Winner Takes All

Winner Takes All

  Linda Johnson

  Copyright 2011 Linda Johnson

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  Winner Takes All is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  The party was in full swing by the time he showed up. Robert Lewiston liked to make a grand entrance, even at his own house. No sense wasting his time making small talk with the early arrivals.

  As he swept down the grand staircase, the living room grew quiet. He had directed the band to pause while he addressed his guests. Stopping midway on the stairs, he raised his arms. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  The crowd laughed – his humble abode was a ten thousand square foot mansion nestled into the hills of Rio de Janeiro overlooking the city lights and the ocean beyond.

  “Anything and everything you can possibly desire is here tonight,” he said, as his arm swept behind him. On cue, a parade of stunning men and women began to snake their way down the stairs.

  As the prostitutes began to circulate through the room, Robert yelled out, “Someone bring me a glass of champagne.” The closest waiter hustled up the stairs, and Robert grabbed a glass from the tray. Holding it high above his head, he grinned broadly. “Let’s have a party!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers as the band began to play the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Got a Feeling”. Robert watched as the party guests began gyrating to the music. In seconds, the room was a whirling mass of hips and hair.

  For a moment, Robert stayed where he was, watching the crowd, as he guzzled down two glasses of champagne. Then he bounded down the stairs and made his way to a prostitute who had caught his eye.

  Pulling her away from the man she was dancing with, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a long, deep kiss. His fingers slid through her thick, dark hair and tightened into a fist. He smiled as she gave a small gasp of pain, her liquid brown eyes wide, her Angelina lips rounded in an O. “You’re all mine tonight,” he whispered.

  Not waiting for a reply, he took her hands in his. “Let’s dance, baby.”

  As their bodies began to move frantically to the heart-pounding rhythm, he threw his head back and roared, “God, it’s good to be king!”

  When Robert’s body was drenched in sweat, he grabbed the woman’s hand. He pulled her toward the sliding glass doors, open to the cool, tropical evening breeze. They stepped through the door onto the patio. The guests out here were more subdued, stretched out on lounge chairs around the pool.

  Robert kicked off his Ferragamo loafers and stripped out of his linen pants and silk shirt. He pirouetted, showing off his naked body like a peacock displays his plumage. “Time to cool off!” he shouted as he dived into the pool. He swam to the bottom and then launched himself back to the surface. As he emerged from the water, he shook his head back and forth, droplets flying through the air. With powerful strokes, he swam toward the pool stairs where the prostitute sat.

  “So what’s your name?” Robert asked.

  “Brittany,” she answered.

  Robert laughed. “What’s a Brazilian beauty like you doing with a name like that?”

  She shrugged. “I like it.”

  “Well, I don’t. What’s your real name?”

  “Maria, but you can call me whatever you want.”

  “Maria’s just fine,” he said.

  Robert floated away, looking up into the night sky. The stars were like shimmering jewels in the night sky.

  Robert listened as the first band wrapped up its set. It was an American group he had flown in for the gig. They played everything from the most current American hits to the classic rock he had listened to as a kid. Their last song was a rousing rendition of REO Speedwagon’s “Roll with the Changes.” After a short break, the second band, a local group specializing in hot salsa, began its set.

  When he began to feel chilled, Robert swam back to where Maria was waiting. “Go get us some more champagne and meet me at the hot tub.” He watched her lithe body move across the patio before he hoisted himself out of the pool. As he strutted across the imported Italian tile, he paused periodically to greet his guests, relishing how they fawned over him. He could see the envy in the men’s eyes as he shook their hands. As he leaned in to kiss the women, most whispered their availability to him, even as their husbands stood watching.

  When Robert reached the hot tub, he stood looking down at the group. There were bodies all around the perimeter. “Someone’s going to have to make some room.”

  Immediately every man and woman leapt up. Robert laughed. “There’s only two of us.” He looked around the circle and pointed to two men, both prostitutes. “You and you, out.” When the men had scrambled out of the tub, Robert slid in next to the second most beautiful woman he had seen that night. He wasn’t sure he recognized her. “Are you one of my guests?”

  “I’m a guest of a guest. My name’s Amber.” She told him whom she had come with.

  “And where’s your date now?”

  “Inside, dancing.”

  “Well, then, I guess you’re mine for now.”

  She smiled. “I guess I am.”

  “So you’re obviously a fellow American,” he said, taking in her blond hair and lack of Brazilian accent. “Where are you from?”

  “I have an apartment in New York. But I’m a model, so I live on the road. Luckily, most of the winter shoots are in the tropics. I can’t stand cold weather.”

  “Me neither. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You have a beautiful house. Do you live here full time? ”

  “I do now. I retired a few months ago.”

  “You look too young to be retired.”

  “Well, I have more money than God. So I decided I’d rather spend the rest of my life playing than tied to a desk.”

  “What did you used to do?”

  Robert shrugged. “I had various business interests. Much too dull to talk about.”

  Just then, Maria arrived holding two empty glasses and a full bottle of Krug Clos du Mesnil. She poured the drinks and slithered into the water next to Robert.

  Robert chugged another glass of champagne and then leaned back, an arm draped around each woman. “Life is good,” he murmured.

  When Robert woke the next day, he lay in his king size bed in his king size bedroom and stretched. He twisted his head around to check the time. Almost noon. He used to be in his office by eight. It hadn’t taken him long to adjust to his new schedule.

  When he pressed the intercom on his nightstand, the response was immediate. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Bring me my breakfast.”

  “I’ll be right in, sir.”

  Exactly seven minutes later, Paulo gave two quick taps on the bedroom door before opening it. He walked across the room and set the breakfast tray down on the nightstand. Reaching behind his boss, Paulo plumped the Orphelia pillows until Robert was comfortable. Then he positioned the tray over Robert’s lap.

  Robert waited as Paulo poured the steaming hot Kopi Luwak
into the Limoges cup. A Baccarat crystal bowl was filled with fresh seasonal fruit. A set of Christofle sterling silver flatware was displayed elegantly on the tray. Paulo handed Robert copies of the local newspaper, the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Robert waved his hand dismissively. “No, you can go.”

  Robert watched as Paulo left the room as noiselessly as he had arrived. Then he picked up the remote and switched on an entire wall of flat screen plasma TVs. He read the newspapers and half-watched CNN news until a story caught his attention.

  “And now, more on the Robert Lewiston story,” the news anchor intoned. “The FBI continues their investigation into the largest Ponzi scheme in U.S. history.”

  Robert leapt out of bed and raced to the nightstand. He stared into the mirror, his eyes scrutinizing every last detail of his new face. Then he looked at his old face on the TV screen. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him now. With his new look and his new name, he was golden. They’d never track him down.

  * * *

  It was noon when the moving van pulled in front of John Henderson’s house in a middle class suburb of Chicago. Hiding behind the living room curtains, John watched as his father parked his car next to the van. His parents turned to look at each other before the car doors opened and they slowly got out. As they staggered up his front walk, his mother wiped a tear from her face.

  John waited a few minutes before answering the doorbell. He didn’t want his parents to know that he had been watching them. When he opened the door, they both greeted him with brave smiles.

  “How did everything go this morning?” John asked.

  “All right,” his dad said. “At least it’s over.”

  “I can’t believe we lost our house,” his mom said. “Thirty years…”

  “Come on now, Sarah,” his dad said, taking her hand. “How about some coffee, son?”

  “Sure,” John said, leading the way into the kitchen. Pulling two mismatched mugs out of his cabinet, he poured his parents their coffees. They sat down at the kitchen table, his dad absently tracing the scratches on the table top.

  The doorbell interrupted the silence and John leapt from his chair. “Must be the movers. I’ll show them where the rooms are. You’ve got all the boxes labeled, right?”

  When he returned, he sat at the table again, listening to the movers shuffling through the house in the background.

  “Mom, Dad, I just want to tell you again how sorry I am.”

  “We’ve been over this, son. It’s not your fault.” Al’s eyes flashed with anger. “The only one I blame is your boss. I hope the FBI finds Lewiston and puts him away for life.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one who told you to put all your money into his fund.”

  “You didn’t know it was a Ponzi scheme. After the real estate market tanked and my firm went bankrupt, that fund seemed like our only chance.”

  John shook his head. “But now you’re wiped out.”

  “We’re going to get though this, son,” Al said. “I can’t tell you how much it means to your mom and me that you’re letting us move in with you until we can afford our own place again.”

  “Are we ever going to get back on our feet?” Sarah asked. “We’re sixty years old. By the time the real estate market bounces back, you’ll be too old to start another firm, and who’s going to hire you?”

  “Honey, please. Now’s not the time.”

  “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. No one’s going to hire me either. I’ve been a housewife for the last thirty years.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Al insisted. “It’s all going to work out.” He turned to his son. “What about you? Any luck with your job search?”

  “Not a bite. Between the rotten economy and the scandal at Lewiston, no one’s going to touch me. I’m toxic.”

  “But you didn’t know anything about what was happening there,” Sarah said.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m still tainted. I can’t even get anyone to return a phone call or email. I can’t tell my side of the story if no one will talk to me.”

  John looked at his parents, seeing the same hopelessness in their eyes that he had been feeling for months. Sarah pushed herself away from the table, her hands covering her face. John could hear her sobs as she ran out of the room.

  “Is she okay, Dad? Does she need a nitro?”

  “Your mom knows her heart. She’ll take one if she needs it.”

  “I just hope she doesn’t have another attack.”

  “God damn Lewiston,” Al said through clenched teeth. As his fist pounded the table, the coffee spilled out over the mugs.

  John stared at the pools of liquid seeping into his table, but felt too drained to get up for a rag. The ringing phone woke him from his trance. He pushed himself from the table and went to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Is this John Henderson?”

  “Yes,” John said eagerly, hoping it was a callback on his job search.

  “This is the FBI. We’d like to talk to you.”

  * * *

  John felt a sense of dread as he walked into his old office building. The FBI had not given him any clue why they wanted to see him. They had only told him that they wanted to meet him at the Lewiston offices to ask him some questions.

  As he rode the elevator up, he could feel his dread turn to panic. He began to shake uncontrollably as his body grew clammy. What if they thought he was involved in Lewiston’s scheme? How could he prove that he didn’t know anything had been going on? He was just a support tech. His job was to keep the computers running smoothly. He didn’t know anything about the financial side of the business.

  As the doors opened with a soft ping, he tried to pull himself together. He used his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face before he stepped into the lobby. A man sat at the receptionist’s desk, talking rapidly into a cell phone. Everything about him screamed FBI. Blue suit, white shirt, striped tie -- all capped off with a buzz cut.

  As John approached him warily, the man held up his finger. John bit his lip as he waited -- a few minutes seemed like an hour. The man snapped his phone shut and stood up.

  “John Henderson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Special Agent Brad McCoy. Let’s go into the conference room.”

  When they walked into the room, two other agents sat at the conference table. The table itself was barely visible, covered with reams of paper, several laptops, briefcases, phones, and cords running everywhere.

  Seeing his reaction, McCoy smiled. “Kind of a mess in here, huh? Believe it or not, it’s not as bad as it looks. We’re actually making a lot of headway sorting through your firm’s records.”

  “Not my firm,” John said. “I just worked here.”

  “We know that. In fact, we know everything about you. We know you weren’t involved in the crime.” McCoy smiled at John, gesturing towards a chair. “Why don’t you relax and have a seat?”

  John sank into the nearest chair, his whole body sagging with relief.

  The agent took a seat across from John. “We brought you in to ask you if you’d be willing to help us with our investigation. We have some of the best computer minds in the world, but frankly, we could move a lot faster if we had someone who knew all the ins and outs of the systems here. From everything we’ve learned, you’re the guy.”

  John stared at the agent, too surprised to respond. It had never occurred to him that the FBI might want his help.

  “So what do you think?” McCoy asked. “Will you help us out?”

  “Why me? I’m not the only one who knows the systems.”

  McCoy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Like I said before, we know everything about you. Not just what you did here -- everything.”

  The agent rocked forward, setting his elbows on the table as his gaze bored into John’s. “We know about your parents – that they got wiped out. We figure t
hat gives you a pretty strong motive to help us. We also know you haven’t been able to find a new job. If you work with us, we might be able to help you with that. A reference from the FBI could go a long way to opening some doors.”

  Mc Coy held up two fingers. “We’ve got two goals here. One -- to find Lewiston and put that scum away for life. And two -- to return as much of the money as we can recover to the investors who lost it to Lewiston.”

  McCoy turned his palms up and shrugged. “Look, I know it’s not going to make anyone whole, but every little bit helps, right? Maybe it would be enough for your parents to get their own place again.”

  John’s jaw dropped open. “You know they moved in with me?”

  McCoy smiled. “We’re pretty thorough. So what do you say? You want to help us help them?”

  John nodded. “Yeah, I’m in.” And with those words, a small ray of hope replaced the black cloud that had been hanging over his head ever since his firm blew up.

  * * *

  John sat in his old cubicle at Lewiston Investments. Three weeks had passed since he had first met with the FBI. He was digging through every piece of data he could find and passing along anything he considered useful. Taking a break from his research, he double clicked on his Google icon. He had made it a practice each day to read everything he could find about his old firm.

  When Lewiston Investments had first shut down, John couldn’t bring himself to listen to or read any of the news stories. Occasionally he would be watching TV when a news segment on the case would come on, and he would feel his stomach lurch, bile rising in his throat. He would quickly change the station, engulfed in a wave of hopelessness.

  Now that he was helping the FBI, he found himself wanting to know everything he could about the crime, hoping he might come across something the agents could use. He clicked onto an article that had just been published by Time magazine that told about how his old boss had stolen money from his clients to fund his extravagant lifestyle. The article included interviews with some of the clients who had lost their money, from large corporations to small businesses to individual investors like his parents.

  When he finished reading that story, he began to surf the web again when another site caught his attention. One of Lewiston’s corporate clients, Townsend Group, was offering a five hundred thousand dollar reward for information regarding Lewiston’s whereabouts.