer mode during one of their spats.

“Look, Anna, I’m sorry. I truly am. I knew you wouldn’t be happy about the trip, but this is more complicated than it looks. When they invited me, I had to accept. I had no choice.”

“What do you mean, you had no choice? You just say, ‘Sorry. No thank you. I’d prefer not to risk my life playing macho man in the woods. Next subject.’”

Lisa nodded in agreement. “Sounds easy enough to me.”

Glen shook his head. “No. It doesn’t work like that. Not with these men. When power brokers invite you on a golfing getaway or to go fishing or partake in any activity that takes up a great deal of their very precious time—that’s when they’re ready to talk some real business.”

“Exactly,” Martin said to Anna. “Just try to think of this as a business trip.”

“A golfing getaway I don’t have a problem with. But this rafting business . . . I don’t know. Martin, it’s too risky.”

“Come on, Solomon is nearly seventy and Tobias is like three hundred pounds. How risky can it really be?”

“I’m not married to them. I’m married to you. And you have to grow old with me. That’s your duty.”

Martin reached across the table and squeezed Anna’s hand. “It’s just four days. I’ll get a little wet, and be back before you know it.”

“Just promise me that you won’t get yourself killed.”

Martin raised his right hand. “I promise not to get myself killed. And you got Glen and Lisa as witnesses, so the promise is legally binding. I can’t break it.”

What Anna said next sounded playful, but her eyes were earnest. “You better not.” Then Anna rose from her seat and, with Lisa’s help, she cleared the plates and went into the kitchen to get dessert.

Martin turned to Glen. “Hope you won’t have a problem holding down the fort for a few days. When I get back you can take a few days off.”

“Partner, I have an even better idea. Why don’t you ask Damon if I can go too? I’m sure there’s enough room in the woods for one more.”

Martin’s stomach suddenly felt like a hollow pit. This was the question he feared Glen would ask. Glen loved anything that had to do with the great outdoors: camping, fishing, horseback riding, even sport shooting. Back in NYU, Glen had almost convinced Martin to join a rock-climbing club until Martin realized that instead of a rock wall in some gym, Glen meant real rocks. Big rocks. Martin knew that the instant his partner learned about the rafting trip, Glen would once again hear the call of the wild. Martin thought about lying. He could tell Glen that the raft only held six men or that, because of all the gear, Solomon’s jet had already reached its weight capacity. But Martin didn’t feel comfortable deceiving his partner.

“I’ve been itching for something exactly like this,” Glen said as he drained the last remaining drop from his wineglass. “And it’s the perfect way for them to get to know me better. What do you think?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Martin frowned. “Come on, Glen. Do you really need me to spell it out? You wouldn’t fit in.”

“I wouldn’t fit in? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means what you think it means. If we’re going to do business with these men, everybody has to know exactly where they stand. I’m sorry, man.”

A kaleidoscope of emotions played on Glen’s face, but before either man could say another word, Anna and Lisa returned from the kitchen with coffee and dessert.

Glen threw up his hand to get their attention. “Both of you need to hear this. Martin has just told me that I am not welcome on his rafting trip because I’m white.”

Anna and Lisa turned to Martin. “Is that true?” Anna said.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t everybody act so shocked. These are hugely successful black businessmen. The key word being
black
. That’s what makes them unique. That’s the special bond they share.” Martin turned to Glen. “It’s not that they dislike you or anything. It’s just that this group is special. It’s a black thing.”

Glen laughed. “A black thing? Are you serious?”

“Yes. A
black
thing. I don’t know what else to call it.”

“What would you call it if a bunch of my friends didn’t want you around because you’re black?”

“That’s completely different.”

“Oh, really? How?”

“It’s different because of history. There’s no shortage of rice-whitepeople clubs, believe me. Come on, Glen, you can probably explain why it’s different better than I can. You’re just offended because it means you can’t go for a ride in Solomon’s jet.”

Glen sat silently a moment. Then he nodded. “Martin, you’re right. It is different. I can’t argue with you there.” He got to his feet and turned to Lisa. “We should go.”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?” Martin said. “Try to remember why I’m doing this. For us. For the firm. You really think I want to go on a stupid rafting trip?”

“It’s cool, Martin. Everything is copa. I’m just not in the mood to sit here and eat cake with you. And listen, don’t worry about the firm. While you’re off bonding with your brothers in the woods, I’ll keep things running. No worries, partner.”

The instant Anna shut the door behind Glen and Lisa, she turned to her husband, shaking her head. “He’s not just your business partner, Martin. He’s your best friend.”

“Glen will be fine,” Martin said, slicing himself a piece of cake. “He understands. You heard him.”

“
I
heard him loud and clear. And if you think he’s fine with this, then you didn’t hear him at all.”

CHAPTER 28

B
etween making her morning rounds and passing out meds, Anna decided to sit down for a few moments at the nurses’ station. Maxine, the unit secretary, was away from her desk, leaving her computer terminal unattended.

Anna stared at the monitor. At the bobbing Elmhurst Hospital Center logo screen saver.

What are you waiting for?
Anna thought.
That’s why you waited for Maxine to leave, isn’t it?

Anna didn’t want to do it; in fact she was kind of proud of the fact that she had resisted for two weeks. But today was different. Today was the day before Martin’s rafting trip and she was finding it impossible to resist any longer.

“Screw it.”

Anna jumped into Maxine’s chair and hit F9 on the keyboard, bypassing the patient database. Next she clicked the Google icon and waited for the search page to load.

After Martin dropped the bomb about the trip, he had showed Anna some YouTube videos of rafting trips on class III rivers just like the river that Martin and his “gang” would be riding. When Anna imagined river rafting, the first image that always popped into her mind was the opening sequence from the Saturday morning television show
Land of the Lost
. The one where Rick, Will, and Holly, on a routine expedition, go plunging over a waterfall. The other images that popped into her mind weren’t much tamer. Little yellow rafts jammed with helmeted paddlers swept helplessly by raging water, flung against jutting rocks, and overturned by surging waves. But the clips that Martin showed Anna of hooting and hollering tourists bobbing along on calm rivers were nothing like that.

There were dozens of these clips on YouTube and they went a long way to soothe Anna’s fears. But not far enough. Because there was one thing that Martin did not show Anna. The accidents. Every clip was sunshine and good times, but what about the accidents? Anna wasn’t unreasonable. She knew that everything involved risk. Hell, people died in their own bathtubs every day. But some activities were riskier than others, and she wanted to know how risky this one was. River rafting on a class III river looked like a damn good time on YouTube—but every year, how often does that good time end in death?

The Google search window waited for Anna’s query. Anna typed “class III river rafting accidents,” then clicked on a few of the results. Story after story of accidents on class III rivers. What Anna found surprising was that only one story involved a death and that was five years ago. The vast majority of the accidents involved capsized rafts and weren’t very serious. Anna could feel some of her tension dissipating, like the loosening of a noose. Maybe she was overreacting, letting the memory of a cheesy kids’ show cause her to behave irrationally. Just to be certain, Anna decided to modify her search. Just ask the question directly and get it over with.

Anna typed “river rafting death statistics.” Anna decided to leave out class III this go-round because she wanted to get more hits and assumed that statistics would automatically separate the incidents by river types.

Anna took a deep breath and clicked on the search. Dozens more links appeared. Most were articles about how safe river rafting was. Anna scanned a few of the articles and discovered to her relief that most of the deaths that occurred in the sport involved class V rivers and above, or some other outside factor like a heart condition.

A smile creased Anna’s lips. But as she reached to close the browser, she spotted something on the monitor that made her pause. A link to another story about a rafting accident. But this link was different from the others. This link contained a name that she recognized.

Anna clicked on the link and a new page loaded. A three-year-old article from the
New York Times.
Anna began to read and was immediately stunned. “I—I don’t believe it.” With each shocking sentence she felt panic welling up inside her—and something else. Her breakfast. Seized by a wave of nausea, Anna clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Anna, are you okay?” It was Maxine, returning to the station.

Anna shoved past her coworker and fled down the corridor toward the bathroom, clutching her mouth and stomach.