The Blue Zone. Andrew Gross

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       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Kate was in the kitchen with her mother and Em when the black limo turned down the drive.

      “It’s Dad!” Emily shouted, still in her squash clothes. She made a beeline for the front door.

      Kate saw her mother’s hesitation. It was as if she couldn’t move, or was afraid to. As if she were afraid what opening that door would reveal.

      “It’s going to be okay.” Kate took her arm and led her to the door. “Whatever it is, you know, Dad’ll make it okay.”

      Sharon nodded.

      They watched him climb out of the car, accompanied by Mel Kipstein, whom Kate knew from the club. Emily bolted down the flagstone steps and straight into her father’s arms. “Daddy!”

      Raab just stood there for a moment, hugging her, staring up at Kate and her mom over his younger daughter’s shoulder as they stood on the landing. He had an ashen shadow on his face. He could barely look at them.

      “Oh, Ben …” Sharon slowly came down the steps, tears in her eyes. They hugged. A hug aching with worry and uncertainty, deeper than Kate could remember seeing in years.

      “Pumpkin.” Her father’s face brightened as his eyes met Kate’s. “I’m glad you’re here.”

      “Of course I’m here, Daddy.” Kate ran down to the driveway and put her arms around him, too. She placed her head on his shoulder. She could never remember seeing shame on her father’s face before.

      “And you too, champ.” He reached out for Justin, who had just come up behind them, mussing his son’s shaggy brown hair.

      “Hey, Dad.” Justin leaned against him. “You okay?”

      “Yeah.” He did his best to smile. “I am now.”

      Together they went inside.

      For Kate, the huge stone house by the water had never really felt like home. “Home” had been the more modest, fifties ranch where she’d grown up in Harrison, a couple of towns away. With her cramped corner room covered in posters of U-2 and Gwyneth Paltrow, the marshy little pond in back, and the constant whoosh of traffic off the back deck from the Hutchinson Parkway.

      But Raab had bought this place in her senior year. His dream house—with its large Palladian windows overlooking the Sound, the gargantuan kitchen with two of everything—Sub-Zeros, dishwashers—the flashy basement theater some Wall Street guy had decked out to the nines, the five-car garage.

      They all took a seat in the tall, beamed living room. Kate, with her mother, in front of the fireplace. Emily plopped herself on her father’s lap in the high-backed leather chair. Justin pulled up the tufted ottoman.

      There was a weird, uncomfortable silence.

      “So we gonna start with your day,” Kate quipped, trying to cut the tension, “or would you like to hear about mine?”

      That made her dad smile. “First, I don’t want any of you to be afraid,” he said. “You’re going to hear some terrible things about me. The most important thing is that you understand I’m innocent. Mel says we’ve got a solid case.”

      “Of course we know you’re innocent, Ben,” said Sharon. “But innocent of what?”

      Kate’s dad let out a nervous breath and gently moved Emily to an adjacent chair.

      “Money laundering. Conspiracy to commit fraud. Aiding and abetting a criminal enterprise—that enough?”

      “Conspiracy …” Sharon’s jaw dropped open. “Conspiracy with whom, Ben?”

      “Basically, what they’re saying”—he locked his fingers together—“is that I provided some merchandise to people who ultimately did some bad things with it.”

      “Merchandise?” Emily echoed, not understanding.

      “Gold, honey.” Ben exhaled.

      “So what’s wrong with that?” Kate shrugged. “You’re in the trading business, aren’t you? That’s what you do.”

      “Believe me, I tried to make that point—but in this case I may have made some mistakes.”

      Sharon stared at him. “You provided this gold to whom, Ben? What kind of people are we talking about?”

      Raab swallowed. He moved his chair a little closer to her and wrapped his fingers around her hand.

      “Drug traffickers, Sharon. Colombians.”

      Sharon let out a gasp—half laughing, half incredulous. “You must be kidding, Ben.”

      “Now, I didn’t know who they were, and all I did was provide the gold, Sharon, you have to believe that. But there’s more. I introduced them to someone. Someone who altered what I sold them. In an illegal way. Into things like tools, bookends, desk ornaments—and painted them over. So they could ship them back home.”

      “Home?” Sharon squinted. She looked over to Kate. “I don’t understand.”

      “Out of the country, Sharon. Back to Colombia.”