Money to Burn

60

“WE’RE ALL SET,” SAID WALD, AS HE TUCKED AWAY HIS CELL PHONE.

He was seated beside his uncle in the cabin of a Eurocopter EC225 Super Puma helicopter. They’d just touched down on a helipad in Somerset County after a short flight from Manhattan that had reduced the famous skyline to a blur of lights on the horizon. The whir of the rotors was almost down to nothing, making it unnecessary to use headsets or even raise their voices when talking.

“Very good,” said McVee.

It was his nephew’s second update of the night. The first had been within minutes of the shoot-out at the hospital: Ivy Layton wasn’t dead, but her run had come to an end. Burn had her at his mercy and under his control, and the death van was en route to an appropriate disposal site. McVee had been just fine with that-until the surprise phone call from Michael Cantella’s brother: “Michael knows it’s you,” he’d told McVee, “and if anything happens to him, me, or anyone in our family, the FBI is going to be all over you.”

Wald glanced out the window at the rising moon, then back at his uncle.

“Are you sure about this?”

McVee’s expression tightened. “There are two ways to read that call from Cantella’s brother. One, he’s already gone to the FBI. Or two, it was a threat. A very serious threat.”

“I understand, but-”

“No ‘buts,’” said McVee. “If he’s already gone to the FBI, there’s nothing we can do about it. But if it’s a threat, and if we back away from it, extortion is right around the corner. The first payment is never enough to keep a blackmailer from telling the police what he knows. They keep coming back, and the price tag is always higher the next time. In this case, it’ll just keep going up and up until it’s out of sight-especially when Cantella and his brother get a better understanding of exactly how much we stand to profit from credit default swaps after Saxton Silvers’ bankruptcy.”

Wald smiled. “A cool bonus that taking care of Ivy Layton is so profitable.”

Remarks like that made it so clear to McVee that his nephew could never lead Ploutus. The kid always had everything backward. “Getting rid of Ivy Layton is the bonus on top of the business, genius.”

“Huh?”

“Even before she was in the picture I had plans to short sell an investment bank into oblivion. Ivy’s showing up just made it that much easier to decide Saxton Silvers should be first on the list.”

“How much do we stand to make?”

“More than you can fathom,” said McVee, “and it’s none of your business. Your job is to deal with the threat.”

“Well, we’re all set. I spoke directly to Burn. There’s been a temporary stay of execution for Ivy Layton. He is to use her as bait.”

“There’s no compromising on this point. My gut tells me that Cantella and his brother haven’t gone to the FBI yet, and I’m not about to pay them hush money for the rest of my days. Burn has to be prepared to eliminate all of them.”

“The mother, too?”

“She’s no innocent. Ivy never would have gotten away without her help. And something tells me it was the mother who taught Ivy all her tricks in the first place.”

“Understood,” said Wald. “All of them. I’ll tell him it’s ‘as per Michael Cantella,’” he added, referring to the infamous e-mail.

McVee unbuckled his seat belt, then stopped before rising. “Did you work out a price?”

“He said you two already came to an understanding when you went for a ride in the limo.”

“What understanding?”

“At first I thought he was making a joke,” said Wald, “but he was serious. Something about the new line on our balance sheet: Money to Burn.”

McVee almost smiled, recalling the conversation and his own play on words. He took Burn’s meaning: this job would cost so much that McVee would have to pay it quarterly, maybe even in annual installments. But it would be worth it.

“Fine,” said McVee. “Money to Burn it is.”