Jackson lets go of my hand. Now he’s gripping the edge of the table. Hard.
“Stark screwed me out of Brighton,” he says. “He swept in, acquired key parcels of land outside of the consortium’s agreement, and killed the whole goddamn project.”
“Damn straight he did. Like I said, he saved our asses.” Reggie peers at Jackson’s face, then exhales. “Oh, son, didn’t you know? That project was dirty.”
“What are you talking about?” His words are measured and wary.
“I’m talking about fraud. The criminal kind that gets the feds involved waving claims like RICO and securities fraud.”
Jackson says nothing, but I am relieved to see that his grip on the table has loosened just slightly. “Go on.”
“I didn’t realize when I got involved, and I got out as soon as I saw what was happening. Brighton’s the reason I decided to retire. Leave Atlanta.” He lifts a shoulder. “Of course, retirement didn’t stick.”
Jackson says nothing.
“I’ve known Damien for a while, and when I realized what I’d gotten in the middle of, I confided in him. Apparently someone else in the thick of it did, too. He had no reason to stick his nose in, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn a huge profit, but he found a way to acquire those key parcels. As soon as he did, that was the end of it. Brighton went up like a puff of smoke, and so did the risk that we’d all end up with federal convictions hanging around our necks. All of us,” he adds, looking at me.
“Sylvia? She was just your assistant.”
“And she may have walked. At the very least, they would have latched onto her as a witness, made her testify. And you—”
“I would have been hard pressed to avoid a conviction,” Jackson says slowly. “I was all set to get an extremely lucrative commission. It would have been hard to prove I wasn’t completely hooked in.” He closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair. “Shit.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I assumed you knew.”
“I didn’t,” Jackson says. “But I appreciate you telling me.” He turns to me. “I flat out accused him of knocking my career offtrack. And he didn’t say a thing.”
“Damien’s not a man to justify himself to anyone.” I meet Jackson’s eyes. “Reminds me a little bit of you.”
The fund-raiser for the Stark Children’s Foundation is scheduled to start at eleven, with a lunch buffet, activities for the kids, and then a speech by Damien and a live auction, complete with a cattle auctioneer that Damien found in Texas.
Cass and I arrive at about eleven thirty, and I immediately start looking for Jackson, who’s been here since eight.
The fund-raiser is being held at the Greystone Mansion, a popular event location in Beverly Hills. The 1920s mansion itself is huge—over forty thousand square feet—and is tucked away in rolling hills and lush landscaping.
The event is being held in conjunction with Stark Sport Camp, and the entire property is dedicated to the kids who are staying the full weekend for a variety of games and other activities. For camp, the foundation has rented the entire property. But the fund-raiser—which is only a few hours out of the weekend—is being held primarily on the main floor of the mansion, with a few activity stations set up outside on the portable sport courts.
I see a basketball court set up off to the left as Cass and I head into the mansion. “There it is. Jackson’s community service.”
“That’s what he’s doing?” Cass asks. “Basketball?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Let’s find him and ask.”
We enter the main area with the polished checkered floor and stunning grand staircase that has graced so many movies. Along the sides of the room, buffet tables are set up. Adults and children are going through the line, then taking their food to the small cafe tables that are provided both inside and out.
“I don’t see him,” I say, though I do see several familiar faces. Evelyn Dodge, for one, a Hollywood agent and friend of Damien’s. She’s a dynamo with publicity and I recall that Damien was going to ask her advice about releasing news of his relationship with Jackson to the public. As far as I know, though, they haven’t discussed it yet.
I also see Charles Maynard, Damien’s attorney who also represented Jackson on the Reed assault case and negotiated community service in lieu of a conviction. Ollie McKee is here, too. He’s one of Maynard’s associates, and he’s been helping Cass with her plan to franchise her tattoo parlor.
