Free The Survivors Club by J. Carson Black Page B

George Hanley.”
    “George Hanley?”
    “He worked with your sister, Jaimie Wolfe, on SABEL. An older gentleman.”
    “Oh, I think I remember him—vaguely. He was the one that was killed? The old man?”
    “That’s right. Jaimie said he was your client.”
    “No, actually, he wasn’t.” He cleared his throat and looked up at the numbers. Tess could feel the tension between them. It was almost as if he were hoping she’d disappear if he ignored her.
    Fat chance of that.
    The elevator dinged. The door opened onto an opulent office.
    Michael DeKoven said, “I need to shower and change. Can you wait?”
    “Sure I can.”
    “Because if you’re busy…”
    “No. This is Number One Hit on my Hit Parade.”
    He smiled. “See you in two shakes, then.”
    Tess waited.
    And waited.
    She knew all about waiting people out. She did it all the time in interviews. Sometimes it psyched people out and sometimes it didn’t. She appreciated the man’s willingness to try something like this. She guessed he did it a lot—a power play.
    Tess didn’t plan to ask him anything major. She wanted to know a little about Hanley’s finances. But he’d scotched that in the elevator.
    She also wanted to find out more about the DeKovens, to get a better handle on Jaimie DeKoven. Their star had faded in recent years, but the family was still important to this part of the country. Tess was new to southern Arizona, but she liked history. She’d been reading up on Tucson and its past, and the DeKovens were a big part of that.
    Tess knew these were powerful people, and any place she was, she liked to check in with powerful people.
    Because things happened around them.
    She noticed a watercolor behind the desk, well lit and beautifully framed. Walked over to get a closer look.
    “I see you noticed my new purchase,” a voice came from behind her: Michael DeKoven all spiffed up. He spiffed up good. A handsome man.
    “Charles Russell?” she said.
    “Good eye.”
    Tess did have a good eye—she’d noted the signature.
    “It’s an original Russell—I just bought it at the Scottsdale auction. A hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
    Tess had to get used to people who not only put a financial value on everything, but stated it outright. Was it insecurity? Or just pride?
    “‘Counting Coup,’” DeKoven added. “It was quite a battle to get this piece, but I won in the end. Do you like it?”
    “Yes.”
    “I buy a lot of Russell and Remington. They speak to me. I was raised in the Southwest where a lot of these struggles happened—lots of struggle. The Apache wars, Geronimo…my family was a big part of the taming of this area, so historical paintings from that era have always held an attraction for me. My great-great-great-grandfather was the first to operate a cattle ranch in the Rincon Valley. He helped build this state.” DeKoven sat down behind his massive desk. “What did you want again?”
    “George Hanley?”
    He laughed. “Oh, I can’t tell you much. I only met him, I think, once or twice.”
    “Just a few questions,” Tess murmured, “and I’ll be out of your hair.”
    “I don’t know if I can be helpful at all.” His tone diffident. “You know, I meet a lot of people.”
    “But he came to you for financial advice?”
    “As I recall, we had a meeting. I told him what I thought he should do, that I’d be happy to look into his finances in depth if he wanted me to. We talked about how he could make that money work for him instead of letting a lot of it go to Uncle Sam. Although in the general scheme of things, it wasn’t much money at all. I was worried that he might not have enough to see him all the way through retirement.” He paused. “But I guess that’s not an issue now.”
    Tess didn’t like the way he said that. It was just a toss-off remark, but it sounded inappropriate coming from DeKoven’s mouth.
    “So that’s the extent of my involvement with Mr. Hanley.” DeKoven