Ch. 4: Jack's Ghost
August 9 | Night
As the party invitation had promised, Friday morning my new cellphone came alive with instructions for me to prepare for a VIP experience. A tuxedo arrived at noon. By eleven p.m., I discovered a Rolls Royce waiting for me in the parking lot. I hadn't known what to expect from a billionaire philanthropist, but riding in style felt like a proper start. I wondered what that busy-body Denise would think if she peeked out her window at me climbing into this.
I smiled as I adjusted my cufflinks and stepped out. The aroma of baked chicken and kapustnica, a sausage and sauerkraut soup, trailed me from the apartment. I prayed the scent hadn't leached into my clothes.
From the door, Mom gave a small wave with her fork. "Enjoy your night, hun."
Dad had a dinner roll in hand, chewing slowly behind her. He eyeballed the ash black luxury car, unmoved. I couldn't fight a glance at his dilapidated truck. There was an obvious contrast between the haves and the have nots, even if Dad was content with what he had. I thought about the threat of eviction constantly hanging over our heads with Mom and Dad trying to scrape together the rent in time every month. Me, I could survive a homeless shelter, but not my folks.
No way Cyprian, whoever he was, worked harder than them. I wished I could give them the lifestyle they deserved.
Dad nodded at the driver but spoke to me. "Lepši chlebik v pokojí ako koláč v rozbroji."
"Pomalší. Slower, please." I sighed, rusty at speaking his native tongue.
"I said is better to eat bread in peace than cake in turmoil. Be careful. Okay? Call if you need."
Our eyes locked over the shrill chitter of cicadas. "I'll be fine, Dad," I said.
"Either way." He rolled a shoulder to scratch his ear. "Bad luck runs after people. Call."
Squaring my jaw, I tromped to the car. The liveried driver opened the backdoor without a word. I was ready to survey the interior sans anyone to witness my car aficionado fanboy behavior, but I was stopped in my tracks by the picture of perfection in the backseat.
"Mal Ashivant, attorney at law," she introduced herself.
My dazed stare traced her from manicured toes to voluptuous calves and thighs to cinched waist and lush decolletage. She was in a short red dress that made her tawny skin appear golden. Upturned eyes kohled in black and fringed with long, thick lashes peered back at me. An aquiline nose curved over bow-shaped lips that parted to reveal brilliant white teeth. I sat next to her in mute amazement.
She laughed as she tossed a mane of lustrous espresso hair. "And you're Jack Slobodnik, correct? It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'll be escorting you tonight."
"I, uh... Sorry, I smell like dinner."
She lifted an eyebrow. "You smell delicious."
"Oh, no." I hurriedly punched the button to let down the window.
"Your cologne, I mean." Her laughter was infectious.
Grinning, it dawned on me what she'd said her last name was. "Ashivant, as in the law firm?"
"One and the same. It's mine."
"Holy shit. Thank you! F-for working on my case," I stammered.
"That honor goes to my team, but, on their behalf, you're welcome."
For a split second, I had entertained the thought Cyprian had hired a high-priced call-girl for me. But, no. Mal Ashivant was a thousand times more out of my league, with her own law firm. I stared at my shoes. Jesus, it would be a long night trying not to embarrass myself.
My companion broke the ice with chit chat as the deluxe ride took off with a swiftness. I thought to myself if Sunny's melodic voice was sauvignon, then Mal's was the heat of the finest cognac. Dark and smoky. By the time we arrived at the hotel, I was utterly intoxicated by her.
The lobby of Century Luxe passed in a blur. The bombshell on my arm turned heads, but I looked out of place. The elevator Mal and I stepped into let off a well-known celebrity. My cohort didn't spare him a glance. I tried not to stare, petrified that whatever spell had been cast to get me on Cyprian's guest list might not last long enough to convince anyone I belonged there. It felt like the Rolls would turn into a pumpkin at any second.
On the top floor, the elevator doors re-opened with a gentle hiss. Not a soul was in sight, another sign of exclusivity. The airy corridor was the color of aged papyrus with mosaic tiles stretching into the distance. Gilded light dripped from low-hanging fixtures. Massive copper planters topped by Areca palms were positioned in front of stout columns spanning the length of the hall. Antique chairs invited the hotel's affluent lodgers to take it easy.
Why rush, was the vibe of Century Luxe.
Coasting past a floor-to-ceiling mirror that seemed out of place along a wall at the center of the hallway, I was overwhelmed with self-consciousness. Yet, Mal tilted a seductive glance at me and grabbed my hand. Her touch sent a zing of electricity up my arm.
Her tongue pressed the back of her teeth as she grinned. "You're like a lamb to slaughter. I promise I won't let them eat you."
I was leaking insecurities. But what was the worst that could happen? A press junket? The law firm had already run me ragged with interviews, singing the praises for Mr. Cyprian's charitable efforts. I doubted the man would use an exclusive rager to shove me before more cameras.
"Sorry." I adjusted my tie but forced myself to still my fidgety hands. "I don't want to look like a fish out of water."
"You're with me. You'll look like the luckiest man in the building." Mal sauntered ahead. Both eyebrows raised, I went along. Lucky, indeed.
The party was in the penthouse suite. My escort made a cavalier entrance. To the bouncer who sized me up, she spoke something in a language I didn't know. A sound like an amplifier buzz tickled my inner ear. I scrubbed a knuckle across my earlobe as Mal tugged me through the door.
Was it my imagination, or was there a noticeable difference between the atmosphere in the hallway and that within the penthouse? I shook my head to clear the feeling.
Once inside, the lawyer's hips began to sway to the music, a mesmerizing left to right that kept the tempo better than a metronome. Whatever the genre playing, it was loud and chaotic, but the party crowd mostly wore glazed expressions. Turned off or blissed out? I couldn't tell. There were enough drugs on offer to hint at the latter.
I waved a cloud of weed smoke from my face and searched for a wall to hug. Mal pinned me to her side, however. "You want a drink?" she asked.
She snagged a cocktail from a passing server and shoved it in my hand. Nervous, I drank. It wet my throat but hardly unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. We stayed near the bar. While Mal danced, I studied my surroundings.
Slow-motion purple and scarlet lights strobed the dim suite. I strained to see, but some mysteries refused to take shape in the shadows. Conversations made a soft roar beneath the music. I tried to make out the words to no avail. Someone touched me. Startled, I glanced up to see a shirtless man with satyr horns trying to get my attention.
"No one mentioned this was a masquerade," I said as Mal placed a possessive arm around my waist and pulled me away.
"It isn't," she lied. I noticed plenty of others in costume.
I gazed longingly at glass doors that led to an empty private balcony. Nudging my companion, I gestured. "Hey, let's go out–"
"Maybe later. Mr. Cyprian is ready to see you now." Mal pointed to three security guards conferring by a closed door. One of them jerked his head in our direction and beckoned. Mal placed our drinks on the bartop and tugged me along.
"Why does Mr. Cyprian want to meet me, exactly?" I asked as we cut across the dance floor. We blew past two young girls headed for that private balcony, and I wished I could go with them. They fit in about as much as I did. Party crashers?
"Wait up, Aurie," one called out.
The other fired back, "I cannot believe you flashed the doorman, Haley."
Definitely party crashers. Mal peered after them, saying to me, "Darcy wants to make you an offer." Despite her easy gaze and grin, the response unsettled me. Any offer made by a billionaire was an offer one couldn't refuse.
She and I filed into the penthouse bedroom. It was somehow darker than the rest of the suite, the proverbial slaughterhouse that she had joked about. The minute I saw the person sitting in a wingback chair near the window, I scraped to a halt.
"No fucking way." The words fell from my lips.
It was him. Skin as gray as ashes, eyes greener than jealousy. How could a figment of my imagination be real? This time he wasn't floating on thin air, at least. Rising to greet me, Darcy Cyprian flared his waistcoat and put his hands on his hips. His suit fit as if the fabric had been stitched onto his elegant frame, and I knew it was tailored.
"Jack Slobodnik." The smile that crept over his face sent a chill through me. He snapped his fingers and another chair was produced by one of his guards. "Sit, sit. Has Mal treated you right?"
Something in his demeanor told me refusal to have a seat wasn't an option. "Mal has been–" I coughed. "She's been wonderful, thank you, Mr. Cyprian." She remained in the room, but on the outskirts of the circle of moonlight that spilled into the arena where the billionaire and I held court. I was glad she stayed. Meeting my ghost in the flesh was downright unnerving.
He reached for a glass of deep burgundy liquor, moving with the unhurried assurance of someone with time on their hands. I couldn't place his age. He was striking. Blond hair fell over a face women would kill to claim. Fine bone structure gave him a delicate, ethereal softness that accentuated the brittle stab of his emerald gaze. Rather than attracting, his frigid beauty kept at bay. Or maybe it was his aura that suggested, Here be monsters.
The lump in my throat expanded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Cyprian?"
"I like the way you think." He tipped the glass of thick, viscous liquid toward me. "People often wonder what I can do for them. Yet, here you are, understanding karma without me having to explain. You remember me?"
"I can't say that I do." My voice cracked. I tugged the collar of my shirt to loosen it as he crossed his legs. Mal slinked from the other side of the room with another drink for me. Her reassuring smile was for my eyes only.
Mr. Cyprian studied me, pursing his lips. "You do. When you were roasting in solitary, Jack, a dream kept you alive. I waited for you to speak it into existence, but you never did. I wonder if that's because you never thought that dream could come true."
"I don't follow, sir."
"You wanted revenge."
Revenge. I sipped the cocktail as I chose my words. "I was an innocent man. Whether investigators made a mistake or framed me, it was reasonable to want somebody to pay for ruining my life."
"Especially Zyr Ravani?" Mr. Cyprian held my gaze.
Detective Ravani had been responsible for turning the tide of public sentiment against me after his run on true crime shows. The name made my skin tighten. I balled a fist and studied the imprint of my fingernails digging into my palm. With a humorless smile, I looked up from the deep crescents.
"The right people know I'm the good guy."
"No, they don't." Darcy snickered.
I frowned. "Of course, they know. All that PR I did–"
"Makes me look good, not you, Jack," he grinned. "You're not a celebrity, a politician, or anyone of import. There isn't a journalist concerned enough to polish your name to a shiny luster. You'll forever remain what Zyr Ravani made you.
"And I hate to say this, but what he did to your parents is worse. Have you seen how those shows portrayed your mother? Simple and ignorant. Your father, a free-loading immigrant coddling your amoral queer delinquency," Mr. Cyprian went on cheerfully.
"Such a shame they had to shut down the barber shop due to that nasty run of vandalism during your trial. A lot of people loved Tony Black N' White. Bad for business to get on the wrong side of your paying customers. Refresh my memory. What do they do for a living now? Menial, low-wage jobs?"
After closing the shop, Dad had accepted a warehouse job that was hard on his aging body, while Mom took up housekeeping. Ire supplanted my anxiety, especially with the billionaire's posh laughter mocking me. My folks are hard-working people, I wanted to say, but I gritted my teeth. Because he was right about how my parents had been portrayed and the costly impacts of their loss of standing within the community. It was why I had insisted they be allowed to speak for themselves at each of my interviews.
He steepled his fingers. "Zyr Ravani shamelessly used you to make a name for himself. I have my reasons for not liking the guy. Frankly, his meddlesome, botched police work is bad for my business. Therefore, I am offering you the chance to even the score, to recoup everything Ravani stole from you."
"How and why? What's in it for you?" There was steel in my voice.
"Savvy questions. As a corporate investor, I've put my weight behind a promising experimental treatment from a leading genetic engineer. However, it'll be decades before this advanced technology gains approval for human testing. I want to know I'm getting my money's worth before then," he said.
Snorting, I crossed my arms. "What does that have to do with Ravani?"
"His father died recently. Zyr Ravani stands to inherit a sizable fortune. That money and land can go to you if you can prove you're his long-lost half-brother, the true heir." Mr. Cyprian beckoned for Mal, who moved to the bed and unlatched a briefcase. She retrieved a high-tech instrument that almost resembled a weapon.
Approaching us with the gizmo, she took over the conversation. "A single dose of this, and you'll be swimming in Ravani DNA for the rest of your life. My firm contests the will. Zyr Ravani loses everything, exactly the way he intended for you. You walk away with millions, and Mr. Cyprian gets confirmation of the viability of his investment."
It sounded too good to be true. As I stared into her mesmerizing eyes, my dad's words came back to me: Bad luck runs after people. "How safe is it?" I squared off against the billionaire. His noncommittal shrug didn't allay my fears.
"As with any medical procedure, there may be...side effects. I'll foot the bill for your expenses and medical care until you assume control of Ravani's assets."
"Yeah, no," I said. "Respectfully, sir, I'll take my chances on a–how did you put it, 'menial, low-wage job'–before I put my health on the line like that. My aging parents need me alive, thanks."
Mal's sultry smile went unperturbed as she lifted a sheaf of papers from the briefcase. "You apologize too much, Jack. Let me put your mind at ease." The lawyer handed me a proposal.
So, that's why you're actually here, eh? I skimmed the document, and a financial amount leaped out at me. My eyes shot to Mr. Cyprian. A huge grin shattered my poker-face. I rubbed a hand over my mouth, unable to suppress a shocked laugh. Delinquent bills, eviction notices, and money woes would become a thing of the past the minute I signed.
"This is generous. Real fucking generous," I breathed.
"I agree. Mr. Cyprian understands the value of family. Not only will you receive a monthly stipend, but should anything untoward happen to you as a result of this experiment, your loved ones will be compensated beyond your wildest dreams. After everything they've sacrificed for you, Jack," Mal handed me a pen, "don't you want to pay them back?"
I wasn't an impulsive person, but thoughts of how dire my parents' financial situation was emboldened me. My crimped fingers flew through the signature before I could change my mind. "Do it. Dose me up," I ordered, removing my jacket and rolling up my sleeve.
A painless moment later, we were free to go. Just like that. I peered at the small red injection mark, forcing myself to keep my mind on how much my family needed the income. They were worth the risks. Mal tucked her arm through mine and dragged me to the open penthouse floor. She pressed flush against me, arms around my neck.
"Alright, Mr. Slobodnik, tell me your fantasies," she murmured.
I threw my head back and laughed, noticing Mr. Cyprian out of his shadowy lair with one of the young girls I had seen headed for the balcony earlier. "That depends," I said thoughtfully. "Are you working for the billionaire, or are you working for me?"
Mal's eyes bore into mine. "Until the Ravani fortune is in your hands, consider me at your beck and call. Your every wish is my command."
I held my tongue as my hands slid to her lower back. She didn't shy away from my touch. "Okay... Tonight, I want to forget that I was ever locked up," I confessed.
"Done," she whispered.
And I did.