“A charity event.”
“What charity event?” I ask.
“I attend so many. I think it was for a children’s hospital.”
“Obviously, the first meeting wasn’t all that memorable,” I comment, “since you aren’t sure which event.”
“He was memorable,” she assures me. “The event was not.”
“And then what?”
“We had sex that night. Like I said, we had a sexual connection. It worked.”
“Until it didn’t?”
“It’s really not the sex that was the issue,” she says. “We had fun fucking each other and other people. But at the core of it all, he told me he loved me. He trusted me. I started going out to the Hamptons with him here and there. We got more and more serious.”
“Elaborate. What does serious mean to you?”
“He talked about marriage. He wanted me in his inner circle. He wanted to be sure I felt comfortable there. That’s when he invited me to one of many private events. He called it the ‘Think Tank Tournaments.’ He said that it was a big deal for him to invite me and consider me for the financial board, which he called just the ‘Circle.’”
“And where was this tournament?”
“It was held in a hotel conference center in the city. The location changed each time. From what I understood, they’d been going on for about two years.”
“Why in a hotel? Why not in his office?”
“They weren’t bank business.”
A decent answer, but I think there’s more to it.
“Where were they held?”
“The ones I attended were at the Clementine hotel.”
“And the others?”
“I don’t know. I just remember Rip saying he rotated hotels.”
She cut her eyes with that answer. I set that question aside with the intent of asking it again. People tend to drown in their own lies if given the chance. “What happened at the events?”
“They had a round table and invited guests presented ideas. If they were viable investments, the financial board would evaluate them to decide if they were worthy of their efforts.”
“What efforts?”
“They’d try to package a group of investors.”
Like Woodard’s business model on the surface, but somehow, it’s got a twist. “Keep going,” I tell her.
“It’s complicated. They actually did help a few startups in a big way, but you see, they were all already wealthy people, bored with life. They needed entertainment. It was all a game to them. Sex, money, amusement. It was all one big high.”
“Who are they?”
“Emma and Gibson, her ex-husband. Naomi and Lawrence, her husband, who of course, passed away. They were divorcing and I think this tournament stuff is why. And then Rip, of course. And me. They wanted me.”
“And now they’re all dead,” I say.
“Right? I know. It’s scary. That’s why I don’t want my name involved in this but I can’t in good conscience not come forward and give you anything I can to help.”
“So you’re afraid for your life?”
“Maybe. I was with Rip, but I wasn’t part of their inner circle, round table, decisions. I never judged anyone.”
“But you wanted to?”
“I wanted to be with Rip. And that’s what Rip wanted me to do, but once I realized what was really going on, I was pretty disgusted.”
Doubtful, I think, my mind going back to the list of people she’s just given me. “What about Morgan Rockport, Emma's fiancé? Was he involved in these events?”
“Oh, he wasn't involved at all. I never even met him. I heard about him, but Emma said she was leaving the group for him. I guess not soon enough.”
“Was he a swinger?”
“I don't think so. I don’t think she wanted him to know about her other life at all.”
Interesting, but I don’t say that. I shift the topic. “All right. How did this group come up with the prospects they invited to present?” I ask. “And how did they choose who to invest with and who to play games with?”
“They all had contacts, legit, solid contacts. Those high-end prospects went to the gold events. Gold events were all business, no sex and games. Then there was a silver event for the others.”
“The others?”
“Right. The others. That’s where the dark side to all of this is revealed.”
“Explain.”
“They created these private rooms on this game called Banking the Billionaire. The game teaches people to invest. So, Rip and his team of cohorts would challenge those players to play. If they scored well enough, they could present their ideas at a silver event, but here’s the catch. They never planned to give them money. They just fucked with their heads. The silver room guests were just fuck buddies and entertainment.”
“How did they let them down?”
“They’d tell them some big investor they’d sworn was interested in their project backed out. They’d crush their dreams, and in many cases, these people did things they couldn’t afford to do to try to stay in a positive light with the Circle.” Marilyn leans forward and lowers her voice as if someone else is here. “Some of these people spent money they didn’t have to spend to prove a product was viable. Some slept with members of the panel, multiple members of the panel, cheated on spouses, you name it.” She sits back. “It was too much for me.”