Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit Paul Goldman (the mitten read aloud .txt) 📖

corruption. To write thisstory, I need more evidence. If I wrote it now, I’d be sued forslander.”

“I understand, Jim,” Isaid, though I was still disappointed. “So, how many people will beworking on the story with you?”

“Just my editor,” headmitted, returning the pen to the table withsatisfaction.

“Oh. I guess it was naïveof me, but I imagined telling my story to teninvestigators.”

“Sorry, Paul, but unlikethe cops, I can promise you one thing,” he said with asmile.

“What’s that?” I askedhopefully.

“Unlike the cops, I’llkeep you informed on my progress.”

“Well, good luck, Jim andthanks again for your time.” I stood up slowly and headed back intothe lobby where the guard and the receptionist had found a new joketo laugh about. Confronted with another roadblock, I was tempted toask the guard what time he expected Clark Kent to return, because Icertainly needed him now.

No matter. I was already reaching for my cellphone to call information. By the time I was out to my car, I wasspeaking with Mia O’Shea, an investigative journalist at Channel12, WPTH. Within minutes, I had given her the highlights of mystory, and arranged to meet with her the next day.

“I have good news, and Ihave bad news,” Mia stated after our meeting, flashing a beautiful,pearly white smile. Mia was a beautiful woman, around forty yearsof age, and she wasn’t only a “behind the scenes” investigator, butreported her stories on the air as well. Mia had listened with thesame look of amazement that I had now become accustomed to seeingin everyone who heard my story for the first time. Heartache forthe kids, sympathy for me, and anger towards Audrey. But I wasn’tlooking for pity, and I was done being seen as pitiful. “The badnews is,” she continued, speaking to me in what sounded like an “onair” voice, “I cannot do the story for fear of being sued. The goodnews is, however, that I can cover your trial and Bob's too, andbring the story to light that way.”

“That's a great idea,” Isaid.

“Hey, I can also contactmy buddy at the FBI to see if they're on the case,” Miaoffered.

“That sounds really good,Mia. Thanks!” I said, happy to have found a way to follow up on theFBI. I ended our meeting by asking her to call me as soon as sheheard anything.

“I will, Paul.” Mia led medown to the lobby, but on the way had one more question for me. “Itake it Audrey was really great in bed, huh?”

I was stunned by thisquestion. Not knowing what she really wanted to hear, I just toldher the truth. “Actually, some males fantasize that having aprostitute constantly at your beck and call would result innon-stop, fantastic sex. The harsh reality is that it's allbusiness, and, as I found out, it's hardly non-stop, once she'sachieved her financial goals. It's all about the money.”

“I understand, Paul. Well,you take care.”

On my way home, I had timeto reflect. Perhaps I'm finally making some progress, I thought. Ihad spoken to three cops and two FBIagents, and hadn't gotten anywhere. It felt good to have anewspaper guy and a television reporter on my side, helping me getthe story out.

Not satisfied, however, I began to brainstormalternative approaches while the date of my divorce trial quicklyapproached.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Compaq

December 7, 2009

The last play before halftime was a longpass. Just as the receiver jumped high to make a one-handed catch,a loud pop startled me. Then came more pops, like firecrackersexploding in furious delight. Pop, pop, pause, pop, pop, pop. Ileft the play in mid catch and ran into the kitchen to rescue thepopcorn from the microwave.

“Is it ready yet?” Johnnycalled from the family room, struggling to stay awake at least tohalftime of the Sunday night football game.

“It’ll just be a minute,buddy!” I called back, the smell of the popcorn now filling my noseas I turned to grab a big bowl from the cabinet. Much like ourSaturday nights of reading or movie watching, our Sunday nightswatching football and enjoying some after-dinner popcorn wasbecoming a pretty consistent, weekly ritual. And there was reallynot much else I would have rather done.

With the beep of the microwave announcing ajob complete, I opened the door and gingerly grabbed the steamingbag by its corner and flipped it down onto the countertop. “Thegame’s back on!” Johnny alerted, and so I emptied the popcorn intothe bowl, and tossed in some extra butter.

“Okay, I’m on my way,” Ireplied as I turned to rejoin my son on the couch. I reached toturn out the kitchen light when my eyes caught sight of my laptopstill open atop the kitchen table. For business, I had my owndesktop computer up in my office, and I kept the laptop downstairsfor family use. Johnny and I had checked tonight’s football gamematch-up before dinner, and I guess I forgot to turn it off.Scolding myself for being so absentminded, I reached over to closeit. As I did, an idea came over me. When Audrey and I were marriedand living here together, she would always say how much she lovedhaving a laptop, so I bought that one for our joint use, and Iwould often come home to find her perched on the couch with it orquickly returning emails as she made dinner in the kitchen. Itnever occurred to me to ask whom she might be sending emails to.But, it did occur to me now.

The next morning I pulledout the Yellow Pages to find a computer“geek” who could see what was inside the laptop. I looked up“computer repair” in the Yellow Pages, and called the firstnumber. A man named Sam answered thephone.

“My name is Paul Goldmanand I have an interesting situation I was hoping you could help mewith.”

“How can I help you?” Samasked, with a vaguely familiar accent. I gave him the “least youneed to know” version of my story, and asked if there was anythinghe might be able to do to retrieve erased emails orfiles.

“No problem,” Sam replied.“I can easily look at everything on the hard drive. I’ve got a verygood software program for that.”

“Sounds great! Can youcome by tomorrow and have a look at it?” I asked,