CHAPTER 2 – He Stole Every Scene He Was In
August – November 2016
He had always liked Rhode Island, with its close connection to the sea, and his fourth-floor apartment at the base – not much bigger than a motel room – had a small balcony with incredible water views. Work involved coordinating several NCIS teams and keeping track of cases within his territory, which was easy enough once he got the hang of it. As the supervisory agent, Tony had a smart, efficient agent – Special Agent Charles Coburn – acting as his second, and between them they kept a lid on things even with several major cases going at any one time.
The 26-year-old Coburn was a nice enough guy, and a stellar detective, and Tony knew he was lucky to have him on his team. However, the young special agent didn't have much of a sense of humor. When Tony made fun of Coburn for having the same name as a well-known character actor of the 1930s, who stole every scene he was in by underplaying them, the reference went right over the agent's head. "You mean you've never seen The Devil and Miss Jones? Charles Coburn was in that. How about The More the Merrier? 1943, Jean Arthur, Joel McCrea? No? Well, it looks like we'll have to have a movie night as soon as possible!"
Once Deputy Assistant Director Chase, Tony's supervisor, saw that Tony was fitting in just fine, he seemed happy to leave him to his own devices. Apart from putting together status reports and attending a weekly meeting with his new boss, Tony was pretty much left to run his territory on his own.
For the next four months, Tony worked steadily on major cases, supported by two experienced agents – Coburn, and Simone Belanger, a ten-year Navy veteran with short bleach-blond hair and an attitude, who'd been with NCIS for five years now – and their own evidence-collection team. He was pleased that they were able to wrap up most of the investigations they took on, mostly theft of Navy property, security breaches and the occasional assault and homicide, in record time.
Summertime on the coast meant swimming, boating and beach parties, although Tony didn't have a lot of time for such amusements. It was a beautiful area though, with an incredible coastline peppered with lighthouses, and huge houses like the Vanderbilt's mansion, the Breakers, located in Newport, which he managed to tour on one of his rare days off that fall.
Thanksgiving had come and gone by the time the next interim Supervisory Special Agent arrived and Tony's assignment in Rhode Island came to an end. During his time there, he and his team had completed twelve major-case investigations, several of which had led to the capture of Most Wanted criminals.
Everyone from the forensic team to the Deputy Assistant Director expressed how sorry they were to see Tony leave, and they threw him a big party on the beach featuring a clambake and a midnight swim in the frigid November waters of Narragansett Bay. It was with some regret that Tony drove off the base the next day and headed for the airport, because he, too, was sorry it was over.
When Vance had given Tony the NEFO assignment, Gibbs had made it clear he was pissed at Vance for commandeering his agent. Although Tony had done his best to please Gibbs over the years, it had come to the point where he really didn't give a damn what Gibbs thought. And now, after wrapping up a successful assignment, Tony was glad he had chosen to take it. It had given him a fresh perspective on his abilities and his worth, something that Gibbs seemed to have forgotten.
«•» «•» «•»
Although Tony had returned to DC with a positive attitude, and was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things, Christmas, which was only a month away, tended to be a difficult time of year for him. It had been decades since his mother had died – he had only been eight when she had succumbed to cancer, mere days before Christmas – but even all these years later, hearing Bing Crosby singing White Christmas made him tear up. She'd loved that song and one of the last things they'd done together was to watch the movie by the same name. Not that DiNozzos cried, especially in public.
Despite the sad memories, he enjoyed giving gifts, sampling Palmer's bourbon and nutmeg eggnog, attending the office party and seeing the joy of the season shining on his friends' faces. This year he was going to host a party and invite everyone over to his condo, something he'd never done before.
It didn't have to be a new year for Tony to make a resolution, and his was to talk to Gibbs, even if it was a one-way conversation. They used to be friends, close friends, and he wasn't about to give up on that friendship, even if it seemed as though little of it remained today. Gibbs was a tough nut to crack, and it might be impossible to get through to him, but he was determined that nobody would ever be able to say that Tony DiNozzo didn't try his best.
«•» «•» «•»
After washing his dinner dishes and giving the kitchen a once-over, Tony headed for his bedroom.
Tomorrow was going to be his first day working back at the Yard, and he wanted to look his best. Not too formal though; no black suits and skinny ties. Tony looked through his closet, and chose a gray suit and burgundy tie by Armani, to be worn the next day with a crisp white shirt.
He unpacked his bags, put away his toiletries, dropped things that needed washing in a hamper, and put his watch and personal items on the desk in his bedroom. His passport and some other papers, he placed in his wall safe, located at the back of his closet. He didn't keep much in there, just extra cash, legal documents, and some trinkets that had been his mother's. While he was away, Tony had also secured his personal laptop in the safe, preferring to use a new iPad for email and watching movies while he was away.
Even though most of his colleagues had never been to his condo, the general belief was that Tony lived in a frat-house type of mess. Their assumption was wrong though. Tony was a stickler when it came to keeping his home neat and clean. Knowing that everything was in its place, that the kitchen counters were sparkling clean, that Marie Kondo herself would approve of his neat walk-in closet, that his expensive sheets in his queen-sized bed were fresh – all these things gave him a sense of peace. His home was, truly, his sanctuary, and he valued it and treated it with respect.
As he finished unpacking, Tony considered letting his father know he was back, but then thought better of it. Senior had been renting a very small apartment nearby, and had complained it was like living in a shoebox. He wanted to move, he'd said. His lease had been up just about the time Tony left for Rhode Island but rents in DC were sky high and he wasn't likely to get anything better in his price range. Tony had advised his father to suck it up and stay where he was.
"I'll tell you what, Junior. I'll take of your place while you're away, keep an eye on things," Senior had said with a winning smile. Tony, who was well-versed on his father's tricks, had immediately put the kibosh on that idea, and he'd made it clear that under no circumstances was his father to set foot in his apartment. He'd also suggested, with a touch of sarcasm, that maybe Senior should move in with one of his lady friends because two could live as cheaply as one. He may have been kidding, but apparently his dad thought that was a good solution.
Next thing Tony knew, his father was living across the hall with his neighbor, Jennifer Robin, the woman Senior had had a tumble with a couple of years ago – in Tony's own bed. Which is why he'd gotten rid of it and, after considerable thought, installed an expensive, top-of-the-line queen-sized bed in its place. So no, Tony wouldn't allow his dad to have the run of his home while he was away.
Apparently, Mrs. Robin had heard Tony's father was about to be homeless through the building's grapevine, and suggested Anthony Sr. could move in with her. He eagerly accepted her kind offer. Tony hated that Senior was living in the same building, way too close for comfort, but then, anything was preferable to him staying at his place.
Tony had long since learned not to trust Senior as far as he could throw him, and he could no longer be swayed by the old man's duplicitous ways. Tony still shuddered at the memory of seeing things he shouldn't have seen that day when he'd blithely walked in on them in his bedroom, on his bed, messing up his sheets. There were some things you just couldn't un-see.
Mrs. Robin used to take care of Tony's two fish, named Ziva and Kate, when he was away. The fish were now living with Palmer, so instead of taking care of the fish, Mrs. Robin had been taking care of Senior. There was something karmic about that, he mused.
No, he wasn't going to talk to his dad that night. It could wait until tomorrow. The old man would insist that 'Junior' go for a drink with him, and he would invite Mrs. Robin to join them for dinner – at Tony's expense, of course – and Tony simply didn't have the energy to deal with any of it.
Having his father living near him in DC had been a royal pain, and distracting as hell. Senior was always turning up uninvited at the Navy Yard, or getting into situations from which he needed to be rescued. Now that Tony had returned, he would have to find his father another place to live, somewhere definitely not in his own neighborhood.
Sighing, he told himself not to think about that now, and turned his attention to the small pile of mail sitting on the dining table. Jimmy had come by once a week while Tony was away, picked up his mail, and had notified Tony if anything seemed important. He had dropped off the pile of mail along with the groceries earlier that day, before Tony had arrived home, which was really nice of him.
Since Tony did all his bill-paying and most correspondence online, he didn't find anything of immediate interest as he flipped through the mail. Just about everything ended up in the recycling bin. He opened the few envelopes but there was nothing of interest. The last letter he opened was from the Suisse Privée Bank in New York, the financial institution that handled Tony's inheritance. The funds were all invested for long-term growth, although Tony took a small monthly allowance from it to pay for his luxury items. The correspondence must have arrived in that day's mail, or else Jimmy would have brought it to his attention earlier.
The minute Tony pulled out a letter and ran his eyes over it, a lead ball settled in his stomach. For a moment, he couldn't focus, but after a few deep breaths, he was able to read it again, this time more carefully. It was an official letter from Marcel LaConti, the Director of Wealth Management in the New York office, who Tony knew quite well. He'd been banking with the Suisse Privée Bank since he turned twenty-one and had inherited a boatload of money; LaConti had been a good, steady advisor, and a man Tony thought of as his friend.
In short, the letter was a formally written request that Anthony DiNozzo Jr. contact them immediately to discuss his recent large withdrawal and its impact on his investment plan.
Tony's head was spinning. What recent withdrawal? What large withdrawal? How the fuck large were they talking about? One thing for sure, he hadn't made any withdrawals on that account, not in ten years since he'd bought his condo in Dupont Circle.
Tony immediately phoned the bank and tried to get through to LaConti. He had gone for the day, according to a receptionist with a slight French accent, as had everyone else. Tony left his number and an urgent appeal for LaConti to call him back, any time, day or night.
After sitting there for a while with the letter in his hand, staring at it as though it would miraculously come to life and explain what the hell was going on, like the Princess Leia hologram that appeared before Luke Skywalker's eye, Tony came to his senses. He fetched his laptop from his bedroom, took it to the dining room and plugged it in.
The browser was already open at the Suisse Privée Bank's website, which was odd. Tony didn't remember the last time he'd accessed his account online, but it hadn't been recently. And he never would have left the window open at the bank's website.
Tony checked the login activity. The second he saw someone had accessed the account from this laptop, and only a few days ago, he knew, just knew, it had been his father. But how the hell had Senior gained access to the account, much less known the laptop's password? Okay, so his passwords were written down, but the password book was always kept locked in his safe. Oh shit. The safe – the combination had been the same for years. It was set at Tony's mother's birthday, backwards. He'd kept the same combination purely out of sentimental reasons. Stupid, he thought, slapping himself on the forehead. Fucking stupid not to have changed it!
Then Tony's anger transitioned to his father. How dare he break into his safe? And his bank account? He must have broken into Tony's apartment as well. Only he surely would have noticed had there been any sign of the lock being jimmied. The neighbor, Mrs. Robin, did she still have a key from when she used to feed the fish? No, he had taken it back, hadn't he?
Tony's hand trembled as he signed in and located the balance. He blinked a few times, sure that the numbers he saw on-screen were wrong. There should be just over $750,000, a portion of his inheritance he'd been saving for a rainy day.
Only it wasn't three-quarters of a million.
All that remained was $1000.
"No. No no no!" Tony screamed, "I'm gonna fucking kill him!"
«•» «•» «•»
He banged on Jennifer Robin's door, barely keeping a lid on his anger. "Dad, I need to talk to you right now!"
Mrs. Robin opened her door a couple of inches. She clutched her silky robe to her breast, eyes wide, and said, "Anthony isn't here."
She went to close the door but Tony pushed his way in. He had called his father's number several times, had texted and emailed him, saying it was imperative they talk. But either Senior was out of range or was purposely ignoring his calls. Most likely the second option, as he'd absconded with a suitcase full of cash. Okay, not literally. Senior had probably transferred it to some untraceable offshore account, and Tony would never get it back. That made him so furious he could barely speak.
"You tell him I need to see him right now!"
Mrs. Robin cringed. "I told you he isn't here. You should leave now."
Tony couldn't blame the woman for being scared of him, the way he was acting like a Neanderthal and shouting. He calmed down enough to ask her where his father was.
According to Mrs. Robin, everything had been great between Senior and herself. Anthony was so virile, and always attentive to her needs. But she had started to suspect things weren't quite as good as they seemed. He acted like he had money, but checks had bounced and a credit card was refused when he took her out to dinner. He made excuses all the time, and she ended up footing most of his bills. Not that she would have minded, if only he had been upfront with her.
"And then he was cozying up to that woman detective. I saw them together," Mrs. Robin said, pursing her lips in displeasure.
"What woman detective?"
"She was part of that club he belonged to. The one he wasn't supposed to talk about, even though he told me," Mrs. Robin said.
"You mean… the Sherlocks?" Tony asked. His father had been thrilled to be invited to join the Sherlock Consortium earlier that year, and had been aiding the small group of weekend detectives in their unofficial investigations in his own special way.
"Yes, that's the one."
"Was this woman's name Judith?" Judith McKnight, too predatory for Tony's taste, but yes, Senior had practically buckled at the knees the first time he met her.
"Yes, that's it. I know Anthony was involved with her. He denied it but I know he was going out and meeting her. Until a few days ago, that is," Mrs. Robin said, raising her chin in disapproval.
"What happened a few days ago?"
"Anthony was worried about something, and I don't think it was about money. He was on the phone a lot and was being secretive about it. He didn't want to go out and was acting… almost paranoid," she told Tony. "And then, just a couple of days ago, I came back from getting groceries and he was gone."
Her eyes teared up at that point and Tony did his best to ignore hr distress. "What day did he start acting… off?"
"Three days ago. Is there something going on I should know about? Is Anthony in trouble?" Mrs. Robin asked worriedly.
Tony asked a few more questions, but the woman had no idea where Senior had gone, hadn't heard from him, and couldn't tell Tony anything else that was useful.
"What should I do with his things? He didn't take everything with him."
"I'll need to look at them, Mrs. Robin," Tony said, hoping his father had left behind some clue as to what he was up to. His father wasn't always the most honest man in the world, but Tony couldn't believe he'd clean out his son's life savings (okay, it was inherited money). How could he do that? It was such a low thing to do, appalling, and such a breach of loyalty that Tony couldn't fathom what might have compelled Senior to steal from him.
Forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand, Tony looked around the guest bedroom, even though it was apparent Senior had never slept there. In the master bedroom, he saw a Civil War history book and some personal items on the left-hand bedside table. The right-hand table had bottles of hand lotion and a stack of novels.
Tony checked the inside and underneath every drawer in the room, then examined the closet. His father hadn't left anything like an address book or notepad, but there were some expensive suits on padded hangars cozying up to Mrs. Robin's dresses.
"Do you think he's going to return?" Tony asked as he pulled on disposable gloves.
Jennifer stood in the doorway, looking a bit lost. She shook her head. "I really don't know. I don't understand any of this. What are you looking for?"
"He got into my apartment, took something," Tony said vaguely while he checked out the small wicker waste-paper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom. "Do you still have my key?" he asked over his shoulder.
Mrs. Robin seemed startled. "No, I gave it to Anthony. He said he would return it to you… as soon as you returned. Oh. Oh dear."
After looking around and finding nothing of interest, Tony gave Mrs. Robin his card along with instructions to phone him the minute Senior contacted her, if he did so. She gave him a small smile and said, "Please call me Jennifer."
Tony just nodded, hoping he wouldn't have any future dealings with the woman, much less need to call her by her first name.
«•» «•» «•»
He returned to his condo, punched the couch a few times, and felt an overwhelming need to down a very large drink. Instead, he started calling people. First, he phoned each of the Sherlocks group members in turn. None of them picked up, so he left the same message for the lot: he needed to talk to his father, it was urgent, and here was his number.
He did manage to get hold of Jimmy Palmer, who said he had no idea where Senior was, and seemed puzzled that Tony seemed so aggravated. Tony decided not to tell him what was going on, at least not before he had a better handle on what Senior was up to. Before ending the brief conversation, Tony made a point of thanking Jimmy sincerely for picking up his mail and bringing some food in.
It was after nine o'clock by that time, and Tony caught Ducky at home. Although the ME was no longer a Sherlock, he might just have some insider information. When they spoke though, it was apparent Ducky hadn't had any contact with the group of amateur detectives for some time. He did catch on that Tony seemed troubled, and began to relate a story about "a young man who was on the outs with his father for many years over a simple exchange of angry words…"
Ducky meant well, but Tony knew there could be no positive outcome to this situation. "It goes deeper than just an argument, Ducky."
"Ah, I see," Ducky said, although Tony didn't think he could imagine how bad the situation was. Always kind, the older man said, "If you need anything, do ask me, my boy. And not only me. All of your friends would rally 'round if you give the word."
"You sure about that?" Tony asked sourly.
"Of course I am. Oh, yes, well, there is that. Jethro may be stubborn as hell, but he'd be right by your side should you need him."
«•» «•» «•»
Next, he phoned Abby, needing her help track Senior down, if he'd left the country. Her phone kept ringing, not even going to voicemail. Frustrated, Tony considered contacting McGee or even Gibbs, but in the end, he decided it should wait until morning.
He suddenly remembered was going back to work tomorrow. He wasn't about to stop looking for his father just because he was at work though. It wasn't going to be easy chasing down his father with so many eyes upon him, but he had to find out where the hell his three-quarters of a million dollars had gone. Tony phoned every hotel, lounge and restaurant he thought his father might frequent, but there had been no sightings. He was starting to wonder if he should call hospitals when his phone rang, startling him into answering, "Dad?"
It wasn't his father, but Marcel LaConti, the banker. It only took a minute for Tony and LaConti to compare notes and conclude that Anthony DiNozzo Sr. had illegally withdrawn his son's money. LaConti was extremely upset and full of apologies, and said he was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.
Exactly how Senior had been able to remove so much money, and so easily, was solved because it appeared that all of the security questions had been answered correctly. Of course Senior knew his deceased wife's birth date, maiden name and more. He also had a knack for recalling numbers, and it turned out he knew Tony's social security number and his Suisse Privée Bank credit card number by heart, which he had recited to the bank's administrator when they'd called Tony's home number as part of their verification process.
Thinking back, Tony figured that his father must have snuck a peek into his wallet when he had been over several times, around the time Ziva had been killed. Plus he'd had a key, according to Mrs. Robin, and could have entered Tony's condo any time Tony was at work. He'd probably been holding onto Tony's personal information all these months, waiting for the right time to break-and-enter and steal all his son's money.
LaConti said that Tony's funds had been transferred to another bank, they knew that much, and he assured Tony that they already had skilled people following the money trail. Deposited funds were insured, so once they verified that someone other than Tony had illegally withdrawn the funds, then the money would be reimbursed. Whatever the FDIC didn't cover, the bank's own insurance would replace. But first things first. His people would work on tracing the money, and Tony would work on locating his father.
LaConti said his people at The Suisse Privée Bank worked around the clock. He would report back to Tony in the morning. Tony thanked him, hung up, and ran his hands through his hair. He was drained, and so frustrated and angry he didn't know what to do with himself. All of a sudden, he had to get out of his apartment, had to do something to take his mind off this mess. Tony changed into black jeans and a black T-shirt, and then headed out to the liveliest dance club he knew of, Bushwhackers, to blow off some steam.
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