The Exchange: After The Firm

“Correct. It’s been earning interest for fifteen years, all tax-free. I’ve talked to Abby, and we think this is the perfect time to unload most of this money. For some reason, we’ve always felt like it’s not really ours, you know?”

“Ransom?”

“Yes, we’re kicking in another ten million. So, with another ten million from Luca, we’re up to sixty-five, in addition to the first ten. Not a bad payday for a bunch of desert thugs.”

“That’s very generous, Mitch.”

“I know. Do you think they’ll take sixty-five?”

“I have no idea. They seem to love blood as much as money.”

They were quiet for a long time as they enjoyed their drinks. Finally, Mitch said, “And there’s something else.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I called Omar Celik a few hours ago and I asked him for ten million. He adores Luca and Giovanna but I’m not sure his fondness translates into that much cash. So, I did a foolish thing. I guaranteed him we would recover the money in the lawsuit.”

“That’s pretty foolish.”

“As I said.”

“But I don’t blame you. Desperate times call for desperate measures. What did he say?”

“Said he’d sleep on it. So, I doubled down and went even crazier. I threatened him, told him that if he didn’t pitch in I’d withdraw as counsel and he’d be forced to hire a new firm.”

“You don’t threaten Turks.”

“I know. But he kept his cool. I’ll bet he comes through.”

“That would be seventy-five million.”

“The math is pretty simple, if nothing else is. Will they walk away from seventy-five million?”

“Would you?”

“No. Plus, they get rid of the hostage. She can’t be an easy prisoner.”

The booze blended nicely with the fatigue and jet lag, and an hour after takeoff, Mitch and Jack were in deep sleep 40,000 feet over the Atlantic.

Chapter 42

For morning coffee, Abby wore her white dress and no makeup. Hassan wore another fine linen suit of a soft olive color. Brilliant white shirt, no tie. They met at the same table, one she was already tired of. They ordered coffee and tea and told the waiter they would think about breakfast later.

Hassan, ever the charming pro, kept smiling until she said, “We need more time, an additional twenty-four hours.”

A sudden frown and a shake of the head. “I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”

“Then we can’t arrange the entire sum of ninety million.”

A deeper frown. “Then things get complicated.”

“Things are beyond complicated. We are collecting money from at least seven different sources and in multiple languages.”

“I see. A question. If you have twenty-four additional hours, how much more money can you scrape together?”

“I’m not sure.”

His small black eyes zeroed in like lasers. “Then, that says it all, Mrs. McDeere. If you can’t promise more money, then I can’t promise more time. How much do you have?”

“Seventy-five. Plus, of course, the deposit of ten.”

“Of course. And it is in hand and your husband will be prepared to wire it tomorrow?”

The waiter was back and he slowly set the tea and coffee in front of them. He inquired again about breakfast, but Hassan rudely waved him off.

He glanced around, saw no one, and said, “Very well. I shall speak to my client. This is not good news.”

“It’s the only news I have. I want to see Giovanna.”

“I doubt that’s possible.”

“Then there’s no deal. No seventy-five million. No wire transfer tomorrow. I want to see her today and I’m not leaving this hotel.”

“You’re asking too much, Mrs. McDeere. We’re not walking into a trap.”

“A trap? Do I look like a person who could set a trap? I’m a cookbook editor from New York.”

He was smiling again as he shook his head in amusement. “It’s not possible.”

“Figure it out.”

She abruptly stood, picked up her cup of coffee, and left the restaurant with it. Hassan waited a moment until she was out of sight and pulled out his phone.

Two hours later, Abby was working at the small table in her room when the Jakl vibrated. It was Hassan with the grim news that his client was quite disturbed by the news that its demands were not being met. The deal was off the table.

However, it would be wise for Mitch to continue with his plans on Grand Cayman. Establish a new account at Trinidad Trust, and wait for instructions. So, the deal was not off the table.

Mitch was somewhere in the clouds, and the jet’s cell service was out of range.

The Challenger touched down at Westchester at 7:10, almost exactly seven hours after leaving Rome. Two black sedans were waiting. One went north with Jack, who lived in Pound Ridge. Mitch took the other south into the city.

Moroccan time was four hours ahead of New York. He called Abby, who was holed up in her hotel room editing a cookbook. She replayed the morning coffee with Mr. Mansour and their subsequent conversation. Of course he was disappointed with the money, but then he had been prepared for such a development. He was coy, a real pro, and she could not read him. She had no idea if he would accept only $75 million more, but she had a hunch he had a bigger role in the negotiating than he let on.