Forsythe looked at his wrist watch. “It’s almost 9:00. Why don’t I call the bank? I’ll check to see if the money is in. There should be no reason that the funds aren’t in your account before noon today.” He dialed a number on his cell and conducted a brief conversation with someone. When he hung up, he announced, “Congratulations. The funds have arrived.”
Forsythe thanked the people in the room and then followed Mitchell and Pedace to the front entrance.
“Do you have any idea how important this money is to St. Anne’s?” Pedace said.
Forsythe felt his professional mask shatter. His face felt hot and his eyes flitted from Pedace to Mitchell, and back again to Pedace. “St. Anne’s is a shelter for abused women. I’m sure there are more demands for its services than there are resources to meet those demands.”
“That’s right,” Mitchell said. “Did you know that more than one in three American women have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by a domestic partner? Mr. Pedace’s gift will make a tremendous difference in St. Anne’s being able to expand its mission.” Mitchell smiled. “You’re doing God’s work, Mr. Forsythe.”
Forsythe felt as though a golf ball was lodged in his throat and a barbell draped on his shoulders. He had to force himself to put one foot in front of the other as he walked to his car.
An uncomfortable sensation had put Bruno on edge as he’d watched Charlie during the meeting. The sensation was even more intense as his old friend exited the building. He said to Frank Mitchell, “I’ll be right back,” and rushed after Forsythe.
Outside, Bruno saw Forsythe step into the parking lot, approach a Mercedes sports car, and remotely pop open the vehicle’s trunk. He reached the car as Forsythe placed the folio in the trunk and closed the lid.
“You okay, Carlo?”
The use of his birth name seemed to unsettle Forsythe. He wouldn’t make eye contact.
“I’d better get to my office to verify wire instructions with the bank, Bruno.”
“What’s going on, Carlo? Something’s bothering you.”
“No…no.” He showed a weak smile. “Everything’s fine.”
Bruno continued to stare at Forsythe as he slid into the car. The man cranked the ignition, looked in the rearview mirror, and slipped the shifter into reverse.
“Why didn’t you verify the wire instructions for the transfer to the St. Anne’s account when you had the bank on the phone?”
He looked straight ahead and spread his arms. “I-I guess I could have. I just wanted to send something official on company stationery.”
Before he removed his foot from the brake pedal, Forsythe turned, made eye contact for barely a second, and said, “What will you do now?”
“Find someplace else to live…as soon as you cash out the bonds I still have.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about them.”
Pedace raised his briefcase and asked, “You going to take my bonds with you?”
Forsythe hesitated a moment. “Why don’t you hold onto them? Call me tomorrow. We can take care of them then.”
“But—”
Before Bruno could finish, Forsythe backed out of his parking spot and roared away.
The sensation that had hit Bruno in the conference room now became even more severe. He felt sick to his stomach. He tried to rationalize Carlo’s behavior, but there was only one conclusion that made any sense: Sy Rosen had somehow gotten to his old friend.
But why didn’t Carlo take my bonds?
Bruno wheeled around and ran to the building entrance. Janet had just stepped out of the front door as he ran to her.
“What’s wrong, Bruno? You look like—”
“We have a problem. Can you drive me somewhere?”
Janet waggled her keys at him. “I was just going out to get a cappuccino to celebrate.”
“You’d better put off any celebration.”
Charles Forsythe’s hands shook as though he had palsy. About to climb the hill up Herondo Street, on the east side of the PCH, he pulled to the curb and took long, steadying breaths. The clock on the dashboard showed 9:25. Five minutes to contact Casale.
The phone shook in his hand as he dialed. It took three attempts to punch in the correct number.
“Right at the deadline,” Casale answered.
Forsythe swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have the key to the safety deposit box where the documents are.”
“Good start. How about Mr. Rosen’s cash?”
“It’s in my firm’s trust account.”
“Well, you’d better reverse the wire and send the money back to Mr. Rosen.”
Forsythe swallowed hard, but the lump that had formed in his throat seemed lodged there permanently. “I’ll take care of it as soon as I get back to my office.”
“And what about your old friend Pedace?”
Forsythe felt a pain like a knife in his heart. How did this guy know he and Bruno were old friends?
“What about him?”
“I want to know where to find him.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“Make a U-turn and cross the PCH. Go down to the old power plant and park at the dead end.”
Forsythe twisted in his seat and looked all around. There was a Toyota parked halfway back down Herondo. The driver flashed his lights. “How the hell did you know where I was?”
“You think I was going to trust you? I’ve been on your ass since you left your house this morning.”
Forsythe pulled a U-turn and caught the green light at the PCH.
“Where are we going?” Janet asked.
“Charles Forsythe’s office in Beverly Hills.”
“To do what?”
“I think Charlie is about to do something very, very wrong.”
Janet felt panic as Bruno explained what he thought was going on.
“But the money’s already been wired.”
Bruno groaned and said, “Yeah, to Charlie’s brokerage account. But what if he just reverses the transaction and sends the cash back to Rosen, Rice & Stone?”
“We can sue him and your old partners; we had a deal,” Janet said.
Bruno scoffed. “Janet, the documents that my old firm is paying for are in a safety deposit box. I gave the box key to Charlie. If he sends the money back to the Rosen firm, he’ll also give them the key. They’ll get the docs, destroy them, and be home free. What are we going to do? Sue them all for changing their mind about making a charitable gift to St. Anne’s?”
“Forsythe signed the papers. We’ll sue him and his firm for fraud…or something.”
Bruno just shook his head.
Janet groaned as she went up the PCH.
Past the Redondo Beach arch, Bruno suddenly shouted, “Stop!”
She took a right before Herondo and pulled into a landscape business’s parking lot. “What’s wrong?”
Bruno pointed off to the left. “That was Charlie in that convertible.”
“You’re sure?”
“Dammit, I’m sure. Turn around and go after him.”
By the time Janet had turned around and crossed the PCH, the Mercedes convertible had parked at the end of the street, down by the closed power plant. A Honda was parked beside it. The driver’s side door of each car was open, as were the cars’ trunks. Forsythe and another man stood behind the Mercedes. As she drove down the hill, still about one hundred yards away from the men, Bruno ordered, “Pull over.” When she did, he exited her car and said, “Wait here. Don’t get out under any circumstances.”