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“Pierre Castille, the Bayou Billionaire. Don’t you think he’d be fascinating?”
“I imagine he’s a busy man.”
She had an amazing poker face. Ever since I saw Pierre Castille drunkenly escorted from the S.E.C.R.E.T. charity event, I had been convinced that there was a link between him and S.E.C.R.E.T. But Matilda was giving nothing away. Realizing the roundabout method wasn’t working, I set down my utensils and clasped my hands together on the table. After more than twenty years as a journalist, I had learned there are times when you have to lay your cards on the table.
“Matilda, I know you know Pierre Castille. I know you’re associated with him in some way. Further, I think you know how to reach him.”
She studied my face placidly. “What’s your particular fascination with Mr. Castille?”
“I told you. He’s a local big shot, a power player in a city where a lot of powerless people live. And he’s elusive. No other news network has interviewed him, so that would be a feather in my cap. And I’d like to ask him some questions about his plans for some land he owns and how his fortune could be better used to—”
Matilda exhaled. “He was a recruit, Solange. In S.E.C.R.E.T. As I’m sure you’ve suspected.”
I had suspected, but still, I tried to mask my astonishment.
“Really? And what happened?”
“Without going into great detail, he pulled some stunts that left our organization in a potentially compromised situation, both economically and in terms of our anonymity. Last year he behaved fraudulently, almost criminally, towards a candidate. So yes, we were associated with Mr. Castille. But we did not escape that association unscathed, my dear. No one does. Not even, I suspect, the Formidable Solange Faraday.”
Twice in one day people close to me had called me formidable. This time, though, I saw it wasn’t a compliment. This time, it was a warning, but one I tried to ignore.
“I’m not sure I quite follow. If S.E.C.R.E.T. was in financial trouble, why did your organization give away fifteen million dollars last year?”
“That was Pierre’s money,” Matilda said, and she went on to explain how Pierre had fraudulently purchased a painting meant to finance S.E.C.R.E.T. for several years to come. “If we’d kept that money, he’d have effectively become our benefactor. And that’s exactly what he wanted—for us to be under his control. We couldn’t have that.”
What a shocking story this would make, filled with intrigue, sex and a tainted fifteen-million-dollar deal.
“Well, I should warn you that I am going to put in a request for a feature interview with him,” I said. “But I’ll steer clear of topics that might … inflame him.” If there was a way to expose Pierre without inadvertently exposing anyone in S.E.C.R.E.T., especially myself, I wanted to find it.
“Putting in the request and having it granted are two different things,” she said. “He’s a tough man to coax into the sunlight.”
Matilda downed the rest of her champagne and then shook her head as thoug
h to clear it of bad memories. Tonight’s prying session was officially over.
“That’s as much attention as I’d like to pay to that man. Because you, my dear, have a lot more to celebrate. Your night is just beginning, after all,” she said, signaling for the bill.
Of course! I had momentarily forgotten the other purpose of our dinner—my Step Four fantasy was meant to begin from here.
“Ready?”
I glanced around the crowded sports bar. “As I’ll ever be!”
Matilda dug into her purse and pulled out a set of car keys. I looked at the logo on the chain and burst out laughing.
“Are you kidding me? A Rolls?”
She dropped the keys into my palm.
“Rolls-Royce Phantom. You have the car for twenty-four hours. The GPS has been pre-programmed. Just hit ‘Go’ on the main menu and follow the directions.”
“It’s so much car! It’s too much car!”
“It is a lot of car. We’re nothing if not generous. But you’ll … need the room.”
Right. “And what am I looking for exactly?”
Matilda glanced around the restaurant and leaned a little closer to me. “You’ll know,” she whispered.
