Page 22 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
“Offense? Please. It’s a badge of honor.”
“So let me glad-hand him while you twist the screws.”
“Boy hero and castrating bitch. Got it.”
“Boy?” Mike asked with a smile. “You think I look young enough to be called a boy?”
“Nah. I was just being a castrating bitch.”
CHAPTER 23
Wednesday, 6:34 p.m.
THE SCHRAEDER HOME was not a house so much as a compound—a 105,000-square-foot mega-mansion that Randolph Schraeder had bought for $141 million.
Nicky had looked up the address earlier, while she waited for her car to be brought up from the garage at 11000 Wilshire. Twenty-one bedrooms and two full bathrooms for each of those bedrooms. Nicky’s entireapartment complexwasn’t nearly that large. Though Nicky was proud that her apartment had two bathrooms, even if one was reserved for the occasional guest and their cat, Rocky. Kaitlin called it the “cathroom.”
After an outer-gate security check and a front-door weapons and identification check, an assistant finally granted them access to a parlor as spacious as a bus terminal. The assistant left them alone there, but Nicky had no doubt they were being watched. Most likely recorded as well.
“It’s a little smaller than I expected,” Mike said with a gleam in his eye.
A new slender and severe assistant appeared. Nicky noted that she didn’t make eye contact with either of them. Perhaps that was how the reclusive billionaire liked it.
She simply said: “Mr. Schraeder will see you now.”
Nicky and Mike followed her down a hall lined with framed art. It resembled a mini-museum dedicated to pure wholesome Americana: farmhouses, Depression-era kids fishing, amber waves of grain, all that. A vision of this country that had probably never existed.
Abruptly, the assistant pivoted on a heel and led them into a nearly lightless empty room. Nicky looked around, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“This can’t be right,” Mike said. “Hey, we’re here to see Mr.—”
But the assistant had already left and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER 24
AS HER EYES adjusted, Nicky realized the room wasn’tcompletelyempty.
A mammoth 4K screen was mounted on one of the walls. It flickered to life, and once the area was bathed in digital light, Nicky saw that they had been ushered into a deluxe screening room with movie-theater-style seats and, in a whimsical touch, a street-cart popcorn machine.
“What the hell is this?” Nicky asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“Maybe Schraeder’s going to show us his greatest media hits from Fox News and MSNBC.”
Randolph Schraeder’s face appeared on the screen as if he were beaming into one of those cable channels.
“No, I’m not, Detective Hardy.”
Schraeder’s media setup had been carefully composed to emphasize his strengths (his piercing avian glare; his widebony shoulders) and deemphasize his weaknesses—namely, that he was old and frail.
Although the billionaire seemed to dominate the frame, Nicky noticed he was trembling slightly, his forehead beaded with perspiration, and he was not making much eye contact. Was this due to a medical condition? Or was he truly terrified for his family and in a state of shock?
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Schraeder,” Nicky said. “I’m Special Agent Gordon, and I am heading up the task force to safely bring your family back h—”
“I know all about you, Agent Gordon. Here’s what I don’t know. What are you doing to find my wife and two young children?”
Nicky noticed he didn’t include his older son, as if Tyler were not his concern.
“At this moment,” Nicky said, “you’re in the position to help us the most. If we may ask you a few questions about your two young children, your wife,andyour older son—”
