Page 18 of Your Every Wish

She holds up the gold key. “He says he found this key in the box and threw it into one of the envelopes and has no idea what its significance is. It is not the key to the box he already opened. That one was in Bank of the West in downtown San Francisco and has since been closed. For all he knows this key is a memento of some sort. A ‘good luck charm.’ ” She makes quotes in the air.

“But I’m not buying it. This key goes to something and when we find it, it’ll be filled with money, I just know it. ”

“What if it isn’t?”

“What if it is?” she challenges.

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you this before because you were all riled up about the key being in my envelope and not yours, but I’m pretty sure Willy died penniless. I’m pretty sure he died penniless because his last days on earth were spent in a federal penitentiary for insider trading.”

“What are you talking about? Mr. Townsend said he died in Santa Barbara. Isn’t that where Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry and Meghan Markle live?”

“He died in a federal correction institution in Lompoc, California. It’s an hour away from Santa Barbara. And the only people who live there are convicted felons.”

“How do you know this? And how do I know you’re not just telling me this so you can find the money yourself?” She collapses on the couch and puts her feet up on the coffee table.

“I know it because after you and I met at Mr. Townsend’s office, I went home and did a little research.

Something about his story about Willy dying with friends didn’t sound right to me.

Townsend made the whole thing up to spare us the sadness of it.

But when I called him to tell him I knew, he confirmed it.

Every last bit. Hang on a sec, and I’ll show you.

” I search Google for the San Diego Union-Tribune article with the story and hand my phone to Kennedy.

“You see?” I say after giving her enough time to read the entire story. “I didn’t make it up.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I didn’t know this. Do you think he really did it?”

“Yes! Of course he did it.”

“But why? Why would he risk everything?”

Seriously?

“Kennedy, the man was a professional gambler. He loved risk. And he loved money. This was easy. Buy the stock while Spordell was a relatively small company, then sell after the merger, when the stock went sky high. Dex says they made an example out of Martha Stewart’s insider trading with a light sentence.

But for someone like Willy Keil . . . they chopped him up into mincemeat.

And I can’t say I blame the feds. He deserved everything he got. ”

“What happened to the money he made? What happened to his fortune?”

It’s always money with Kennedy.

“Didn’t you read the story? He was ordered to pay substantial restitution. Millions.”

“He had millions to spare. His bookmaking business alone had to be worth tens of millions. He had a home in San Diego and a penthouse suite in the Bellagio, not to mention a slew of other assets. Where did it all go?”

For someone who didn’t know about Willy’s conviction, she sure kept tabs on his wealth.

“I don’t know, Kennedy. This is a guy who thought nothing of losing two million dollars at a poker table. I’m guessing his high-stakes lifestyle finally caught up with him.”

“Nope.” Kennedy shakes her head. “I’m not buying it. What about Townsend? What if he took it all?”

I roll my eyes. “I doubt it, Kennedy. He’s a pretty respected lawyer.”

“You’re too trusting. Look at that Alex Murdaugh guy. He stole tons of money from his clients.”

She has a point there. And arguing about Willy Keil’s nonexistent fortune isn’t getting us anywhere. “Let’s focus on your immediate problem, then we’ll worry about Willy’s money. Did you call that detective?”

“If I had Willy’s money, then I wouldn’t have a problem. No, I did not call the detective. I’m trying to hold him off until I can come up with the money.” She holds up the key. “We need to find the safe-deposit box this goes with.”

“It’s too small for a safe-deposit box.” I take the key from her and turn it over in my hand.

It’s so minuscule that it got lost in the crevice of a small envelope.

“It looks like a luggage or a briefcase key to me.” I grab my phone, snap a picture of the key.

and search for it using Google Lens. “See.” I show her a picture of a designer carry-on suitcase with a similar key.

“Good luck finding Willy’s Gucci valise. ”

“Maybe the prison has it,” she says.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m trying here, Emma. You don’t have to be so negative.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be negative. But right now, you have bigger fish to fry. I think we need to get you a lawyer.”

“And how am I supposed to pay for that? If I had the money for a lawyer, I could pay back Mr. Sterling.”

“I might be able to work something out. If I get someone to handle your case pro bono, would you be willing to talk to him?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t he be obligated by law to turn me in? Because I’m not going back to Vegas without the money, Emma. If word gets out about this, I’m through as a casino host. No one will let me anywhere near a casino again.”

“I get it. Let me ask without telling him who you are. Maybe this can be taken care of with a phone call.”

She nods but I can see she’s not real hopeful. Nor am I. But you never know until you try.

I take my phone into the bedroom and close the door. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. How are things going at the trailer park?”

“Good. I can’t wait for you to see it. Just don’t judge, and try to see the potential.”

“Of course I will.”

“I actually called to talk to Sam. Is he there?”

“He’s outside working in the garden. Let me get him for you.”

One of the many reasons I love Mom is the way she can sense when to ask questions and when not to. Today, her intuition is right on the mark because she puts him on the phone and announces that she’s running to the store and will call me later.

“Hello, Emma Peel.” That’s what Sam calls me because he says I look just like Diana Rigg, the 1960s actress who played Emma Peel on the Avengers TV show. “What’s up?”

“I have a legal question.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“If a person is accused of stealing thirty thousand dollars and the police are looking for her . . . I mean him . . . and he came to you as his lawyer, would you be duty bound to turn him in?”

“Is this person you?”

“No. It’s an acquaintance.”

“Not Dex, right?”

“Of course not. Just someone at the trailer park who is involved in a misunderstanding.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie either.

“I’d probably want to call the police and tell them that the person they were looking for is now represented by me and take it from there.”

“But you wouldn’t have to give up their whereabouts?” I toy with a loose thread on my quilt, the one Grandma Tuck made me my first year at UC Santa Cruz, so I’d have something familiar while living in the dorm.

“It would depend. What’s this really about, Emma?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. But if I were, would you represent this person? I mean, at least until they could find someone else if they had to. Because this can probably be cleared up pretty quickly.” What I’m hoping is that Kennedy’s mom will fess up and do what’s right.

“And you say this person is an acquaintance of yours?”

“More like a friend.” Or a half sister.

“If it’s a friend of yours I can consult with him, see what the situation is, and make some recommendations. Will that work?”

“Yes, that would be perfect. Let me talk to him and I’ll get back to you. And thank you, Sam.”

“No problem, Emma Peel.”

“He’ll do it!” I call to Kennedy. But when I go in search of her, she’s gone.