Money to Burn

Kevin said, “We’re bringing suit against McVee’s estate. Might take a while, but we’ll get it back.”

“Less Mallory’s share,” I said. I had no idea what that would be. Her lawyer had advised her not to attend her dead lover’s memorial service, so they were clearly still posturing. Little did I know that in the coming months it would be the market, not Mallory, to take half of my remaining net worth.

The elevator doors opened and we exited through the main lobby. We had to step around the scaffolding on the sidewalk. Two workers above us were removing the signature gold letters that had once spelled SAXTON SILVERS on the building’s black granite facing. It was now down to SAXTON.

“I remember when they did that to Mr. Roebuck,” said Papa.

A couple of photographers were snapping away at the change in signage on the former Saxton Silvers’ headquarters, but the bulk of financial media had moved down the street, waiting for the next institution to crater beneath the weight of its own mistakes. It wouldn’t be long.

A taxi pulled up to the curb and stopped. Ivy was in the backseat, but she didn’t get out. She lowered the window and smiled.

“Hey, handsome. Need a ride?”

I hobbled over. “So, are we still hitched?”

Ivy had been meeting with a family-law specialist to sort through our marriage, her disappearance, my marriage to Mallory, Ivy’s return, and my pending divorce.

“Here’s the way I see it. We can pay a lawyer thousands of dollars to research the hell out of this. Or we can pay fifty bucks to the city of New York and get married again.”

There was silence. Of the two choices, the answer was obvious.

Papa stepped in and offered a third option. “Or…you could just have fun and get to know each other again.”

We looked at each other.

Ivy said, “It couldn’t hurt to talk it over.”

“Talk is good.”

“Yeah, let’s definitely talk about it,” she said.

“We could get a coffee.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the Hôtel de Crillon.”

“In Paris?”

She held up two airline tickets. “We leave from JFK at five-twenty.”

I smiled. “That doesn’t give me much time to pack.”

“You could just run inside and buy a few things from Sax,” she said, pointing.

I turned. The workers had removed three more gold letters-T-O-N, leaving only the phonetic equivalent of the Fifth Avenue department store.

“Hop in,” she said. “I packed for you.”

Papa helped me into the taxi. I was about to close the door, but he stopped me, stuck his head inside and said, “Have fun. And remember: Love each other. That’s the main thing.”

I will never understand how he did it. That was his gift-the ability to say such cornball things and make them sound genuine.

“We will, Papa,” said Ivy, smiling.

I smiled, too-all the way to the airport.

Acknowledgments

Money to Burn IS A FIRST NOVEL OF SORTS-MY FIRST WITH SALLY Kim, my new editor at HarperCollins. If you enjoyed it, give her the credit. If not, blame my agent, Richard Pine. It was Richard who shot me an e-mail way back in 2007 and started me down the road of a “Wall Street thriller”-long before anyone saw the real-world crisis coming. The guy is that good.

My thanks also to editorial assistant Maya Ziv; to my assistant, Marie McGrath; and to my early readers, Janis Koch, Jeff Roberts, and Gloria Villa. I also had plenty of help along the way from New Yawkers like Julie Fisher, and from a few financial good guys (David McWilliams, Jeff Roberts, Jim Jiao, Mike Moran, and others) who were of more help than they realize. Of course, the mistakes are all mine.

My deepest appreciation goes to Gloria and James V. Grippando, my parents, part of the greatest generation-two “ants” who could teach “grasshoppers” plenty. I wrote most of the outline for Money to Burn while at my father’s bedside, then banged out the book after his passing. To the end, he smiled about what he had, never griping about what he’d lost. His strength of character found its way into Money to Burn in ways I may never fully understand. He certainly gave me a unique perspective as, in the name of “research,” I watched Wall Street implode in real time. I loved him dearly and miss him terribly, and through Michael Cantella’s “Papa,” I feel his spirit on the pages of this book.

Finally, I thank my wife, Tiffany. Finding the creative juices to write a novel in “My Least Favorite Year” was no easy feat. I daresay it would have been impossible without her love and support.

JMG, MAY 2009

About the Author

JAMES GRIPPANDO is the bestselling author of sixteen previous novels, including Intent to Kill, Born to Run, Last Call, Lying with Strangers, When Darkness Falls, and Got the Look, which are enjoyed worldwide in twenty-six languages. He lives in Florida, where he was a trial lawyer for twelve years.

www.jamesgrippando.com