About That Night
Page 32
Kyle fought back a smile. “Sure it is. But I’m not scarred for life or planning to hop on the next bus to Zihuatanejo. MCC is not Shawshank.”
“Really?” Jordan asked. “Because I just read in the papers that an inmate was killed there a couple weeks ago. Apparently the FBI’s investigating. A guy named Darius Brown—did you know him?”
Next topic. Kyle feigned nonchalance. “I knew him a little.” Quickly, he changed the subject before his nosy sister asked any further questions. “So you said you wanted to talk about my business plan?” Jordan was the first person he’d shown it to, figuring he could use the advice of someone with an MBA.
“Yes, I did.” She grabbed a towel to wipe the dust from the wine bottles off her hands, then pulled the twenty-page business plan he’d drafted out from underneath the bar.
“And?”
Jordan hesitated. “And I hate to say this, considering you’re my brother and all, but I think it’s sort of…brilliant.”
Kyle proudly rocked back on his heels. “Brilliant, huh? Feel free to elaborate.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There’s a good chance you’re going to fail spectacularly in this,” Jordan told him. “But you’ve covered the three primary concerns of revenue, cost, and cash flow. You’ve got a large potential market and a unique service. Whether anyone is going to be interested in that service”—she held out her hands—”tough to say.”
That was indeed the half-billion dollar question. “I’m going shopping for office space next week,” Kyle said.
“Wow. You’re really raring to go.”
Yes, he was. “For four months I sat in prison, thinking about all the things I was going to do to get my life back on track as soon as I was out. Now it’s time to put those plans in motion.” He pointed, remembering something. “But do me a favor—don’t tell Dad about this.”
“Now there’s something I’ve never heard from you before,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a very successful businessman, Kyle. He could help you.”
“Did you ask for Dad’s help when you opened this wine shop?” Kyle asked pointedly.
Jordan leaned against the bar, proudly taking in the store. “Of course not.”
Enough said.
A HALF HOUR later, Kyle left the wine shop in good spirits after his conversation with Jordan. But almost immediately, as he crossed the street and walked a half block to his car, the nagging feeling crept back in. And he knew the exact source of that.
This situation with Prosecutrix Pierce had become a serious burr up his ass.
At the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter what he did about the Darius Brown case. Rylann had been right; he wouldn’t lie under oath. So he was free and clear to be the ass**le and make her go get her subpoena. He’d tell the grand jury what he knew, and justice would be served. And he would have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d made the U.S. Attorney’s Office—people who had certainly never shown him any courtesies—scramble through a few hoops.
It was a good plan. He wanted to be the ass**le here.
Why, then, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone and Rylann’s business card, he honestly couldn’t say.
He dialed her number, got her voicemail, and left a message.
“Sorry, counselor, but I looked all around the penthouse and found only one Kyle Rhodes.” He paused. “And he will be at your office tomorrow at two o’clock. Expect lots of prickliness.”
Twelve
BY ONE THIRTY the next afternoon, the entire U.S. Attorney’s Office was in a stir.
As it turned out, Rylann had not originally been available at two o’clock, but she’d switched her schedule around to accommodate a particularly prickly witness who seemed to believe that he was calling the shots in this situation. After that, she’d told her secretary to add Kyle Rhodes to the visitor’s list, and the information had spread like wildfire.
Cade popped into her office right before her meeting, doing a slow clap. “Well done. How did you manage to bring in the Twitter Terrorist?”
“I have my ways,” Rylann said mysteriously. Although she wasn’t quite sure she knew the answer to that herself. “By the way, I think we can just call him Kyle Rhodes now.”
Cade raised a curious eyebrow at that. “Can we now?”
A call from her secretary interrupted them with the news that her visitor had arrived. “That’s my cue,” Rylann said, standing up from her desk.
Cade walked alongside her on the way back to his office. As they passed by the secretaries’ desks and the other AUSA offices, Rylann noticed that everyone’s eyes were on her.
“You’d think I’d asked Al Capone to drop by,” she muttered under her breath.
“Get used to it. When it comes to Kyle Rhodes, people are curious.” Cade saluted as he ducked into his office. “Good luck.”
Rylann rounded the corner, slowing her stride as she surveyed the scene in the reception area.
Kyle stood with his profile to her, looking at the photograph of the Chicago skyline. Surprisingly, he appeared to be alone. He’d dressed in business-casual attire, looking professional and confident, with the top button undone on his blue pin-striped shirt and his hands tucked into his pants pockets. Ironically emblazed in bold silver letters on the wall behind him were the words “Office of the United States Attorney.”
“Really?” Jordan asked. “Because I just read in the papers that an inmate was killed there a couple weeks ago. Apparently the FBI’s investigating. A guy named Darius Brown—did you know him?”
Next topic. Kyle feigned nonchalance. “I knew him a little.” Quickly, he changed the subject before his nosy sister asked any further questions. “So you said you wanted to talk about my business plan?” Jordan was the first person he’d shown it to, figuring he could use the advice of someone with an MBA.
“Yes, I did.” She grabbed a towel to wipe the dust from the wine bottles off her hands, then pulled the twenty-page business plan he’d drafted out from underneath the bar.
“And?”
Jordan hesitated. “And I hate to say this, considering you’re my brother and all, but I think it’s sort of…brilliant.”
Kyle proudly rocked back on his heels. “Brilliant, huh? Feel free to elaborate.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There’s a good chance you’re going to fail spectacularly in this,” Jordan told him. “But you’ve covered the three primary concerns of revenue, cost, and cash flow. You’ve got a large potential market and a unique service. Whether anyone is going to be interested in that service”—she held out her hands—”tough to say.”
That was indeed the half-billion dollar question. “I’m going shopping for office space next week,” Kyle said.
“Wow. You’re really raring to go.”
Yes, he was. “For four months I sat in prison, thinking about all the things I was going to do to get my life back on track as soon as I was out. Now it’s time to put those plans in motion.” He pointed, remembering something. “But do me a favor—don’t tell Dad about this.”
“Now there’s something I’ve never heard from you before,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a very successful businessman, Kyle. He could help you.”
“Did you ask for Dad’s help when you opened this wine shop?” Kyle asked pointedly.
Jordan leaned against the bar, proudly taking in the store. “Of course not.”
Enough said.
A HALF HOUR later, Kyle left the wine shop in good spirits after his conversation with Jordan. But almost immediately, as he crossed the street and walked a half block to his car, the nagging feeling crept back in. And he knew the exact source of that.
This situation with Prosecutrix Pierce had become a serious burr up his ass.
At the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter what he did about the Darius Brown case. Rylann had been right; he wouldn’t lie under oath. So he was free and clear to be the ass**le and make her go get her subpoena. He’d tell the grand jury what he knew, and justice would be served. And he would have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d made the U.S. Attorney’s Office—people who had certainly never shown him any courtesies—scramble through a few hoops.
It was a good plan. He wanted to be the ass**le here.
Why, then, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone and Rylann’s business card, he honestly couldn’t say.
He dialed her number, got her voicemail, and left a message.
“Sorry, counselor, but I looked all around the penthouse and found only one Kyle Rhodes.” He paused. “And he will be at your office tomorrow at two o’clock. Expect lots of prickliness.”
Twelve
BY ONE THIRTY the next afternoon, the entire U.S. Attorney’s Office was in a stir.
As it turned out, Rylann had not originally been available at two o’clock, but she’d switched her schedule around to accommodate a particularly prickly witness who seemed to believe that he was calling the shots in this situation. After that, she’d told her secretary to add Kyle Rhodes to the visitor’s list, and the information had spread like wildfire.
Cade popped into her office right before her meeting, doing a slow clap. “Well done. How did you manage to bring in the Twitter Terrorist?”
“I have my ways,” Rylann said mysteriously. Although she wasn’t quite sure she knew the answer to that herself. “By the way, I think we can just call him Kyle Rhodes now.”
Cade raised a curious eyebrow at that. “Can we now?”
A call from her secretary interrupted them with the news that her visitor had arrived. “That’s my cue,” Rylann said, standing up from her desk.
Cade walked alongside her on the way back to his office. As they passed by the secretaries’ desks and the other AUSA offices, Rylann noticed that everyone’s eyes were on her.
“You’d think I’d asked Al Capone to drop by,” she muttered under her breath.
“Get used to it. When it comes to Kyle Rhodes, people are curious.” Cade saluted as he ducked into his office. “Good luck.”
Rylann rounded the corner, slowing her stride as she surveyed the scene in the reception area.
Kyle stood with his profile to her, looking at the photograph of the Chicago skyline. Surprisingly, he appeared to be alone. He’d dressed in business-casual attire, looking professional and confident, with the top button undone on his blue pin-striped shirt and his hands tucked into his pants pockets. Ironically emblazed in bold silver letters on the wall behind him were the words “Office of the United States Attorney.”
