“No you didn’t. I did.”
“Get real. It’s on me.” Ryan’s tone had softened, and his shock and anger had gone, but Jake wasn’t sure it was an improvement.
“Stop, son. Let it go. We’re almost out of the woods.” Jake drove across Lincoln Avenue, entered the Concord Chase campus, and headed for the road that led to the student parking lot. He glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 12:05. “Good, we’re right on time. Where should I take you? Around the front or the back?”
“The front. It’s closer to Western Civ.”
“Okay.” Jake drove on the road, bypassing the student parking lot and leading to the main entrance. “Just stay cool for the rest of the day, and I’ll fill you in tonight. Try to put this out of your mind.”
“I’ll try,” Ryan said, just as his phone signaled an incoming text, and they both jumped.
“Don’t look at it,” Jake said quickly. “It’ll upset you. He’s trying to upset you. Give me the phone.”
“No,Igotthis.” Suddenly, Ryan raised his phone and slammed it down on the dashboard, again and again, until it went silent.
Chapter Twenty-four
GARDENIA TRUST, read the polished plaque on their wooden door, and Jake powered through into the office. He tried to look and act the way he always did, but he was sweating under his suit jacket. He was on fire after reading those texts and he knew it had to show. He strode through the empty reception area, with its sky-blue patterned couch, walnut end tables, and brass lamps, and it was the first time in his career he’d been happy there were no clients.
Jake plastered on a smile as he approached the reception desk. Debbie Tarkington had been with him since she graduated from community college, and her unflappable nature made her the perfect choice for the front desk. Not all of Jake’s clients were easy to get along with, and he knew that money didn’t guarantee good judgment, starting with the man in the mirror.
“Jake, hi.” Debbie smiled, a welcoming grin that creased her pretty face. She was African-American and had large eyes and short hair, which she wore natural. She handed him a packet of pink phone messages. “Here’s your calls. Everything go okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” Jake thumbed through his phone messages, to avoid meeting her eye. He hadn’t explained where he was going when he’d left, which he knew was unusual. “Sorry I ran out. I had to take care of a few things for Ryan. He was sick this weekend, but he went to school today.”
“I hope he feels better. By the way, Martin wants to see you and so does Ramon. They both said it was important, so you can pick your poison.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jake didn’t have time to talk to either of them. Martin Niemeyer and Ramon Ramirez were two of his best portfolio managers, but they would have to wait. “I’m not taking calls this afternoon. I don’t need interruptions.”
“Gotcha. Also there’s leftover pizza in the coffee room.”
“Thanks.” Jake walked down the hall just as Martin popped out of his office and came striding down the long hallway toward him. A bright young refugee from Lehman Brothers, Martin still looked very Wall Street, with his moussed brown hair, frameless Swiss glasses, and charcoal pinstriped suit.
“Jake,” Martin called out, in his characteristic bark. “We need to talk about Disney. I’d like to buy a block for Bob Cadison and I need to—”
“Martin, do whatever you think is right.” Jake patted him on the shoulder and kept walking down the long hall, which ended in his office. “I can’t talk now.”
“But you know how he is. He second-guesses every pick, even Disney.”
“Then call and explain it to him.”
“I know, I know,” Martin called after him, wearily. “Like you always say, ‘It’s his money, not mine.’”
“Right.” Jake cringed, inwardly. He kept going toward his office when he saw Ramon lumbering down the hallway on the right, an unmistakable figure because the man was built like a refrigerator. Ramon had played right tackle at Harvard and still managed to graduate at the top of his class, the antithesis of the dumb jock.
“Boss man!” Ramon called out, with a broad smile. His silk tie flew as he walked and his white shirt and dark suit pants strained at the seams because he was so supersized. “You didn’t answer my email.”
“Sorry, but I can’t talk now.” Jake couldn’t remember the last time he checked his email. He reached Amy’s desk at the same time that Ramon did.
“I know, but I need your okay on the Shamir trust. Remember, for the kids? I sent you an email about it.”
“Ramon, sorry, I didn’t get a chance to look at it. You decide. I’m wall-to-wall this afternoon.”
“Appreciate the confidence.” Ramon clapped him on the back, then went back down the hall, and Amy looked up worriedly.
“Jake, how’s Ryan? Is he feeling better?”
“Yes.” Jake had mumbled something before he left about Ryan’s not feeling well. “He thought he might want to come home from school, but he decided to stick it out.”
