Priceless

“Music?” As soon as he said it, he kicked himself.

Charlotte simply turned and looked at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. “What would you suggest? ‘Folsom Prison Blues'? ‘Jailhouse Rock'?”

Silence. He’d graduated first from his class at Columbia Law, slaved as a junior associate at a white-shoe firm, learning the ins and outs of securities litigation, and joined the SEC determined to bring big business and fat cats to task for cheating the common man. Instead, he’d spent most of the previous half-decade watching rich people get richer while getting away with crimes poorer people would have rotted in jail for. He wanted to feel nothing for Charlotte Williams and her ilk, the protected offspring of the wealthy. But she was hot and smart and apparently had a sense of humor even now.

“Sorry, you’re right. Not appropriate.”

More silence. They were crawling down Fifth, and he cut across the park, joining traffic that was moving a little faster. She gazed out, seeing familiar buildings sliding by, filled with people who presumably had worries of their own. Piles of stubborn black snow clung to the corners here and there. Sometimes the puddles in the intersections got so deep they’d go over her boots when she and Daddy were walking to the park, jumping and squealing, even though he’d gotten her the boots with the string at the top, even though his strong arms held her up when she jumped, even though.

Scarsford looked over. She was looking out the window, her profile still. He’d seen many people in trouble, and some weeks, those were the only people he talked to. Usually, they were chatty, trying to win you over, trying to make things easier by making a connection, hoping you would overlook whatever the hell it was they’d done. Not this one, not this girl. She couldn’t care less about him. She was probably thinking about what to wear to dinner.

Sometimes they’d go to ride Charlotte’s pony, and he would walk alongside her, talking about the trees and the birds, making up stories about what the pony was thinking, about how he dreamed of her all week, waiting for her to come and ride him, and his head would be level with hers almost, because the pony was very small and he was very tall, Daddy was.

She sighed. Scarsford sneaked a look again, nearly rear-ending a cab. The sudden stop made her jump, disturbing whatever shopping spree she was dreaming of. Charlotte turned to him, her eyes full of tears. She looked at him for a long moment, her face the prettiest and saddest thing he’d ever seen, and then the traffic moved again, and so did they, and he lost her to her dreams once more.

Then they were there.

THE METAL DETECTOR was interesting. Scarsford went first, pulling a gun from inside his jacket (Charlotte had been surprised to see it, short and ugly and lying like a toy in the plastic tray), then a wallet, a watch, a class ring.

Then it was her turn. She removed her watch (IWC), a tennis bracelet (Tiffany’s, a present from her dad), a ring (emerald, vintage, Alexander’s), and a collar pin (also emerald, vintage, Alexander’s, of course). All told, it represented more than the annual salary of the woman working the metal detector, but she couldn’t have cared less. She’d worked there for nearly two decades, and honey, she’d seen it all.

“Shoes?” Charlotte looked at Scarsford, but he shook his head.

“Not here.”

“Jacket?”

This time, he nodded. She slipped it off, revealing a simple lawn chemise, sleeveless, utterly see-through, La Perla underwear clearly visible. She stepped over the metal threshold, but it beeped. She frowned, stepped back, tried again. Another beep.

Scarsford was waiting on the other side as the woman stepped forward with the wand, and he let himself follow its path up and down her slender body. Clean all the way down, clean all the way up, but then it beeped at her head. She had been frowning, slightly embarrassed to be holding up the line to be scrutinized by strangers, but now her face cleared.

“My clip.”

She reached up to the back of her neck, pulling the transparent cotton tight across her breasts for an instant, making Scarsford start to get hard, despite his best efforts to think of the tax code. He was lost a second later, though, when her long hair tumbled down, just reaching her breasts, the diamond clip dropping into another tray, and then she was next to him, no beep, just the scent of her hair as she moved past him, the soft curve of her shoulder close enough to touch. What the hell was wrong with him?

She was struggling with her watch, and he stepped forward to help, aching to touch her smooth skin.

“No, thank you. I’ve got it.”

Her cool voice made him feel twelve again, and he stepped back.

She fastened the watch, the jewelry, the pin. Then she turned her back on him and twisted her hair, her long, thin fingers gathering it into a knot, revealing the soft nape of her neck. A click. She turned again, once more covered and under control.

“Shall we go?”

Scarsford just nodded, not trusting his voice, and headed to the elevators.

After taking a deep breath, she followed.

Chapter NINE

Jacob looked at his daughter across the table, a cold cup of coffee the only thing on its chipped Formica surface.

“You look lovely, Charlotte.”

It had been his first thought when she walked in. Sun filtered down a mine shaft, illuminating what seemed like impenetrable darkness only seconds before. It had been a gray blur, the men in nice suits taking him from his office, the ashen face of his secretary, the ink on his fingertips. It was a nightmare, but now Charlotte was there, and he would hold on to that.

“You look like your mother.”

She sat and reached for his hands, so cold. “Have you eaten anything?”

He shook his head.

Charlotte looked around the room. Cinder-block walls with no paint. Painted cement floors, like an old school. Mysterious dark spots on the walls suggested blood and violence. Under it all, a smell of fear and confined sweat. Suppressing an urge to run as far away as possible, she stood again and went to the wide mirror on one wall.

Raising her voice, she spoke to her own reflection. “Scarsford, I’ve watched Law and Order. I know you’re in there. If you don’t bring him some food immediately, I am leaving. He’s an old man. He has a medical condition. If I have to call for a doctor, you can be sure the press will hear of it.”

She sat back down and smiled tightly at her dad. She had been shocked to see him when she walked in, and the lost look on his face had frozen her own fear in place, forced her to pull it together. She was getting quite an education in her own strength today.

“I’m not old. Nor do I have a medical condition.” His quavering voice made it a lie.

“You’re not old, Dad, but you aren’t young, either, and this must be horrible for you. I know it is for me, and Greta and Davis look as if they could fall apart at any minute. And the medical condition? They don’t know that.” Besides, she thought to herself, I might have a coronary any minute, just from the pressure of not losing it completely. But on the outside, she was cool, and among the men watching them through the one-way mirror, only Scarsford had any idea how much pain she was in.

The door opened, and a young man came in, carrying a fresh cup of coffee and some sandwiches. He put them down without a word.

“Eat,” instructed Charlotte. “Then we’ll talk.” She looked away, trying to give him some privacy. She read a poster about her rights that was translated into four languages, none of them giving her the right to take her dad and leave, which was the only one she wanted to exercise.

The first bites of food nearly choked him, but gradually Jacob felt better, some color returning to his face. He drained the coffee cup, tucking it under the older one, neat and tidy.

“What shall we talk about, honey?”

Charlotte paused. For a second, she wondered if he’d lost his mind. His voice was just like normal, but it shouldn’t have been. Everything he’d built, everything he’d worked for, was under threat. Why wasn’t he storming around? Why wasn’t he angry?

“I don’t know, Dad. How about you getting arrested for fraud? Seems current, anyway.”

He frowned at her. “You’re mad at me.”

“No, just confused. Why do they think you did this?”

He shrugged.

“Are they listening to us? Can they hear what we’re saying?” He shrugged again. “I expect so, but I don’t want to talk about it, anyway. I want to talk about your mother.” She paused. “Why?”

“Because we’ve never talked about her, have you noticed?”

Fantastic, thought Charlotte. Years of silence on this pivotal topic, and now all of a sudden, he wants to talk about it, now that we’re sitting in front of a hostile audience. A lump started to form in her throat.

“Dad, I think we need to focus on how to get you out of here, all right? We can talk about Mom later on, at home.”

“There won’t be a later on, honey. They’re never going to let me out. I know the SEC intimately. They don’t tend to act unless they’re sure, because it’s their own hand in the drawer, if you follow me.”

“OK, but they’re wrong, aren’t they?” In the distance, she heard a man yelling, his anger abruptly cut short by a door slamming. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Jacob sighed. “Did you know your mother had two miscarriages before she had you?”

Tears of frustration sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “Why are you telling me this now, Dad? We need to get you out of here. Don’t you realize how much trouble you’re in?”

He nodded. “I do. But maybe now that I’m here, I can focus on what’s important, which is telling you about your mother and how much she loved you. We tried for a long time to have children, you know. All she wanted was children, to be a mommy. We planned to have lots and lots of kids and go live on an island far away from this one. You and your brothers and sisters were going to run around barefoot all day, swimming in the ocean, wearing just flowers in your hair. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t interrupt, honey. She was pregnant again, finally, when the car accident happened. No one knew but me. We were going to tell everyone that weekend, but she didn’t make it. And the baby was so small there was no chance. Your brother or sister.” He sighed. “All gone.”

Charlotte took a shuddering breath. Clearly, she needed some help here.

Jacob just kept going. “And then Miss Millie came, and she took such good care of you, and Greta, of course, and work just didn’t make any sense anymore. What was the point, without her? I took advantage of something. A loophole. A small thing. I just didn’t care anymore, if they saw me do it. But they didn’t see me, so I did it again. It took on a life of its own, rolled on like a snowball, and years passed before I started to feel anything again. When I did, when I saw that if Jackie were here, she would hate what I had become, it was too late. I was lost.”

Charlotte gazed at him in horror. Was he confessing? “Shh, Dad, never mind. It doesn’t matter now. Let me get Arthur, we can talk when he gets here, OK?”

She suddenly realized that if they were listening to this, which presumably they were, then without Arthur present, they could use it against her father, as evidence. Right? She stood and banged on the mirror.

“Mr. Scarsford, my father would like his lawyer, please.” A pause.

Jacob was still talking, as if she were still sitting across from him. “Your mother just wanted a simple life, Charlotte. She just wanted to be happy and quiet with her children. She would be so proud of you, of what you’ve become.”

“And what’s that, Dad? A spoiled young woman?”

He laughed.

Scarsford came in. “Mr. Bedford is on his way, Miss Williams. The more your father can tell us, the more we can help him.”

Charlotte snorted. “Mr. Scarsford, please.”

Jacob looked up at them. “You’re not spoiled, Charlotte. There’s still time for you to have the life you want to have, that your mother would have wanted you to have. You should leave Manhattan, though. It’s not a very easy place to keep things simple. Things have a way of getting out of hand.”

“Things like what, Mr. Williams? Things like the fund?” Scarsford had moved into the room.

“Don’t answer that, Dad. Mr. Scarsford, please leave the room. I have asked for counsel, and this conversation is over.”

“It seemed like a small thing at the beginning, Charlie. Just a quick thing that didn’t seem to hurt anyone.”

Charlotte was starting to cry, her body shaking uncontrollably. Where was Arthur? “Shh, Daddy, don’t talk now. We’re waiting for Arthur, OK?”

Jacob smiled up at her, just as he always had. “Honey, it’s too late for Arthur. It’s not his fault.” He reached up and stroked

the side of her face. “You look like your mom, did I tell you that?”

Charlotte sobbed. “Yes, Daddy, you told me that.”

And then she took his head in her arms and held him tightly, as he started to sob himself. “It was just a small thing, Jackie, just a small thing. I’m so sorry, Jackie.”

Charlotte held on tight and waited for the lawyer.

Chapter TEN

After that, things got even worse. Jacob had cried for a while and then fallen silent and sullen, refusing to talk even to Charlotte. Arthur had ordered the investigators from the room.

“I think it’s clear your father is in shock, Charlotte. I think we should have him looked at by a doctor.”

Charlotte felt as if she herself could use some medical attention, or at least a Xanax or three, but she pushed it down. “Will it be someone we know or someone they bring?”

Arthur frowned. “I’m not sure.”

In the end, the investigators allowed Jacob’s own doctor to attend him, and once Dr. Levinger was finished, they allowed him to transport Jacob to a hospital for further evaluation.

Mallory was brusque. “Mr. Bedford, if this is your client’s attempt to escape prosecution by feigning illness, then you should advise him that it hasn’t worked for organized crime, and it won’t work for him.”

Arthur was starting to get his confidence back, now that his own shock was receding. He looked down his nose at the policeman. “Good grief, Detective, there’s no need to be rude. Mr. Williams has suffered a great shock, and the doctor merely wishes to ensure that there isn’t anything else going on. If he collapses while in your care, it wouldn’t look very good for you, would it?”

Mallory said nothing for a moment, then, “I’m not sure you realize how angry people are about this. If I let him leave the building unguarded, he might not make it to the sidewalk.”

Charlotte went pale. “What are you talking about? What people?”

“The people whose money he stole, Miss Williams. Did you think it was all faceless corporations and big banks? No, he took the life savings of couples who’d planned to retire, who’d worked all their lives and were finally about to be able to rest. He took the nest eggs of families with children. He took whatever he wanted, Miss Williams, and people tend to look askance at that kind of greed.”

“You’re wrong about him,” Charlotte said, although inside she was feeling less sure. Her father had seemed so happy and normal and confident only the other night. Was it possible that everything she took for granted, everything she thought was certain, was actually a total lie? She’d have broken down if she’d had any tears left.

WHEN THEY LEFT the building, her father in a wheelchair, his doctor at his side, she saw firsthand what Mallory had been talking about.

“There he is, there’s Williams!” A small crowd surged forward, their faces twisted with rage. “You thief!”

Charlotte made eye contact with one woman, a normal-looking woman in her early forties maybe.

“You bitch!” the woman cried. “Your father stole everything I ever worked for. He’s a fucking thief, and I hope he dies in jail, and you, too, you whore!”

Charlotte faltered a little, feeling as if she’d been physically assaulted. As she paused, she felt a hand on her elbow, guiding her, and she managed to keep going. As she passed the woman, she felt wetness on her face—the woman had spat on her. Charlotte stumbled, but the hand on her elbow was strong and kept her going.

“Don’t stop, Charlotte. I’ve got you.” The voice was low in her ear, but she kept going.

Someone threw something at her father, and he ducked his head. It smashed on the ground, a bottle.

Suddenly, the police formed a barrier between their small group and the larger crowd, and they got to the ambulance. As the doors slammed and it pulled away, Charlotte was propelled to another waiting car, and she turned to see who was helping her.

Scarsford. He didn’t let go until she was in the car, and when he did, her arm felt suddenly cold.

Faces pressed up against the window, struggling with the police, fingers pointing, rage, anger, and … loss. She could see sadness and panic on these faces and suddenly realized what her father stood accused of. And she realized in the same moment that he was guilty and that life was never going to be the same again.

THE SCENE WAS similar in front of her apartment building, although there were fewer police to protect her. Scarsford kept his arm around her shoulder, and she ducked her head, but she could still hear the insults and threats people were throwing. Not to mention the photographers.

“Come on, gorgeous, they’re going to love you in jail. Give us a smile.”

“Over here, bitch, over here.” “Look up, Charlotte. Let’s see you.”

They wanted something to put on TV, just as Emily had said, and she was damned if she was going to give it to them.

And then someone said, “I hear you fuck your father for money, Charlie.”

She looked up, enraged and horrified, and a million flash bulbs went off. That was the shot the tabloids would run of her. She looked terrible: furious, scared, but still hot as hell. Editors ate it up all over the country. It was a shot that would haunt her forever.

Scarsford yelled at the photographers to get back, and they got close enough to her building for the doormen to step in. Suddenly, she was in the lobby, safe.

Scarsford took out a handkerchief and wiped her face. It came away red.

“Am I bleeding?” Charlotte was surprised.

A brief smile flickered across his face. “No, more traditional. Tomato. Someone threw one, I guess, and splattered you.”

She looked down at her suit. Oh, yeah. All over her. “Just as well I picked navy.”

Scarsford’s phone rang, and he stepped away to answer it. When he looked back a few moments later, she was gone, the distant chime of the elevator the only trace of her. The lobby guard was watching him expressionlessly, and after failing to come up with a legitimate reason to go after her, Scarsford left.

THE ANSWERING MACHINE was full, but the apartment was empty.

Greta and Davis had left, presumably to go home, but Greta had left her enough food for three dinners, and Davis had left a big note on her bed with his cell number and an exhortation not to go anywhere without calling him first.

Charlotte was glad to be alone. She needed to think.

She wandered upstairs and took a long shower, trying to relax and get rid of the smell of the downtown jail. Operating almost on auto pilot, she hot-oiled her hair and wrapped it in a warmed towel, then covered herself with pure shea butter warmed in her palms. A floor-length Turkish toweling robe and slippers made her feel almost cozy, and she curled up in her dad’s chair in the den, flicking on the plasma and curling her fingers around a fresh cup of hot chocolate.

She flicked from channel to channel for a while but couldn’t help herself. She turned to CNN. She spilled her cocoa.

Emily was on the screen, apparently standing in front of her building. The subtitle said, “Family Friend,” but Emily didn’t sound all that friendly.

“Yes, Mr. Williams was always at work. We hardly ever saw him. Charlotte was basically raised by the servants.”

Servants? Davis and Greta weren’t going to like that at all.

“It really isn’t surprising that Charlotte went off the rails like she did.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Emily disappeared, replaced by the horrific shot of her from earlier. Great. She looked like that Munch painting. The announcer was talking about her.

“Jacob Williams has a daughter, of course, the socialite Charlotte Williams, who was nearly expelled from Yale a year ago for allegedly burning down a building in a lovers’ spat.” Then they showed a variety of party shots of her, a few of them quite risqué. Where had those come from? Surely Emily wouldn’t have—

“At this time, Miss Williams is not a suspect in the fraud, but the authorities might well have questions going forward.”

Charlotte turned it off. Somewhere in the apartment, her phone was ringing. Then the house phone started. Her phone stopped, then started again. Charlotte realized there was no one in the world she wanted to talk to. No one except her dad, and he wasn’t taking calls right now. Unless it was him calling? She leaped up but didn’t make it in time. Standing there, she hit the play button on the answering machine.

Many of the messages were people yelling, which made her wonder how they’d gotten the number, but then she realized that they were her dad’s investors, and he’d presumably given out the number himself. Note to self: Change the number.

Suddenly, a friendly voice came out of the machine, making her gasp.

“Miss Charlotte, it’s Miss Millie here. I saw the news about your daddy, and I just wanted to remind you that God loves you, and so do I, and that you’re special and good, and whatever happens, you need to remember that, do ya hear? I think of y’all all the time and pray for you every night. Give my love to Miss Greta and Davis and, of course, to your lovely self. Come to New Orleans if you need to. We’ll be here! ‘Bye now.”

Other messages weren’t so nice.

“Charlotte, this is Michael Marshall.” Her dad’s partner had surfaced at last. Charlotte went to pick up the phone, forgetting for the moment that it was just a message. Marshall had paused, but then he continued. “I … uh … I’ll try you again later.” Click.

She called him back.

“Michael, it’s Charlotte. Are you all right?” He sighed.

It was a funny thing. When Michael Marshall had joined her father’s firm, it looked as if his daughter, Becky, and she were going to be friends. They were the same age, went to similar schools, had similar hobbies. For the first few months, the two families hung out together quite a bit: dinners here and there, a trip to the beach. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Becky didn’t return her calls, ignored her texts, unfriended her online. She’d been upset and tried for a while to get her to explain what had happened. Eventually, she’d given up. Now she had the sinking feeling she knew what had happened. Maybe.

“I’m fine, Charlotte. How are you? Were you able to see your dad?”

“Yes. He’s pretty confused, I think. Did they question you, too?”

There was a long pause. “Charlotte, I have to tell you something.” He sounded very old, and almost close to tears. “Your father was very good to me, and in many ways, he’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known. But he was breaking the law, Charlotte, and I knew it. For a while, I kept quiet, hoping it would stop or blow over or change in some way so I could leave with my conscience intact. But it didn’t. And I couldn’t look my own children in the eyes anymore, because I was involved.”

Charlotte’s blood grew cold. “So you turned on him to protect yourself?” Her voice was soft.

“They were catching on to us, anyway, Charlotte, I could see it was just a matter of time.”