“What do you mean, strapped? You pulled in over a quarter mil during the past three months. And that was your share!” Steinwood was getting impatient with Marcus.
“Yeah, I know. It’s my wife. She keeps spending money on all sorts of things.” Marcus knew that was only half the problem. His little hobby of snorting cocaine was the other half.
“Well, just don’t give her any,” Steinwood admonished him.
“That’s just it. She keeps the house accounts, and I just get the bills.” Now Marcus was whining.
“So close the accounts.”
“She’d kill me. It’s her way of showing off to her friends. They go out to lunch several times a week and order bottles of Dom Pérignon!” More whining.
“Marcus, not to sound rude, but your wife is your problem, not mine. Rein her in. I’ve gotta go.” Steinwood was about to hang up when he realized they had not settled the Charlotte Hansen issue. “Now what are we going to do to get Charlotte Hansen back into the program?”
“I was hoping you could help me out there, buddy.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” Steinwood had a modicum more tolerance for Marcus’s high-strung disposition than Corbett did.
“What if you call her daughter here in London and tell her you are going on vacation and that you want to be sure you see her before you leave?” Marcus was close to begging.
“How is that going to help?”
“I figure at least we’d have some idea when she is going to go to Aspen or return to London.” There was desperation in Marcus’s voice.
“I’m sure you want her to return to London so you can get your twenty-five grand, correct?” Steinwood had the feeling that he was being played.
“That would be just jolly, old sport.”
Steinwood heaved a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll call the daughter when I get to the office. I have her contact information there.”
“Spectacular!” Marcus was feeling slightly optimistic. Just slightly.
After returning his gaze to his brochure, Steinwood gave his phone a sideways look and hit the END CALL button. He’d deal with the daughter in a little while. Meanwhile, he needed to choose an interior finish for the custom-made car he was ordering.
* * *
Back in London, Marcus hurried to his apartment to grab a pair of his wife’s earrings from the safe in her dressing room. No, not a pair. Just one. This way she’d think she lost it somewhere. He pressed the buttons on his wife’s jewelry safe. The whirring sound stopped as the locks moved into place. Marcus heaved the heavy door open and spotted the drawer where his wife kept her diamond stud earrings. She must have had a dozen pairs of all cuts and carats. She’d never notice one missing. Marcus took a step back and gave the bounty of jewelry a good hard look.
“There must be over a half million dollars’ worth in here. Probably more,” he muttered out loud. He gave a sigh of relief. “I could easily nick enough to pay the partners if that roving Hansen woman doesn’t return.” It didn’t seem fair, though. She would be going back to Aspen, which meant that Steinwood would get the money that should be his. He hoped Steinwood could persuade Charlotte to return to London. Maybe through her daughter. Didn’t parents always want to please their children?
He wrapped the diamond in a fresh handkerchief. The one in his pocket was sopping from having to mop his brow repeatedly. Then something struck him as odd. He had stopped sweating as soon as he opened the safe. He smirked. “Diamonds are not only a girl’s best friend. They are at the top of my list right now.” A sense of excitement came over him. In just a few hours, he would have what he had been craving all day and would settle his debt with that damned Franny O’Rourke to boot.
* * *
After Steinwood hung up the phone, he wondered what could have accounted for the panic in Marcus’s voice. Twenty-five grand is a lot of money to lay out if you don’t have it coming in. Poor schmuck, he thought to himself. That wife of his is going to be the death of him.
Steinwood and Corbett knew that the gravy train was going to come to an end soon. They had skated through the two mishaps: Lorraine Thompson’s overdose and Marjorie Brewster’s coma in Aspen. Three of Steinwood’s patients had threatened to bring malpractice suits after spending hundreds of thousands of dollars each