Kerri rushed to the stovetop to turn the bacon, seconds before it blackened. Next, she popped the toaster, seconds before its contents burst into flames. She broke the remaining four eggs into a bowl, whipped them with a fork, then heated and stirred them in a pan.
Visconti finished his cleaning, then stood. “Thank you,” he said, embarrassed. “Cooking’s never been one of my strengths, but if you’ll trust me, I think I can manage from here.”
Kerri took several steps backward and surveyed Visconti while he leaned over the stove. He looked youthfully svelte in his tight black track suit. She resisted an urge to throw her arms around him, hug him and thank him again for rescuing her, for being there, for making her happy, for everything. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, feeling redundant.
“You can take a seat at the bar,” Visconti offered. “Breakfast is about to be served.”
“I’m not going to let you serve me,” Kerri snorted. She snatched the spatula from Visconti’s hand and moved to the stove. After filling both plates, she placed them on the bar.
Visconti sat on one of the captain’s chairs and studied his plate. “Not only is she beautiful and intelligent, she’s independent,” he said, his voice crackling with sarcasm.
Kerri sat beside him and grinned at her host. “I wasn’t going to stand around and let you do all the work.”
Visconti placed his hand on top of Kerri’s and smiled. “Thank you for your help, and thank you for being here. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have someone to share breakfast with me. It’s been too long… Did you sleep well?”
Kerri nodded. “Your slushies put me in a coma.”
“Wonderful. Then you should be ready for an action packed day. We’re going to jog after we eat all this cholesterol. You still game?”
“Definitely. I can’t wait to get outside.”
Laughing and joking, Kerri and Visconti jogged in Central Park, then strolled through a melange of fountains, ponds, statues and monuments. They passed numerous park benches lined with old men reflecting on their pasts and speculating on their limited futures. They continued past families and groups of people playing softball, pitching horseshoes, riding the merry-go-round, flying kites or rowing boats, all enjoying the marvelous hiatus from their week long hibernation.
When they arrived at Conservatory Pond, they stood and watched a group of boys racing their model sailboats. A short distance around the shore, a jazz band wailed, while two stilt-walkers, dressed in black top hats, white t-shirts and multi-colored super-long trousers, attempted to dance to the music.
“Are you at all interested in art?” Visconti asked.
“I won a coloring contest in public school,” Kerri replied with a modest smile.
“Wanna see some?”
“Sure.”
“You could spend a lifetime on either side of this park and never see it all. A lot of it’s world class.”
“Let’s see it all,” Kerri urged, excited, and running ahead of Visconti.
After two hours of walking, mingling and pushing with crowds, both agreed they were hungry.
Following a long relaxing lunch at Tavern on the Green, they rented a carriage and took an old-fashioned leisurely turn around the park. After stepping from the carriage, they ran back to Visconti’s car and spent the remainder of the afternoon touring Manhattan and shopping.
At five, they delivered their bounty, the prize of which was Kerri’s white silk and cashmere pullover and matching skirt, to Visconti’s apartment. With breakneck speed, they showered, changed, raced back to the car and drove to Pier 83, at 43rd Street and 12th Avenue. They boarded a Circle Line boat, barely in time for the dinner cruise around Manhattan.
The boat glided from the dock, then headed down the Hudson, passing the enormous Jacob Javits Convention Center, the 14th Street Meat Market, then on to the twin towers of the World Trade Center and Battery Park City. When the boat rounded the southern tip of the island, it was time for dinner, at a table for two on the upper deck, which afforded a wonderful view of the Wall Street skyline and the Statue of Liberty.
The five piece band, set up at the far end of the upper deck, began to play “America the Beautiful”, inducing everyone to stand and sing in unison. When they rounded the Statue of Liberty, the band continued with “Pretty Woman.”
Kerri was thrilled, exhausted, excited and deliriously happy. Never in her life had she so thoroughly enjoyed a day and the company of one single individual. Never had she been so totally captivated. She reached across the table and held Louis’s hand. “Am I dreaming, or am I going to wake up and discover that I’m not really here?” she asked, her mind blissfully detached from her unhappy past.
Visconti smiled. “It’s all real, Kerri. Very real.”
The boat turned and headed up the East River, passing under the Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg Bridges, then past the United Nations Headquarters. Visconti was catapulted into a state of melancholy when the boat glided under the Queensboro Bridge. Ugly memories of the crash of eighty-seven invaded his mind.
“Where have you gone, Louis?” Kerri asked, miffed by his failure to respond to her conversation.
Visconti gave Kerri an empty stare with saddened eyes. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
Visconti pointed to the bridge. “That bridge reminded of the dumbest thing I ever did in my life.”
“You want to talk about it?”
Visconti slumped forward, covered his face with his hands and exhaled. “You asked me about it last night. I had just returned from spending the weekend in the Bahamas with a woman who meant absolutely nothing to me. I can’t even remember her name. I just needed to get away and wanted company,” he said, almost apologizing.
“The day the market crashed?” She knew it was, but wanted him to talk about it.
“Yup. In October of eighty-seven. I was right on the edge when I left New York on that Thursday night. I was convinced I had developed a sick dependency on communications. I had to escape. I needed a place with no telephones, no computers, no video ticker-tapes, no newspapers, no television. Nothing but wind, sun and water.”
Kerri reached for Visconti’s hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said.
“I want to… We were stuck in traffic up there and the driver mentioned something about people jumping off the bridge, so I asked him to explain.” Visconti closed his eyes and shook his head. “In the few seconds it took him to tell me the stock market had fallen further than ever before in history, I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. I thought my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. Before we got off that bridge, I actually considered jumping.”
“What stopped you?” Kerri asked, then realized the incredible insensitivity of her question.
Visconti smirked. “I can’t stand cold water. I realized that in the unlikely event I survived the jump, I would be compelled to flounder around before I perished from hypothermia.”
“Really?”
“No. It was logic, pure logic. I drew strength from the knowledge that the losses sustained by my clients were not the result of my poor investment decisions. They occurred because I was gone, out of touch, powerless to do anything about them.”
A wave of appreciation swept through Kerri. The apparent honesty of Visconti’s admission had given her a much deeper insight into his character. He was indeed human, fragile, normal. He had courageously revealed the existence of simple human frailties. She concluded, naively, that it was not greed or avarice that had nearly destroyed his reputation and his life. It was merely human requirements. She felt like a kindred spirit. “We’re alike, you and me,” she said.
“How so?”
“I was powerless to do anything about my husband’s problems, and those problems came very close to destroying me.”
“What was the source of your strength?”
“You,” Kerri replied without
hesitation.
“You give me too much credit.”
“I don’t think I’ve given you enough. You were there for me when I needed someone. You’ve taken me from the depths of despair to the point where I realize that there’s life after first love. For the first time in at least six months I’m happy. I wouldn’t be without you.”
“Would you like to dance?”
Kerri nodded.
She immediately submitted to Visconti’s arms when they reached the dance floor, oblivious to the sights and sounds around her, aware only of Louis Visconti, and that she was where she wanted to be.
The music stopped when the cruise ship had moved within sight of its point of origin. Disappointed, Kerri lifted her head from Visconti’s chest. She stared at the shore, then at him. “Let’s go around again. I could dance forever.”
He held her tighter and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got a better idea… Let’s go home and dance.”
CHAPTER 65
With soft music and chilled pinot grigio the two resumed their dance in the darkened living room of Visconti’s apartment. They continued until Kerri’s yawn induced Visconti to glance at his watch. “Time for your beauty sleep, young lady.”
Kerri nodded, feeling disappointed, yet reckless and impulsive. She placed her hand at the back of Visconti’s head and pulled until his lips touched hers. She pressed her body against his. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight tonight,” she whispered, then kissed him, with intent.
He led her up the winding staircase, into her bedroom and to the edge of the marble pedestal. He took her in his arms and whispered, “You sure?”
Without a word, she pulled Visconti closer and kissed him hard. While they kissed, they struggled to remove each other’s clothing. He lifted her onto the bed, then lowered her head to one of the pillows. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said.
“We’ve been given a second chance, Kerri. Never forget it,” Visconti said, then made slow deliberate love to Kerri, taking her to physical heights she had never before experienced.
Kerri opened her eyes for the first time at eight-thirty. She stared out the window at a dark rainy day and grinned. The weather didn’t matter. It could be snowing. She was happy again, a renegade from propriety and responsibility, preposterously, deliriously and utterly happy. Denying that her transformation was the result of a rebound, Louis’s wealth and charisma, or the father figure he represented, her happiness was as certain as their proximity at that moment. Naked. No conditions. No representations. Now she was complete. At last she had found what had been missing from her life for so long.
Visconti opened his eyes and placed his hand on Kerri’s shoulder. “Hi,” he said with a broad grin.
She turned to face her lover, then allowed her head to descend to his chest. “Hi,” she groaned. “You were fantastic.”
“We were fantastic,” Visconti countered, then stroked Kerri’s cheek with his index finger. “Making love to you was better than anything I could have imagined. Visconti was contemplating a simple truth: he had, at long last found a woman with whom he wanted to stay after sex. “I don’t want to live alone for one more minute. I’ve been too lonely, too long. I want us to live together, starting right now. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, every delicious minute of it.”
“I’m not sure,” Kerri replied, feigning a worried frown.
“Why?” Visconti asked, his smile replaced by a pained grimace.
“How can we be sure last night wasn’t just preparation colliding with opportunity?”
Visconti smiled, then reached behind Kerri’s buttock and pulled her close to his body. “Let’s make sure,” he said.
Kerri responded, this time more assured. She took time to savor each sensation, to build a crescendo, straining to postpone the ultimate sensation.
When it was over, Visconti nibbled on Kerri’s right ear lobe. “You sure now?” he whispered.
“Very.”
“Then live with me?”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That you take me back to Miles’s house on Sunday night.”
“Why?”
“I want to wake up there on Monday morning and tell Miles and Andrea in person. I couldn’t do it any other way. They’ve been too kind to me.”
CHAPTER 66
Toronto. Monday. April 16. Nine, A.M.
The years had been kind to Dan Turner. His hair had whitened, yet the thinning had mercifully stopped. He had retained the same commanding presence, still capable of inspiring confidence with his piercing stare, deep baritone voice and imposing profile. “Welcome,” he said, hoisting himself from his chair to greet Mike and Karen King.
“Good to see you again, Dan,” Mike said, then shook Turner’s hand.
“The pleasure’s mine,” Turner said, then remained standing and focused on Karen, still every inch a stunning beauty. “It’s been a long time, Karen. How have you been?” he asked. “You don’t look a day older than the day you were married.”
“I feel a lot older, but I appreciate the compliment.”
Turner pointed to the windowed corner of his office which faced Lake Ontario, the islands, and the busy Gardiner Expressway. Opposing one another in front of the giant windows were twin sofas, covered in forest green leather and separated by a large and elegant nickel plated coffee table. “Let’s sit over there,” he suggested.
All three headed for the sofas.
“How has married life been?” Turner asked as he sat facing his clients.
“Wonderful,” Mike replied.
“Beyond my wildest expectations,” Karen said with a big grin.
“And the children. They are well?”
Karen nodded, then frowned. “We have a problem.”
Silence.
“Phillip’s part of the problem,” Mike said, swallowing hard. “The trust is the other part… Karen and I have decided it’s time we did something about it.”
Turner leaned backward, hung one leg over the other and glared at his clients. “Obviously something’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed,” Mike answered.
“In round numbers, what’s the current value of the trust?”
“Around six hundred million.”
Turner gave a slow whistle and raised his eyebrows, sharpening the numerous creases in his forehead. “Who’s administering it?”
“A man named Louis Visconti. His office is in New York.”
“Okay, now I know what we’re dealing with. Tell me what’s changed.”
Mike responded, anxious to give his attorney an accurate answer. Turner had ventured well beyond the call of legal propriety in his efforts to assist him and Karen. “Our attitude toward the Trust. When we first found Servito’s money, you know how determined I was to keep it. I’m still not sure why. I guess I just wanted to make a statement. The Feds had treated us like numbers. Karen and I could have spent years in prison, and they wouldn’t have given a shit. If I live forever, I’ll never forgive them for that… Karen has been very patient with me. I really don’t think she ever wanted to keep her husband’s money, but she agreed to do it for my benefit. It’s taken a long time, but she’s finally managed to convince me that we should get rid of it. She thinks that it’s never been anything more than a mental ball and chain.”
“Am I to assume you want to give it back to the Feds?” Turner asked.
Mike’s face reddened. “Over my dead body. I’d rather burn it.”
Turner chuckled and rolled his eyes. “It’s a very unique problem, one I’ve never faced in my entire legal career. I suppose under the circumstances you would like it to vanish into thin air, without a trace.”
“Not exactly,” Mike said, relaxing slightly. “We want to give it anonymously to the World Agricultural Foundation. It’s one of the most efficient charities in the world.”
“How do you plan t
o do it?”
“That’s what we want to talk to you about.”
Turner squinted at Mike. “Okay, it’s obvious that you’ve given this a lot of thought. You’ll need an intermediary. It’s imperative that you have implicit trust in whoever you chose.”
Mike winked at Turner. “There’s only one individual who falls into that category.”
“I hope you’re not referring to me.”
“None other.”
Turner frowned and shook his head. “I can’t. I’m flattered, but I can’t do anything that could be construed as complicity in this flagrantly illegal financial adventure of yours. I’m already way over the line with this thing. I do, however, give your latest decision a standing ovation.”
“Do you know anyone who would qualify?” Karen asked.
“I know lots of people who would, but you would have to think long and hard about trusting any of them with a six hundred million dollar secret.”
Deflated, Mike and Karen exchanged morose expressions. “Isn’t this beautiful?” Mike said. “We’re sitting on over six hundred million and we can’t even give it away.”
“I’m sure if you look hard enough you’ll find the right person,” Turner offered. “The best advice I can give you is to find someone completely removed from the system, someone immune to, or unconstrained by the legal systems of Canada and the United States.”
Karen jerked upright, as if bitten by an insect. “I know who we could use,” she declared.
“Who?”
“Alfred Schnieder.”
Mike smiled and blew her an approving kiss. “If he’s still alive, he’d be perfect.”
“Do you know where he is,” Turner asked.
“He retired and moved to Zurich in nineteen eighty. I hope he’s still there.”
“Then give him a call, but be careful. You’re dealing with an extremely dangerous quantity of money,” Turner warned.
CHAPTER 67
Glen Cove. Monday, April 16.