Page 111 of Trace of Doubt
Marissa examined her veggie omelet and tasted a bite. “Cash businesses provide the least risk. A solid place for you to start.”
“Which ones do you prefer—restaurants, bars, casinos, check-cashing stores, car washes?”
She laughed. “I started with donut shops. Took a while to make it profitable, but the business model is safe. I learned how to speak to the owner with what he or she wanted to hear. I’ll take you with me on a few calls so you can see firsthand how to work.”
I forced interest in my omelet. “I need the experience.” Marissa had been at this for over fifteen years, and from what I’d seen of her penthouse, I doubt she still resorted to donuts. I silently thanked Denton for insisting I study money laundering. The operation required placement, layering or moving the money around, and integration or pulling the funds out to use when it was cleaned. “Where do I begin?”
“I’ll invest in a decent wardrobe for you. Currently you’re anembarrassment.” She raised her palm. “Rule number one is always look the part. The last time we were together, your hair looked disgusting. I’ll make an appointment for a cut and highlights. I’ll purchase wigs and miscellaneous items to change your appearance before you enter my world. The cost of my investment will be deducted from your pay.”
I nodded as though her stipulations suited me. “Rule number two?”
“Disguise yourself for each new vein of clients. That allows you to check on the investment without the person’s knowledge.”
“The check-cashing businesses see one person while the casinos see another. Makes sense. Rule number three?”
“Trust no one. Not me. Certainly not Eli. He’d stab his mother, especially if I gave the order. Along with trust, give those around you various levels of it while always remembering the sacred rule.” She sipped orange juice laced with vodka. “Live and breathe those three rules, little sister. Forget them and I’ll pull the trigger.”
67
Marissa’s investment into my new wardrobe made me question in what capacity I’d need to perform to please her. We’d spent two full days shopping at high-end stores I’d heard about but never entered. On those trips, she granted me permission to bring one of my new purses. Various disguises, cell phones, and the clothes meeting Marissa’s approval were grouped together according to the client. She’d completed my training with a virtual doctorate in illegal operations.
The two men, Lee and Jess, accompanied us everywhere we went. They never talked, and neither did Marissa speak to them.
Always the ever-present question of why she was making an investment in me. I’d given up thinking she held the keys to my fate out of a sense of debt. Something more. Something beyond a game, something she feared from me worse than my death.
We held no conversations about business inside the penthouse, only on the balcony or at a private restaurant. I’d hidden my phone in my closet where I hoped it wouldn’t be found. But I expectedher to monitor my every move, body language, analyze my words, and search my few personal belongings when we were out. I studied every potential place for a camera to be hidden. The assumption kept me sharp—and alive.
Friday morning we drank dark-roasted Hacienda La Esmeralda coffee on the balcony. The remarkable taste spoiled me for any coffee I’d ever encounter again, and I imagined the price fell into the same category as the clothes and accessories.
Marissa had instructed me to wear an extremely short printed pink silk dress from Balenciaga with matching hot-pink leather sandals. “You select the jewelry, handbag, but no wig. I want to see makeup that complements the dress. Don’t outdo me, though. I have to be the one to turn heads.”
The voice of a true diva. “Are we having lunch?”
“Yes, with a business associate, and I will handle the introductions. You will say nothing unless spoken to. Later I’ll quiz you.”
Thinking quickly no matter the circumstances reminded me of being kids again. We used to play this game at the bakery when it bustled with business. “Ever the teacher,” I said.
“The difference is in the results of a win or a loss.”
Marissa still despised me. “Sister, I have no intention of losing.”
“Hope not. I’ve made an investment.”
“Expect a large return.” I shook my head. “Hey, why did you marry Travis? I never understood the mismatch.”
She laughed. “I first met Eli. And fell hard. He introduced me to the business world, but I needed more of a cover than the bakery. Dad wanted me to meet Travis, and I played the part.” She stared out over the bay. “He bored me, and his church-boy attitude was worse than Mom’s.”
“When did you break it off with Eli?”
“You’re good, Shelby. He bored me too, but I strung him along until I made contacts. I keep him on the payroll and occasionally toss a bone his way.” She frowned. “He’s made a few stupid mistakes lately, but you’re aware of those.”
Could he be Aria’s father? If so, she might feel obligated to keep him alive. “Another question—why live with Mom and Dad all those years? What a cramp in your style.”
“The absolute worse. My RA weekends helped. They adored Aria and put up with my complaining for fear I’d take her and leave. Truth is, I built my assets during those intolerable years.”
I leaned in. “Why the contract on my life?”
“It’s still out there.”
