Staying On Top(7)
“What are you gonna do to him? If you find him I mean, which is doubtful since the federal government spends more time with its head up its ass than finding criminals, even petty ones like Neil Saunders.”
The mini-tirade ended as quickly as it began, leaving me a little dazed but excited about the prospect of getting her on the topic of revenge and off the path of scrutinizing me. “We’re going to set up a sting with the information you and others authorize us to use, lure him out into the open, and arrest him. It’s not going to be easy to find him, but these people always make a mistake. And we’re there when they do.”
She snorted, then downed the rest of her lemonade and wiped her chin. “You’re not ever gonna get my ten million bucks back, but let me tell you something—there’s more where that came from, and more where that came from, too. The Texas Browns got so much money the likes of my crook accountant and Uncle Sam won’t never guess.”
Apparently not enough money to buy this broad some class. Or grammar lessons. Instead of engaging with her, I behaved like any good federal employee and ignored her idiotic commentary. It only made her keep blabbering in an attempt to get under my skin, but the tirade ended up in my favor, with signed authorizations for three different banks.
I said my good-byes to Miss Daisy Brown, who waved me away like a gnat trying to kill itself in her lemonade. The little envelopes containing her signature cards, all addressed in my best imitation of her handwriting and bearing her return address, fell out of sight into a mailbox on campus. Dad would have access to three more of her accounts within the week. I wondered if he’d be interested in the likelihood that the woman had millions more buried in her backyard. Possibly in a creepy cat graveyard that may or may not contain the last few men who’d tried to woo her money away.
It seemed unlikely we would get it all, but that was okay. She had some to spare.
Dad had promised me ten million dollars for the last eleven years of free assistance on his cons—I’d been doing more legwork than he had ever since he’d decided living in the States proved too much of a risk. The thought of walking away had entered my mind, for sure, but somewhere along the way this had become what I did. I deserved the money in return for everything I’d surrendered, childhood included, and it was almost over.
Less than three years. Then I would be out of the game, and life could be whatever I wanted.
Chapter 3
Sam
We had not gotten in touch with my accountant, which boded poorly for his being able to help us recover my money, and the distraction had done nothing good for my game. I’d made it into the second week of the tournament in Switzerland by the skin of my teeth, helped along by an injury and a seriously uncharacteristic day of poor play by the top Spaniard. Tomas was a good friend of mine, which was one reason I knew to go after his hamstring.
Tennis was funny that way—practice and party with a guy one day, use every dirty trick in the book to kick his ass on the court the next. Every win meant more prize money, and since it appeared I was thirty million poorer, that had become more important than ever.
The season ended in less than a month—my plane would land in Paris in an hour, and after a week in one of my favorite European cities, all that remained was the Davis Cup and ATP finals. Leo wanted me to focus, to concentrate on the tennis and let him sort out my newfound financial woes. Easier said than done. Even spending the last couple of nights in Basel with Chloe hadn’t made me feel better, and that was a damn shame.
My hookups had waned over the past six months. I had spent about seven weeks dating an up-and-coming Aussie girl, and since she’d gotten tired of my “shallowness,” there had only been a smattering of one-night stands to take her place. My interest level had been too low to argue with her during the, in my opinion, overly dramatic breakup scene, but I wasn’t shallow. It had just been clear to me that the two of us weren’t made for any kind of long-term compatibility.
It had surprised me how much I’d like to find something less shallow. Just a little over a year ago I’d met Quinn’s girlfriend, Emilie, and I’d kind of thought he was crazy for sticking to one girl, no matter how totally hot.
The idea that I might want to change had started in St. Moritz, when I’d met their friend Blair. She’d made it clear she had no interest in sleeping with me, exclusively or not, but there had been something between us. A spark. I was sure she felt it, too, but I didn’t know her well enough to guess at her reasons for not wanting to act on it. Even though it hadn’t worked out, the experience had flipped some kind of switch in me.