Authors: Bill Eidson
They dressed warmly against the October chill and set sail out of Boston Harbor just after midnight. The wind favored them by coming across the beam at a steady fifteen knots. Steve programmed a course into the GPS before coming back to the stern to take the wheel.
The Sea Tern
settled into a fast reach, her wake bubbling white.
Lisa sat beside him. Her hair tickled his cheek and he felt content for the first time in months.
The media had been after every element of the story, characterizing it as the ultimate boardroom clash. Lisa and Steve had seen the picture of themselves inside the ambulance more times than they could count: Lisa, exhausted and bedraggled. Steve, his face shockingly white from loss of blood. Their hands linked.
Luckily, the press liked that. They liked the idea of a wealthy guy fighting for his wife. They liked that Lazar credited them with saving his life, and that they said the same of him. Having a veteran black cop behind them all the way made a huge difference.
As for Geoff, a
Boston Herald
photographer somehow got into his apartment and shot virtually every picture on the wall. The
Globe
ran an editorial titled
NARCISSUS LIVES AND
DIES IN BOSTON.
The story of Geoff’s good looks, his embezzled wealth, his shocking level of violence—and most of all, his relationship with Carly—sold a lot of newspapers.
Luckily, every good story needs a hero or two and Lisa and Steve fit the bill.
In truth, without the public sentiment and Lazar’s influence with the district attorney, Steve might well have gone to prison for sinking Alex and Jammer’s bodies at sea, and for the handgun violations.
As for the assault on Raul’s yacht, Lazar told both Lisa and Steve how it had to be before the ambulance ever arrived. He knelt between the two of them on the beach, the flames still flickering on the pier. “You weren’t there, you got me? That thing was all Geoff’s doing. No one left alive to prove it’s not. That gets out, you’re gonna have gang shit on top of the cops. One or the other, somebody will get to you.”
As it was, they escaped the gangs, the police, and even the press—but not the board of directors of Jansten Enterprises.
“We’re looking at a mess, Steve,” George McGarrity had said at that morning’s board meeting. With Jansten gone, he was the acting chairman. McGarrity didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “We don’t doubt most of what we heard. We certainly believe Geoff was the instigator here, and while personally many of us admire what you have done … the fact of the matter is that you—as well as he—used company funds inappropriately.”
Here McGarrity had raised his hand, presumably to catch Steve’s objection, which didn’t arrive. “Yes, we realize that your wife was in a terrible spot, and we’re sure in such a desperate situation it only seemed expedient to take the money.”
Steve looked down at the boardroom table, letting the words wash past him.
So much for wealth and power.
He thought of the speech he could make, how he could castigate them for judging him after the fact. “Just what the hell would you have done?” he could ask. He could talk about the cost of selling his home to immediately pay back the company, even though Raul’s aluminum case had been recovered and supposedly the one hundred and fifty thousand would soon be released from evidence. He could talk to them about an executive’s ability to make a decision and act. He could even talk to them about Carl Jansten’s own robber baron heritage and how he undoubtedly would have taken similar action had he been in the same predicament.
But Steve didn’t say any of these things.
McGarrity continued. “… and, yes, you have made restitution … but with the questions still open about Carl’s death and the entangled mess between you and Geoff Mann, I’m afraid this just won’t do. Jansten Enterprises has an image to maintain, and that means not only absolute honesty, but the
appearance
of absolute honesty …”
Steve walked out.
In the elevator, rushing down to ground level, he did a quick assessment of their finances. The house already belonged to someone else, the contractor had been paid. Steve had never been a believer in golden parachutes and had never negotiated for one. So his salary would dry up within a few weeks.
But the boat was still theirs. After using most of the house equity to pay back what he owed to the corporation, they had enough cash for about four months. Maybe six if they were careful. Most likely he would raise capital for a start-up, produce an even better line of boats with Lisa’s help. But he didn’t even want to think about that now.
As he and Lisa rose and fell with the motion of the waves, she asked, “Are you going to miss it?”
They looked back on the lights of Boston. He knew if he put the binoculars to his eyes he could have picked out the Jansten building.
He didn’t.
“Nothing like I would have missed you,” he said.
They sailed on for over an hour at a steady six knots. When the GPS sounded, he turned the boat into the wind and let the sails shiver. They threw the wreath overboard and watched it float on the surface of Alex’s grave until it disappeared into the night.
After a time, they let their sails fill and continued on.
About the Author
Bill Eidson is the author of eight novels:
The Little Brother, Dangerous Waters,
The Guardian, Adrenaline, Frames per Second, One Bad Thing, The Repo, and The Mayday.
He grew up in Rhode Island, and currently lives in the Boston area with his wife and son. Bill is a former New England Chapter President of the Mystery Writers of America. For more information about Bill go to
www.billeidson.com
.