Forget to Remember

York. The financial advisors tended to leave correspondingly early, by mid-afternoon. Adam explained these things and showed her into his office.
    “I’m the youngest financial advisor to have a window office.”
    He was clearly proud of that fact. Carol should compliment him. “You must be doing very well.”
    He motioned her to take a seat. He sat down in his own chair behind the desk.
    “I am. I’d love to open an account for you.”
    “As you know, I’m penniless.” Carol pretended to pull out the insides of the pockets of her jeans. Officially, that was the truth.
    “Maybe not for long. I have a proposition for you.”
    Carol wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what was coming next.
    “As you know, I’m married. My wife is pregnant with our third child. She’s having a problem pregnancy. To put it bluntly, we can’t have sex. I’m very attracted to you. You need a way of earning money. We can help each other out.”
    She probably should have stopped him right there, but she was curious to find out what he had in mind concerning the financial side of the deal. He explained he was running a mutual fund for some of his clients. He could set up an account in his name and Social Security number that would actually be for her. It would receive a pro rata share of his mutual fund purchases.
    She didn’t tell him she already had a Social Security number that had been used to open a bank account for her. Of course, it wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny by the IRS.
    At the risk of leading him on, Carol asked a question. “Since the account is in your name, how do I know I can get the money?”
    “All you have to do is ask me. If I don’t come through, you can threaten to tell my wife. We can meet in the afternoon. You like to walk. You’ll go out for a walk. I’ll pick you up and take you to a hotel that’s just ten minutes from here by car. I’m free tomorrow at three. How does that sound?”
    He had all the answers. He was glib—too glib. Paul had been married, also, but that was an entirely different situation. Carol felt disgust for Adam. She looked him in the eye.
    “Sorry, Adam, but it’s not going to happen. I don’t know your wife, but I’m sure if I did I’d like her. You forgot one other thing. I couldn’t live in the same house as Rigo if I were fucking you.” She used the word deliberately, to put the harshest possible light on what they would be doing.
    Adam ignored her objections. He didn’t give up. He kept on talking. She had to give him an “A” for persistence. Was this how he got clients? She stood and walked out the door of his office. Adam came after her.
    “Think it over. I’ll drive you home.”
    She didn’t want to be bombarded anymore. She kept on walking to the elevator and pushed the button. “No thanks. I’ll walk. I like to walk, remember?”

    CHAPTER 21
    In spite of the cracks she’d made about using a GPS, Carol found it was helpful to her. She hadn’t followed its advice exactly while driving north through the Los Angeles basin. It wanted her to take the 405 freeway all the way to Sunset, but she opted for La Cienega Boulevard, starting just north of LAX, remembering Beard had followed this route. Traffic was considerably lighter on a Saturday afternoon than it had been during the weekday rush hour, and she made good time.
    Where the GPS really helped was navigating the narrow and winding streets going up into the hills above Sunset. She couldn’t possibly reverse her escape route from Ault’s house without help, even in daylight, especially since she was going uphill instead of downhill, but the insistent voice of the GPS told her about every turn.
    Tina had let Carol drive her car, which was equipped with GPS, rationalizing that Carol had a driver’s license, however fraudulent. Carol had driven in North Carolina without mishap. Ernie’s advice was to tell the police—if she were stopped—she was just visiting California. Permanent residents had to acquire a California driver’s license.
    Kyle had called Tina at the office Friday afternoon and told her Mr. Ault would like Carol to come for dinner on Saturday—alone, meaning not with Jake Beard. No chance of that. When Carol had called him back, she asked Kyle why Mr. Ault wanted her to come. Wasn’t he mad at her?
    “He likes your company and your spunk. He understands what happened. Beard is a slime bag. I’ve been telling him that for years.”
    Rigo didn’t want her to go alone; he said it