TWENTY-NINE

arco sits at his desk, staring out the window, seeing nothing. The door is closed. He glances down at the surface of the expensive mahogany desk, the one he chose with such care when he expanded his business and took the lease on this office.

When he looks back now on the innocence and optimism of those days, he feels sickened. He gazes with bitter eyes around his office, which so perfectly conveys the image of a successful entrepreneur. The impressive desk, the view of the city and the river out the window across from it, the high-end leather chairs—the modern art. Anne helped him decorate it; she has a good eye.

He remembers the fun they had doing it—shopping for the pieces, arranging everything. When they were done, he’d locked the door, popped open a bottle of champagne, and made love to his giggling wife on the floor.

There was pressure on him then; he had to live up to everyone’s greater expectations—Anne’s, her parents’, his own. Perhaps if he’d married someone else, he would have been content to work his way up, building his business more slowly with grit and talent and long hours. But he had the opportunity to make things happen faster, and he took it. He was ambitious. He had that money handed to him on a silver platter, and of course he was expected to make a success of it right away. How could he not succeed, as the recipient of such a magnificent handout? There was a lot of pressure. Richard especially took a greater interest in how the business was doing, since he’d bankrolled it.

It had seemed too good to be true, and it was.

He’d gone after the big clients before he was ready. He’d made the classic rookie mistake of growing too fast. If he hadn’t married Anne—no, if he hadn’t accepted the wedding gift of the house and, years later, the loan of her parents’ money—they might be renting an apartment somewhere, he’d have an ugly office farther away from downtown, he wouldn’t be driving an Audi—but he’d be working hard and building success on his own terms. He and Anne would be happy.

Cora would be at home.

But look at how it has all turned out. He is the owner of an overextended business teetering on the edge of ruin. He is a kidnapper. A criminal. A liar. Suspected by the police. In the power of an egomaniac father-in-law who knows what he’s done, and a coldhearted blackmailer who will never stop demanding money. The business is almost bankrupt, even though he’s been given so much—money for the business, connections through Richard’s friends at the country club.

Alice and Richard’s investment in Marco’s business is lost. Like the five million dollars they’d paid for Cora. And now Richard is negotiating with the kidnappers—they’ll pay even more to get Cora back. Marco has no idea how much more.

How Anne’s parents must hate him. For the first time, Marco thinks about it from their point of view. He can understand their disappointment. Marco has let them all down. In the end his business has failed, spectacularly, even with all that help. Marco still believes that if he’d done it his own way, he would have been very successful—gradually. But Richard pushed him to accept contracts he couldn’t deliver on. And then Marco became desperate.

When things started to go wrong, really wrong, a couple of months ago, Marco had taken to having a drink at the bar on the corner before going home to Anne, where he would feel helpless in the face of her mounting depression. It was usually fairly quiet at five o’clock, when he arrived. He’d sit at the bar, having his one drink, brooding into the amber liquid, wondering what the hell to do.

Then he’d leave and go for a walk down by the river, not wanting to head home yet. He’d sit down on a bench and stare out at the water.

One day an older man came and sat down beside him. Annoyed, Marco was about to get up, feeling that his space had been invaded. But before he could leave, the man spoke to him, in a friendly way.

“You look a bit down, ” he said sympathetically.

Marco was abrupt. “You could say that. ”

“Lose a girlfriend? ” the man asked.

“I wish it were that simple, ” Marco had said.

“Ah, must be business troubles, then, ” the man said, and smiled. “They’re much worse. ” He held out his hand. “Bruce Neeland, ” he offered.

Marco took his hand. “Marco Conti. ”

Marco began to look forward to running into Bruce. He found it a relief to have someone—someone who didn’t really know him, who wouldn’t judge him—to tell his troubles to. He couldn’t tell Anne what was really going on, with her depression and her expectation of success. He hadn’t told her that things were going south, and once he’d started not telling her things were going badly, he couldn’t suddenly tell her just how badly things were going.

Bruce seemed to understand. He was easy to like, with a warm, open manner. He was a broker. He’d had good years, bad years. You had to be tough, ride out the bad times. “It’s not always easy, ” Bruce said, sitting beside him in his expensive, well-cut suit.

“That’s for sure, ” Marco agreed.

One day Marco had a little too much to drink at the bar. Later, down by the river, he told Bruce more than he meant to. It just slipped out, the problem with his in-laws. Bruce was a good listener.

“I owe them a lot of money, ” Marco confessed.

“They’re your in-laws. They’re not going to feed you to the fishes if you can’t pay, ” Bruce said, looking out at the river.

“Maybe that would be better, ” Marco said sourly. Marco explained the hold his wife’s parents had over him—the business, the house, even trying to turn his wife against him.

“I’d say they’ve got you by the short and curlies, ” Bruce said, pursing his lips.

“Yup. ” Marco took off his jacket, slung it over the back of the bench. It was summer, and the evenings were warm.

“What are you going to do? ”

“I don’t know. ”

“You could ask them for another loan, tide you over till business improves, ” Bruce suggested. “In for a penny, in for a pound. ”

“I don’t think so. ”

Bruce looked him in the eye. “Why not? Don’t be an ass. Just ask. Get yourself out of the hole. Live to fight another day. They’ll want to protect their investment anyway. At least give them the option. ”

Marco considered. As much as he hated the idea, it made sense to come clean to Richard, to tell him the business was in trouble. He could ask him to keep it between them, not to bother Anne and Alice with it. After all, businesses failed every day. It was the economy. Things were much tougher now than when Richard started out. Of course, Richard would never see it that way. At least he would never admit it.

“Ask your father-in-law, ” Bruce advised. “Don’t go to the bank. ”

Marco didn’t tell Bruce, but he’d already been to the bank. He’d put a mortgage on the house a few months earlier. He’d told Anne it was to help the business expand further in a high-growth time, and she hadn’t questioned it. He’d made her promise not to tell her parents. He said they had their noses in too much of Marco and Anne’s business already.

“Maybe, ” Marco said.

He thought about it for two days. He slept poorly. Finally he decided to approach his father-in-law. It was always Richard he dealt with when it came to financial matters involving Anne’s parents. Richard liked it that way. Marco screwed up his courage and called Richard and asked if they could meet for a drink. Richard seemed surprised, but he suggested the bar at the country club. Of course. He always had to be on his own fucking turf.

When Marco arrived, he was nervous and downed his drink quickly. He tried to slow down when he got close to the ice cubes.

Richard stared at him. “What’s this about, Marco? ” he asked.

Marco hesitated. “The business isn’t doing as well as I’d like. ”

Richard immediately looked wary. “How bad is it? ” he asked.

This is what Marco hated about his father-in-law. It was all about humiliation. He couldn’t let Marco save face. He couldn’t be generous.

“Pretty bad, actually, ” Marco said. “I’ve lost some clients. Some haven’t paid. I’m having a bit of a cash-flow problem at the moment. ”

“I see, ” Richard said, nursing his drink.

There was a long silence. He wasn’t going to offer, Marco realized. He was going to make Marco ask. Marco looked up from his drink, regarded his father-in-law’s stern face. “Could you provide me another loan to get over this tough spell? ” he asked. “We could structure it like a real loan. I want to pay interest on it this time. ”

Marco hadn’t really considered the possibility that his father-in-law might refuse. He didn’t think Richard would dare, because what would happen to his daughter then? It was mostly the groveling he’d been avoiding, this moment of having to ask for help, of being in Richard’s power.

Richard looked back at him, his eyes cold. “No, ” he said.

Even then Marco misunderstood. He thought Richard was saying no to the interest. “No, really. I want to pay interest. A hundred thousand would do it. ”

Richard leaned forward in his seat, hulking over the little table between them. “I said no. ”

Marco felt the heat go up his neck, felt his face flush. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe Richard meant it.

“We’re not giving you any more money, Marco, ” Richard said. “We won’t loan you any money either. You’re on your own. ” He settled back in his comfortable club chair. “I know a bad investment when I see one. ”

Marco didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t going to beg. When Richard made up his mind, that was it. And he’d obviously made up his mind.

“Alice and I feel the same way about this—we’d already decided to stop giving you any more handouts, ” Richard added.

What about your daughter? Marco wanted to ask, but he couldn’t find his voice. Then he realized he already knew the answer.

Richard would tell Anne about this. He’d tell his daughter what a poor choice she’d made in Marco. Richard and Alice had never liked him. They’d been waiting patiently for this day. They wanted Anne to leave him. To take his baby and leave him. Of course that’s what they wanted.

Marco couldn’t let that happen.

He stood up suddenly, bumping the little table between them at his knees. “Fine, ” he said. “I’ll manage on my own. ” He turned and left the lounge, blind with rage and shame. He would tell Anne himself first. Tell her what a bastard her father really was.

It was late afternoon. Time for one more drink before he went home. He went over to his own bar for a quick one and then went for his walk. Bruce was already there, on the bench. That was the moment. The point at which there was no going back.

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