Park Avenue, page 22
“I’d rather you live a life of balance.”
“Like you?” Jia said. “You worked all hours of the day every day for most of my life.”
“I did that so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Okay. Sure.” Jia wiped her mouth and tossed her chopsticks into the nearby trash, despising how—on top of everything—she felt guilty for causing her mother to worry. It felt like nothing she did would ever be good enough for her mother, like she was destined to be a disappointment in one way or another. “I’m sorry I’m not living my life the way you think I should be living it. Thanks for the kimbap. Tell Jason and James the next shift is on them.”
Umma flinched. Guilt spread through Jia like wine across a white rug. But she kept silent and steady, as she always had. Her feelings were her own, and she didn’t want the burden of sharing them with her mother. The shame of needing her solace or the sadness of realizing Umma could not provide the comfort she wanted.
With a nod, Jia kissed her silently judging mother on the cheek and raced into the bracing wind, the bell above the door cheerfully chiming behind her.
THE SPIDER AND THE CIPHER
T Minus 16 Days
When the Cayman Islands first came into view, Jia gazed at them from the window of their borrowed Learjet 60—supplied by Minsoo’s mentor, a recently retired hedge fund manager—for a solid two minutes. She’d never arrived at a tropical destination when it was still dark outside. It was strangely mesmerizing to watch the shadows emerge from the dark sea below. There was a hushed sense to their arrival, almost as if Jia and Darius were clandestine agents on a secret mission.
Actually, they kind of were, if Jia stopped to think about it.
She’d always had a thing for spy novels.
After they landed at the private terminal, they were whisked in a Lincoln Town Car along winding two-lane back roads. Though Jia’s mind was still murky from the two hours of restless sleep she’d managed on the four-hour journey south, the smell of the sea and the tinge of sand in the air seemed to settle her. She watched as tilted palm trees flickered past the window. A fleece of soft clouds stretched across the night sky. They drove through a small town with humble dwellings before larger homes began to emerge on the horizon, their umber-colored tile roofs and tan stucco exteriors stark beneath the light of an almost full moon.
Jia’s pulse ratcheted up as they paused at a manned gate and waited for permission to enter the exclusive beachfront community on the famed Seven Mile Beach, where the Parks’ mansion was located. Darius had assured her there was no way Seven could have had any advance notice of their arrival. As an extra precaution, the pilot had filed the flight plan at the last possible second. None of the house staff had been informed of their visit, which should provide an ideal window for Darius and Jia to search the home in private. If everything went according to plan, by the time Seven Park learned that Darius had taken his unnamed girlfriend to the Caymans property, it would be too late for him to order any member of the staff to hide anything important.
As Jia had discussed last night with Ben Volker, the thing they needed most now was proof. Something they could give to their forensic accountants. A starting point. A trail of breadcrumbs. Anything. The single account Orlagh had provided had been liquidated five weeks ago, and nothing in the three pages tied its contents to Seven Park, save for the testimony of a dead woman.
Without clear proof, they would not be able to pressure a man like Seven into capitulating. Almost half the month Jenny Park had given Jia had already passed. Which meant she had only sixteen more days to make this case work for Whitman Volker. To show the senior partners that she belonged among their ranks.
That she could be the head of snakes they all needed.
The Park family’s white stucco waterfront residence loomed three stories high, its floating glass railings gleaming in the moonlight. When Darius turned the key in the ornate, lightly stained front door, a light flickered on in the darkness above them.
“Motion detection,” he said softly, as if he’d expected it.
“What does that mean? Will it call for someone?”
Darius shook his head. “Theoretically, no. But an elderly caretaker named Rolando lives only ten minutes away. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s been here forever and knows me well. He won’t ask questions or bother us unless we need something. But it’s possible Svetlana might get a notice that we’ve set off the motion detection. Once I turn off the alarm, she’ll probably know someone is here. If she’s working with Seven—which I think we all suspect—she’ll be here as fast as she can to see what we’re doing.”
Jia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “That gives us what, like an hour?”
“Thirty minutes to an hour.”
“Jesus.”
“I know.” Darius pushed open the door. “We should start with the primary bedroom and the office.”
* * *
At first Jia tried to clean up after herself as much as possible. If she moved aside books or lifted clothing from inside dresser drawers, she spent a few seconds attempting to make everything appear as undisturbed as possible.
Twenty minutes later, she ceased with all pretenses and began casting things every which way and pushing on rows of books lining the three walls of the home office to see if there was a hidden safe behind them. When Jia couldn’t find anything, she moved toward the primary bedroom, where Darius had been searching since their arrival.
The closet just beyond the spa-like Japandi bathroom was immense. One section of it was filled with menswear. Expensive Bermuda shorts and pressed linen trousers and an enviable collection of Brunello Cucinelli loafers and Bruno Magli sandals. The remaining three-fourths of the space were chock-full of colorful women’s clothing. Beachwear and frothy flowing dresses with loud patterns and low necklines.
Jia knew without being told that none of this belonged to Jenny Park. The sample-size gowns and the towering heels and the lacy pink lingerie were undoubtedly the property of Annika Bergström, Seven’s thirty-four-year-old paramour. But that didn’t preclude her section of the closet from being searched. In fact, it only hastened Jia’s efforts. Soon she began shoving aside rows of garments and lifting hems and moving unopened boxes of Louboutins and Gucci espadrilles and Prada loafers and strappy Amina Muaddi sandals.
When Jia knocked over five boxes of glittering Mach & Mach heels, she muttered a Korean curse word. She bent to restack the shoes, only to discover a metal door about the size of a microwave concealed inside the corner behind them, its flush-mounted cover painted to match the earth tones of the suede wall.
The small metal door had a black handle and a tiny keypad.
“Darius,” Jia said, her skin prickling. He didn’t answer immediately. “Darius?” she repeated even louder.
He joined her in the closet the next instant. They shared a knowing glance. He looked at his watch. “Svetlana could be here any minute.”
“Birthdays,” Jia said. “Start with birthdays.” She pulled up the list she’d created on her phone during the flight from Teterboro, but Darius had already begun typing in six-digit codes.
“It’s not Seven’s birthday,” he muttered. “Let’s try Annika’s.” Again they were met with a red light. They proceeded to enter the birthdates of the three Park children. None of them worked either.
“He might just be the kind of self-satisfied prick who uses his ex-wife’s birth date,” Jia said. She reached over to type out the six numbers and held her breath. Still, it didn’t work.
Darius then attempted to input the house number of the Park Avenue address, followed by the numbers for all the other residences Jia provided from her list. Red light after red light.
He raked his fingers through his hair.
“Do you know the address of the first dry cleaning place they ever owned?” Jia asked out of the blue. Perhaps it was because she’d just spent a fretful evening at the bodega, but it was still on her mind. The location of her parents’ first bodega had always been a point of pride for them, long after they had sold it for a bigger and better spot. It represented their first chance. The beginning of their family’s new chapter. A springboard for all their dreams to come.
Darius closed his eyes and sucked in his cheeks. “I can’t recall the actual address, but I believe it was in the 160s.”
Jia scanned the list on the note in her phone.
Mirae Dry Cleaning, located at 823 164th Street.
She bent closer and pushed in the digits 823164.
The green light flashed. The safe trilled. Her breath tight in her lungs, Jia pushed down on the lever, and the safe door opened.
Again they shared a look, not even daring to show their excitement.
Inside the safe they found boxes of jewelry from Cartier, Bulgari, and Van Cleef & Arpels. Several stacks of cash in US dollars, as well as euros and won. Two bars of gold bullion. A small velvet pouch with loose gemstones. A worn paperback copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. A single manila file folder was propped on one side of the safe. Jia withdrew it. When she opened the file, a thin book about the size of her hand, bound in navy leather, slid out.
Jia flipped it open.
It was filled with tiny lettering, handwritten in blue ink. Each page began with a series of numbers separated by dashes, followed by what appeared to be columns of deposits and withdrawals. On several of the pages, Jia noted seven- and eight-figure sums in both columns. She gave the small book to Darius, her adrenaline reaching a fever pitch.
“This is Seven’s handwriting,” he confirmed.
With the back of her wrist, she swiped at a line of perspiration forming above her lips. “Do you think this could be the book Como mentioned?”
“Maybe. I’m just surprised that Seven would leave it here and not keep it on him.” He continued turning the pages until he flipped to the very end. Understanding dawned on him. “This one is old. On the back, it’s dated for 2019.”
“Is it possible he’s still using the same accounts?” Jia asked. “We can take this to our forensic accounting team. It might even be possible to break whatever code he uses.”
“It looks like a book cipher,” Darius mused before glancing at the copy of The Fountainhead still in the safe. “Seven Park, you’re a basic bi—” Then he screamed and dropped the blue notebook as if it had scalded his fingers.
A spider scurried from beneath the pages onto the herringbone oak floor before vanishing under an upturned box of glittering slingbacks.
Jia grinned. “Looks like Seven Park isn’t the only basic bitch among us.”
“I hate spiders, okay? Snakes I can deal with, no problem. Some of them are even cute. But spiders?” He fake shuddered.
“It was small. Barely the size of my thumbnail.”
“Fuck that. Did you hear about that guy who got bit on his toe during a cruise and woke up one morning to spider eggs hatching out of his foot?”
The chime on the front door sounded. Without a word, Darius crammed the notebook into the breast pocket of his linen blazer while Jia slammed the safe shut. Then they raced to the hallway beyond the primary suite and slowed to a casual stroll before entering the main living space.
An elderly man with white hair, leathery skin, and a slight stoop blinked at the sight of them. “Mr. Darius?” he said. “I am sorry no one was here to greet you. We did not know you were arriving.”
“Please don’t be troubled at all, Rolando,” Darius replied smoothly, despite his harried appearance. “Jenny asked me to retrieve some jewelry she thought she left here the last time she came, and she offered to let me bring my new girlfriend.”
“Certainly, sir. Certainly.” He paused as if he were noticing the sweat on Jia’s brow and the way Darius’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Then he peered behind them at the corridor leading to the primary suite and chuckled to himself.
Dear God, Jia thought. Well, if that was the worst thing Seven heard about what Darius and his new girlfriend did in the Caymans house, then so be it. She could be the floozy for one day.
“This is my girlfriend, Jessica,” Darius said, nodding at Jia.
Jia smiled brightly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Rolando.”
“Pleasure, miss. Can I bring you anything to drink or eat? It might take a moment, but I’ll be happy to put something together for you.”
“Not at all,” Darius said. “We’ll be out of your hair soon, right after we grab Jenny’s jewelry. Our plan is to go to a nearby all-inclusive.”
Rolando looked puzzled. “You will not be staying here, then?”
“No, no,” Darius replied. “Since we didn’t give you any warning, we thought it best to handle everything ourselves.”
Rolando frowned. “It is no trouble at all, Mr. Darius. Svetlana will be here in fifteen minutes. I am sure she will be happy to provide anything you might need.”
Darius smiled. “Thank you, Rolando. But please don’t worry. I’ll just collect the pieces, and we will be on our way.”
“Certainly, sir,” Rolando said.
Jia and Darius returned to the hallway leading to the primary bedroom suite. They hastened through the space, trying to restore everything to its former appearance. In the office adjacent to the bedroom, Jia pushed shut a drawer that was still ajar. Her fingers brushed over the handle of the drawer above it. On a whim, she tried to tug it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
She shouldn’t be wasting precious minutes of the little time they had left trying to open it. But what if the navy notebook wasn’t enough? What if all the accounts inside it no longer existed? What if the code wasn’t a simple book cipher with The Fountainhead as the key? What if Zain claimed that the information included was from years ago and no longer relevant to the family’s current financial situation?
Jia needed something more than a handwritten log from 2019.
“Can you get me a butter knife from the kitchen?” she whispered as Darius entered the office.
“Not without Rolando seeing me,” Darius replied under his breath. “Hang on. Let me see if there’s anything in the bathroom.”
While Darius searched, Jia tugged harder on the handle. Then she yanked open the long middle drawer of the desk and rummaged around until she found a letter opener. She wedged it in the space between the drawer and the desktop and pulled. Nothing happened. Kneeling, Jia started wriggling the letter opener back and forth while yanking on the handle.
Darius returned with tweezers and a teasing comb with a thin metal handle. “Hurry.”
Jia jammed the letter opener back into the space above the lock. With careful leverage, she worked the space a little wider before sliding the metal handle of the teasing comb at a perpendicular angle near the latch.
“Were you a master thief in a past life?” Darius joked.
“No,” she murmured. “But I had to break into my house when I was a kid a few times. My brothers would intentionally lock me out if I ever snuck out with my friends. They wanted me to have to wake up my parents so I would get in trouble. Always kept a pocketknife and some nail scissors handy”—she used a bit more force—“just in case.”
The lock clicked. Jia yanked open the drawer, her expression one of sheer disbelief.
On the very top—not even concealed—were bank statements from two accounts in the Caribbean. These were dated from less than three months ago, likely from the last time Seven had been here. One set of papers contained the same bank account number as the one Orlagh had provided. The updated account balance was over two hundred million dollars. A second account at another bank in the Bahamas held just under sixty-five million dollars.
Both these accounts could now be tied to the Park family. Darius could testify under oath that they’d found them in one of the Park family’s residences.
Which meant they could be linked to Seven Park.
Jia and Darius stared at each other, unblinking. Then a throaty female voice called out from beyond the hallway. “Darius?”
“Here,” Jia said, frantically looking around. The documents would not fit inside any kind of pocket. Briefly she considered stuffing them down her shirt. “Put these in my tote bag by the closet. In the zippered pouch on the front.” She fluffed her hair. “Say you were in the bathroom.”
Then Jia strode out of the primary bedroom with a Cheshire cat grin, coming face-to-face with a very tall, slender blond woman in her mid-to-late forties. She was neatly dressed in a white linen shirt and white jeans, her shoulder-length hair pulled back in a low bun.
The woman did not attempt to hide the look of suspicion on her face as she scanned Jia from head to toe.
“Hello,” Jia began. “My name is Jessica. I’m Darius’s girlfriend. He’s picking up some jewelry for Mrs. Park.”
“Hello,” Svetlana began, her Russian accent slight, her blue eyes alert. “Welcome to the Caymans. I am wondering why no one told me you were coming here?”
“It was a last-minute trip. Mrs. Park asked Darius just last night. A friend of hers was already taking his jet, so we hitched a ride,” Jia blabbed. “She said she thinks she left some pearl earrings and some kind of brooch here or something.”
“I see.”
Jia walked past Svetlana, who turned in her direction as Jia led her farther away from the primary suite. She fanned herself. “It’s so hot here, even in the morning! Is there any way you could point me toward something cold to drink?”
Svetlana stared at Jia. Then she looked behind her, searching for Darius. “I would be happy to get some ice water for you. Please wait here.”
“Oh, I’ll come along. I’d love to see the kitchen. Maybe hear a little more about the home. The view is just spectacular. What was the name of this beach again?” Her pulse continued to trill in her veins as she sauntered down the hallway.
Though the housekeeper hesitated, she joined Jia, who maintained a steady stream of chatter the entire time.
Jia hoped she was convincing enough. All they needed to do was get out of the house without raising any undue suspicion. If they could leave with their documents and the navy notebook, they would be well on their way to convincing Seven to stand down or, at the very least, come back to the table with a far more substantial settlement offer. They might even be able to convince Zain and the higher-ups at CHM that a longer, more protracted dispute would prove far too costly for them.
