Birthday Present Pt. 02
Keywords: 02, Birthday, Present, Pt.,
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What I am about to tell you could subject me to a malpractice suit, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't let you know."
"What are you talking about?"
"She was not under-aged, and she never got pregnant."
"What?"
Ellen pulled another document out of her file. "Her real name is Hilda Speyer. She is a professional actress, from Germany." Andrea stared down at a professional portfolio, showing the girl Andrew Hobson had supposedly raped in a variety of poses. The text was in German. "She's twenty-four years old, Andrea," Ellen said softly. "I found this out by doing a simple web search."
Andrea was bewildered. "What about her parents?" "More actors. Oh Andrea, I'm so sorry. If I had been doing my job right, I would have never let you plead guilty."
Andrea closed here eyes as she tried to grasp the enormity of it. "So I never committed a crime?"
"Of course not. You were set up, Andrea, by somebody who wanted you out of the way. When the new law passed requiring judges to offer the surgical alternative to convicted rapists, they altered your file to hedge their bets. Either way, they got what they wanted."
"But who would want to do this to me?"
"I don't know, Andrea, but whoever was behind it must have had a powerful motive, and considerable means. You know, I always wondered why your operation took place so fast, and I was surprised at your sentencing when we were told your new name. Why, it almost looks like the judge might have been in on this…."
In a flash, Andrea understood. The judge who ordered that Andrew Hobson be turned into a woman…and then made sure that Andrea Hobson would never ride again…in an owner's box at the Belmont, cheering as Buckaroo was upset by a dark horse owned by the man next to him….
When Andrea spoke, her voice was deadly calm. "Ellen, what do you know about the judge?"
"Judge Hauk? Well, as you could see for yourself, his judicial temperament leaves a lot to be desired. He's been reprimanded by the chief judge many times for his comments from the bench, including that Hooter's crack he laid on you."
"I'm not asking about his temperament. Is he a crook?"
"Andrea, you can't say things like that! Not without evidence to back it up."
"What if I told you I think I have your motive. Will you help me try to nail him?"
"I don't know, Andrea. I'm not a private detective. If you know something, we should go to the police."
"No, thanks. My faith in the criminal justice system has just taken a hit. I'm asking you to help me prove that the judge is on the take. I think I know who is paying him."
"Who?"
"Ronald Brewster."
"As in Ronald Brewster, the billionaire? The Ronald Brewster who owns hotels, office buildings, car dealerships…."
"And racehorses."
"Oh, my God. Andrea, this is too big for us. We have to go to the police."
Andrea snapped. "Ellen, I'll never forgive you for not picking up on all this before it was too late. It was almost better before…at least I thought I had this coming to me in some way. But now, to find out that I had my balls cut off so some greedy pig could fix a horserace….I need you for this, Ellen. Tell me you'll help me," she pleaded.
Ellen shook her head. "Okay, I'm in. What are we going to do, sister?"
* * *
Andrea quit her job at the department store, and for the next two weeks she spent day and night in Ellen's law library, scouring the Internet for everything she could find about Ronald Brewster. His controversial business dealings, his spectacular divorces, and his flamboyant lifestyle were all grist for the media, fanned by his insatiable lust for publicity. Andrea took particular note of his taste in woman: the billionaire had a weakness for short, perky blondes.
One afternoon, when Andrea returned to Ellen's office after a long lunch break, she was stopped by the receptionist before she could pass into the library. "May I help you, Miss?" Andrea smiled to herself. With her shoulder-length hair dyed ash blonde and styled with pretty curls, she bore no resemblance to either Andrew or Andrea Hobson. It was time to put her plan into action.
Some of Andrew's old friends on the backstretch were Mexican illegals, and they helped Andrea acquire a new social security card in the name of Fawn Healy. Buttressed with a phony resume and glowing references provided by Ellen and Janet, who posed on the phone as former employers, Fawn had no trouble landing a clerical position at Brewster Enterprises. She started out her first day on the job like any other working girl, confined to a small cubicle while she spent eight hours a day grinding out memoranda, arranging travel schedules, and bringing coffee to the higher-ups. She hated every minute of it, awakening at six o'clock each morning to comply with the Brewster dress code for secretaries - skirts or dresses, heels and stockings - and returning home every night with aching feet and freezing legs from the winter cold.
She bided her time, gradually learning enough about the office routines to find out where Brewster kept the files on his race horses. They were located just outside his massive office, near the main reception area. One night just before Christmas, a snotty young executive dumped a huge mailing for a new condominium project on the secretarial pool, and Fawn volunteered to stay late to get it out. She waited until the other girls all went home, then another hour to make sure all of the executives were also gone, before she got up from her cluttered desk and walked nonchalantly to the file cabinets outside Brewster's office. They were unlocked, although she had been prepared to jimmy them if they weren't, and she started to look through them, methodically searching for any evidence about the connection between Ronald Brewster and Judge Hauk.
When she found it, it almost smacked her in the face. The name of the horse that pulled off the surprise upset at the Belmont was Heady Days. The file on Heady Days included a syndication agreement indicating the names of the owners of the horse. On September 16th, the day Andrew Hobson's name was changed to Andrea Hobson, Oliver Hauk was admitted into the syndicate, and granted a 20% share in the horse's winnings for the rest of his career. The document was back-dated to the day before the Belmont Stakes. No consideration was paid.
Andrea put the document on top of the filing cabinet and kept rummaging until she found something else: a copy of a letter written by Brewster's executive assistant to the judge the day after Andrew's arraignment on charges of aggravated rape. It contained directions for the Judge's lunch meeting with Mr. Brewster the following weekend out in the Hamptons. She put the letter next to the syndication agreement, and continued to paw through the file until she found the smoking gun: a telefax from a Frankfurt bank containing the wiring instructions for an account held by the German actress who had posed as Andrew's rape victim.
Andrea was feeling sick to her stomach as she walked into the copy room and xeroxed the three documents. She stopped by her desk and stuffed the copies into her shoulder bag before she returned to the file cabinet and placed the evidence back in the file. She was just closing the file drawer when she heard a noise behind her.
Turning around, Andrea found herself face to face with Ronald Brewster. He was wearing a tuxedo and a white cashmere scarf, and his rugged face was flushed from too much to drink. She had kicked off her shoes to avoid making any noise, and the billionaire stood almost a foot taller than her in her stocking feet. Andrea was trying to figure out what to say when he spoke first.
"Working late tonight, Miss…Healy," he said as he bent down and read the company ID badge pinned to her suit jacket.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Brewster. All of the other girls had Christmas parties or shopping to do, so I volunteered to stay late."
"That's very commendable. You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're cute. Would you like to see my apartment?"
Ronald Brewster's apartment was the stuff of legend, occupying the entire top floor of the Brewster Building. "I don't know, Mr. Brewster…."
"Come on, it's the least I can do for you after you gave up your night for us. We'll have a glass of Christmas cheer."
Although he was close to sixty, there was a boyish charm about him that took the edge off his raging machismo. "That would be nice. I just have to finish up a few things."
"Take your time. I'll be in my office."
She returned to her cubicle, trying to figure out how to get away from him. If she ran out, he would become suspicious…after his latest divorce, Ronald Brewster was the most eligible bachelor in town, and no girl in her right mind would pass up the opportunity to see his place. She put on her shoes and went to the ladies room, where she brushed her hair and put on a fresh coat of lipstick before returning to pick up her purse and her shoulder bag which, in addition to the incriminating documents, was crammed with junk like the sneakers she swapped for her heels during her nightly trudge to the bus stop. She put on her overcoat and walked hesitantly into Brewster's mammoth office.
He was waiting for her at his enormous mahogany desk, in front of an entire wall filled with framed magazine covers showing the great man in various moments of triumph. "My ego wall," he chuckled as he got up from his desk. "Let's go."
They rode upstairs in silence in a polished brass elevator. When the door opened, they were standing in the foyer of his spectacular apartment. Brewster took her coat and shoulder bag, hanging them himself in a closet by the door. "I've given the staff the night off, for the holiday," he explained.
"You mean we're alone?" she asked as they walked into his sunken living room. The lights of the city went on as far as the eye could see.
"Just you and me, Fawn. What can I get you to drink?"
"Some white wine?" she asked.
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Keywords: 02, Birthday, Present, Pt.,