Second Chance

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Kiliaen Van Rossum sat behind his grand antique oak desk and looked at the nervous man in front of it. He was angry, more any than he believed he should have. No one that knows his reputation as a ruthless businessman would pull the stunt this man had perpetrated. If this person brought here by force had known that, he would not have tried to sneak an incomplete report past and charged an incredibly high fee for it.

“Do you believe I’m a stupid man?” Van Rossum spoke with a calmness that shook Gregory Phillips.

“No, I don’t.” The private investigator squirmed in his chair. An hour ago, four large and intimidating men removed him from his Loudonville office and tossed him roughly into the backseat of a Cadillac, driven silently through Latham and Colonie before arriving downtown. No one would answer his questions; no one would talk with him. Allowed to contemplate what was happening and what could occur, Phillips become agitated. When they arrived at the Beverwyck Trade Center garage, the private investigator realized what transgression was coming back to haunt him.

When the car came to rest, the same four men wrestled him out and into a private elevator. He grasped that Van Rossum wanted him to be fully cognate when questioned by the lack of excessive force the men used on him. He tried to talk with them, and again, silence was the answer.

Two men dragged him out of the elevator and down a long corridor, closed office doors on both sides. The other two walked ahead, making sure no one would see the action occurring. Phillips heard muffled sounds coming from the offices: typewriters in use, men talking on the phone, women making deals or ordering files from the records room. Ahead, he saw the large, dark chestnut-colored door with the name “Kiliaen Van Rossum” in gilded-edge letters. He swallowed heavily, fearing that he’d never see the light of day again. For a brief moment, he thought of screaming, asking for help, but knew it would have been futile. No one would come to his aid.

One of his abductors opened the foreboding door and stepped aside, the other enter. A mature woman, presumably Van Rossum’s personal assistant, exited. He didn’t hear the man say to leave, meaning she knew beforehand that he was coming. She looked down, never gazed at him. She slipped into a woman’s lavatory.

Phillips did a quick look around the anteroom. There was a desk, small but business-like. There was a typewriter on one wing, a phone and blotter on the main area. To his right, there was a leather couch, new and black, presumably used for those waiting to see the man behind the second large but darker door. Unlike the first, there were no words on it announcing who was behind it. One of the thugs opened it. Dragged to a single chair that was in front of Van Rossum’s desk, Phillips knew to sit. The men left, closing the door behind them.

“You don’t believe I’m a stupid man,” Van Rossum said. “If you didn’t believe it, then why did you treat me like one? Why did you just add a few names to the suspect list, a list I might add anyone of the men out there could have assembled for me in ten minutes?”

Phillips could see the anger develop in the man. The placid façade he’s seen during meetings, the calm confidence he witnessed when talking with other business leaders was leaving. Agitated would not be the word that best described Van Rossum now. The private investigator sat back in the chair, expecting a verbal explosion could happen at any moment.

Instead, Van Rossum inhaled deeply and smiled. “I ask for complete honesty from my employees. I ask for total commitment. I ask that everyone working for me, whether they are full-time employees or hired free lancers, to follow my instructions to the letter.” He stood and walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it.

The closeness unnerved Phillips. He squirmed before moving slightly away from the businessman. He had been in combat, faced enemies holding AK-47s. He faced angry husbands wielding semi-automatic pistols. Once, a jealous girlfriend held one of his own guns to his scrotum when she found out he was two-timing her. None of that unnerved him, made him flinch. He was calm under stress that would make others run in terror. This man Van Rossum, however, was unsettling.

Before accepting the assignment, Phillips performed due diligence. He ran background checks on him, purchased information from other investigators that had worked previously for the man. Previous activities and interactions he’s read caused Phillips to be concerned. To him, Van Rossum was just a spoiled rich man looking to solve a cold case.

Van Rossum stared at the closed office door, ignoring Phillips for a long, silent minute before speaking. “I asked for a list of suspects, a report on those men, and a report on the family of those men. I didn’t see anything about the families since the theft.” He took a deep breath, held it for a moment before releasing it. He closed his eyes in an effort to compose himself.

“Where is the family report?”

Phillips knew he was wrong. He never started that part of the job. He was lazy and sloppy. He thought he could fool Van Rossum. It wasn’t the first time he slipped poorly assembled data or partial work to a client. Van Rossum was just the first one to notice it. He opened his mouth to offer an apology but thought better of it.

“Did you even write that report?” Van Rossum snapped when Phillips hadn’t answered him.

“Yes I did do that report,” Phillips lied. He was trying to stall, waste time while he tried to think of excuses as to why he didn’t do it, or lie that he didn’t give it to Van Rossum.

“Then where is it? Did you forget it back in your office? If I send two of my associates in the outer office back to Loudonville, will they find it on your desk, in your filing cabinet?”

Phillips gave another lie to stall. “I’ve never given a client incomplete reports before.”

“I want to believe you. My investigations into you and your works made me believe you always did complete and thorough jobs. This is making me doubt that you ever did.” Van Rossum stood and returned to his chair. Phillips tried to exhale without making it obvious he felt safer.

Van Rossum looked directly into the hooded eyes of the detective. “Here’s what I think. You did the family report and were going to give it to me, but decided to hold off on delivering it. You wanted to hold it until I gave you more money. Was that the plan, to demand more money from me?”

“No sir that is not what I was thinking.” Phillips tried to swallow, but found his mouth dry. He saw a glass on the desk, full of water. He knew the reason why it was just out of reach. He’s used the tactic before; make the person you want to get information from dry mouthed and beg for water. When they did so, he’d demand the truth before handing over the drink. He wouldn’t fall for it, though he could use that drink now.

Van Rossum thought for a moment. In his business dealings, if he received a portion of what he ordered, the other company would give him a refund proportionate to the undelivered goods or services. Phillips hadn’t delivered the family report. “You should give me some of the money back.”

“I won’t. I’ve never returned money to a client and I won’t start now. I gave you what you wanted.”

Van Rossum slammed his hand on the desk blotter in anger. “No you did not! That’s what you fail to recognize, Mr. Phillips. I know you didn’t compile the family report and tried to slip my inadequate work.” He wanted to say more, but left them on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to do this man harm at his own hands, but that would be beneath his station in life. He reached under the desk and pushed an unseen button. Two men entered the office and flanked Phillips.

Van Rossum smiled. “Gentlemen, please remove this piece of garbage as you’d like.” The men grabbed the private investigator’s arms and raised him from the chair.

It was Phillips’ turn to smile. “You can’t get money from a dead man.” He struggled against the grips, looked at Van Rossum for him to tell his men to release him.

Van Rossum sighed. He looked at his thugs silently and gave three nods: Two to release, one for the men to back away.

“Thank you,” the investigator said as returned to the chair. He brushed his shirtsleeves; making a show that he now had the upper hand. Phillips went to speak but Van Rossum cut him off.

The businessman thought for a moment. He leaned forward, leaning on his elbows. He looked directly into the detective’s eyes. “I can call the bank and have them cancel payment on the check. I’ll tell them that it was stolen, which would immediately cause the state police to be called. They would come to your business, looking into your business and its finances. Perhaps they’ll even look into your business practices.

“They’ll come to me and ask if I want to press charges. Of course, I’ll do that; tell them to pursue the fullest extent of the law against you.” He pushed himself back and chuckled.

“Or you can finish the work and hand me the family report. It’s your choice: finish the work I consigned to you or go to jail.”

“I’ll finish it, given the report to you,” Phillips answered quickly.

“I thought you would.” Van Rossum rose and turned his back on the investigator. He looked out the window, to the distant foothills of the Adirondacks. He had a quick image of younger days, of walking in them. It was a more peaceful and innocent time for him.

“If I fail to do so,” Phillips interrupted Van Rossum’s flashback. “I’ll hand back half the money. Do you agree with this?”

Without facing Van Rossum answered, “I agree.” He sighed, wishing that he could have a few more moments to think of those peaceful days of his youth. He knew that it was impossible; he was no longer a kid. He had responsibilities. He had a multi-million dollar corporation to run.

“I’ll expect that report in one week,” Van Rossum said turning around. He returned to his chair.

Phillips wanted to protest, to say he needed at least a month, but knew any protestations would be useless. “You’ll have it then sir.”

Van Rossum nodded to his men. They came forward and picked up the private investigator. “These gentlemen will escort you back to your office where you’ll finish that report.” Van Rossum smiled and nodded again. The one of them, the man on Phillips’ right, balled up his fist and struck him in the solar plexus. All the air left the man’s lungs. He wanted to fall back onto the chair, wanted to regain his breathing, but that was impossible. The other tough was holding him up.

“That was a warning,” Van Rossum began. He knew there was going to be a question. He anticipated it. “If you screw with me, these men will do more than that to you.

“Help Mr. Phillips out of my office and bring him back to his own.” Before the investigator left, Van Rossum added, “And Gregory, you have one week.”

The men dragged Phillips back down the hall and to the elevator. However this time when the doors closed, one spoke. “You’re damn lucky the boss is in a good mood. If he wasn’t, we’d be carrying you out in several bags.”

“Thank God for that,” Phillips sarcastically said.