Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“Frank, gentlemen, client-attorney confidentiality prevents me from telling you any more than I already have about my client’s identity or motives. This is a very simple proposition: I will wire-transfer one million dollars into Boston Mutual’s account in return for a release of criminal and civil liability in the matter of the Paul Manning policy for anyone who ever had anything to do with it.”

Another voice spoke. “This is Morrison, CFO of the company,” it said. “Five million, and that’s our best offer.”

“Mr. Morrison,” Stone said, “I’m doing the offering, and while I’m at it, I’ll give you our last, best offer to settle this matter. One million, five hundred thousand dollars, and that’s it. You have only to accept or reject, but I must tell you, that if you reject this offer, when this phone call is over, you will never hear of this matter again. You simply have to decide whether you’d rather be out twelve million dollars or ten million, five.” Stone stopped talking and waited.

“Hang on,” Stendahl said, and the call went on hold.

Stone waited, tapping his fingers against his glass. If they stood firm, he could always come back with five million later. After all, that’s what Liz Harding had said she would pay.

“We’re back,” Stendahl said.

“This is Shanklin, the CEO of the company,” a new voice said. “We accept, pending a legal review of the form of the release.”

“Give me a fax number,” Stone said, then wrote it down. “Gentlemen, you’ll have the release in five minutes. Sign and fax it to my office, along with your bank account number, and FedEx the original. Upon receipt of the original, I will wire-transfer the funds to your account.”

“We’re waiting,” Stendahl said.

Stone punched off and speed-dialed his office. When Joan answered, he said, “Insert the amount of one million five hundred thousand dollars in the document, print it out and fax it to Stendahl pronto; he’s waiting for it.” He gave her the number, then hung up.

Stone sat and sipped his drink, watching the afternoon grow later. Half an hour later, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Joan. They signed the document and faxed it back to us.”

“Great,” Stone said. He found Juanito, got the yacht’s fax number, gave it to Joan and asked her to fax the document to him, then he called Liz Harding.

“It’s Stone,” he said when she had answered. “I have news.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Bo

ston Mutual has accepted an offer of one point five million to settle the matter and release you from any civil or criminal liability.”

“Oh, Stone,” she gushed. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to hear that.”

“Now listen,” he said. “It’s three-thirty. I want you to call or fax your bank right this minute and instruct them to wire-transfer the funds to my firm’s trust account in New York. It’s too late for them to do it today, but instruct them to wire the funds immediately upon opening on Monday morning. That way, I can have the funds wired to Boston the same day, and this transaction will be complete.”

“Then I’m a free woman?”

“I’ve no doubt that you’re a very expensive woman, but you’ll be free when that money hits their bank account. I have a copy of the release being faxed to me, and I’ll give it to you tomorrow night, when I pick you up. And I want you to fax a copy of the instructions to your bank to me aboard the yacht.” He gave her the fax number. “Now get moving.”

“Okay!”

Half an hour later, he had both faxes in hand. He took a long swig of his drink and reflected on a good day’s work. There was some small doubt tickling the back of his brain, but before he could summon it up, the rum flushed it away.

9

STONE WAS TAKING A NAP IN HIS CABIN WHEN THERE WAS a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door opened and Callie Hodges stuck her head in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Stone sat up on his elbows. “It’s all right. How are you?”

“I’m good. You free for dinner?”

“Sure.”