Keep Quiet(53)

“How much money did he ask for?”

“Ryan, why do you have to know the details?” Jake turned left, heading back toward the high school. “The details don’t matter. It’s really better if you don’t know everything.”

“Please, just tell me.”

“He asked for $25,000.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s, like, a year of college tuition.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I have it in savings. It’s worth the money to me.”

“But what will Mom say? She’ll notice that, for sure.”

“No, she won’t know.” Jake got ready to tell another lie. He kept his face forward, looking through the windshield as they were approaching Lincoln Avenue, heavily trafficked during the noon rush. “We have separate checking and savings accounts, in addition to the joint account that we use to pay our bills. I don’t ask her questions about hers, and she doesn’t ask about mine.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Have separate accounts? You’ve heard her say that she thinks every woman should have her own money. She likes it, too, because when she buys me a present, I don’t see how much it costs. I feel the same way.” Jake was making it up as he went along, getting away with it only because he’d never talked to Ryan about their family finances. Maybe Ryan had been right, that Jake treated him like a baby. “Plus when I trade some stocks, I don’t like her to see the losses. I want her to think I’m smart.” Jake looked over and flashed a smile, trying to cheer him up, but it wasn’t working. “Trust me, everything is going to be all right. This has turned into a business deal, no more and no less. I do these every day. I got this.”

“Oh man, I can’t believe this happened.” Ryan moaned, his forehead dropping into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I screwed this up so badly.”

“No you didn’t. I did.”

“Get real. It’s on me.” Ryan’s tone had softened, and his shock and anger had gone, but Jake wasn’t sure it was an improvement.

“Stop, son. Let it go. We’re almost out of the woods.” Jake drove across Lincoln Avenue, entered the Concord Chase campus, and headed for the road that led to the student parking lot. He glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 12:05. “Good, we’re right on time. Where should I take you? Around the front or the back?”

“The front. It’s closer to Western Civ.”

“Okay.” Jake drove on the road, bypassing the student parking lot and leading to the main entrance. “Just stay cool for the rest of the day, and I’ll fill you in tonight. Try to put this out of your mind.”

“I’ll try,” Ryan said, just as his phone signaled an incoming text, and they both jumped.

“Don’t look at it,” Jake said quickly. “It’ll upset you. He’s trying to upset you. Give me the phone.”

“No, I got this.” Suddenly, Ryan raised his phone and slammed it down on the dashboard, again and again, until it went silent.





Chapter Twenty-four


GARDENIA TRUST, read the polished plaque on their wooden door, and Jake powered through into the office. He tried to look and act the way he always did, but he was sweating under his suit jacket. He was on fire after reading those texts and he knew it had to show. He strode through the empty reception area, with its sky-blue patterned couch, walnut end tables, and brass lamps, and it was the first time in his career he’d been happy there were no clients.

Jake plastered on a smile as he approached the reception desk. Debbie Tarkington had been with him since she graduated from community college, and her unflappable nature made her the perfect choice for the front desk. Not all of Jake’s clients were easy to get along with, and he knew that money didn’t guarantee good judgment, starting with the man in the mirror.

“Jake, hi.” Debbie smiled, a welcoming grin that creased her pretty face. She was African-American and had large eyes and short hair, which she wore natural. She handed him a packet of pink phone messages. “Here’s your calls. Everything go okay?”

“Yes, thanks.” Jake thumbed through his phone messages, to avoid meeting her eye. He hadn’t explained where he was going when he’d left, which he knew was unusual. “Sorry I ran out. I had to take care of a few things for Ryan. He was sick this weekend, but he went to school today.”

“I hope he feels better. By the way, Martin wants to see you and so does Ramon. They both said it was important, so you can pick your poison.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jake didn’t have time to talk to either of them. Martin Niemeyer and Ramon Ramirez were two of his best portfolio managers, but they would have to wait. “I’m not taking calls this afternoon. I don’t need interruptions.”

“Gotcha. Also there’s leftover pizza in the coffee room.”

“Thanks.” Jake walked down the hall just as Martin popped out of his office and came striding down the long hallway toward him. A bright young refugee from Lehman Brothers, Martin still looked very Wall Street, with his moussed brown hair, frameless Swiss glasses, and charcoal pinstriped suit.

“Jake,” Martin called out, in his characteristic bark. “We need to talk about Disney. I’d like to buy a block for Bob Cadison and I need to—”