Fifth Ave 01 - Fifth Avenue (62 page)

George looked away.

The slight was like a slap to Leana’s face.
 
She tried to still the anger rising within her, but she couldn’t.
 
“Is there something you want to say to me, Dad?” she asked.

George looked at his daughter, moved to speak, but decided to let it pass.
 
He began walking toward the family elevator, which was behind him.

And that’s all it took.
 
Leana went after him.
 

She moved past Elizabeth.
 
Besides those members of security who had followed them inside, the lobby was otherwise empty.

Leana’s voice--high and angry--echoed in the enormous space.
 
“Don’t walk away from me,” she said.
 
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Her father stopped and turned.
 
“All right,” he said.
 
“I want to know why you’re going to work for Louis Ryan.”

“Why?” Leana said.
 
“Because you threw me out.
 
Because I need work in order to eat and have a place to sleep.
 
Because Uncle Harold suggested I contact him.
 
Louis offered me a job and I took it.”

“And so he did,” George said.
 
“And what exactly is that job, Leana?”

As if you don’t know.
 
“I’ll be running his new hotel for him.”

“You’ll be running his new hotel for him,” George said.
 
“Well, well--that makes all the sense in the world.
 
Here’s a woman who has absolutely no experience managing anything other than her shoes and the men she fucks, and she’s been asked to manage the largest hotel in Manhattan.
 
Now I can understand why you got the job.
 
You’re obviously suited for it.”

“George...”

“Stay out of this, Elizabeth.”

“At least he’s willing to take a chance on me,” Leana said.
 
“At least he’s taken an interest in me, which you never have.”

“You’re so naive,” George said.
 
“Tell me, why is he taking such an interest in you?
 
Certainly not because of your skills, so it must be to get at me.
 
Can’t you see that?
 
Are you that blind?
 
The man is using you.
 
He’ll probably end up hurting you.”

While Leana sensed part of that was true, she wouldn’t admit it to her father.
 
“As if you’d give a damn.
 
And besides, I don’t believe that,” she said.
 
“He’s done things for me that you’ve never done.
 
He’s treated me like the father you never were.”
 
She shot him a look.
 
“And why is that, Dad?
 
Why is it that you never brought me to Redman International when I was a kid?
 
You brought Celina.
 
You brought Celina every fucking day.
 
You treated her like the son you never had.”

George shoved a finger at her.
 
“You leave Celina out of this,” he said.
 
“You’re not going to drag her into this.
 
Not this.
 
Not now.”

“Try and stop me,” Leana said.
 
“For years you gave her opportunities I never was given.
 
For years you showered her with the love you refused to give me.
 
You neglected me.
 
You made me feel worthless, as if you wished I was never born.
 
You pushed me from your life when I wanted to be close to you, you made me hate my own sister when I should have loved her.
  
Jesus Christ, Dad--and people wonder why I got so screwed up on drugs.
 
People wonder why I’m so goddamned angry now!”

“That’s right,” George said.
 
“Blame your problems on me.
 
Isn’t that how you played it in rehab?
 
Get the sympathy vote by taking your old man down?”
 
He took a step toward her.
 
“Let me tell you something, girl.
 
You’ve had it good your entire life.
 
You’ve had things millions of people will never have.
 
You’ve been privileged and spoiled.
 
So, please, don’t give me any bullshit about how I neglected you, because that’s hardly the case.”

Leana shook her head sadly. “You just don’t get it, do you?
 
You really think you were a prize father.
 
What a joke.
 
You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.
 
The great George Redman does no wrong.”

“I made mistakes,” George said.
 
“I admit it.
 
I’m human.
 
But you’ve been holding onto those mistakes for years.
 
You’ve been carrying a grudge ever since you were a kid.
 
Can you honestly say that you’ve given me a chance?”

“Yes,” Leana said without hesitation.
 
“Yes, I can say that.”

“Then I guess you’re a better person than I am,” George said.
 
“Congratulations.”

He started to walk away again.

But Leana went after him.
 

“It’s so easy for you,” she said.
 
“Build your buildings.
 
Take over your corporations.
 
Live your big life.
 
Be that big dream.
 
But what I see is a pathetic excuse of a man who has so lost control of himself and what matters in life that my sister is dead because of it.”

That stopped him.

“It’s true,” she said.
 
“Those spotlights exploded weeks ago.
 
Why didn’t you protect your family when someone obviously has it in for us.
 
Someone
you
probably pissed off.
 
You think they’ll be coming after me and Mom because of something we did?
 
Get real.
 
When we’re dead, it’ll be because of something
you
did, not us.
 
You’ve got blood on your hands now, and you’ll have blood on your hands then.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell that to Celina.”

“I’ve been in touch with the police daily about those spotlights.”

“You should have been up their ass hourly.
 
You should have been on the phone to the major.
 
You should have called your friend the governor.
 
Tell that to Celina, too.
 
You’re partly responsible for all of this.
 
You failed to keep your family safe.
 
You suck as a father.
 
You’re not the man you think you are.
 
You’re just some schmuck who got lucky years ago, made his fortune, collected the rewards that came with it and the luck kept rolling until it stopped with my sister’s death.
 
You’re the murderer here.
 
You’re a piece of shit and it’s time someone told you so to your face.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” George said.

“If you think I’m leaving my mother alone with you, you’re crazy.
 
You’re unstable.
 
You get the fuck out.”

George looked at Elizabeth, saw the pain on her face and the defeat in her eyes, and then he also noted something else--she was siding with Leana.
 
He stepped alone into the elevator--only dimly aware of the press, who were still leaning against the windows--and pressed a button.
 
The doors closed.
 
He was gone.

*
 
*
 
*

In his study, Michael Archer watched his mother move across the living room to pick up her son, watched her collapse with him on the damask sofa, watched her throw back her head and laugh when he tickled her ribs.

No sound came from her mouth.
 
But her eyes were shining.

He picked up the remote, pointed it at the television, zoomed in and froze on her face.
 
She looked happy.
 
He held the shot for a few seconds, then pressed a button and faded into the next clip.

Michael leaned toward the television and tried to remember the lost scenes of his childhood as they unfolded before him.
 

Anne Ryan stood on tip-toe as she placed a large tinfoil star on top of a Christmas tree decorated with strings of popcorn, twinkling lights, frosted glass balls.
 
When the star was in place, she stepped back and smiled at her handiwork.
 
She turned toward the camera, curtsied, then made a face and pointed across the room.

The camera whirled and swept across a small apartment that was neat, festive and filled with people.
 
His father was sitting in an antique rocking chair, cuddling an infant in the crook of his arm.
 
Louis kissed the child on the forehead, brushed its cheek with the back of his hand.

Michael lifted the receiver to his ear.
 
“How did you get these films onto DVD?” he asked his father, who had called moments before.
 
Louis had asked Michael to go to his study and look in the drawer beneath the television.
 
There, Michael found a DVD player and a stack of DVDs.

“They were brought to a man on Third Avenue,” Louis said.
 
“He takes old home movie footage and puts it onto DVD.” There was a beat of silence.
 
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Why isn’t there any sound?”

“Your grandfather shot everything.
 
He used his camera.”

Michael watched his mother.
 
She was now wearing a long, flowing white dress and holding a stuffed Easter bunny in front of her son.
 
He watched himself giggle, watched himself grin.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I want you to remember your mother as she was.
 
It’s been a long time, Michael. You’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Michael said.
 
I haven’t.

The line went dead.

When the phone rang thirty minutes later, Michael was viewing the final DVD. Feeling drained and exhausted, he paused the frame and reached for the telephone, thinking it was his father.

It wasn’t.

For the next several moments, Michael listened quietly to the man who gave him the loan in Vegas.
 
He listened to him threaten, he listened to him shout.

“I understand in a few days your father’s going to ask a favor of you,” the man said. “For your sake, you better do it, Michael.
 
Because if you don’t, if you decide not to kill Redman, your father won’t give us the final payment--and then Mr. Santiago will be asking me to do a favor for him.”
 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“How are you this morning?”

Diana turned from the window she was standing at and looked across the small living room at Jack Douglas.
 
He was standing in the arched doorway, holding two cups of coffee and wearing a faded blue bathrobe that was spotted with purplish bleach stains and frayed at the sleeves.