A King's ransom

54

“You and Alex shared the same apartment?” asked Jenna.We were having dinner together, our first opportunity to regroup since my return from Colombia. Over a glass of red wine and an appetizer of steamed mussels, I’d told her all about the trip, and she’d asked intelligent questions. This last one had seemed to leap from her lips, as if she’d finally figured out the sleeping arrangements.

“It’s a big place, owned by one of her friends,” I said. “Alex had one room, I had another.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I feel like I do. You asked.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I’m your cocounsel, not your. . whatever.”

The waitress brought us more baguettes, then smiled and said something in French as she left. Le Bouchon in Coconut Grove was one of my favorite bistros. It was a cozy place with wooden tables and chairs, Tour de France posters on the walls, and tasty French food at prices that even a guy who was hard up for three million dollars could afford.

“Does she ever ask about me?” asked Jenna.

“Who, Alex?”

“Yes. She must think it’s strange, your ex-fiancee helping you.”

“Mmm. She’s never really said anything.”

Jenna smiled knowingly. “You’re such a bad liar.”

I smiled back. “Okay, it might have come up.”

“What’s her take on it?”

I sipped my wine, tore off a piece of bread, brushed the crumbs away. Basically I was stalling, wondering how she’d feel if I were to tell her that Alex’s first take on Jenna and me was that I’d never really loved her.

“She definitely had the wrong idea about us at first,” I said vaguely, knowing how completely wrong Alex had been. “But she has a much better understanding now.”

“What does that mean?”

“She thinks it takes a pretty special person to step up and help me the way you have. And so do I.”

Our eyes locked for a moment, then a moment longer. It had been months since I’d looked so deeply inside her. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

The waitress politely interrupted and took our plates. Jenna looked away, and by the time the waitress had left, so had the moment.

“Tell me about Guillermo’s wife,” she said.

“Uh, sure,” I said, stumbling as I shifted gears. Once I’d refocused, it took only a few minutes to fill her in.

When I’d finished, she asked, “Are you going to go after him?”

“How do you mean?”

“You were suspicious of Guillermo before you met his wife. The only missing piece in the puzzle was whether Guillermo knew for a fact that your father had kidnap-and-ransom insurance when he sent him on that trip to Colombia. Now you know.”

“It still bothers me that in court the insurance company pointed the finger at Lindsey, not Guillermo.”

“Maybe they suspect a lovers’ pact. Daddy didn’t approve of the May-December romance, so they got rid of Daddy. While they were at it, they split a three-million-dollar insurance policy with the thugs they hired to kidnap him.”

“There’s no way Lindsey did that.”

She took a little more wine, then said, “If you’re sure of that, then maybe you’ll like my new idea.”

“What is it?”

“First you have to tell me that you’re sure about Lindsey. Because if we go this route and it turns out your sister isn’t squeaky clean, you could end up sending her to jail for a very long time.”

“I’m as sure as I can be. And I hate to say it, but if I’m wrong, I guess Lindsay deserves what she gets.”

She leaned into the table, seemingly excited about her pitch. “Tell the government to forget about the immunity that Agent Huitt has been offering you in exchange for incriminating information on Guillermo. Tell them you want reward money.”

“What kind of reward?”

“I did some research while you were in Colombia. The Diplomatic Security Service oversees a reward program for informants who come forward with information against international terrorists. Kidnappers are considered terrorists. If Guillermo set up your father, he’s a coconspirator, a terrorist in his own right.”

“Sounds interesting in theory. But we’re pretty pressed for time.”

“They might bite fast. The FBI sure seems eager to nail him on something. Terrorism is a lot juicier than just another drug-smuggling case.”

“Except that our pitch still has holes in it.”

“Such as?”

“Start at the top,” I said. “As far as we can prove, the only talk Guillermo and my father ever had about kidnap-and-ransom insurance was at the brunch where Guillermo’s wife figured out that my mother was pregnant. That was back in August.”

“So?”

“These policies are country-specific. The trip to Colombia wasn’t even on the map back then.”

“The original policy didn’t cover Colombia?”

“Heck no. You don’t buy coverage for Colombia unless you know for certain that you’re going there. It jerks the price way up.”

“Then how did your dad get coverage for Colombia?”

“That came later. The insurance company issued a Colombia rider before the trip.”

“Couldn’t Guillermo have been in on that?”

“We can’t prove that he was. The policy was issued to my dad, not the company. The only thing we can prove is that two people knew about the extension of coverage to Colombia- my dad and the insurance company.”

My words hung in the air. We looked at each other, Jenna seeming to read my mind.

“Maybe that’s enough,” she said.

“Does it make sense?”

“Think it through. Why would an insurance company tip off rebels to kidnap one of its own policyholders?”

“It wouldn’t. But a renegade employee might.”

She smiled, the proverbial light seeming to go on. “That would certainly give Quality Insurance Company something to hide. Which would explain their scorched-earth litigation tactics.”

I felt the excitement between us, but it was checked by the daunting reality that we both fully appreciated as lawyers.

“The question is, how do we prove it?”