Mark Rollins and the Rainmaker

By Tom Collins

Mark Rollins, a retired technology entrepreneur, has become the creator/owner of an exclusive fitness center catering to young trophy wives and socially elite wealthy women of Nashville. In Mark Rollins and the Rainmaker, the second book in the series, someone is trying to kill the husband of a fitness club member. Her much older husband is a prominent Nashville attorney—the rainmaker for his law firm. Rollins sets out to unmask the villain before it is too late—a task that proves dangerous, and the danger spreads as the diabolical killer’s targets expand. To pick up the killer’s trail, Rollins and his colorful MBA sidekick, Mariko Lee, pose as financial consultants hired by the law firm. Mariko discovers that the seeds causing many law firms to self-destruct and that in this case provide a motive for murder can be found in the numbers. As they close in on the villain’s identity, Rollins and his team race against the clock to unravel the killer’s final desperate plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Collins
• Release date: Aug 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9780985667382

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bunny’s Problem

When a very blonde and tanned beauty named Bunny comes to you with what she says is a really, really bad problem, you are expecting something like they have discontinued my brand of bra or look what they did to my hair. But Bunny’s problem wasn’t like that—in fact, Bunny wasn’t like that. The more I talked with her, the more she reminded me of Fox News’ E. D. Hill in the way she sounded, dressed, and wore her hair. This was a very smart woman who appeared to be truly in love with her much older lawyer husband. Before her marriage, Bunny had been the Administrator for the law firm ParishWelch in which her husband, Neil Forte, was a prominent partner.

My first introduction to Bunny Forte occurred as I was finishing lunch with an old friend at my favorite New York Greek restaurant, Molyvos. The restaurant is in Midtown only a stone’s throw from Carnegie Hall.

While I had not yet met Bunny at my WH Club, she had recognized me. She was a regular at one of our midmorning Jazzercise classes. While other ladies in the class did not know what was bothering Bunny, they had picked up on the fact that something serious was troubling her. She wouldn’t tell them the details so they encouraged her to talk to me. So when Bunny Forte saw me at the restaurant in Manhattan, she took it as a sign and introduced herself, explaining that she was a member of my club.

Bunny’s narrative was intriguing…. Parish Welch is a 36-attorney Nashville law firm that has been around for 50 years. Until five years ago, the firm’s name was Parish, Welch, Forte, Blackwell, Nelson and Kane. A marketing consultant recommended that they abandon the traditional practice of changing the firm’s name every time a new partner was added. People in the community already referred to the law firm as Parish Welch so the partners worked with a local advertising agency to implement a rebranding plan. They became Parish Welch.

Walter Parish founded the firm shortly after returning from military service during the Korean conflict. He continued to work until three years ago when, at age 75, he apparently died of a heart attack. He had been a particularly robust man. As an avid cyclist, it was not unusual for him to ride a total of 400 miles a week. He had a complete medical workup every year in a Denver medical facility that specializes in treating athletes. There had been no history of heart problems. The Denver doctors had scored his physical age equivalent to a 55-year-old male. In short, he was in exceptional physical condition. Local authorities, however, did not think it was unusual for a man of his age to die of a heart attack, so no alarm bells went off. Walter Parish was laid to rest in Woodlawn Memorial Park as having simply died of natural causes.

Parish and his wife, Louise, were members of Nashville’s social elite. At Parish Welch, he was the rainmaker—the person who brings in new business for the law firm. He had considerable influence in Nashville’s political and business circles. His photo or name was a regular in the Nashville newspapers and NFocus, the publication that Herbert Fox created to celebrate the social and charity side of the greater Nashville community—with an emphasis on the beautiful people of Belle Meade.

James Welch and Neil Forte stepped into the vacuum created by Parish’s death. James Welch was already 62 at that time and took over the day-to-day operation of the law firm as its managing partner. Neil was the younger of the two men—at 55. Now that Walter Parish was no longer present to upstage him, Neil Forte became the public face of the law firm.

He and Bunny are regulars at the premier Nashville social event, the Swan Ball. He is a member of Vanderbilt University’s Board of Trust and he is on the boards of The Nashville Symphony, Cheekwood Botanical Garden & Museum of Art, and l’Eté’ du Vin, as well as other prominent Nashville organizations and power centers. He and Bunny are major contributors to the state’s Republican Party and they financially support whoever happens to be the frontrunner in local politics. While the secret Watauga Society no longer exists, informally there is still a behind-the-scenes group of top Nashville business leaders who quietly push economic development initiatives in Nashville, and Neil Forte is an active member of that old boys’ club. Virtually every new piece of business, every new client that the law firm has added since Parish’s death, has been credited to Neil as the originating attorney. As good a rainmaker as Parish had been, Neil turned out to be even better.

Neil Forte is a wealthy man. His business connections within the community had paid off through ground floor investments in Nashville start-up companies. As a partner in Parish Welch, he had a seven figure annual income. In addition to his investment gains and annual income from the law firm, he had inherited substantial family wealth.

Bunny, while much younger, wanted to spend time with her husband enjoying the benefits of their super wealth—traveling and spending their time in France, Monte Carlo, Spain, Switzerland, Dubai, and their St. Barts island getaway. She did not want her husband to work until age 75 and then fall dead as Parish had done. Neil was beginning to listen to his wife and had started talking about succession planning with the other law firm partners.

Now, according to Bunny, she and her husband think someone is trying to kill him!

Chapter 02

The Cupping Room

Bunny and her husband live in Nashville’s well-heeled Belle Meade community; however, they also own a condominium apartment in Manhattan due to frequent trips to the city. Their New York loft is in the Tribeca neighborhood near the financial district. After hearing Bunny’s story, I agreed to meet her and her husband for breakfast the next morning. I suggested The Cupping Room Cafe at Broome and West Broadway. It’s in SoHo just before you cross Canal Street where the neighborhood changes to Tribeca.

My trip to New York was originally intended to be a short one. I had booked a suite at the Buckingham Hotel and had planned to return to Nashville early the next morning. After scheduling breakfast with the Fortes, I changed my flight and was now returning on the 12:20 p.m. American Airlines flight out of La Guardia.

It was 8:00 a.m. the next morning when I met the Fortes at the entrance to The Cupping Room. The restaurant is one of those classic, narrow New York storefronts that disguises an extraordinary, if rustic, dining experience, especially for breakfast. I never miss a chance to order their caviar and sour cream omelet—of course, we’re talking a heart attack on a plate. The Cupping Room’s interior is exposed brick walls with a high tin ceiling, and the place even includes a potbelly stove for those cold New York winter mornings. Luckily, we were able to get a table tucked into the far corner of the main dining room away from the kitchen.

Neil Forte was what you would expect: tall, about 6’3, with a full head of wavy salt-and-pepper gray hair. You would not call him slim, but the man clearly took care of himself. There was no sign of excess weight. His tailored gray suit showed the perfect amount of shirt cuff. The tie was presidential blue. He was a man who didn’t need a lot of jewelry. He wore a gold Patek Philippe watch with a brown alligator leather band and a simple gold wedding ring. Like Bunny, he was well tanned. The man had presence. He was quick to engage anyone who looked his way. He did so with a smile, a nod, a hello, a good morning, or if given the opportunity to do so with a pat on the shoulder or a handshake. As a pair, they turned heads as they entered the restaurant. These were the beautiful people" and those who saw them knew it. We didn’t get down to business until the breakfast plates were cleared. Bunny and I had our coffee refreshed and Neil poured a fresh cup of tea.

I decided it was time to cut to the chase. Neil, what makes you think someone is trying to kill you?

Neil took a few seconds to consider my question before answering. The most recent incident happened last week; it was Tuesday, February 19th, the day before we left Nashville for New York. Mark, you have been to our offices in Nashville, I believe?

I was there just last year. The local Association of Legal Administrators had asked me to speak at their annual partners’ luncheon. Your firm had volunteered to host it. I have to say I was impressed with your meeting facilities. We met in the large meeting room on the 27th floor. It was the one in the southeast corner of the building with floor-to-ceiling glass on two sides. I remember the view: To the east was the Cumberland River and the Titans’ stadium, and to the south you could see all the way to the Green Hills area. The audio visual setup was extraordinary.

Thank you. I attended that luncheon and remember your presentation quite clearly because it struck home in more than one way. In fact, it is one of the reasons I pushed for improving our strategic planning and recently had our managing partner add continuity of the firm to our planning schedule. We have to think ahead—what is going to happen to the firm when some of us retire or begin to reduce our workload?

Bunny interrupted her husband, I’ve been pressing Neil to retire—or at least spend more time enjoying life rather than spending all of his time working or thinking about Parish Welch.

Neil looked at Bunny and then back at me. Bunny is right. I should start cutting back on my workload, but I just can’t do it overnight. That would put the law practice at risk. We have to have a plan first.

Both Neil and Bunny were looking at me, waiting for a response. Finally I said, I understand, but let’s get back to your immediate problem. You appear to think someone is trying to kill you. The question is who and why. Do you think we’re talking about some disgruntled client out for revenge against Parish Welch partners?

Neil said, I suppose we can’t rule that out, but I just can’t help thinking that the danger is from within.

What makes you say that?

For one thing, I am still troubled by the death of our senior partner about three years ago. Now I wish I had pushed his wife for an autopsy. The cause of death was reported as a heart attack but that just doesn’t jive with what I know about the man. His secretary found him, and the first thing she did was to call me. I went into his office and immediately saw that there was nothing that could be done. He was dead. We called 911 anyway, and events unfolded from there. But I remember some things about his death that concerned me. One was the box of candy on his desk when I found him. It was a small red box—a four piece box of NOKA chocolates. It was Valentine’s Day so there was a lot of chocolate around the office. But NOKA is something different. It is probably the most expensive candy you can buy. Later when I went back to his office with Louise to help her collect some of her husband’s things, the NOKA box was gone. The more I think about that candy, the more I remember how Walter Parish looked when I found him. His skin was unusually pink, almost cherry-red.

Neil paused and I said, You were right to be concerned. That is one of the telltale signs of cyanide poisoning. It occurs because cyanide prevents oxygen from being absorbed by the body’s cells—so the oxygen remains in the blood.

That’s right, Mark. I knew that from a case I was involved in years ago, but there was just no reason at the time to suspect Parish had been murdered. I should have put the pieces together—the missing NOKA box and the color of the body. If I had insisted on an autopsy, we would know for sure. But I didn’t.

Neil, don’t punish yourself. Hindsight is always 20/20. For now, let’s focus on your current situation. If there is a killer, what makes you think he or she has turned his sights on you?

As you know, I have a meeting to go to this morning so, for now, let me just tell you about the latest incident. We can go over the two other incidents later.

Neil continued, "It was Tuesday night. I had stayed late to wrap up some things knowing that Bunny and I were going to be in New York for the rest of the week. One of the things I do to stay in shape is to walk down the 27 floors to the garage when I am leaving for the day. As you can imagine, no one else does that. My office is in the northeast corner of the building and the back stairwell is adjacent to my office. People go up and down the stairs between the three floors we occupy, but they do that using the open and carpeted staircase in the center of our facility. I’m the only one on the 27th floor, as far as I know, who uses the stairs next to my office. Tuesday evening, I headed for the stairs as usual and almost took a major tumble—one that could have easily killed me. Someone had greased the top three steps! The only thing that saved me was the shoes I was wearing. Normally I wear Allen Edmonds, but I had been having trouble with heel pain—plantar fasciitis. That particular day, I had worn a pair of Rockport wingtips. The soles are rubber. If I had worn a pair of my dressier shoes with leather soles, my feet would have gone right out from under me. The Rockports still slipped but not as bad. I grabbed the banister and literally sat down. Then with a tight grip on the banister, I retreated back up the stairs in a seated position."

Did you report it to the police?

Unfortunately, no. I should have, but you know how complicated that would make things—not to mention what the news people would do with the story. I asked the janitorial people to clean up the mess. Then I took the elevator to the garage and that was that.

I took a moment to digest the events Neil had recounted. I saw him glance at his watch and remembered his morning business meeting. Neil, I know you have to run. You go ahead. I’m going to talk to Bunny some more and she can brief you later on the rest of our conversation. I have an idea that might help us get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I would stay away from chocolates and the back stairs for a while!

Chapter 03

Ride to the LaGuardia Airport

Neil Forte said his good-byes, gave Bunny a quick kiss on the cheek, and left the Cupping Room for his mid-morning meeting.

After Neil’s exit I said, Bunny, I have to leave for the airport. My driver is outside. What about riding in the car with me so we can continue our conversation? After Vincent drops me off at LaGuardia, he can take you back to your apartment.

That works for me; I don’t have anything planned until tonight.

I dialed Vinny’s cell phone and let him know we were ready to go. Vinny works for Roberto Greco, Sr., the third generation head of a New Jersey mafia family that has gone mostly legitimate. I did him a favor involving his son last year. When a mafia Don owes you, he becomes insistently generous. Somehow he had gotten wind of my trip to New York and the loan of Vinny was his gift to me. Vinny met me at the airport and as Vinny said, "Mr. Greco ordered I was to take care of you—whatever yous wants while in the city, you just let Vinny know."

We got up to leave. I must have over tipped the server because he returned to our table profusely thanking me while helping Bunny with her chair. As she and I walked out of the restaurant, Vinny was already at the curb with the Town Car, holding the door open for us.

Vinny, this is Mrs. Forte. She’s going to ride with us to the airport, and then I would like you to take her back to her apartment in Tribeca. She’ll give you the address later.

"You got it, Mr. Rollins. You’re the man. Mr. Greco said whatever you want, you get. So it’s no problem."

Thanks, Vinny.

Ah, it’s no problem; just ‘fahget’ about it. With that, Vinny closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. Vinny is a big man, an NFL linebacker or nightclub bouncer squeezed into a dark suit. The car rocked to the side as he got into the driver’s seat. We pulled away from the curb and headed for the airport.

A yellow cab immediately swerved to avoid the Town Car. To distract Bunny, I asked, When are you and Neil returning to Nashville?

Saturday morning. We are joining our friends, the Marrazzos, for dinner and a show on Friday and then taking an early flight out of the city on Saturday. You may know them—Sandra Marrazzo is a partner with PriceWaterhouseCoopers and Al is a partner with Skadden Arps.

I know them both; they are great people. My son, Dan, and I are both PW alumni. Dan worked in the New York office with Sandra. I got to know them when Sarah and I would visit Dan when he still lived in New York. Al’s father was a New York policeman. If you haven’t met him, you should get Al to take you to the family’s Staten Island home. It’s a big Italian family, and Mr. Marrazzo tells some really wild stories about being a NYPD cop in the old days. Tell Sandra and Al I said hello.

I’ll do that.

We were limited on time so I got down to business. "Let’s talk about the problem. Neil seemed pretty convinced that the bad guy, or