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“We’ll find out come morning when the banks open. But assuming her attorney could convince a judge you’ve been hiding assets, then yes she can. If I had to guess, this forensic accountant of hers suggested it. Trying to force your hand to see where your money is moving from.”
Charles carried his glass and the bottle of whiskey to his desk, then sat. “She wants to start a war? I’m willing to dig in for as long as it takes.”
“Or you could pay her what she’s asking and end it.”
“No.” Charles took a swig of his drink. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed that, he thought.
His phone rang. It was Fisk. Finally.
“I have an update from Jamaica,” Fisk said. “You may not like what you hear, but, I assure you, it’ll work out.”
He clenched his glass in his hand. “Work out? Are you telling me you failed to get the documents?”
“About that . . . Turns out, the Fargos may have survived after all.”
Anger surged through him. “What the— How is it those two keep slipping through your fingers?”
“I told you, they aren’t your average couple. Sam Fargo has extensive training at DARPA and possibly even the CIA. The wife was a Boston College graduate . . .” Avery heard him shuffling papers as he checked his notes. “. . . with a master’s in anthropology and history with a focus on ancient trade routes.”
“Which explains her interest in treasure. What it doesn’t explain is how she escaped.”
“Unless you factor in that she’s extremely intelligent—and an expert marksman.”
“And what? Somebody handed her a gun on board the Golfinho? I don’t want to hear excuses for your failures. I pay you for confirmed results.”
“Mistakes were made. They’re being addressed.”
“I was under the impression that the crew you hired to take over the Golfinho was more than capable of dealing with a couple of spoiled jet-setters who keep sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“As mentioned, they’ve been dealt with. In the meantime, we have a lead on the Fargos. My men were able to follow them from the car rental to Kingston. Unfortunately, the Fargos managed to evade them. But they won’t for long.”
“I thought you said that these men were capable of getting the job done.”
“They are.”
“Then how is it that these two meddlesome socialites have managed to elude them thus far? To me, that sounds as though your men are anything but capable.”
“I warned you the Fargos were resourceful.”
Charles slammed his glass to the desk, whiskey sloshing over the rim. “You told me that you could handle this. That your men could handle this.”
“They can. And they will.”
“They better. I want those documents and then the Fargos eliminated. Period. If you can’t trust them to get the job done, then handle it yourself. I want results, not incompetence.”
“Understood. We do have a plan. I’ll call you once the details are firmed up.”
Charles dropped the phone into the cradle, grabbed his glass, then took a long drink.
“I take it,” Winton said, “the news isn’t good?”
“How about you concentrate on keeping my wife from getting her hands on my fortune. I’ll worry about my extracurricular activities.”
“As long as you’re aware that any money you’re moving toward those activities might be discovered.”
“I’m well aware of the risks.”
Winton nodded, then stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll see myself out.”
