How is that the evil people in this world, the liars and cheaters and con men, succeed so often? I've concluded that the real reason is the rest of us. Most of us on this planet are basically honest, basically decent. We tend to tell the truth in most situations and treat one another with some degree of kindness.
Not surprisingly, we also take for granted that those around us will behave the same way. But our assumption that most people, most of the time, are honest, leaves us terribly vulnerable to those bastards who lie and cheat without any conscience at all. They can utterly fool us for quite a long time—sometimes forever—without our ever realizing it. Because we don't lie and cheat, we don't suspect quickly enough that others might be doing it to us.
It was Gina Giannopoulos who taught me this painful lesson. Or I suppose I should say Gina Giannopoulos Macmillan, because that was her married name. I'm Alex Macmillan, her ex-husband.
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The engine of my Lexus started making some scary noises one morning, and I dropped the car off at Marshall Motors, where Dominic had been working on my cars for about ten years. He called me around lunch time—but instead of telling me that the car was okay he said, "you'd better come down here and talk to me."
When I got there he took me into the private office in the back.
"Alex, the engine is fine, just a belt loose. But there was something else."
He looked at me seriously. "Somebody had tampered with the brake-line. There was just enough hydraulic fluid left for some routine stops, but if you'd had to go down a steep hill or stop in a hurry, you would have crashed the car."
I stared at him, my mouth open. Six months before, Gina and I had moved to a new, fancy modern house in the suburbs. It was gorgeous, with cathedral ceilings and lots of glass, and it was surrounded by quiet woods.
But it was also at the end of a cul-de-sac off a main street that plunged steeply down a hill. Had I driven the car home that night I almost certainly would have been killed.
After a couple of minutes I pulled my thoughts together a little.
"Dominic, do me a favor, OK? Don't tell anyone about this for now. Have you fixed it yet?"
"No, man, there was a crime committed here—or at least an attempt. I have to call the police."
"Okay." I thought some more. "How about we do this? Take some photos of the brake-line, and write it up just as you would for the police. But let's not call them yet. Just leave the car parked on your back lot, and I'll rent one of the clunkers you keep around for a few days. There are surveillance cameras on the lot, right?"
"Yeah." Dominic looked doubtful.
"Here's the thing. Whoever did this is going to want to cover it up when they find out I'm not dead. So I'm betting they'll try to steal that car off the lot in the next few nights. I don't want to call the police until after that happens. We'll have the camera footage to give them at the same time."
Forty-five minutes later I got out of my rented blue Corolla and left it in my driveway. I'd taken the rest of the day off—I wanted to think hard about what was going on.
The attempt on my life had to be about money. I was the President and co-founder of Apex, an $6.8 billion software firm in Silicon Valley, and my first guess was that someone wanted me out of the way as part of an attack on the company.
It was the day off for Carmelita, our cook/housekeeper who normally worked noon-8pm, and the house was quiet; Gina must have been out shopping or playing tennis. I walked around aimlessly, my mind spinning through the possible culprits and possible reasons for whatever was going on.
Picking up the phone, I spoke to Jeff Denham, my old friend who runs the security firm that Apex uses. Without giving him a reason I made clear that I suspected some sort of problem going on: either some sort of financial irregularity already in the works, or a future attack on the company. We arranged to have his financial guys do a complete screening of our computers and financial records. I gave Jeff a temporary password that would let his people access what they needed from my office desktop, and told him that I wanted this done discreetly. We would tell everyone they were doing a routine audit.
Then I called Meredith, my long-time secretary, and told her to put the temporary password into my computer, and that Jeff's guys would be in later in the day.
Once that I was done I resumed my aimless wanderings. I went to our home computer and poked around on it, not expecting to find anything. Out of pure idle curiosity I tried to open some of Gina's files, including her email, and to my surprise they were all password-protected.
What would Gina have on our computer that she didn't want me to see? Outside of something unlikely like planning a surprise party, I couldn't imagine. I made a mental note to ask her about it later.
I was having a cup of tea in the kitchen at about 4:30 when Gina walked in. She took one look at me and virtually collapsed. I'd never seen anything like it: her mouth dropped open, she went white, and her body sagged against the doorframe.
"Alex! You're...you're...what are you doing here?"
I smiled mildly. "Actually, honey, I live here. Remember?"
She pulled herself together a bit, and sat down at the table across from me. Forcing a smile, she said, "of course, baby. It's just...well, you're almost never home this early, and I didn't see your car outside."
It happened in an instant. I was about to tell her all about the brake-line; and then instead I just said, "there was a problem with the engine and I had to leave it with Dominic for a few days. He rented me one of their clunkers, that's what's out in the driveway."
Why hadn't I told her the truth? At the time, I think I believed it was because I didn't want to worry her—didn't want to say, "by the way, honey, someone's trying to kill me." Why terrify your wife?
But when I thought about it later it might have been for a very different reason. Why was she so incredibly shocked to see me sitting in the kitchen—not just surprised but stunned, as if it were the most unexpected thing in the world? I didn't understand her reaction, and the more I thought about it later the more it gnawed at me.
"Oh," she said, and I could see her making an effort to pull herself together. "Well, it's great to have you home so early. What do you want to do about dinner?"
"How about if we go out, since Carmelita's off?"
"Great!" she said. "Let me just shower, and maybe we can go to Andante?"
Then she was headed quickly out of the room, and a couple of minutes later I heard the shower running. I put my teacup in the sink and started toward the bedroom, thinking I'd wash my face and change into something more casual before we went out.
The bedroom door was nearly closed; and to my surprise, as I approached I heard Gina talking on the phone, in a low, urgent voice. Why would she have started the shower running, then called someone? I hadn't heard the phone ring, so she must have made the call.
I didn't hear much; just, "no, Dowdle, I have no idea!....no, of course not...yes, we'll have to...okay, baby, bye."
Not much—but more than enough to freeze me in my tracks. She was talking to Jeff Denham, my friend and security guru. His middle name was Dowd, and I'd been calling him "Dowdle" since about 8th grade. Gina had picked up the nickname from me—there wasn't much doubt about who was on the other end of the line.
I waited as she hung up the phone and headed into the bathroom. Then I waited two minutes more, before entering the bedroom and changing. I washed my face in the guest bathroom rather than disturb Gina's shower. My mind was racing—what the hell was going on? Could Gina—and my friend Jeff—possibly have been involved in what happened to my car?
Despite the evidence of the past ten minutes, it seemed utterly impossible. Gina and I had been married for eight years; I was 46 and she was 37. I'd been married and divorced once before, in my twenties; and I had two great kids whom I saw only on summer vacations and occasional quick visits, because their mother had moved them 2000 miles away after the divorce.
I'd first seen Gina when she toured the Apex offices while working as a sales rep for a computer support firm we did business with. I made it my business to find out who she was, and then to arrange a lunch date with a friend at her company who could casually introduce us.
It was worth the effort. Even if you woke her up out of a sound sleep Gina would be one of the ten most beautiful women you'd ever seen; and when she has time to do the clothes and makeup thing, she is just stunning. Nearly 5'10", with long raven-black hair and dark eyes, high cheekbones and a saucy mouth, and a tight, athletic body.
She also has "the look": the way of walking, moving, presenting herself, looking you in the eye, that says "I know I'm hot, and I know you think so too". I knew from the first time I took an interest in her that I'd have lots of competition, and it was a pleasant surprise that we were soon dating, and then dating seriously; and after about a year, engaged to be married.
I'm not bad-looking, but no hunk, and I'm nine years older than Gina. I knew that my business success and my money had to be part of the attraction for her, and that didn't bother me. Why be successful, if it doesn't get your foot in the door with gorgeous women?
And we had an iron-clad prenup that limited her to nothing more than about a million dollars if we divorced in less than twenty years, so I felt confident that she loved me as well as my money. We'd live very well together, and if she loved being rich with me that was fine, as long as she was also making me happy.