Homeland Elegies(53)

“You know where it’s trading today, right?” she asked.

I told her I hadn’t kept track since the sale.

“Forty-five dollars as of an hour ago,” she said, watching for my reaction. “Kinda makes you wish you hadn’t sold, huh?”

“I don’t know. Not really,” I said with a shrug. “I barely know what to do with the two and a half million I made. I’d have no idea what to do with five. It might actually make me want to start spending it.”

She shrugged and pulled out her notepad. That’s when I realized she was only now getting to the real reason for her visit: “Did Mr. Rind ever mention anything about Wilkes-Barre or Scranton, Pennsylvania?”

“Well, I mean, sure. I mean, that’s where he’s from.”

“But anything about selling product to those municipalities?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Not that you remember?” She didn’t believe me.

“No. I mean, no. Not about selling product.”

“So what did he say?”

“Is there a reason you’re asking?”

She paused and, instead of answering, asked another question: “He ever talk to you specifically about Temecula, California?”

“No.”

“Murfreesboro, Tennessee?” I shook my head. “Sheboygan?”

“Sheboygan, Wisconsin?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What’s this about?”

“You really don’t know?”

“No,” I said emphatically. “I really don’t.”

She’d pulled out another cigarette and tapped it against her thumbnail as she studied me, still waiting—it seemed—for some sign that would indicate, once and for all, whether I could be trusted. “Did you ever discuss Timur Capital business in your capacity as a board member at the foundation?”

“Never did. I didn’t even know about it until Riaz offered to invest the money I got from my mother.”

“But you did purchase shares while still on the board?”

“Yes, but like I said, there was just that one conversation before I invested. He told me he was happy to look after my money. I gave him the cash. I got a notice I was a shareholder. After that, from time to time I would get an email update. That was the extent of it.”

“You never asked him any questions about the business, or…”

“I probably did. But nothing specific. ‘How’s it going?’ ‘I really hope you don’t lose my money.’ I mean, I had a Google alert on the company, so when something came out in the press, I’d shoot him a message to congratulate him if the news was good. I thought I understood the business pretty well, but not well enough to pester him about it.”

She nodded, slipping the cigarette behind her ear. “So there was never any discussion of these municipalities I mentioned, no discussion that you were a party to—or that you overheard during your tenure at the foundation?”

“Well, no, that’s not true. I did hear about each of those places. Just not from him.”

“Because…”

“Because those towns blocked mosques from being built in their communities.” She nodded, clearly aware of the fact, making notes as I spoke. “We’d hired a PR firm at the foundation to work on placing a story about what was going on in those places.”

“And?”

“That story got placed. Got a fair bit of traction, actually.”

“And that’s all you heard?” she asked, looking up from her pad; her tone was skeptical.

“That was it. Honestly.”

She checked her notes again, then took another look around the apartment.

“So this is really your place?”

“I have a toothbrush in the bathroom and a rental lease to prove it.”

She smiled. “I spent a good chunk of my childhood three blocks over. On One Forty-Seventh.” She got up from the table.

“On Malcolm’s block?”

Her eyes brightened. “My grandmother knew him. Used to see him going out with those crazy zoot suits—before he met Elijah.” She’d made her way to the window now, where I’d taped a faded snapshot of my mother to the jamb. The photo showed her as a young woman in a red-and-white shalwar kameez, with a white dupatta draped around her shoulders. “Who’s this?”

“My mom. When she was twenty-three.”

“Beautiful lady. Might want to find a nicer place for the photo.”

“I—uh—she died a year ago, and…I put it there—I mean, I know it’s going to sound strange, but—I’ve been dreaming about her a lot…That she doesn’t want to leave. So I put it there by the window so she knows…I mean, if she’s still here, somewhere…” I stopped. I wasn’t sure why I’d told her this—and now I was getting emotional.

“You’re letting her know it’s okay to go,” Zakeeya added kindly. “I get it.”

“We’ve all got our magical thinking, right?”

“Wouldn’t get through a day without it,” she said as she made her way back to the table. “Look. You’re probably going to hear about this in the next day or so. But those cities are filing a class-action suit. Your friend sold them a lot of junk debt, debt they’re convinced he knew was going to default. They think he did it to retaliate.”