Page 34 of The Love Thief
CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR The Interview
As much as I didn’t want to crawl out of the safety of my cocoon at the hotel, I had to. Today was the day of my FBI interview, and even though a big part of me felt down and out and full of dread, I resisted indulging in my pity party du jour.
Knowing that Barry had once again screwed me over, I began to feel a sense of excitement and anticipation about the interview.
Perhaps this was my one chance for revenge.
I was anxious to finally discover what this was all about, especially since learning the FBI had followed us in Budapest. If the agent was willing to come all the way to India to interview me, this was no small-time investigation.
Hopefully it would end with Barry’s head on a stick—and I was up for it!
Agent Turner had sent me a short, polite email asking when I planned to be back in San Diego and if we could arrange to meet in person.
Not a word about why he needed to speak with me.
I copied Auntie Geeta and Mom on my reply and explained that I was currently studying in India, and I was not certain when I would be returning home.
The next email from him asked if I would be available to meet with him in India.
What?
That message spoke volumes!
Before I responded, I called Mom and Auntie.
“You are never going to believe this, but I’ve been offered an amazing, high-paying job consulting for a hotel chain in Delhi that wants to build a California diner,” I told them with unsuppressed excitement.
I downloaded the details about the consulting job offer from Maya and explained that I wasn’t exactly certain when I would be coming back to San Diego.
“Holly, honey! That sounds like a fabulous opportunity, and you should take it for sure. But please, let’s discuss this FBI situation first,” said Auntie Geeta, quickly shifting into her very businessy-lawyer voice.
“Well, I just got an email from the agent, and he is offering to come to Rishikesh to meet with me,” I shared.
Auntie was insistent that I not speak or meet with the FBI alone.
She told me that if I were to meet with the agent, ideally, it would be at her office, but since the agent was willing to go to Rishikesh, she would arrange to have her brother Sumant, an attorney in New Delhi, accompany me in the meeting.
Now, five days later, wide awake and highly energized, I showered, shaved my legs, and put on makeup for the first time in months.
Our interview was going to be videotaped, and I planned on looking like the innocent woman I knew myself to be.
Having never intentionally committed a crime, I felt certain that I was not in any trouble.
And, just in case that rat Barry someday saw this interview, I was determined to look as good as possible.
After years of indulging my guilty pleasure of reading true crime books and watching hundreds of episodes of Law & Order , I knew that sometimes innocent people get into bad situations.
The defense lawyers seemed to always want their witnesses to portray a girl-next-door look.
I then slipped into the only dress I’d brought with me, just in case I managed to find my way into a gourmet restaurant or party.
It was a simple, conservative, high-necked, navy-blue A-line dress with three-quarter sleeves and a thin gold belt. Standing in front of the mirror, I had two thoughts: I look like someone’s first-grade teacher. And too bad I forgot to pack a string of pearls.
Auntie’s younger brother, Sumant, and I had had dinner the previous night.
Although his specialty was contract and business law, Auntie had briefed him on how to best protect me in the interview.
Like Auntie, he was in his sixties, warm, friendly, and very talkative.
He shared with me funny stories of their childhood in New Delhi, including their sibling rivalry in the debate club.
Highly competitive and verbose, they were lawyers-in-training by high school.
Being with Sumant felt like family, and even though this was his first FBI interview, I felt safe knowing he would be there with me.
Sumant and I met in the lobby of my hotel and jumped into an auto rickshaw for the quick ten-minute ride to Agent Turner’s hotel, where we found our way to a small, windowless conference room.
We arrived promptly at 9 A.M. , when Agent Turner greeted us in a navy-blue blazer, blue oxford shirt, and khaki pants.
He was taller than I remembered with his short brownish hair and grayish eyes, and I found him to be rather handsome.
Without meaning to, I glanced at his left hand, searching for a wedding band, which he did not have.
I quickly suppressed a smile, realizing that even at the most absurd times, I was still a romantic girl at heart.
He offered us coffee, tea, or water before he seated me in front of a small but professional-looking video camera.
Sumant sat directly across from me, and Agent Turner was to my right at the head of the conference table.
As he flipped on the video camera, Agent Turner asked us to call him Jackson.
He then explained that everything that would be discussed was highly confidential and then swore me in with an oath—just like on TV. He then looked me straight in the eyes.
“Holly, it’s absolutely essential that you be one hundred percent truthful with me today. Do you understand?”
I nodded in the affirmative.
“For the record, please state your full legal name.”
“Holly Louise Grant.”
“Please take your time and tell us how you know Barry Tavers and the nature of your relationship.”
My neck and cheeks flushed as a tightness gripped my heart, and a pang of anxiety shot through me, knowing that I would now have to admit my foolishness to a complete stranger. Who knew how many other FBI agents would eventually see this!
Sumant gave me a slight smile and an encouraging nod of support from across the table.
I slowly took a sip of water and launched into the story.
In as neutral a tone as I could muster, I started with the night we met at his mother’s gala, the whirlwind romance, the trip to Budapest two weeks after we met, the marriage proposal in Petco Park, and the embarrassing engagement gift of a boob job, which I delivered while shifting in my seat and praying to suppress the red-hot shame I could feel on my face.
“Take your time, Holly. You’re doing great,” Agent Jackson encouraged.
I took another sip of water and went on to explain how he insisted we move in together in order for me to have a little time to get to know his twin girls before they left for college. My stomach began churning when I realized it was time to describe that night of my near-death car accident.
I gave myself a quick pep talk to boost what little courage I had and spilled it all: the betrayal I discovered on my phone, the pain and horror of watching my dreams disintegrate, my waking up in the hospital, the six weeks of painful recovery at my mom’s house, and the reason I came to Rishikesh.
Agent Turner never interrupted me and listened as intently as anyone I had ever sat with. As I spoke, he jotted down some notes on a yellow legal pad.
When I finished, he gave me a warm, kind look. “Thank you, Holly,” he said in a soft voice. “I imagine this has been difficult for you to recall, and I appreciate your candor and willingness to share your story. What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Tavers today?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since I left the hospital, and have not had any communication of any kind with him. I don’t plan to speak to him ever again.”
“You said that the purpose of the trip to Budapest was for Mr. Tavers to buy art for his parents’ private collection. Can you tell me what you recall about the art dealer, his name, and the nature of his relationship with Mr. Tavers?”
“On the drive to have the lunch meeting, Barry told me he came to Budapest at least once a year to catch up with his dear friend, and to see what new acquisitions he might pick up for his parents. He may have mentioned that there was a family connection between Mrs. Tavers and Lassie’s mother, but I’m not quite sure about that.
He did seem to think that there was royal blood somewhere with one of the parents.
“I think the art dealer’s real name is Laszlo Varga, and his mother, Ilona, might have been a cousin to Mrs. Tavers.
She died quite a while ago. When we arrived, Barry and Lassie embraced like long-lost brothers.
. . they even looked like they could be related.
They were very excited to see each other and immediately jumped into a conversation about family and shared friends while Lassie gave me a short tour of his castle-like home.
Lassie was very charming, accommodating, and friendly. ”
I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. After a short pause, I looked up at Agent Turner. “What else do you want to know?”
“What kind of questions did Lassie ask you?”
“Well, he complimented me on my shoes and the scarf I was wearing, and he asked me who my favorite designers were. It wasn’t a very deep conversation,” I said.
“Any other questions you can remember?”
“He wanted to know who my favorite artists were, and I misunderstood and told him I was a big Beatles fan but currently had a playlist filled with Ed Sheeran, Shawn Mendes, John Legend, and Taylor Swift, which he found very funny because he was asking me about art artists, not pop artists,” I explained.
I was happy to see that Agent Turner was amused by this.