Victoria felt a satisfying rush. If there was one thing she could count on, it was Kat’s impact on men. Any time. Anywhere. Any man. She looked over at the appreciative look on Jenny’s face. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Victoria said, ushering her out the door.
CHAPTER
4
THE WIND HOWLED and shook the windows while the train tracks sang in the distance, rocking under the weight of thousands of commuters being transported into the city from different Chicago suburbs. The gray, early-morning sky foretold another cold winter day. Gretchen looked out her kitchen window, sighed, and hung her head.
By thirty-six, she’d planned to be smack in the middle of a wildly successful law career, traveling the world defending executives against white-collar criminal charges brought by overzealous governments. At the very least, she should be a non-equity partner at a major silk-stocking firm by now. Instead, she was home, forced to communicate with only The Moms, as she called them, while they waited in gaggle formation, day after day, for their kids’ music, ballet, or other inane class to end.
At first, Gretchen had been fascinated by them. They came perfectly coifed and beautifully dressed while she wore stretch pants and whatever top she found that was clean. Why dress up to sit on hard metal chairs, watching kids stomp around a dirty-looking tiled floor, waving their arms and pretending to be flowers? It was bad enough that Gretchen refused to dress like them, but the real problems began the few times she had tried to discuss intellectually stimulating topics, like politics or the economy. At first, she hadn’t understood it was intentional when The Moms physically shifted away from her. Finally, one of the women put her out of her misery, explaining they felt it best to steer clear of topics that might cause a rift in their group and hinder budding friendships among their children. Only vanilla topics were allowed: potty training, the best teachers for kindergarten, or the most sought-after pediatricians.
Gretchen refused to conform. Not because she didn’t want to fit in, but she just wasn’t made that way. Eventually, she became a sort of pariah. She was never invited to lunch after class or for nights out, when wine was guzzled by the bottle. She learned to bring something she could do by herself so she could coexist with The Moms, yet be spared the embarrassment of being shunned.
While she loved her husband and little girl, her current life was eating away at her soul. She was lonely, and she was wasting what her corporate law professor had told her was one of the best legal minds he had ever had the pleasure to teach. The monotony, combined with her inability to face her past, had become too much to bear. She was alone in a living hell, and there was no one to save her.
Pushing back off her kitchen counter, Gretchen walked into her husband’s study and keyed in the numbers that unlocked the cabinet. When they’d first gotten married, she’d insisted he get rid of all of it. As a former marine, he argued that his guns were part of who he was, that it would emasculate him if he had to get rid of them, that it was his right to bear arms under the Second Amendment. It had been one of the few arguments she’d ever lost with him.
How ironic, Gretchen thought, as she grunted out loud and ugly laughed, that my decision to let him win that argument will now work to my advantage.
She had told herself it was boredom that drove her to spend hours on the Internet learning to load and fire the one weapon in his arsenal she thought she could handle. She assured herself she’d never use that knowledge, but today was different. Today, the gray sky and howling wind felt like they had etched themselves indelibly into her soul.
Reaching inside the cabinet, she picked up the gun and let the weight of it sink into her hands. She told herself a little hands-on practice loading the gun would better prepare her to protect herself and her daughter when her husband was traveling for business.
She opened the small box, took out a few bullets, held them, and began to load the gun. “Just for practice,” she said out loud. Deep down, though, she knew. She was tired of the constant criticism in her head, the round and round about how her life should have been so different. As if it had a life of its own, the gun moved toward her head and tears gathered in her eyes. She no longer had the desire to resist. More than anything, she wanted to stop the pain.
“Momma! The movie stopped. Can you come watch with me this time?” Gretchen was startled. She looked into her daughter’s clear blue eyes, which grew larger with understanding that something was wrong. Lowering the gun, Gretchen grabbed her daughter, wrapped her arms around the girl’s tiny body, and began to cry hard, sobbing tears.
“Momma, don’t cry. I’ll fix it. Where do you hurt? Shh, shh. It’ll be okay.” Gretchen felt the soft, stroke, stroke, stroke of her daughter’s small hands running down her hair.
It was then that she knew this was not her final chapter. She would fight back. Or, at least she would try. She would face what she had done and accept the consequences. Her husband might leave her, and she might lose custody of her daughter, but at least she’d have put up a fight. She would take one step at a time to find the confident, cocky woman she’d been only a few years before. She was ready to take back her life—for her daughter, for her husband, for herself.
CHAPTER
5
“I THINK YOU SHOULD consider a plea, William,” Jeremy said, knocking the burnt ashes off the end of his cigar.
“Well, I just bet you do,” Big Bill calmly responded in his heavy Southern accent, “but that’s ‘cause your ass ain’t in the same sling mine’s swinging in.” He laughed as he poured himself another glass of his favorite fine Southern whiskey.
His client’s big belly had grown even bigger over the past year, Jeremy noticed. It shook like one might imagine Santa’s would if, of course, one was a child and believed in those things. Jeremy never had, thanks to having the fantasy kicked right out of him when he turned the tender age of seven. That was the last time Jeremy had seen his father outside of prison and the first time he thought about becoming a lawyer.
It was because of his reputation as a tough attorney and his personal bone to pick with the feds that high-profile criminal defendants hired his firm. Fortunately, Big Bill had the funds to pay his exorbitant fees or Jeremy would have kicked his narcissistic, fat ass to the curb months ago. Ignoring his client’s sarcasm, Jeremy continued. “I hate to pile on, William, but we recommend you settle the civil lawsuits, especially if you’re thinking of pleading guilty to the Department of Justice’s charges.”
Scott expanded on his partner’s advice. “William, they’ve got your handwritten notes setting out the scheme you intended to—and from the evidence they’ve gathered so far, did—launch onto unsuspecting policyholders. There’s very little safe harbor for you.”
“Well, now,” Big Bill leaned back in his chair, lit one of his cigars, and let his gaze travel his Georgia plantation’s conference room walls. Picture after picture showed him with presidents, prime ministers, and heads of state. He wanted to ensure no one, especially not this newest round of lawyers, doubted his clout. Clearing his throat, he scowled in disgust at the two sniveling men. “I pay you boys a fucking fortune, and you’ve got the balls to tell me all I get for a year’s worth of legal bills is a recommendation to cave, settle, and plea? I could have done that a year ago and saved more than two million dollars in legal fees,” he snarled as he smashed his fist into the table. “How ‘bout taking a look at the fine lawyers who advised me and the board of Highline? Why don’t we squeeze a few of their balls before we’re so quick to grab mine? And, for fuck’s sake, I was told you two were the toughest, ball-busting sons of bitches out there. Bring those balls back out into the sunshine, boys, and let’s fight this bullshit.” Big Bill’s face turned red as his anger turned into a sickly laugh, followed quickly by uncontrollable coughing.
Jeremy jumped up, ran over, and began pounding on his client’s back while Scott went to get water. Neither of them wanted to lose one of the biggest meal tickets to ever cross their le
gal threshold. They looked at each other over Big Bill’s head and shrugged, having done their ethical duty and advised him to settle and plea. They couldn’t force him to do so. If he wanted to fight, it only served to help their bottom line.
Suddenly, Big Bill’s hunk of a body heaved back, and the glass Scott had been holding flew across the room and shattered. Water splattered and ran down the wall onto the floor. “I’m just coughing, not having a heart attack, for Chrissake!” Big Bill choked out. “Now, listen. I know what’s going through those pea-sized lawyer brains of yours: more money and less liability because you did your duty and told me I should cave. But either you devise a plan to get me out of this mess, or I will scream as loud and long as I can that neither of you advised me to settle and that you failed to tell me all the ramifications.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Scott protested. “We’ll put it in writing.”
“Scotty, my boy,” Big Bill began, “do you see all those fine presidents and important people lining my walls with their arms around me? I need only make a few phone calls and your careers will be in the toilet.”
Stunned, Jeremy stood up defensively. “Are you threatening us?”
Big Bill got up and came around the table to lead them out of his office, slapping their backs on the way out the door and smiling. “That’s it exactly. I can see we have a meeting of the minds. Now, gentlemen, I know you have a lot of work to do. Don’t contact me again until you’ve come up with a real plan.” Big Bill slammed the door, practically hitting the two lawyers on their way out.
CHAPTER
6
“ARMOND, WE’RE WAITING on you! We need the talent deals finalized and contracts signed so we can begin to market to investors. Filming begins in eighteen months, so you’ll need to get the investors on board within the next six months to stay on schedule,” Phillip said, looking at his son from behind his ornately carved gold-leaf desk.
“Yes, father dearest,” Armond said. “I know what you need and when. If you recall, I grew up in this industry. And, what did you do to your office? It looks like a knockoff of the Versailles Palace. Could you have possibly stuffed it with any more gold antiques?” He took a seat in one of the gilded and intricately carved chairs surrounding, in his opinion, a ridiculously tacky desk.
“This was your mother’s idea. I made the mistake of mentioning that many of the investors wanted more than to simply invest in a film for a solid return. They expressed an interest in having an experience—either by having a bit part or by being included in the making of the sausage. Next thing I know, she’s decided we need to redecorate our home so we can invite potential investors to dinners and cocktail parties—the perfect way, according to her, to make them feel as if they’re part of our movie-making family.”
Armond laughed as he looked around the room. “Seems to me mother wanted to redecorate the Beverly Hills’ house and used her idea as a ploy to get what she wanted. Sheer genius. I’ll have to tell her so at dinner tonight.”
Phillip ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, making Armond smile as he recognized the gesture as one of his own. “She also decided I needed an over-the-top home office so if someone decided to invest while enjoying our movie-making family atmosphere, we could have them sign the documents and complete the deal right then and there. Turns out, she was right.”
“Well, better your office than mine,” Armond said, enjoying that his mother, with whom he was close, had obviously out-maneuvered his father.
“Stop gloating. If I must be in here for these meetings, that means you must as well. So welcome to the club,” Phillip came around the desk and patted his son on the shoulder. “Brandy?”
“I’ll have whiskey neat, thanks.” Armond stood to join his father by the newly designed bar. He noticed the elaborately chiseled wood that graced the back wall, and traveled across the top of an antique mirror and down the other side. “Where did you get that, and who in the world carved it? It’s beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Phillip agreed. “No idea, I’m afraid. It’s ancient and was excavated from some ruins in Thailand. Your mother insisted that since we’ve had an increasingly strong interest from Asian investors over the past two years that the office should house some of the region’s relics to show our appreciation for their culture.” Phillip sipped his brandy. “You, of all people, should know that once your mother has an idea in her head, she doesn’t let it go. So,” Phillip shrugged, “here we are.”
Armond smiled and tasted his whiskey. “More likely they’ll be insulted when they find out you stole one of their country’s antiquities to hang above your overdone home bar.”
The two men looked at each other and laughed when they heard the soft ringing of the dinner chimes float through the air. “Dinner is apparently served,” Armond noted, shaking his head. “If you don’t get mother under control soon, you’ll have to show up for dinner every night in a tux.”
“You talk to her, Armond. You two were always so close. She’ll listen to you.”
“Seems to me she’s looking for something to do. Why don’t you put her on the investment team? She loves to entertain. Give her a budget, a deadline, and an amount of money she needs to raise for the next film.”
Phillip smiled at his son. “You know, Armond, I think that just might do the trick. Why don’t you suggest it during dinner? If I bring it up, she’ll think I’m trying to distract her.”
“Well, you are,” Armond said, raising his glass in salute to his father, “but I will. Now, let’s go. I’m afraid of what tone those chimes will make if we don’t show up on time.”
CHAPTER
7
THE ROOM WAS filled to capacity. Twinkling lights gave it a romantic vibe, but the decorations reminded everyone it was a professional function. Scattered strategically throughout the ballroom were numerous legal artifacts, some of the more valuable being glass-encased white wigs once worn by English barristers, an original draft of the United States Constitution, and John Marshall’s judicial robe. At each place setting was a gold-embossed copy of Brown v. Board of Education, the landmark Supreme Court unanimous decision that declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional.
Despite the legal and historical pomp, the purpose of the evening was to deepen camaraderie and have fun. But going hog-wild was frowned upon. Emails had been sent reminding associates and partners alike, that while this was a social evening, it remained a business function. Even so, it never failed. Trever smirked as he thought of past years. Inevitably, someone got shit-faced and did something scandalous. Last year, one of their newest partners decided to take a shortcut home and drove off the circular drive leading up to the club house of the private golf club. His path continued down a grassy hill, through manicured gardens, over the perfectly coifed eighteenth green, and into the adjacent lake. That little stunt cost the firm a pretty penny. And, there was always the reliable young, drunk associate, who would reach his hand down one of the partner’s wives’ dresses or grope an ass, leading to some sort of physical altercation.
Something always happens, Trever thought, as he smiled in appreciation and took a sip of his bourbon. Trever hated the mundane. Next year, perhaps he could convince Billy and Adam to place bets on what the social faux pas might be—a sort of roulette wheel of the top ten things that could happen—at $10,000 per chance. That would at least entice him to spend more than an hour at this function.
They were going to have to liven things up. The practice was becoming too routine. While most businessmen appreciated predictable because that’s when deals get done and markets soar, Trever found it immensely boring. If things were running smoothly, he would purposely throw a grenade. It didn’t matter what was at stake. He considered himself a connoisseur of people. He loved to track ahead of the curve and bet on what someone might do when presented with a particular set of facts. He’d create the mess and then clean it up in return for a portion of the profits.
; Trever raised his glass in a silent salute to his granddaddy, Senator McGowen. The senator had taught him everything he knew about succeeding in business: how to read a room, manipulate the weak, and take advantage of a situation. He had represented the great state of Texas in Congress for the past thirty years and had sponsored a record-breaking number of bills, each of which purported to do good for the public. Take increasing Texas’ oil production: more oil meant lower prices at the pump. But, almost every time the senator introduced a bill, there was a little something in it for his family. When Texas oil production increased, so, too, did the production on their family ranch, and, as a natural by-product, their family income.
“Well, Trever, from the look on your face, I have to believe you have a new deal in the offing.” Adam clinked his glass with Trever’s and smiled.
“Adam,” Trever acknowledged. “Just a bit of reminiscing, and you’re right. Despite all the turmoil of this past year, we’re poised to have the best year in the firm’s history. Our London office has handled some of the richest transactions we’ve ever been a part of, while the Bangkok office has been incredibly profitable, thanks to your hard work. And if your projections are accurate, it’s slated to increase its revenue by almost 50 percent next year. That’s record-breaking, Adam! You’re to be congratulated.”
Private Agendas: A Victoria Rodessa Legal Thriller Page 2
