Never Enough (14 page)

“Money, Rob. Lifestyle. You say you’re not going to fight about money, but whatever she gets in a divorce will have to last her for the rest of her life. You won’t be supporting her anymore. And there’s quite a difference between being Mrs. Kissel and being Mrs. Del Priore. Her life has revolved around her special status as an expat wife for the past six years, and she’ll lose that overnight.”

“It’s her choice.”

“That’s not how she’ll see it. You’ll be taking her lifestyle away from her, Rob. And one thing we both know about Nan: to her, there’s not much difference between lifestyle and life.”

When Nancy discovered that both her phone and phone bills were missing, she could feel Rob closing in. Her affair with Michael was the one thing in her life that was hers and hers alone, the one thing over which she and she alone had control. And now Rob, who, as she saw it, had taken her individuality, her youth, her looks, her creativity, her spontaneity, and her independence, was going to take her love affair away from her, too.

She panicked. She began to spend all day in Central, calling Michael collect from pay phones. There were days when she would call him every ten minutes, always from a new pay phone in Central, her voice brittle with fear, her words giving way to her sobs. His phone bill for October was more than ten thousand dollars. He later negotiated a settlement with AT&T.

She went to Central because she thought she’d be safer there, in the crowds. She told him she was sure Rob was having her followed. She was afraid he might do more. Suppose he ordered his men to grab her and drive her somewhere and beat her? Suppose he arranged to have her kidnapped? Suppose he used his power and money to have the police arrest her and charge her with some awful crime?

“He’s hired people, Michael. I know it. I can feel them watching me wherever I go. Oh, God—I think that’s one of them! I’ve got to get off this phone.”

Five minutes later: “They’re after me. His people. They’ve been following me ever since I left the apartment—wait, I’ve got to go. I can’t stay here.”

It was worse than the taxi ride to JFK.

“Michael, have
your
phone checked. He’s probably having it tapped. I can’t take this anymore. I’m not safe anywhere. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want me to fly out there?”

“No, no! You can’t do that. There’s no telling what his people would do. You have no idea how powerful he is, how high up. You don’t know how much he can control. Nobody can stop him. He can do whatever he wants.”

Five minutes later: “He’s on such a warpath I don’t know what to do. The hammer has come down. I’m fucked. Oh, I’m so, so fucked.”

Michael wondered what passersby in Hong Kong must have thought: an American lady, surely well dressed, clutching a pay phone, looking around frantically, crying loudly enough to be heard over traffic.

She told Michael she’d sent him a love letter via Federal Express and that a few days later Rob had angrily quoted back to her some of the exact language she’d used in the letter.

“Do you see what I mean, Michael? He’s so powerful he’s able to bribe FedEx.”

Yet she was active and appeared energetic and untroubled to acquaintances as she took photographs at the Hong Kong International School to get ready for a fund drive. In e-mails to Bryna she seemed upbeat and chipper, eager to get to San Francisco. Her ability to step in and out of a state of tormented agitation, seemingly at will, was remarkable.

As for Rob, even as he readied himself to tell Nancy that he was going to seek a divorce, even in the midst of detailed analysis of the billions of dollars of distressed debt that the Bank of China would be auctioning on November 4—by a considerable margin the largest debt portfolio he’d ever had the chance to acquire—he tried to keep things in perspective. At 10:21 a.m. on October 22 he was in the middle of a high-level meeting about the Bank of China bid. It was 10:21 p.m. in Florida and Rob, a lifelong Yankees fan, knew the third game of the Yankees-Marlins World Series was on. He texted Frank Shea: “What’s the score?”

Frank replied: “1-1 Top 6th Jeter on 1st 0 outs Giambi up.”

Rob: “Keep me up on the score if you can! In an all day meeting…what a hassle…”

Frank: “Top of 7th very tough Miami 6th for Yanks but still 1–1.”

The Yankees scored in the top of eighth inning and added four runs in the ninth to win the game.

On Thursday, October 23, Nancy saw her internist, Dr. Annabelle Dytham, one of the first expat women she’d met in Hong Kong and someone she considered not only her doctor but her friend. It had been a year since her last appointment and Dr. Dytham greeted her by saying, “Well, you’re certainly looking good.”

That wasn’t what Nancy wanted to hear. She immediately let fly a torrent of complaints about how bad she was feeling and why. She said her husband had been beating her regularly since an incident that had occurred during a ski vacation the previous Christmas. She said he was constantly demanding sex and would hit her when she refused. “Alleged assault and subsequent violations,” Dr. Dytham wrote, then jotted, “low libido.”

The doctor found no visible signs of physical abuse, but Nancy said her husband’s violence had her living in a state of constant terror. She said that despite taking the Stilnox that Dr. Fung had prescribed, she wasn’t able to sleep. She said she needed something stronger—perhaps Rohypnol, which she had learned about in her Internet research.

Rohypnol, a.k.a. Mexican Valium a.k.a. roofies, was often referred to as the date-rape drug. Besides being ten times stronger than Valium, it had the unique effect of causing anterograde amnesia, meaning that events that occur after ingestion of the drug do not reach long-term memory. The practical effect was that a woman who was raped after having been rendered unconscious, or nearly so, by Rohypnol would be unable to recall the event. Its sale was banned in the United States, where it was classified as a Schedule IV substance under the Controlled Substances Act. Possession or distribution of Rohypnol carried the same penalties for possession or distribution as Schedule I drugs such as heroin. But throughout Europe and South America, as well as in Hong Kong, Rohypnol could be prescribed and sold legally. Nancy persuaded Dr. Dytham that nothing less potent would enable her to escape to the arms of Morpheus.

Rob was confident he’d be well represented in his divorce action by Hampton, Winter and Glynn. But there were a lot of capable lawyers doing lucrative matrimonial work in Hong Kong because there were a lot of expat marriages falling apart. What if Nancy found a lawyer who was even better than his?

Rob knew he was the wronged party and therefore should be able to dictate the terms of the divorce. But he also knew the law didn’t necessarily favor the righteous—it rewarded whoever knew how to play the system best. It was a competition, just like investment banking. Right and wrong had nothing to do with it, and you had to do whatever was necessary to win. He recalled an episode of
The Sopranos
in which Tony had contacted all the best divorce lawyers in New Jersey to make certain that if Carmela tried to hire one they’d have to say no, that representing her would be a conflict of interest because they’d already had a discussion with her husband. The tactic had worked well for Tony.

On the morning of Friday, October 24, Rob called the corporate headhunter who’d recruited him for Merrill Lynch to ask if he could provide a list of the most prominent divorce lawyers in Hong Kong. The headhunter said he could and that he’d fax the names to Rob early the following week.

Over the weekend, the Florida Marlins beat the Yankees to win the World Series. On Sunday, October 26, Rob e-mailed Frank Shea: “Frank—I am in tears after that game…On to the next…Go Knicks!”

In his office for the next three days, Rob paid more attention than usual to incoming faxes. When the list of divorce lawyers had not arrived by Wednesday, October 29, he called the headhunter.

“I faxed it Monday afternoon,” the headhunter said. “Hold on, let me check…yeah, I sent it to…” He read the number to which he’d faxed the list.

“Oh, shit!” Rob said. “That’s my home number, not the office.”

Ruefully, he described the mix-up to his Merrill Lynch colleague and friend, David Noh, the only person besides Bryna in whom he’d been confiding about Nancy.

“I’m going to have to talk to her,” Rob told Noh. “She’s seen the list.”

The next day, Thursday, October 30, he gave Noh an update: “It wasn’t so bad. She said she didn’t want to talk about it until next week because she didn’t want to spoil Halloween for the kids.”

On Tuesday, October 28, Nancy had gone to a walk-in clinic, complaining of back pain. She was given a prescription for twenty tablets of dextropropoxythene, a drug that, according to an English National Health Service report available on the Internet, “can cause rapid death.”

On Thursday, she went back to Dr. Fung and told him that the Stilnox had not improved her insomnia. Noting that she had a “very tenacious sleep problem,” he gave her prescriptions for three additional medications: lorazepam (Lorivan), Axotal, and amitriptyline. Lorivan was a benzodiazepine and central nervous system depressant whose most common side effect was drowsiness. Axotal contained a barbiturate that caused drowsiness, an effect markedly increased if taken in conjunction with a central nervous system depressant such as Lorivan. Amitriptyline was a tricyclic antidepressant that frequently caused drowsiness.

By the time she took her children trick-or-treating in Parkview on Friday night, October 31, Nancy had in her possession Stilnox (a.k.a. Ambien), Rohypnol, dextropropoxythene, Lorivan, Axotal, and amitriptyline: four drugs that caused drowsiness, one that caused outright unconsciousness, and one that could cause sudden death.

That night, she e-mailed Bryna O’Shea: “I got a better deal at the Fairmont…$US.205 per night…the Ritz is $US.230…impretty excited about all of this…mostly to see you!!!! I miss you terribly…”

Rob had met with Robin Egerton at Hampton, Winter and Glynn that afternoon. Egerton found him to be “pragmatic and analytical” during their discussion about divorce. Rob mentioned that he’d raised the subject with Nancy earlier in the week but that she’d wanted to defer a serious talk about it until after Halloween. He said he planned to have that talk with her on Sunday.

ON SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 1, NANCY WAS A BUNDLE
of energy. Bringing Isabel and Zoe with her, she photographed the children of her Parkview friend Samantha Kriegel. Nancy had been taking a lot of pictures at Parkview, at HKIS, and at the United Jewish Congregation. She told acquaintances that she wanted to open her own photo studio but that her husband wouldn’t let her because he considered it “a waste of time.”

When she finished taking the Kriegel pictures, she put Isabel into the Mercedes and took her to HKIS for her dance lesson. Connie took Zoe to a playdate. Rob remained upstairs in the apartment with Ethan. When Connie came back from dropping Zoe at the playdate, she saw Rob sitting cross-legged on the playroom floor, head in hands.

He looked up at her and said, “I have no idea what’s going on.” She didn’t know if he meant about the day’s schedule or about what was happening to his marriage and his life. She did not think it appropriate to ask.

Sunday, November 2, brought unusually thick haze to Hong Kong. Visibility at the airport fell to three thousand feet, the lowest ever recorded due solely to haze. You couldn’t even see across the harbor. Cars passed with headlights on, and the air carried the metallic taste of smog.

Rob and Nancy had an early-morning argument. He got tired of waiting for her to perfect her appearance before going to the Sunday-morning discussion group at the United Jewish Congregation. He put the children in his new Porsche and drove them to Sunday school at the UJC on Robinson Road in Mid-Levels. Nancy left in her Mercedes a few minutes later.

As she drove past the Parkview Hotel, she noticed a father and daughter walking toward the taxi stand. The girl was carrying a UJC school bag.

“If you’re on your way to UJC, I can give you a ride,” Nancy said.

Andrew Tanzer, Hong Kong bureau chief for
Forbes
magazine and a resident of tower 3, was glad to accept. He and his daughter, Leah, got into the Mercedes. He made a remark about the foul air.

“Isn’t it awful?” Nancy said. “My husband is with Merrill Lynch. We’ve been here since ninety-seven and it gets worse every year. At this rate, we’ll have to leave, just for the sake of the children’s lungs.” The poor visibility didn’t slow Nancy’s driving. She sped along the winding two-lane road that led to the Aberdeen Tunnel, chattering cheerfully all the way.

The Sunday school program lasted until 12:30 p.m., which gave parents ample time to socialize after the adult gathering. The morning’s discussion, led by UJC rabbi Lee Diamond, had focused on Malaysian prime minister Mahathir Mohamad’s recent statement that “Jews rule this world by proxy. They get others to fight and die for them.” Unsurprisingly, UJC sentiment ran strongly against Mr. Mohamad’s point of view. Rob participated actively.

He was still energized afterward, as he stood in the cafeteria lobby among a group of the fellow bankers and lawyers who made up a large part of the UJC’s membership. The group included Jonathan Zonis of the law firm Clifford Chance, Ian Ingram-Johnson of the law firm Allen and Overy, and Jonathan Ross, a Bank of China lawyer (formerly with Skadden, Arps) who had the distinction of being the bank’s only
gweilo
executive. They were discussing the Bank of China’s unprecedented distressed-debt auction, scheduled for Tuesday.

With sealed bids due in forty-eight hours, the time seemed ripe for circumspection. To the surprise of the others, however, Rob began to outline details of the Merrill Lynch offer. He also had a few pointed words for Jonathan Ross, complaining about a lack of documentation in some of the information the Bank of China had supplied.

Nancy interrupted to say she was leaving in order to take Isabel to a party at the Aberdeen Marina Club. Rob brought Zoe and Ethan into the cafeteria for lunch. Zoe and Leah Tanzer were in the same Sunday school class. Zoe asked if she could have Leah over for an afternoon playdate. Because it was Connie’s day off, Rob called Nancy for approval.

Once arrangements were made, Rob got up to leave. He told Tanzer, whom he’d not met before, to bring Leah over as soon as he could.

“Daddy, I want to ride with Zoe,” Leah said.

Rob smiled but shook his head. “Sorry,” he said to Andrew Tanzer. “I’m in my new Porsche. There’s not enough room.”

They said good-bye and Tanzer and his daughter started walking across the parking lot to the taxi stand. Halfway there, he saw Rob zip past in his silver Porsche, top down and lights on in the smog. The front passenger seat was empty. At first, Tanzer thought it odd that Rob had turned down Leah’s request for a ride, but he concluded that he must be such a conscientious parent that he wouldn’t let a child ride in the front seat.

Zoe had given Leah the door code to tower 17, so Tanzer and his daughter were able to take the elevator to the twenty-second floor without calling first from below. Tanzer rang the bell and Rob answered. As Leah ran in to join Zoe, Rob invited Tanzer to step inside. It was 2:30 p.m.

The two men walked into the living room and gazed out the windows at the miasma of smog, which showed no signs of dissipating. Rob smiled cordially but did not ask Tanzer to sit. The
Forbes
man, who was about Rob’s age, made small talk about working in Hong Kong. He could hear his daughter and Zoe laughing happily as Ethan ran into the playroom to join them. He saw no sign of Nancy.

“You’ve got an excellent Bordeaux there,” Tanzer said, pointing at a bottle of wine that stood next to the decanter of single-malt scotch on the sideboard. The level of single malt had not dropped in weeks.

“Yes, I find there are still some good buys here, if you know where to look.”

Their conversation sputtered along. Rob seemed in no hurry to show Tanzer the door, but neither did he offer his visitor either a seat or a drink. After half an hour, Tanzer asked for a glass of water. Rob went to the kitchen and returned with one for each of them. As he finished his, Tanzer said he’d better be going and asked Rob to call when he wanted someone to come back for Leah.

The two men walked toward the door.

“Don’t go, Daddy!” Leah shouted, running in from the kitchen. “We’re making milk shakes with Zoe’s mommy.”

Zoe ran in from the kitchen, too. “Wait ’til you taste these!” she said, jumping with excitement.

Rob shrugged at Tanzer and smiled. Tanzer was by now more than a little impatient to leave but realized it would be rude to decline the children’s offer.

A moment later, Zoe and Leah reappeared. Each girl was holding a tall glass filled with thick pink liquid.

“Here it is, Daddy!” Zoe said. “Special for you!” At the same time, Leah handed a glass to her father.

“Drink it, Daddy,” Zoe said to Rob. “It’s yummy.”

Tanzer took a sip. “What’s in it?” he asked.

“Lots of good stuff,” his daughter said. “There’s bananas and crunched-up cookies and lots and lots of other things.”

“How’s yours, Daddy?” Zoe asked.

“Mmmm,” said Rob, a pink milk mustache on his upper lip.

“Okay, here goes,” Tanzer said, draining his glass in one gulp.

Rob did the same. “You’re right, sweetie,” he said to Zoe. “That was delicious.”

Tanzer smiled gamely. He’d found the shake appallingly sweet and with a consistency reminiscent of Metamucil. It also left an unpleasant aftertaste. He thanked Rob again and said he’d be back later for Leah.

As he was walking out the door, Nancy popped out of the kitchen. “Hi and good-bye,” she said. “The girls are having a great time.”

“Thanks again,” Tanzer said. “By the way, what was in that milk shake?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you
that.
It’s a secret recipe.”

An hour later, Andrew Tanzer passed out on his living room couch. His wife couldn’t wake him. This was so out of character that she bent down to see if she could smell alcohol on his breath.

At about the same time, Rob brought Ethan down to the Parkview playground. He thought Zoe and Leah deserved some playtime by themselves. The main item on his agenda for the rest of the day was a 7:30 p.m. conference call with his distressed-debt team—a final dot the
i
’s and cross the
t
’s session in advance of Tuesday’s Bank of China auction.

Even at Parkview, the late afternoon air was scarcely breathable. Rob brought Ethan to the indoor section of the playground. He sat on a lawn chair to watch his son play. For a few minutes, he chatted with a Parkview neighbor named David Friedland. Then David Noh called. Noh wanted to straighten out a few details in advance of the seven-thirty conference call.

Less than a minute into the conversation, Noh realized something was amiss. He’d asked a question about the anticipated growth rate of the value of certain parcels of Hong Kong real estate that the Bank of China was including in the auction.

“It’s the export growth,” Rob said. “We gotta pay attention to import-export.”

“Rob? No, no, I’m talking about the property value estimates.”

“Do you know what’s happening with exports? What we really need is better Internet connections with the mainland.”

“Rob? Are you feeling all right?”

“Import-export, David. That’s the name of the game.” He laughed. His voice was slurred. “It’s all about the balance of trade. The balance of trade. But what about the balance of traders? Nobody’s looking at that.”

“Rob, you’re not making much sense. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“You can’t have an import without an export. That’s what everybody forgets.”

“Listen, Rob. I’m going to give you a couple of hours to clear your head. I’ll have the conference call ready to go at seven thirty.”

Noh hung up, worried. He knew that this was the day when Rob intended to tell Nancy he was going to divorce her. Perhaps Rob had taken a few drinks to get his courage up. But it wasn’t like Rob to drink in advance of a crucial conference call. Perhaps he’d already told her, and her reaction had driven him to drink. That scenario didn’t make sense either. None of it made sense to David Noh, but he was sure Rob would explain it in the morning.

Connie was still out at a Sunday afternoon concert, but Min had come back to the apartment.

“I know it’s your day off, Min, but I have to ask you to do me a favor,” Nancy said. “Zoe and her friend are playing, and I don’t want to leave them alone, but Ethan is supposed to be at a picnic by six o’clock. Would you take him, please? He’s down in the playground with Mr. Kissel. Mr. Kissel will tell you where the picnic is. He can’t stay long. I want him back here by seven. And tell Mr. Kissel that I need
him
up here right away.”

As soon as Min left, Nancy called the Tanzer apartment to say that Leah was welcome to stay for supper.

“Thank you,” her mother said, “but not tonight. She still has homework and a piano lesson.”

“That’s too bad,” Nancy said. “Then I guess Mr. Tanzer will stop by soon to pick her up?”

“I’ll have to send our maid,” Mrs. Tanzer said. “As soon as my husband got back here this afternoon, he passed out on the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s breathing, but I still can’t wake him. I’m actually starting to worry.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Nancy said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine. When will you be sending your maid?”

“Would seven o’clock be too late? I’m just starting to make supper.”

“Not at all. The girls are having a great time. Seven it is.”

At the playground, Min told Rob that Nancy needed him upstairs right away. She asked if she could borrow his watch in order to be sure she got Ethan home on time.

“Take good care of it,” Rob said, handing Min his $15,000 gold Cartier.

He sounded sleepy. He also seemed unsteady on his feet.

Parkview’s closed circuit television cameras showed him entering the tower 17 elevator at 6:06 p.m.

The Tanzers’ maid arrived at the Kissel apartment precisely at 7:00 p.m. to pick up Leah. Isabel was just returning from the party at the Aberdeen Marina Club. Min showed up with Ethan at the same time, adding to the commotion.

“Shush, shush, shhhhhh!” Nancy said, waving a finger. “Keep your voices down.”

She gestured down the hallway toward the closed bedroom door.

“Daddy is sleeping.”