hands, grabbed Officer Maloney’s nightstick, and clobbered Jasper across the back of his head, and he fell to the ground.
“Drag this prisoner back to his cell immediately before YOU are taking his place,” Agent Lawson said to Officer Maloney.
Jasper was unconscious for about an hour. When he awakened, at that very moment, he was concerned for his freedom and, more importantly, his life. In his thirty-six years, he had never been legally detained although his business activities in recent months caused increased concern over possible federal securities regulatory investigations and even greater concern of being associated with his clients’ felonious criminal activity. Furthermore, increased indiscretion in his personal life clouded his otherwise calculated decision making.
Jasper touched his bloodstained head and rubbed his bruised knuckles as he sat on the urine-stained hard mattress. Unbefitting to his environment, Jasper was dressed in a $3,600 custom-made navy blue pin-striped suit, the jacket taken away along with his $25,000 Cartier watch, eighteen-carat gold cuff links, and wallet. His mustard-colored shirt made from pure Egyptian cotton bore his scripted initials JAC on the cuffs. To briefly diffuse the stench of the bed, Jasper sniffed his shirtsleeve and slightly smiled as the scent offered a memory of Tracey, and he reflected on the prior evening.
The Night before Jasper’s Arrest
A round of applause resounded in the Crystal Jazz Room on the sixty-second floor of the Vanderbilt building. There were over two hundred affluent millionaires enjoying jazz tunes, cocktails, and gourmet dishes.
“That was Billie Holiday’s classic ‘It’s Very Clear’ played by New York City’s own Charles Soon and the Soon Quintet,” announced the master of ceremony. There was another round of applause. “We will take a fifteen-minute break.”
“What have I done in this life to deserve you?” asked Jasper as he stared into Tracey’s eyes. Tracey smiled and sipped more wine.
Jasper and Tracey sat in a candlelit semicircle booth in the corner of the elegant clubroom. The lights were dim, and a small number of intimate tables allowed for privacy. Tracey nibbled on sautéed crab cakes in light béarnaise while Jasper enjoyed lobster meat topped with caviar on brochette in an aioli sauce. Tracey drank a glass of Pinot Grigio while Jasper finished his second extra dry vodka martini with olives. To the left of Tracey was the ice bucket containing one-third of the remaining wine.
“You are a beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman. You bring clarity into my complex world. You give a man all that he needs to look forward to . . . another liberating evening of solace.”
“Jasper, kiss me.” Jasper reached over to Tracey, partially parted his mouth, and kissed Tracey’s soft warm lips. He was so gentle yet firm, she thought. This was the oxymoron to Tracey: Jasper is a man whose daily activities included a fast-paced, harsh, aggressive, and oftentimes, brutal business world with cutthroat dealing and swindling. Yet his kiss revealed a man who was passionate and caring. They continued to kiss for a while until Tracey recalled her exciting news. She became giddy and bubbly, almost childlike, quite contrary to her demeanor in the workplace.
“I closed a $15 billion equity restructuring deal today for one of my dormant clients. This deal was a sleeper for months. Not only did I revive it, but I generated unanticipated record revenues for the investment bank.”
“My lady.” Jasper raised his glass, and Tracey followed suit. They smiled at each other and toasted.
“To the smartest female investment banker on the Street.”
“Female?” Tracey asked somewhat insulted by his sexist remark.
“Apologies, apologies,” he conceited. “Investment banker, period. I couldn’t help but say female because none of the investment bankers I have ever dealt with had such a pretty smile.” Jasper touched her chin and kissed her cheek.
“Which company had the stock deal?” asked Jasper.
“Jasper, now you know I can’t say until the news is made public.”
“Sorry. I forgot I’m with a woman who knows about high-profile stock market transactions before most anyone on the Street,” he slyly remarked.
The band reassembled on stage to play another set. An older female singer approached the microphone as the band played an upbeat jazz tempo.
She sang, “On a clear day, rise and look around you. And you’ll see who you are. On a clear day, how it will astound you that the joy of your being outshines every star.”
“I love those lyrics. It’s what life is all about. You can live in a fog, yet [Tracey sang along] on a clear day you can see forever, and ever . . . evermore. I’ve