The Sapphire Affair (A Jewel Novel Book 1) (3 page)

Steph’s shoulders tightened, because these days her feelings for Eli were complicated. While she despised that he’d cheated on her mom and shredded her heart, the little girl in her couldn’t help still loving the only father she’d ever really known. Her own father died of a heart attack when she was three and Robert was four. That was why this internal tug-of-war hurt so much—it was a damn shame that Eli had been such a crummy husband, because he was never a lousy father. He’d been good to Steph her whole life. It was as if he were two men—the good dad she knew and the terrible husband her mother was more familiar with.

Steph raised an eyebrow. “What did you hear?”

“Andrew called. One of his former business partners.”

“This is the Andrew I did a dive tour for a few years back? Your old school friend?” Steph continued, making sure she was remembering the details.

Her mom adjusted her necklace and nodded. “Right. I introduced him to Eli when he needed someone with his skills, and I knew Andrew would be perfect. Anyway, Andrew has been trying to reach him, but he’s too busy in the Caymans with his new fiancée and his new club,
Sapphire
,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she breathed the name like it cost her something. “And I might as well have paid for that damn club. Because Andrew thinks Eli might have used money he stole from the business to start it up.”

Steph’s jaw dropped. That was taking underhanded to a whole new level. But Eli didn’t mess around when it came to his wants and wishes. The thought immediately hit her with a fresh wave of sadness. For a while, making Steph feel happy and loved had been part of those wishes. But that was a long time ago.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked her mom. If only it really were a bad joke.

Steph’s mom held her arms out wide. “That’s what they said. They’re looking into it and trying to figure out where the money the firm invested in a mysterious cocoa bean farm went,” she said, taking a final sip of her mojito.

“Into his nightclub in the Caymans?”

“Supposedly. They might send someone down there to look into it. Hey! I have an idea!” Her mom lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can you lift his Rolex if you happen to see him next time you’re there?”

Steph laughed and draped an arm around her mom’s shoulder. “Gladly. He loves that stupid Rolex. If you teach me how to pickpocket, Mom, I’ll bring that watch back for you, no questions asked.” Steph grabbed her purse and slung it on her shoulder. “Actually,” she said as an idea took hold. “I’m going there for a tour this week.”

Her mom laughed as she set down her emptied drink. “You don’t have to steal his watch, sweetie.”

“No, but maybe I can find out a little bit more about the club and the money. I haven’t been there in several months, since the last time I saw him, but I still know a ton of people. I’ll ask around.”

Steph’s mom shot her a stern stare. “Focus on your tour. Not him. Besides, enough about him. Talking about my ex too much is bad for my chakra,” her mother said, tapping her heart. “That’s what my yoga guru would say. I need to focus on the path in front of me,” she said, pointing into the distance, as if to prove that she wasn’t caught up in the past. “Not the douchenozzle in my past who tried to bleed every last penny from me.” Her mother clasped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her hand. “I shouldn’t talk about your stepdad that way.”

“It’s OK. Sometimes you have to unleash the anti-chakra sentiments,” Steph said with a grin. She may not want to believe Eli could do something so terrible, but she’d never fault her mom for a little smack talk against the man who broke her heart.

Her mom shook her head. “Nope. I need to be a better person. Holding on to the past interferes with my prana. Or something like that.”

“Yeah. Something like that indeed,” Steph muttered, or maybe the prana needed someone to run interference.

For far too long, Steph wasn’t able to do a damn thing about her stepdad’s straying ways. She couldn’t stop his wandering, of course, and she couldn’t make him a better husband, nor could she convince him to play fair in the divorce, though she’d tried, begging him at times to back down. He was like a different person, though, when it came to matters of the heart, and it cut her to the core to see how the same man who’d taught her how to swim, how to multiply fractions, and how to change the tire on a car had turned a deaf ear to her when it came to her pleas about the divorce.

She’d seen her mom give everything for love—her heart, her time, and her money, since she’d given him the funds he needed to start his firm many years ago. The money was a gift; her mom had wanted to help make his dreams come true.

For him to turn around and battle so coldly to keep everything when they split had hollowed out Steph’s insides.

Her chest burned with frustration over how he’d hurt the one person he was supposed to adore, then took her for everything he could get his hands on. Fine, both Eli and her mom had said their feelings for Steph and Robert were totally separate from their marriage, and perhaps that was true. But it was also true that even a happy family could fall apart, and that was just more proof to her that her mother was right—all men were trouble.

After she said good-bye and led a sunset dive that her customers said was one of their Miami vacation highlights—a sentiment that warmed her heart—Steph changed her flight to the Caymans. A few extra days on the front end, and she’d use that time to do some digging.

It might be a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, Eli hadn’t stolen to start his club. Maybe some shred of the man she loved like a father still existed and this was some sort of misunderstanding. Money matters were complicated, after all.

And if he had taken what wasn’t his, perhaps he’d respond to a logical, polite, heartfelt plea to do the right thing. Especially if she was the one to deliver that plea. She’d been his soft spot growing up. Maybe she still could be now.

But if it turned out he’d taken what wasn’t his, then she’d kick this damn hope to the curb and fight like hell to get her mother’s money back.

Because you just can’t let the bastards get away with everything.

CHAPTER THREE

Art, a tropical island, and some bad chocolate. That’s what Jake’s next gig was all about.

Crying shame, since chocolate should only be good.

“Let me get this straight. You think Eli put the stolen money from chocolate investments gone wrong into art, and took that art out of the country?”

His client nodded. “It’s easier to move art than money.”

Jake scratched his chin. “Another question. Chocolate is an actual investment? Should I be buying up Godiva now? Scharffen Berger?” Jake arched an eyebrow as he took off his shades. He looked Andrew in the eyes as the sun cast golden rays on the Key Largo boardwalk. Andrew had driven down from Miami where he was based and hadn’t even balked when Jake moved the location of their meeting from his office to the boardwalk at midday. The gray-haired man was dressed in slacks and a button-down. Jake was dressed for a dip in the water with his nephew when they were done.

“Cocoa beans are a commodity,” Andrew said, wiping a big paw across his sweaty forehead. He had a manila envelope tucked under his arm. “Apparently, cocoa beans are the new coconuts. Or so we thought.”

“Like that coconut water crap?” Jake asked as he peered down the boardwalk to make sure Mason didn’t get too far away on his bike. His nephew pedaled past a sandwich shop. “I mean,
Mother Nature’s sports drink
,” he said in mock seriousness. “What’s next? Chocolate water that makes you healthier?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Don’t even get me started. I tried that coconut water diet and it did nothing for me. Hoping it would have taken ten pounds off the old flat tire here, but no such luck.” He patted his stomach, then pointed to Jake. “But you, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that.”

Jake simply shrugged. No flat tires allowed here, but this meeting wasn’t about diet crazes or the best way to stay in shape. It was about whether Jake could help Andrew and his screwed-over business partner.

He hung his shades on the neck of his T-shirt. “So you’re saying Eli Thompson, who started the Eli Fund twenty years ago, with money his then-wife gave him from sales of her craft fair coral necklace jewelry, so he could launch a hedge fund for ‘
Bob in Middle America
,’” Jake said, stopping to sketch air quotes as he used the term Eli himself bandied about in the marketing of his investment firm, “has been skimming pennies off the top for years?”

“Yup. And you know what happens to lots of pennies over time?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here. Do they turn into dollars? And then do those dollars become Benjamins and so on?” He made a rolling gesture with his hand.

Andrew tapped his nose. “Bingo.”

Jake peered down the boardwalk. “Mason!” he shouted to his sister’s kid, who was speeding off in the distance. “Don’t go past the ice-cream shop. That’s too far.”

“Ten bucks says that’s probably where he’s headed,” Andrew said with a smile.

“Double or nothing says you’re right,” Jake said, then started walking in Mason’s direction. His nephew had just learned to ride a bike after a few solid months of practice. The kid was a natural now, but he was embracing his freedom a little too quickly for his uncle’s taste. With flip-flops slapping on the sidewalk, Jake quickened his pace. “Be right back,” he said to his potential client. Seconds later, Mason turned around and grinned wildly.

“Did you see how far I rode?” Mason shouted from many feet away.

“I did. And it was so far you started to turn into a speck. And a speck of Mason is too small, so stay closer,” Jake said, drawing a circle with his index finger as Mason rode to him. “If you do, we’ll get the chocolate peanut-butter-cup scoop, ’K?”

“My favorite!”

“Mine, too, buddy. Mine, too,” he said, and Jake was already looking forward to an ice-cream cone. That’d be his reward for a potential new business deal. Ice cream—now that’d be an investment worth making. Ice cream never went out of style. Come to think of it, Jake might invest in some Ben & Jerry’s. Or Talenti. That was some seriously good stuff. Ice cream was his guilty pleasure, and since working out was his best friend, he never truly felt guilty.

“I’ll stay closer,” Mason said, the smile never leaving his face as he pedaled in the other direction.

Jake walked back to Andrew, returning his focus to the conversation as they leaned against the boardwalk fence. “How much money are we talking?”

“About ten million.” Andrew shook his head in disgust.

He whistled. “Damn. Skimming is a hot business these days. I made the wrong career choice for getting rich,” he joked.

“You and me both.”

Jake raised his chin, returning to his serious mode. “I need to ask—how did you have no idea this was happening? You and your brother, Aaron, are Eli’s right-hand men in the fund, you said. Was this all under your nose?” He aimed to be direct with clients. Going into work armed with facts was the only way to operate.

“Unfortunately, yes. But we all have different areas of expertise.” Andrew tapped his chest. “That’s how we split up the work, so we could make bets in different areas. Lots of those bets don’t pay off—that’s the nature of a hedge fund. But when the cocoa bean farm went belly-up at the same time Eli retired to the Caymans sooner than we expected him to, that’s when we started thinking there might be a pattern,” he offered, then heaved a deep sigh, flubbing his lips. “Wish I’d caught on to this sooner. Makes me feel stupid not to have checked before.”

“Hey now,” Jake said, trying to reassure the guy. “Don’t beat yourself up. Just give me the details.”

Mason wheeled to a stop by Jake’s side, the brakes braying loudly. “See! I’m going to be a cycling pro like my dad,” he said, then started up again, and Jake fixed on a smile for Mason, not wanting to breathe a negative word about the kid’s deadbeat dad, who was hardly a cycling pro. More like a bum—a cycling groupie who followed the pros around as they raced in Europe, spending more time with them than his own kid who he hadn’t seen in a year.

Mason took off in the other direction, and Jake locked eyes with Andrew once more. “My sister’s at a parent-teacher conference,” he said, explaining.

“Hey, no worries. I’ve got three of my own,” Andrew said.

“Anyway, so what did you find out? I want to understand as much as I can if I’m going to take this on.”

Andrew took a deep breath, then explained how Eli funneled a bit of dough each year into odd investments that didn’t pan out, pocketing the money, bit by bit so the other partners wouldn’t notice. “The most recent one was the cocoa bean farm. Once that went bust, he retired to the Caymans and opened a nightclub. Ergo . . .” Andrew let his voice trail off with the obvious.

“Ah, the Caymans. The haven of money fraud.” Jake crossed his arms. “OK, fine. So he supposedly embezzled all this money over the years from these little hidden investments.”

Another nod. “We believe that’s what happened.”

Jake blew out a long stream of air. “That’s a pretty serious allegation. Got any proof?”

Three simple words, but they meant everything right now. No way was Jake going into this situation without some hard evidence.

Andrew nodded and tapped the manila folder he’d brought with him. “We started digging into his files. His e-mails. Anything we could find from the servers. He was pretty thorough in covering his trail, but our IT forensics team was able to track down a few unusual e-mails. Some we’re still sorting through, but one of them includes a deleted e-mail from Eli to Constantine Trevino,” he said, and Jake’s eyebrows drew together.

Jake knew the name. Everyone in his line of work—recovering stolen goods—knew the name. Need art moved illegally? You called Constantine. Want blood diamonds? He was your guy. Hankering for some ivory tusks? Constantine was the middleman.

“The luxury-goods trafficker,” Jake said as Andrew unfastened the clasp on the envelope. “I know of him. He can move anything.”

“Evidently. That’s why our radar went off. In this e-mail, Eli references a payment for ten million dollars. That’s the amount that’s missing. Well, to be precise, it was $10,003,597. We can document that as the money that’s missing from the investments in the fund over the last five years. It was incredibly calculated as far as I can see. The missing money over time added up to the money cited in this transaction, which also references the need for
safe transport, for a grand
.”

Andrew handed him the paperwork. Jake read the e-mail carefully, as well as the related documents. That was some damning evidence right there in black and white, but Jake still wanted his sister Kate to vet it. In the years since he’d started this business, she’d developed and honed her expertise in all sorts of document verification, and he relied on her eyes and her analytical mind to confirm that the evidence added up. What Jake brought to the table, besides the on-the-ground work, was his possession of an excellent bullshit detector, and so far it wasn’t ringing in concern. The man seemed legit.

“You have digital copies, too?” he asked, handing the papers to Andrew.

“Yes. I can send them over immediately.”

“You said you think the ten million he embezzled from the fund went into art. Into a painting. Why art?”

“His fiancée runs an art gallery that sells high-end art to discerning buyers in the Cayman Islands. And,” Andrew said, taking a beat, “because art is portable and it requires
safe transport
.”

“For a grand?”

“Evidently.”

Jake nodded, letting the details soak in, from the amount, to the parties involved, to the methodical level of planning.

“Question for you. Tell me why I should care. Tell me why I should get on a plane and go to the Caribbean and track down your guy and his painting. Tell me something other than the fee you’re going to pay me. Because money isn’t my only motivation. I need to know why this matters.”

Jake had nothing against money, and he definitely enjoyed the way dollars he earned paid for college for his younger brother, Brandt, who was applying to law school, and his little sister, Kylie. The baby of the family, she’d been struggling in a few classes but, fingers crossed, was starting to turn her grades around. But he wasn’t in this line of business for the greenbacks.

He was in it because he craved the chance to right a wrong.

“Here’s why,” Andrew said, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “The whole average Joe and Bob in Middle America approach of our firm? That’s true. That’s who we serve. We built this company with Eli on the premise of making a hedge fund accessible to the guy who runs a body shop in Ohio or to the woman who operates her own booth at a hair salon. Real people, saving money for retirement, saving the money for their kids’ college funds.” That hit close to home, making Jake’s chest twinge with both anger and memories. His parents had been Middle Americans through and through. Dad was a retired cop in Tampa, and Mom had worked in dispatch. They’d been tucking money aside for both causes and never had the chance to see either retirement or any of their four kids go to college—not Kate, not Jake, and not the two younger ones, Brandt and Kylie.

“Those are the people who got screwed by Eli’s cocoa bean farm that didn’t pan out,” Andrew said, jabbing his finger against the wood post. “I don’t care if you get the money back for me. I truly don’t. I’ll survive just fine. But I do care about the hairdresser. And I do care about the mechanic. And I do care that Eli ‘Cocoa-Beans-are-the-New-Coconut-Water’ Thompson made off with their money. We want to locate the painting, or paintings, he bought with the fund’s money, sell the art through legitimate channels, and put the money back into the fund. This is the rightful property of the Eli Fund, not the rightful property of Eli Thompson.”

That was compelling enough, but Jake had more questions, similar to ones he’d ask any client. “Why not go to the cops? The SEC?”

“We’re a private firm, so it’s not an SEC matter. Plus, we want to see if we can resolve this as quietly as possible, keep our existing clients, and restore the money to them.”

“Send me the paperwork today. Kate will handle it and we’ll get back to you with a decision,” he said.

Andrew grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket. “I’ve got it all in a draft for you. On its way to you and Kate,” he said, swiping the screen.

Jake nodded a thanks, then held up a finger. “One more thing. If there’s a raisin grove in Jamaica I’m thinking of putting some cash into,” he said, stroking his chin as if in deep thought, “would you tell me that’s a bad idea? My financial advisor wants me to drop a cool grand into it. Says raisins are the new grapefruit diet,” he said, keeping a straight face.

Andrew eyed him seriously for a split second, then cracked up, pointing playfully at Jake. “You almost had me there for a second. You really had me. And, by the way, the answer is yes. Raisins are a very bad idea.”

After Andrew left, Jake and Mason played in the waves for a bit.

“Want to get some raisin ice cream?” Jake asked his nephew as they toweled off.

Mason crinkled his nose. “Eww.”

“How about fig sherbet?”

The kid laughed and shook his head.

“I know. Why don’t we try chia seed gelato?”

“Gross!”

“Fine, fine,” Jake said, pretending to relent as they headed to grab chocolate peanut-butter-cup cones. By the time he returned to the office two hours later, with a conked-out Mason sound asleep in his arms, Kate said everything from Andrew checked out, so Jake booked the next flight to the Caymans.

“What did you learn about Eli Thompson?” he asked his sister as Mason snoozed on the couch in the corner of the office.

“He studied art history in college before he moved into finance. His fiancée has made some pretty impressive art deals over the years,” Kate said, her blue eyes as fierce as he’d ever seen them. Kate shared the same drive, the same motivation as Jake. No surprise there. She’d practically raised Jake and the younger siblings after their parents were killed in a car crash when he and Kate were teenagers. “Her name is Isla, and the gallery she runs is pretty classy. I checked out its location. There’s a bar down the block from the art gallery she works out of if you want to stop in and ask around.”