Swimming with Sharks by Nele Neuhaus Page B

man was a coward who paid too much attention to his social standing. Zuckerman would rather betray Vitali than go to prison for a year or two. He had apparently forgotten to whom he owed his mansion on Long Island, his weekend house on Cape Cod, and his life of luxury. But it was too late now to remind him. He was a liability.

     
    Alex steered her black Porsche convertible on to the Henry Hudson Parkway, which later turned into the Saw Mill River Parkway. She drove through placid, wooded hill country and passed the exclusive suburbs of Bedford Hills and Mount Kisco. She had been thinking for days about whether she should actually accept the invitation to Sergio’s birthday party at his house in Westchester County. She didn’t quite feel comfortable facing the wife of the man with whom she was having an affair, but her curiosity about Sergio’s house and his family was ultimately strongerthan her fear. Sergio told her that there would be many interesting guests, and that it wouldn’t hurt her to meet some new contacts.
    She turned onto a narrow asphalt road near the Mount Kisco exit. Properties here in Westchester County were so large that you couldn’t see the houses from the road. After Alex had been driving for some time along a ten-foot-high yew hedge, she figured that she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But then a big gate appeared with several men in dark suits with walkie-talkies. She stepped on the brakes, rolled down her window, and showed her invitation to the security guard. With her heart pounding, she drove through the wide-open cast-iron gate. The estate was enormous. The gravel driveway wound through a meticulously designed landscape—the artfully trimmed bushes and lush green lawns reminded her of a golf course, interspersed with patches of trees.
    Alex was amazed when she turned the corner and saw the brightly lit house on the hill. In the twilight, it looked like a French castle. Cars were parked in the large space in front of the mansion, and a man wearing sunglasses assigned her a parking spot. Alex had suspected that the cream of the crop of New York’s society would be gathered at this little garden party. Just at that moment, a bright red Ferrari Maranello pulled in next to her, and Alex recognized Zack. She was actually relieved to see him here.
    “Hello, Zack,” she said, looking him up and down. With his deep tan, he looked more like a playboy than an investment banker in his light linen suit. “How was your vacation in the Caymans?”
    “Vacation,” he said as he kissed her on both cheeks and laughed, amused, “you’re too funny! It’s hard work profitably reinvesting all the money that you industrious bankers bring in!”
    “You look like you’ve been working very hard,” Alex noted sarcastically. They walked toward a broad flight of stairs with two stone lions enthroned at its base.
    “I admit,” Zack laughed happily, offering her his arm, “that I enjoyed some time on the beach in between. What do you think about this shack? It’s even better inside!”
    “It’s unbelievable that some people live like this,” Alex replied.
    “Well,” Zack said, pursing his lips and throwing her a quick side glance, “Vitali isn’t a normal person.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “My God, Alex, you know him better than I do,” Zack said. “You can’t possibly measure him against normal standards.”
    A butler opened the thirteen-foot-high white wing doors. They entered the spacious, black-and-white tiled entrance hall. Muted music could be heard in the distance. Alex saw Sergio surrounded by a group of people. She was impressed to recognize Robert Landford Rhodes, governor of the State of New York, who resided in Albany, and Clarence Whitewater, the chief judge. Charlie Rosenbaum, one of the city’s biggest real estate speculators, stood next to him, as well as Carey Newberg, the publisher of
Time
. When she entered with Zack, Sergio excused himself and approached her,