A video chat window opened on the screen. In it was Desirae Rosette.
“Who is that?” Rostov asked.
“We’ll get to her in a moment,” Orlando said.
“I’m not sure what this is all about,” the woman said, “but if this is some kind of—”
“This is not some kind of anything,” Quinn cut her off. “It is a discussion about your future.”
“My future?” She stared at him for a tense second before her face relaxed and she said in a calm voice, “Murphy, get in here.” She donned a smug smile and leaned back in her chair. After several seconds, puzzlement crept into her eyes. “Murphy? Now.”
“I’m afraid no one’s coming, Mrs. Rostov,” Orlando said as she picked up the small device she’d put on the desk when the interview started. “I’m not actually using this to record you. We know you have this room bugged.” She glanced at Quinn. “How many?”
“Seven, not including the one in the private bathroom,” he said.
“This thing is a signal jammer,” Orlando went on, “but not just any old signal jammer. In addition to keeping your people from hearing what we say, it’s playing back to them an interview you gave to a reporter two days ago in New York. I should probably tell you she wasn’t a reporter, either, so don’t expect to see that article anytime soon.”
Rostov picked up her phone.
“Sorry, that doesn’t work, either,” Quinn said.
Not believing him, she put the receiver to her ear before slamming it back into its cradle and rising to her feet. “I am not a fan of pranks or whatever this is you’re doing. You can explain yourself to the police.”
As she rounded the desk, Quinn said, “Sure, and you can explain to them why you put a hit on a four-year-old girl and her mother.”
Rostov stopped. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Jennifer Kagawa and her daughter, Tessa? You remember who Tessa is, don’t you? Your husband’s daughter?”
A crack in her control. Not much, but enough.
“I believe you were going to get the police,” Orlando said. “We’re happy to wait. They’ll love the information we have.”
Rostov narrowed her eyes. “What information?”
“Sworn affidavits, video testimony, bank records.”
“What records? What testimony?”
“That would be the testimony of Don McCrillis, CEO of McCrillis International. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
Rostov placed a hand on the desk as if she needed help maintaining her balance. “I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t,” Quinn said.
He moved Desirae’s video window to one side and clicked open another file. Up popped an image of McCrillis International’s president. Quinn hit PLAY.
“State your name,” an unseen man said.
“Donald Wayne McCrillis.”
“And the date?”
McCrillis stated a date from three days earlier, the interview having taken place immediately following the completion of negotiations between McCrillis and the US government under the direction of Helen Cho. The negotiations really only came down to whether McCrillis wanted to keep his company, albeit in a considerably less powerful form, or spend the rest of his life in jail. An easy decision, to say the least.
“We are here to discuss the Rostov-Kagawa matter, is that correct?”
“Yes,” McCrillis said.
“I believe you have a prepared statement?”
“I do.”
“Proceed.”
McCrillis picked up some papers off the table in front of him and began to read. “Earlier this month, I became aware of a rogue operation run by Ethan Boyer, our recently deceased vice president of special operations. The operation was contracted by Jacqueline Rostov, head of Rostov Dy—”
“That son of a bitch,” the woman said. “Turn it off!”
Quinn clicked the PAUSE button. “No sense in going over details you’re already familiar with, right?”
Rostov slumped back into her chair, her right hand trembling.
“I believe it’s introduction time,” Orlando said. “Mrs. Rostov, this is Desirae Rosette. Desirae is the woman who raised your husband’s daughter. Someone had to since you killed the girl’s mother.”
Rostov drew back against her chair as if Desirae was going to leap through the screen and strangle her.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Desirae said.
“What is it you want?” the woman whispered.
“First, you or anyone acting on your behalf will never attempt to harm Tessa again,” Desirae said.
“Let me interject something here,” Quinn said. “If anything does happen to Tessa, anything that can’t easily be explained to all of our satisfaction, then that same something will happen to you, Mrs. Rostov. Am I clear?”
The woman’s hand continued to shake, but otherwise she didn’t move.
“Am I clear?”
Finally, a nod.
“Please continue, Desirae,” he said as his phone vibrated with an incoming text.
“Second, since you have no children of your own, eighty percent of the Rostov estate will be kept in a trust for Tessa, while the other twenty percent will go to the Abraham Delger Memorial Education Fund.”
Rostov nearly flew out of her chair as she said, “If you think I would ever let you take my money away, you all are beyond delusional.”
Quinn gestured to the frozen image of Don McCrillis. “You’ve lost it one way or the other. Or would you prefer the government takes it away when you’re given the death penalty?”
“You’ll have to do what the rest of us do,” Orlando said. “Get a job and live off of that.”
Rostov gritted her teeth. “I have a job.”
“That brings us to the third point,” Quinn said. “The board of directors has decided it would be best if the company were not associated with someone who hires hit squads to kill children.”
“The board can think whatever they want, but I’m the majority stock holder! My vote is the only one that counts.”
“I believe you misunderstood point number two. Your assets aren’t waiting to be transferred out of your name. The transaction completed…” He checked the new message on his phone. “Thirty seconds ago.”
Rostov stared at them, dumbfounded. “Bullshit.”
“Go ahead,” Quinn said, motioning to Rostov’s own computer. “Check one of your accounts. It doesn’t matter which one.”
She pulled her keyboard toward her and did what Quinn suggested. The account in question had a current balance of $43.71.
“There’s a little bit left in each,” he said, “to give you a fresh start.”
“You can’t do this,” she whispered.
“We can’t, no,” Orlando said. “But friends of ours can, and did.”
Quinn asked Desirae, “Anything else to add?”
“One more thing,” she said, then looked offscreen and raised her voice. “Terri!”
A few seconds later, Tessa squeezed into the shot with her.
“There was something you wanted to say, wasn’t there?” Desirae said to her daughter.
Tessa looked into the camera. “You’re Mrs. Rostov?”
The woman’s mouth hung open.
“Answer her,” Quinn said.
“Yes,” Rostov replied.
“I know what you did to my first mom, I know what you did to my friend Abe, and I know what you wanted to do to me. You’re not a good person. My mom…”—she glanced at Desirae—“says I should forgive you so I can move on. I’ll try, but I don’t know if I can.” She paused and looked at her mother again. “That’s it.”
“Okay, sweetie.” Desirae kissed Tessa’s cheek and then said into the camera, “We’re done here.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. “We’ll talk later.”