Pros and Cons Ch. 02

"So you admit she's here," Emma raged.

"No, she's not here," he spat in frustration. "But we always keep our covers going -- no exceptions."

"If she's not here, what were you doing?" the angry woman demanded.

He heaved a sigh of exasperation and gestured toward the flat screen. "If you must know, I've been watching the ball game." As if to verify his words, a cheer came from the speakers as a Yankee hitter lofted a long home run.

Emma relaxed a little, but she was still irate. "I don't trust that red-head. I've seen her making eyes at you, and I won't have it."

He walked over put his arms around her. "In the first place, you're imagining things. In the second place, Sara's been a godsend. We'd have never have stumbled on Jethro without her. And in the third place, you know I'd never cheat on you."

She embraced him and stretched up to kiss him. Then she pulled back to look into his eyes. "You know that if I ever do catch you cheating, I'll cut your balls off," she said sweetly.

He grinned at her. "I'd expect nothing less." Then he ran his hands down to her curvy bottom. "Do you think we have time for . . ."

She pulled back. "No, Jet's expecting me, and I need to be fresh for him." She grinned. "I don't think he'd appreciate a cream pie for dessert."

She turned to walk over to the door, and Sam followed her. "Don't forget what I said," she warned him.

"I'll be a good boy, I promise," he said, holding up two fingers like a Boy Scout.

She snorted derisively and headed off to the elevator bank.

Sam watched her go, then closed the door and went back to the bedroom of his suite. Sara stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but heels and her thong. "That was close!" she exclaimed, stepping over to him.

He shook his head. "That woman is so possessive. She's good at what she does, but she's beginning to get on my nerves."

Sara cocked her head to look at the man with a mischievous look. "Speaking of nerves, I built up a lot of nervous tension hiding in the shower stall. Do you think you could do something to help me release it?"

He grinned. "I just might be able to do that."

There were no more close calls for Sam and Sara, and things seemed to be going well with Ellen and Jethro as the Fourth of July came and went. For that reason Sara and Sam were startled not long after to receive a text from Emma: "Urgent: meet in my room in an hour." Sara shot Sam a questioning glance, but he could only shrug and walk to the curb to flag a taxi.

When they reached the Essex House, Emma was waiting for them. In response to their anxious looks, she kept her silence until she had their attention. "Something has happened," she told them solemnly. The other two exchanged uneasy glances, then turned back toward their partner.

She took a deep breath, then thrust out her left hand with a squeal. "I've done it -- he proposed!"

The two rushed to admire the massive diamond engagement ring she was now sporting. Then the three of them slipped into a group hug. It was Sara who spoke first. "I really have to hand it to you, Emma. To be honest, after the nasty break-up that Jethro went through, I thought you might have trouble getting through his defenses. And even if you did, I thought for sure it would take much longer than this. You're a master con, and here's the proof," she crowed, lifting Emma's left hand high.

Emma beamed at the praise, and Sam hurried to add his own approbation.

After the initial commotion died down, Emma had more news to share. "That was the good news; here's the better part: Jet doesn't want a long engagement. He wants to get married in September. Boys and girls, we're almost in the home stretch!"

"That really does call for a celebration," Sam gloated, and quickly called room service to send up a bottle of champagne.

As the three sipped from their flutes, Emma had details for them. "I'm a little disappointed that he doesn't want a big wedding -- I was kinda looking forward to that. But he's an only child, and with the death of his parents, there really isn't any family he wants to invite. Apparently he's estranged from his relatives. I get the impression that most of them weren't thrilled when he sold the family business. In fact, Jet told me he'd be happy to have just you two with us as witnesses. But he does want a religious ceremony, and how's this for convenience: he's already booked the Petit Salon here at the Essex House as the wedding venue."

The prospect of the impending culmination of their long con had all three ready to celebrate the night away, but Emma quickly quashed that idea. "I told Jet I couldn't wait to tell you two in person, which was the only way he'd let me out of his sight. But I need to go back to his place now so the two of us can celebrate our engagement properly, if you know what I mean," she added with a wink.

Her departure by cab a few minutes later meant that Sam and Sara could hold their own passionate celebration once their partner had gone.

With the trio in such high spirits, the text Sara and Sam received the next afternoon came as a tremendous shock. "Disaster! We need to meet in Sam's room as soon as I can get there."

Two confused countenances greeted Emma when she burst into their room thirty minutes later. Before they could ask a single question, she burst out, "We are so screwed!"

"What the hell happened?" Sam demanded.

"This is what happened," Emma spat, and hurled a folded sheaf of papers on the bed.

Sam quickly picked it up and began to scan it. "Let me save you the trouble," Emma growled. "It's a pre-nuptial agreement. It says that in the event of a divorce, we each walk away with what we brought into the marriage, nothing more."

"Oh, shit," Sara exclaimed, "that means your little infidelity scheme with the prostitute won't work."

Sam was still reading. "I don't know Jet as well as you do, Emma, but this doesn't seem like something he'd do. It's so unfair to you."

The bride-to-be shook her head. "Oh, he's provided for me. I get $100,000 for every year we stay married, and after 10 years it goes up to $250k. But it's going to be years before we can even collect that pittance, and it's a far cry from half of $42 million like we were aiming for."

Sam shook his head in confusion. "And this holds true even if he cheats on you?"

"Look on page 2: the agreement kicks in regardless of the reason for the divorce."

"I agree with Sam," Sara piped up, "this doesn't sound like Jet."

Emma shook her head in disgust. "Actually, it's not. Jet admitted this was something his financial adviser came up with. The guy told Jet people in his income bracket need protection -- as if I'm some gold-digger or something."

Sara raised her eyebrow at Sam but decided this was not the right time to comment.

Emma wasn't through. "You want to hear the worst part? It turns out he's not worth $42 million -- it's actually almost $60 million! He gave me a copy of his latest bank statement to show me why he needs protection."

Sam snatched the paper, and Sara came to look over his shoulder. "I can't believe this: all that money and now we can't get our hands on it!"

Sara walked back to her chair and sat down to think as the other two continued to bewail their bad luck. After a minute she stood up, put her fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly to get their attention. Startled, Emma and Sam stopped talking to stare at her.

"I've got an idea," she said purposefully. "If Emma signs this pre-nup, the caper with the prostitute is out the window."

"That's what I was just saying," Emma snapped.

Sara ignored her. "And Jet wants the pre-nup because he wants the security it will give him. So let's give him the security he wants and have her sign."

"But . . ." Sam protested, but Sara pointed at Emma. "What if you tell Jet you'll sign the pre-nup if he'll put the Goldman Sachs account in both your names? Once he does that, you just transfer the cash to some tax haven in a numbered account and we all disappear. Actually, this is better than the original plan -- this way we get all the money, not just half."

Sam couldn't contain himself. "Why the hell would Jet ever give her access to his money? Shit, he's already trying to protect his assets, why would he give that up?"

"Because we give him proof of her trustworthiness. First she signs the pre-nup to show him she has faith in their upcoming marriage. Then she gives him all her funds and asks him to combine them with his because she loves and trusts him completely. All she asks in return is that the account be put in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Jethro Malone. Obviously, she doesn't have an equivalent amount, but if she gives Jet all her assets, he ought to give her access to them. Fair is fair."

Emma and Sam looked at each other uncertainly.

"Think about it," Sara pressed on, "Emma goes back to Jet with the signed pre-nup. 'See,' she tells him, 'this is how much I love you.' Then she hands him a check and says, 'See, this is how much I trust you.' He's gonna be blown away."

"I don't know," Emma started, but Sam was thinking hard. "A show of faith. And of course you'd need to have access to the account after you're married, just in case something happens to Jet. He's asking you to commit -- he ought to be willing to commit too."

"Exactly!" Sara said triumphantly. "So how much could you two come up with? It needs to be substantial enough to show Jet that his fiancée is fully committed."

"We could probably come up with a couple of hundred thou," Sam offered, and Emma gasped. "That's everything we have, Sam!"

"You're not going to lose it," Sara jumped in, "it's an investment, a show of faith to sell the mark. And remember: you don't do anything unless you get your name added on that account. But Jet has to believe you're committing everything you have or it won't have much meaning."

Emma was dubious. "$250K isn't much compared to $60 mil."

Sara shook her head. "Yes it is: it's 100% of what you're bringing to the marriage. If he accepts it, he'll need to bring 100% of his assets too."

She looked at the two of them and saw their hesitation. "Guys, think about it. The pre-nup means that the original con is dead in the water, and all the time and money we've spent this spring and summer is down the tubes. But if we go this way, the con is still on, and now we have a chance to walk away with $60 million. I say we go for it."

Sam and Emma looked at each other. "You've already got this guy twisted around your finger, Emma," Sam mused. "He probably feels guilty about springing the pre-nup on you. If you go over there and give him the signed pre-nup, he's gonna be so relieved he'll be weak. And when you turn around and present him with a check for all your assets, he's gonna feel obligated to do something to show his trust in you. You could totally sell this."

Slowly a smile came over Emma's face. "You know, I could sell that, I really could."

"He's gonna be blown away," Sara encouraged her. She winked. "And we don't have to worry about finding a prostitute or going through a lengthy divorce. Once you and he tie the knot, you'll wire transfer the funds to an off-shore account Sam sets up, and the three of us disappear. We can do it the afternoon of the wedding even. And once it's done, we each wind up with more money than we can spend in a lifetime!"

The following day, Sam and Sara got the word they were hoping for. Calling from a restroom, Emma whispered the news. "It worked just like we planned. When I gave him the signed pre-nup, he was so relieved he was beside himself. He'd been deathly afraid it would be a deal-breaker. Then, when I gave him the check for 'my' assets to combine with his, he was blown away. He never expected a commitment like that from me, and he almost started to cry at my show of faith in him. While I was there he made a big point of calling Goldman's and instructing them to change the account name to 'Mr. and Mrs. Malone. That means as soon as the wedding is over, I'll have access and we're all set."

The relief that Jethro expressed to "Ellen" was more than matched by the three conspirators' emotions. As Sam remarked while they shared yet another toast, "This is what makes the con game such a rush. You make all your plans, do all the necessary set-up, and play your part to perfection. But it still all comes down to that one moment when the mark either takes the bait or walks away. And until he does, you can never be sure."

The next few weeks alternated between dragging on maddeningly and flying by. Waiting for the wedding day was excruciating for the anxious trio; every day they woke up wondering if something would go wrong. At the same time, each of them had dozens of details to attend to for the wedding, even though Jethro was in truth the only one who cared about them. Despite the paucity of guests, he eagerly set about planning the reception, hiring a designer for the improvised chapel in the hotel meeting room, and even arranging to fly in the preacher from his hometown church to preside over the ceremony.

The others were amused at Jet's enthusiasm but kept their feelings to themselves. They were already making plans on where they'd go and how they'd spend the spoils of their efforts.

The night before the wedding, Sam called a late meeting of the three conspirators in his room. "I want to go over everything one last time," he told the two women. "I've set up a new bank account at CIBC FirstCaribbean International Bank in the Cayman Islands. The account is in all three of our names. Emma, once you're legally Mrs. Jethro Malone, you need to slip away from the reception and go up to my room. I'll have my computer all set for you to log on to the Goldman Sachs account and make the transfer. Then you get the hell out of there, take a cab to JFK and catch the flight I've booked to the Caymans."

He nodded at Sara. "At some point, Jethro will get worried about his new bride and go up to her room looking for her. When he does, you and I will leave separately for the airport. Once we're all in the Caymans, we go to FirstCaribbean, meet up and split the money" -- he paused dramatically -- "and then live happily ever after!"

All three raised their glasses to that happy thought.

"Just one more thing," Sam added when they'd drained their champagne flutes. "For the wedding and the reception tomorrow, don't forget that my name is Martin Anderson and Emma is Ellen Ames. Whatever you do, don't use the wrong name and make Jet suspicious."

The next day, Jethro was as nervous as any bridegroom, constantly checking and rechecking arrangements, touching base with the florist, calling the caterer and generally making a nuisance of himself. As the time for the ceremony neared, he went to Sara with a special request. "Can you please make sure that Ellen stays in her room until the ceremony is ready to start? I'm not normally superstitious, but I've always heard it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony starts. Everything has been so fortuitous about our relationship that I don't want to take a chance on jinxing it now."

Sara promised, and took the elevator upstairs to convey Jet's request to his bride-to-be.

Next, Jet found Martin, who was to be his best man, and took him to meet Preacher Rowe. Martin gave the minister an odd look as he extended his hand. "Have we met before, Preacher?"

The good reverend smiled and considered the question. "I don't think so. Have you ever been to Little Rock?"

When Martin shook his head, the minister gave him a big smile. "Then you'll have to make a point of coming down and attending a service at our church."

"I'll do that," Martin said heartedly, silently vowing to himself that hell would freeze over first.

As Martin turned away, Jethro took his arm to pull him aside. "Do I look okay?" he asked nervously. "Is the salon all set up? You've got the ring, right?"

Martin smiled soothingly. "You look fine, Jet, the salon looks great, and yes, I've got the ring right here in my jacket . . ." His fingers groped in his vest pocket for the ring but found nothing. Quickly he tried his other pockets to no avail. "I must have left it in my room. I'll run up and get it."

"I'll go with you to help you look for it," Jet said uneasily, "We've got to find it."

They got off the elevator on Martin's floor and started for his room. Suddenly, Martin put an arm out to block Jet's path. "The door to my room is open," he hissed.

"It must be the maid," Jet said, but Martin waved him off. "No cart. Something's wrong."

The two men eased forward cautiously. Martin pushed the door open a little more and poked his head around the doorframe to scan the room, but saw no one. Then he glanced down and spotted a Beretta with a silencer lying on the floor. Now they could both smell cordite in the air.

Martin grabbed up the pistol and stepped into the room, with Jet on his heels. He yanked open the closet door to his left, but found no one. Then he looked across the room and saw the light from his computer screen glowing on the desk. "I didn't leave that open," he muttered, and hurried over to check. When he saw the Goldman Sachs logo on the web page, he did a double-take. "Hey, Jet," he burst out, "this is your account." He looked more closely. "And it's empty -- the balance is zero!"

"Oh my God!" Jethro gasped, and hearing the odd tone in the young man's voice, Martin jerked around to see what was the matter. But Jethro wasn't looking in his direction, he was pointing into the bathroom. "Oh my God!" he repeated, and Martin peered around him. There, lying on the tile floor was the body of Sara, sprawled face down in a pool of blood.

As Martin stood there stunned, Jethro rushed over to the body, carefully avoiding the blood, and felt for a pulse on the woman's neck. He stood up and looked at Martin, his face pale. "She's dead," he whispered. "She's been shot through the heart."

Martin stared in shock, literally unable to speak.

The shaken groom backed out of the bathroom, then took a step toward his best man in confusion. "What did you say about my investment account just now?"

Martin shook his head as if to clear the fog setting in around him. "Your account is empty. Someone got into my computer, accessed your account and drained it."

Jet staggered. "What? But . . ."

Both men flinched as Jet's cellphone began to sound. He quickly fished it out of his pocket. "Oh, Preacher Rowe, listen, I need to . . . What! Why would she do that? I don't understand. Okay, we'll be right down."

He shoved the phone in his pocket and stared at Martin with a dumbstruck expression. "I can't believe this. What is going on?"

"What did the preacher want?" his best man demanded.

Jethro shook his head in bewilderment. "He said Ellen just left the hotel. He said she asked the concierge for a cab to JFK. When one pulled up at the front entrance, she got in and took off like a scalded dog."

"That double-crossing bitch!" Martin cursed.

"Hey, that's your sister and my fiancée," Jethro shot back. Then an odd expression came over his face. "But we've got more important things to deal with right now. Someone has murdered Sara. We've got to call 911 and get the police here."

"Fuck!" Martin swore, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Abruptly he stared at Jethro. "When the police get here, you've got to tell them that I was with you all day. I couldn't have done it."

"Of course. But I don't understand, where are you going?"

The man awkwardly stuffed the Beretta into his jacket pocket. "I've got to get to the airport before Cassandra catches a flight. That bitch has my money."

"Cassandra, who's Cassandra? What money are you talking about?"

"Never mind," Martin barked, and brushed past Jet to dash toward the elevators. Jethro hurried after him, but an elevator car must have been waiting because when the stricken man got there, the doors had closed and he could see it was already descending. He frantically pushed the Down button to no avail; then, in a panic, he found the stairwell and started pounding down the steps.