Simply Lies

Chapter 76

“Can we meet?” said Gibson.

She was on the phone with Francine, who had just gotten back from her encounter with Rochelle, and her brother.

“Yes, same place?”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Gibson drove over in her van and found Francine waiting for her in front of the café. She had on a floppy hat, glasses, and a dark blue suit.

They sat outside with iced teas, and Gibson opened her laptop.

Before she could show what was on it, Francine said, “I found my mother. And I saw Rochelle and Dougie.”

“What! How?”

Francine explained her method for tracking them down.

“Pretty ingenious,” noted Gibson. “But you left her there?”

“She’s actually far happier with them than she was at the facility in Greenville. And they won’t let anything happen to her. They want the money.”

“Okay. So... how was your brother?”

“In some ways the same, and in some ways different. I was going to try to figure out how to get him away from Rochelle.”

“And?”

“And then I realized he was happy with her. In fact, I think they were made for each other. Sort of threw a wrench in my plans.”

“Of what, reuniting your family?” Gibson said dubiously.

She gazed off. “I’ve spent so much time alone that... well, I thought I might try another slice of life.”

“But?”

“But I can see now that that won’t work. Too much time has passed. We’re all too different.” She looked at the laptop. “So, show me what you found.”

“You know about NFTs?”

“I do, but don’t tell me my father did, too?”

“It looks like it.” Gibson clicked on some keys and then held the laptop at an angle so Francine could see. “I found a bit of dangling code on one of the accounts that your father had closed out. I think he did that on purpose, sort of another breadcrumb to the treasure. So I followed it up.”

“Well, NFTs are definitely twenty-first century,” remarked Francine.

“Yes, they are. So that fits in with the note he left.”

“But what sort of NFT could he have dumped a half billion dollars on?”

Gibson gaped. “Is that how much money we’re talking about?”

“That’s what I calculated, yes.”

“Holy shit.”

“ ‘Holy shit’ probably doesn’t cut it.”

“I found this.” She hit one more key, and an image came up on the screen.

“That’s a room,” noted Francine. “Where is it?”

“Heard of the metaverse?”

“The nonreality reality where we all have avatars doing shit we could either do for real, like going to a party or attending a concert, or insane stuff we would never do for real, like BASE jumping in a wingsuit.”

“Right,” said Gibson. “And you can also buy stuff that doesn’t actually exist. Well, it does in the metaverse. Including real estate. Anything from a house to ad space at a football stadium, at least virtually.” Gibson pointed at the computer screen. “That room is in a piece of real estate Harry bought on the metaverse.”

“Where is it located?” asked Francine.

“That I’m not sure about. The digital trail was obscured for some reason. Usually, it’s pretty well laid out.”

“What’s that on the walls?”

Gibson hit a key to zoom in. “Artwork.”

Francine leaned in for a better look. “What sort of artwork?”

“Digital images of famous pieces of artwork. I’ve already identified them.” She used her cursor to hover over each. “This is a Degas, that one’s a Monet, the one on the left is a Vermeer. The three along this wall, the first one is a Winslow Homer, the next a Mary Cassatt, and the last one is a John Singer Sargent. There are others, in other rooms. But you get the gist.”

“Okay, but these are digital copies, not the real things. How much could they be worth?”

“I checked on that, too. These are authorized one-of-a-kind copies with blockchain provenance. I guess museums and people who own these works saw a way to make some money without actually selling the original. Everyone’s getting in on it. I calculated that all told, these NFTs add up to about five million bucks total. I think that was pretty much a vanity purchase. I mean, who would want to shell out that much money for a digital copy, even with authentic provenance? I doubt he could resell it or make money.”

“But that’s nowhere near the fortune that I calculated he left behind. And he ripped off Trask, too, so there has to be more.” She glanced at the screen. “And is there any way to at least get ahold of these NFTs?”

“Not without the private key.”

“Is that contained in some other clue we haven’t found yet?”

“It might be. I did learn that your father used things like substitution ciphers when he was doing the books for the mobsters. So he might have employed that here, too.”

“Really good work, Mickey, but we seem a long way from getting any money out of this.”

“I know.”

“And let’s not forget the very real possibility that my father has screwed us over.”

Gibson glanced nervously at Francine. “So, tell me more about seeing Rochelle and your brother. Did you learn anything new?”

“I learned that back in New Mexico Rochelle rode shotgun for me in a way I didn’t realize.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she took shit from some others so they would leave me alone.”

“Why would she do that?”

Francine slid her sunglasses down and eyed Gibson. “Principally, because she loves my brother. My brother loved me. So, as she said, I was precious. She sacrificed her body for mine.”

“Damn.”

“And all this time I had seen her as the enemy.”

“And Bruce Dixon?”

“Dougie admitted to killing him, but Rochelle said that Bruce came after him with a machete when they showed up at his place. Dougie had no choice. It was him or Bruce.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“According to Rochelle, Bruce was not nearly as nice a guy as I thought.”

She went on to tell Gibson about Dixon raping Rochelle and then stealing her necklace.

After a long moment of silence Gibson said, “What happened to Rochelle’s father?”

“Don’t know. He disappeared pretty soon after my dad did. I told you her mother had done a runner already, like mine. So when Rochelle and I turned eighteen, we got the hell out. There was no reason to stay. And, as I told you before, Dougie and Rochelle later went off together. They’ve been together ever since.”

“How did your brother look?”

“Physically, not great. But...” She paused and glanced at Gibson. “He seems really happy with Rochelle. And she with him.” She cleared her throat. “That’s more than I have.” She frowned. “Sorry, that’s self-pity bullshit, I know.”

“I think it’s just being human.”

Francine’s next words were said in a businesslike tone. “And if we can’t get the money right now, there is something we can get.”

“What?”

She pulled a notebook from her bag and held it up. “Earl Fucking Beckett.”