Page 60 of The Picasso Heist
THIS IS ME going about my life as if nothing happened.
I do everything as I normally would for the next couple of days. I even do the one thing I really don’t want to do but can’t avoid. I have lunch with Smarmy Waxman.
“May I start you off with something to drink?” asks our waiter at Le Chanteclair in Midtown, standing poised with pen and pad.
Smarmy lowers the wine list that he’s buried his face in for the past few minutes and smiles at me.
I’m getting creepy-uncle vibes. “You know, we have a very strict rule at Echelon about consuming alcohol during the workday.” He leans forward and says, his voice dropping to a whisper, “But I won’t tell the boss if you won’t. ”
He thinks he’s hilarious. It doesn’t help that ever since he became CEO, every Echelon employee has been laughing at his dumb jokes in the name of career advancement. I’m already a VP at twenty-two but my dignity has no problem playing along.
“That’s funny,” I say, laughing.
Smarmy orders a bottle of Brunello, which I assume is ridiculously expensive given the way our waiter genuflects before bringing over a decanter.
“I’m glad we could do this, Halston,” he says after we’re alone again.
“Me too,” I say, laughing for real on the inside. “Me too.”
I don’t expect him to get the joke. He’s not supposed to. The guy is leveraging his power and position in the hope of getting into my pants. It’s as if he were in a coma during the entire #MeToo movement.
Before I can even think of what to say next, we’re interrupted.
But not by our waiter. Not by any waiter.
It’s not even one person; it’s two. They’re dressed in ill-fitting, off-the-rack suits.
One guy is standing slightly in front of the other, and he does all the talking. He makes no apology for interrupting.
“Are you Halston Graham?” he asks.
I look at him. I look at the two of them. They clearly don’t work for the restaurant. In that case—“That depends,” I say. “Who wants to know?”
I couldn’t have teed him up better. This is the moment that all FBI agents must absolutely relish—getting to whip out the badge and hold it up like a gin card.
“I’m Agent Bryant,” he says. He points to his partner. “And this is Agent Daniels.”
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Smarmy, echoing me. “What’s this about?”
“Ms. Graham, we’re hoping to get your cooperation with an ongoing Bureau investigation. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”
“Here? Now?”
“We went to your office and were told that you were here at lunch,” he says. “As for the timing, yes, I’m afraid it’s now. But it doesn’t have to be here. In fact, we’d prefer that it not be.”
“Where would it be?” I ask.
“At our field office downtown.”
Smarmy goes from zero to irate in an instant. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You two march in here in the middle of our—”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” asks Agent Bryant.
“I’m Charles Waxman, CEO of the Echelon auction house and Ms. Graham’s employer. And as far as I can tell, you’re interrupting our lunch unnecessarily.”
“I assure you, Mr. Waxman, we would never be standing here unnecessarily.”
“Can you at least tell us what your investigation concerns?” I ask.
“As I said, I think it’s best if we do this down at our office,” says Agent Bryant.
Smarmy takes out his cell and holds it up like a grenade.
“If you’d like to watch me call my lawyer, be my guest. But I can already tell you what he’s going to say.
If you don’t inform Ms. Graham what this is about, she’ll be finishing her lunch.
Unless you’re planning to arrest her, which I don’t think you are. ”
“You’re right,” says Agent Bryant. “There’ll be no handcuffs today, and hopefully not ever, for Ms. Graham. She’s not the target of the investigation.”
“Then who is?” asks Smarmy.
The two agents exchange glances as if giving each other the okay. “It’s Enzio Bergamo,” says Agent Bryant.
“Bergamo?”
“I take it you know him?”
“I do,” says Smarmy. “What’s he being investigated for?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, but you’re welcome to ask him yourself if you’d like,” says Agent Bryant. He pivots back to me. “In the meantime, it’s important that we ask you some questions about him, Ms. Graham. Time is of the essence.”
“Yeah, well, it can stay of the essence a little longer,” says Smarmy, lifting his cell to his ear.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You can’t talk to these clowns without a lawyer. I’m getting you one. Either mine or one from the firm.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “Please, you can put down the phone.”
“You’re entitled to have an attorney present,” says Smarmy. He jabs his finger at Agent Bryant. “Go ahead, tell her, hotshot. She’s allowed to have an attorney with her, right?”
Agent Bryant nods. “Damn skippy,” he says. “You’re welcome to have a lawyer with you, Ms. Graham. In fact, for your protection, I’d recommend it.”
“I understand,” I say. “But I don’t need anyone’s protection.”