April is the Cruelest Month

From Holly on April 5, 2020, 6:12 pm ET: Are you guys all there? I’m in the hotel room, I can dial in now.

~incoming call from Holly Najbreit~

hazy murmurs, indistinct

“Live audio is working,” Erin’s voice chimes out from my phone on the dining table.

“So, what’s it like, these family dinners?” Ella Sue asks, snacking on an apple.

“Picture a big, long, oak table in a dimly lit room,” Erin says. “At least two Michelin starred chefs working in the kitchen next door. The table is set with silverware that hardly deserves the name—there’s much more gold in sight, and everyone’s dressed in their finest.”

“And by everyone, Erin means everyone,” I say.

“It’s just family and some guests of honor,” Erin says, and I roll my eyes.

“The big man sits at the head of the table,” Genevieve pipes up.

“And then everyone eats and talks and business is done and at the end of it, somehow, Father ends up more powerful,” I say.

Father: How’s Paris, ma cherie?

Holly: Lovely, just lovely! Have I ever taken you to see the lilacs by the Notre Dame?

Father, chuckling: Back in ’06. But it must look different after the fire now.

Tiffany: Hey, why does Holly get to dial in instead of flying here?

Father: She’s in the middle of an acquisition.

Holly: I just had dinner with Pinault five hours ago, Tiff. We worked out something for the Hirst I’ve been eyeing.

Tiffany: But I was in the middle of a shoot five hours ago too!

Scarlet, somewhat muffled: Don’t bother, Tiff, Father’s just doting on his favourites.

“Oh shit, this is a sore point,” Erin mutters.

Ella Sue looks at me with interest.

“This is going to get good,” I whisper to her.

Father: Now come on. If Holly were actually my favourite, then I would demand that she be back here, sitting right next to me. Instead, she is an ocean away. Now, I’d hardly call that favoritism.

“Shall I make popcorn?” Ella Sue whispers back to me, taking another bite out of her apple.

I give her a smile and a curt nod, jotting down something in a notebook. We’re recording everything tonight, and I will doubtlessly review the transcripts some other night, but I find that I come up with my best ideas in the moment.

Scarlet: Oh yes, so that’s why Elianne is sitting to your right instead.

Elianne, almost saccharine: How’s business been for you last month?

Scarlet: I finally got Aramco to join the table with us. And what have you done in your last semester at Princeton?

I shake my head.

“She fell for the bait,” I whisper.

“What bait?” Ella Sue asks.

“You’ll see,” Erin says, across the line.

Hyerim: Thank you, Nzube.

There’s a hush in the air, footsteps of the butler retreating.

Father: A toast for Maddie. She’s done a brilliant job on the Najbreit-Boozman Bill. Fifty million dollars for the veterans, job training, public-private partnerships—it’s got it all! To Madeleine!

wine glasses clink, an enthusiastic chorus of “To Madeleine!” sounding

Ella Sue toasts her apple to the air and then munches, saying “To Mabiwin!” through her mouthful of apple.

Father: And another toast to Kara, to mark the five year anniversary of her flagship bancassurance program! I’ve seen the latest reports, it’s been forty percent CAGR these last three years, and analysts are predicting another twenty-five over the next three. Who would have thought the business could still grow so fast? To Kara!

wine glasses clink again, and “To Kara!” heard from all

Father: A toast for Sascha too, for hounding the analysts on Wall Street like nobody else can. Every single one of them on Buy, now that’s not something you often see. To Sascha!

“To Sascha!” those in attendance cheer

Father: And finally, to my dearest Elianne. She’s done great work this last month, closing on both Isaac Seligman and the youngest Van Rensselaer. That’s almost 3 billion AUM she’s personally brought in to the private banking arm. Not bad for bad for a month’s work! He chuckles. To Elianne!

silence, of the shocked variety. Then, wine glasses clinking, a resounding “To Elianne!” from all corners of the room

The microwave dings, signalling that the popcorn is popped.

“That’s Stephen Van Resselaer the Seventh?” Genevieve says from over the phone.

“The Eighth,” Erin and I correct at the same time.

Father: Now, let us dig in to this magnificent feast that the Lord has blessed us with.

Seven was at Princeton, same time as me. A right bastard, tight with Sam du Pont and all the other fuckers with trust funds larger than some sovereign wealth funds. It wouldn’t surprise me if his son turned out the same way.

Sofia, in the distance: This is delicious! Black squid ink, I presume?

Jessica: From the coast of Lisbon. It’s Erin’s fav—

a sudden hush, the other small conversations elsewhere quieting

“At least she hasn’t forgotten about me,” Erin quips.

“Don’t you worry, I haven’t either,” Genevieve says, and then I hear the sloppy sounds of them making out.

I meet eyes with Ella Sue.

Hot, she mouths, and I toss a popcorn into her open mouth. She bites down and smiles at me.

From Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:23 pm: Fresh lead, from Phoenix. See pic.

“Let me scan it for viruses,” Genevieve says, their make-out session apparently over already, and then a second later: “Clean!”

I pull up the attached picture.

It’s a grainy photo of me, slinking down a street, baseball cap pulled down low, geotagged in Phoenix.

To Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:24 pm: How? Trustable?

From Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:24 pm: Random photo uploaded to Flickr. Phoenix-based street photographer. Very low res, but that’s his style.

The image is photoshopped, of course, but with the quality as low as it is…

To Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:24 pm: Do what you need to do. I still need to talk to Mr. Samuel. Will post updates if anything changes.

From Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:24 pm: Teams on the ground are roaming again. Keeping a watch on that street.

“So they fell for it?” Ella Sue says.

“With any luck,” I say softly, hoping not to jinx it.

Father: Hey Holly, I’m going to hang up on the call now. Have some things to take care of.

Holly: Okay! Love ya, and take care, everyone!

a chorus of “Bye Holly!” from around the table, and then the audio feed snaps off

I munch on another salty popcorn in silence.

“Fun family,” Ella Sue says.

“You’re telling me,” Genevieve laughs from the other end. “If only I’d known before I got hitched up with this one—” There’s soft scuffling over the phone, and then, from Erin: “I’ve subdued Gen. Anyways, sounded like Father was going to talk to Mr. Samuel about the stunt you pulled with Tiffany, Markus.”

“With any luck he’ll text Vidocq the updates,” I say.

“I’m still here!” Genevieve says, though her voice is awfully muffled.

“How’d you get the gag off so quickly,” Erin mutters.

“And they’re kinky, too,” Ella Sue whispers to me.

“Are you?” I ask her, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re not allowed in my bedroom right now,” she says, punching me lightly in the arm. “Don’t even try.”

“I would never,” I say, pretending to be affronted.

To Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:28 pm: Need lowdown on Claude Ashworth. That’s the person Mr. Samuel sent to talk to Tiffany.

To Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:28 pm: Apparently person he was supposed to connect her with was himself. Not sure what they’re playing at. Mr. Samuel says close friend, thought harmless. He’s not lying.

From Vidocq on April 5, 2020, 6:29 pm: See attached files. Mr. Samuel and Ashworth have met a few times. No red flags on Claude except for the last meeting with Tiffany.

The files that Vidocq sends to Father’s phone are swiftly copied onto our remote server too, but Genevieve tells us to wait again, needing to check it over for potential threats.

“Okay, should be clean!” she says after a few minutes, and then we dig in to the files.

It’s scary, the amount of information that Father has on random people. Mother’s maiden name and social security number don’t even begin to cover it. He’s got travel histories, lists of places my art’s been exhibited, pharmacy prescriptions… and all of it consistent with the info that Mr. Samuel gave me. How could I have done this without him?

To Vidocq on April 5, 6:38 pm: Done talking to Mr. Samuel. Gave him a warning. I don’t like his recent behaviour.

From Vidocq on April 6, 6:38 pm: Time to cut him out?

To Vidocq on April 6, 6:38 pm: Not yet. Just up the monitoring. If something is wrong, he might slip and give it away.

We stay tuned in for the rest of the night, but nothing else eventful happens—just business as usual. Money changes hands, deals are concocted, and lives are broken and made.

I, on the other hand, might have just gotten myself off the hook.