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CHAPTER 50
Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 4, 2021
IT WAS 9:30 P.M. WHEN THEY LEFT THE RUM HOUSE. THEIR NEXT DESTINATION was not discussed, but they headed back toward the Lowell. As they walked, they heard a pop behind them, turned, and saw the cascading streaks of an arching firework far off in the distance. The fireworks display was staged near the Brooklyn Bridge and set off from barges on the East River. A pinwheel rocketed into the sky and expanded into a burst of brightness. The subtle boom came a second later, delayed by having to travel halfway up the island of Manhattan to reach them. They stood quietly and watched for a minute. Walt felt Avery take his hand and intertwine her fingers with his. After a few minutes they turned and headed to Avery’s hotel.
When they reached the front entrance, Avery tugged and he followed her inside. The elevator deposited them on the eighth floor. Walt felt his shirt begin to stick to his back again, and preemptively blotted his forehead with the back of his hand. He followed Avery down the hallway and stood behind her as she unlocked the door. Following her through the entryway, he spotted the thin metal box on the edge of the coffee table. To him, it was as obvious as if another person were standing in the room waiting for them.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Avery said. “I’ll be right out.”
As soon as the bathroom door closed Walt exhaled, allowing his shoulders to relax and his chin to drop to his chest. He hurried over and grabbed the box. If he planned to plant the bugs, now would be the time to do it. It took him only a fraction of a second to decide against it. He would not allow Avery’s private conversations to be recorded. Jim Oliver could go to hell. He dropped the box into his pocket just as Avery walked from the bathroom.
He checked his watch. “You know what? I think I’m going to get going.”
Avery walked over to him and put her hands on his chest. She kissed his lips, and all the guilt and apprehension Walt had felt earlier in the night evaporated. He pulled her close so their hips touched, then he lifted her off her feet and carried her a few paces until they fell onto the bed. The pages of Victoria Ford’s manuscripts flew like confetti into the air. Neither noticed.
CHAPTER 51
Manhattan, NY Monday, July 5, 2021
THEY JOGGED THE TRAILS THROUGH CENTRAL PARK ON MONDAY morning. When they had woken thirty minutes earlier, the awkwardness from the previous morning was gone. Avery had felt no need to sneak out. Instead, she had leaned over his sleeping body and whispered in his ear.
“I need a run.”
Walt slivered an eye open. “Is that your way of making me leave?”
“No, I just don’t want you to think I snuck out again. Want to come with?”
“I’ll have to grab shorts and shoes from my hotel.”
“Central Park. Meet you at Columbus Circle in twenty minutes.”
As they jogged now Avery could see that the paths were more congested than they had been over the weekend. Tuesday would mark the return to normal, and before long the city would be as crowded as always. A tinge of melancholy soured her stomach. The past weekend had felt like some sort of oasis that belonged to just her and Walt—it had started with dinner at Keens and was, sadly, ending this morning. In addition to reviewing the Cameron Young case, they had shared painful secrets about their pasts. Aside from Connie Clarkson, Walt was the first person Avery had discussed her father with. He hadn’t seemed stunned or scared or appalled or any of the other reactions Avery imagined people having when they found out who her father was. The truth, Avery finally understood, was that Walt’s reaction was normal. Her father’s crimes were not a reflection of who she was.
They ended their run at 9:00 a.m. and each headed back to their hotel to shower and change. Avery arrived at the restaurant first and was seated at a table for two on the outdoor patio. She sipped coffee and scrolled through her phone. Christine Swanson had gotten back to her on the research Avery had asked her to do on Natalie Ratcliff. Christine believed in only two modes of communication—text messages or face-to-face meetings. And so, when Avery checked her phone she found it filled with foot-long texts from Christine containing links to articles and stories about Natalie Ratcliff, her husband, and his wealthy family, along with Christine’s own commentary. As Avery scrolled, she learned that Natalie Ratcliff wrote books for the pure joy of storytelling, not due to any fiduciary obligation to support her family. Her in-laws more than had life’s finances covered. The Ratcliffs owned and operated the second largest cruise line conglomerate in the United States, the fourth largest in the world. But unlike the other behemoths in the industry, Ratcliff International Cruise Lines was privately owned with no outside money.
Avery scrolled through the texts and found a link to Forbes magazine’s 2019 list of wealthiest Americans. The Ratcliff clan held several spots. Natalie Ratcliff’s husband, Don, was worth $1.4 billion and the posh apartment at One 57 suddenly made more sense to Avery. Natalie’s father-in-law, and the longtime CEO of Ratcliff Enterprises, held a healthy $3.5 billion net worth. Avery looked up from her phone, took a sip of coffee, and contemplated her far-fetched idea about Natalie Ratcliff and her friend, Victoria Ford. As she mulled the possibilities and worked to connect the dots, she spotted Walt walking along the sidewalk toward the entrance of the restaurant. Out of his running shorts and sweaty shirt, he wore khakis and a dressed-up T-shirt. He had the build of a man who kept himself in shape, and she noticed again how attractive he was. Not for the first time this weekend, Avery wondered what the hell she was doing.
“I’m sorry?” the waitress asked.
Avery, suddenly aware that she had spoken her thoughts aloud, cleared her throat. “Oh, nothing. Sorry. Actually”—Avery turned over the coffee mug opposite her—“my . . . breakfast mate just arrived.”
Breakfast mate?
The waitress smiled and poured from a carafe of coffee she carried. Avery emptied two cream containers into Walt’s coffee and stirred as her mind continued to run. She had come to New York to procure a falsified passport from the man she had been put in touch with named André. The only person—she was told—who could be trusted for such a task. André didn’t have the greatest bedside manner, Avery had been warned, but she should trust him explicitly, and listen to anything he had to tell her. She had come to New York under the ruse of chasing the story of Victoria Ford. Both projects were now in full swing and would command much of her concentration. And yet here she was, starting a relationship with a man who lived in Jamaica and who came back to New York once a year to exorcise the demons that still haunted him from a previous relationship. If there was ever a playbook for failure, Avery was following it. Still, she couldn’t stop images from the previous night from flashing in her mind. She quickly shook the memories away as she watched Walt walk onto the outdoor patio. He smiled when he spotted her.
As he sat down across from her, Avery removed the spoon from his coffee mug. “Two creams, no sugar,” she said.
Walt’s face carried a curious look. “Good guess. But what if I took my coffee black?”
“You don’t.”
Walt looked at her with a creased forehead.
“It’s a weird thing with me. I pay attention to other people’s coffee habits. I saw two empty creams on the coffee bar in your hotel room on Saturday. Sugars were untouched.”
Walt slowly nodded. “Very creepy, but I sort of like it.”
The waitress came and they ordered breakfast.
