Man in the Middle Read Online Free Page B

by ten feet. Smitham spun in his swivel and began to speak in a low voice. Over the high-backed chair, Peter saw only the top of the attorney’s head. As he waited, Peter continued to eye the numbers on the ledger. His parents, it seemed from the lines of debits and credits, never had a dime of savings. He wondered: was being poor an inherited trait? While he pondered his financial morass, Peter thought he heard Smitham say, “Jason” and a moment later, “debts.” Less than three minutes after picking up, Smitham spun and again faced Peter. “Excuse me, where were we?”
    For the next few minutes, they reviewed Peter’s options. Smitham then asked, “Do you have any assets?”
    “Squat. Owe money on my car. Rent’s due. I have maybe a grand in accrued salary and commission, and that’s more than spoken for. Basically, I’m tap-city.” Peter reflected inwardly long enough to blame himself for getting into this mess. If stupid were smart, he told himself, he’d be Einstein.
    The attorney nodded as if he’d heard those thoughts and agreed with them. “I understand you have a standing offer from Jason Ayers.”
    “That was Mr. Ayers who just called?” Peter asked.
    “Yes. He wanted me to reiterate—in the face of what you’ve learned about your mother’s financial situation—his offer to set up a job interview. Stenman Partners is a prestigious and potentially lucrative place to work.”
    “I know nothing about the capital markets beyond what I learned in Econ 101, and I couldn’t pick Stenman from a police lineup if someone helped me.”
    “They prefer to train their own traders. Commitment, loyalty, intelligence, and hard work are what Stenman seeks in an employee.”
    “Thanks, but I think I’ll pound pavement. See if lightning can strike. Can you keep the creditors at bay for a couple of weeks?”
    “Under the circumstances? Yes. Perhaps you have other relatives who might loan you some money. An aunt or an uncle? A grandparent?”
    “Nope, but even if I did, I wouldn’t ask.”
    “Don’t forget Mr. Ayers’ offer,” Smitham said. “He sounds sincere.”
    “Yeah. I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “He cares, Peter. Like . . . well, perhaps like a father.”
    Peter recalled Ayers’ own son. Curtis had died just after their families stopped seeing each other. Maybe Ayers was reaching out to him as he might a son. Peter was skeptical, but it might explain some of his bizarre interest. The thought also brought to mind Ayers’ daughter. Peter wondered what had happened to skinny, freckle-faced Kate.
    “I recommend you call Mr. Ayers and talk it over.”
    “As I said,” Peter answered, “I’ll keep it in mind while I see what I can manage on my own. Thanks again, Mr. Smitham.”
    The attorney offered a painful smile as Peter stumbled from his office.
    When the elevator arrived and Peter stepped in, his eyes roamed to the acoustic panels in the ceiling. He spoke to the tiny holes: “Hey, God, if you haven’t heard, I need a job.”

CHAPTER TWO

      S TANLEY D RUCKER TOOK A DEEP SWALLOW . The alcohol burned its way down his throat, warmed his stomach, and began the daylong process of numbing his brain. He enjoyed the solitude of Saturday mornings—his ex had left a year ago, and he didn’t miss the bitch, not for a nanosecond. And since she had no idea he had offshore money in the low seven figures, he reveled in the knowledge that he paid her next to nothing, despite California’s Community Property laws. Fuck her. She went back to Iowa and good riddance.
    He stretched and yawned, then took another sip. Drucker liked his house—half an acre, two master bedrooms, and view of the ocean from above the beaches near Malibu. Secluded, too—thick oleander and two dozen pepper trees sheltered the main house from nosy neighbors. He had a satellite dish that got him a couple hundred stations and twelve pro football games on Sundays. Wolfgang Puck’s latest hot spot attracted the in-crowd, only