Genetic Imperfections

by Steve Hadden

Joe couldn’t resist the jab. He found a seat in the back corner of the room and waited. Alone with his thoughts and nothing to do, he prayed as his Catholic mother had taught him. He prayed for his boss and his friend. He prayed for Adam Rexsen, who had died in the crash. Joe had great respect for the old man. He wished he could have said the same for his offspring. It was ironic that a man who’d dedicated his life to hunting and fixing genetic imperfections could have a pair of them for children. He despised both Priscilla and Prescott Rexsen; Priscilla for cheating on his boss and Prescott for his spineless whining.

  He prayed for David to live; not just because he didn’t want to have to deal with Priscilla and Prescott. He prayed because he believed that the death of David’s son had made him the cold driven man he’d become, but somewhere deep inside David Wellington was a good-hearted human being. The kind of person who knew the right thing to do; the kind of person Joe had pledged his loyalty to.

  Joe finished his prayers with the sign of the cross.

  “Semper Fi,” he whispered as he kissed the cross he pulled from around his neck. The words were Latin for “ever faithful” and emblazoned on the Marine emblem. Joe was ever faithful to two things: the United States Marine Corps and David Wellington, and he never took either pledge lightly.

  CHAPTER 5

  Priscilla Wellington felt the Southern California sun warm her glistening skin. The smell of coconut oil drifted on the fresh ocean breeze. The tall palms gently swayed, and she watched the emerald waves of the Pacific lap against the soft white sand of Laguna Beach with a steady pulse. Priscilla loved her life, at least most of it.

  She’d dealt with the only difficulty in her life with her morning phone call to her husband in San Francisco. Now, she could enjoy the life she deserved and the luscious young man lying next to her. She’d seen him three weeks ago in New York. She had watched him escort one of those rail-thin models who wore the plunging necklines and flowing silk of Oscar de la Renta. He was tall, with a dark complexion and steely blue eyes. She’d watched him strut with bravado, and his Grey Vetiver cologne beckoned her as he turned just a few feet from her table beside the runway. With a hundred dollar bill discreetly passed to the nearest waiter, the introduction was arranged.

  Now, he was here. It was almost too easy. Concealed behind black-rimmed Ray-Ban’s, she shifted her eyes in his direction. His body was strong and tanned. His muscles were chiseled, but curved in all the right places. The oil glistened on his chest while he napped. At thirty-five, she was proud of the fact he needed the rest. She guessed he was fifteen years younger, though the subject of age never came up. Still, her sexual appetite was superior to his eagerness and youth.

  He began to stir, and she closed her eyes. She knew he thought she was a beautiful woman. She’d caught him staring at her long tanned legs, compact waist, flat smooth stomach, and perfect round breasts that were as firm as any twenty-one-year-old’s, thanks to the finest Beverly Hills cosmetic surgeons money could buy. Her gold bikini top stretched tightly across her, and the chill of the breeze hardened her nipples just enough to seductively reveal their outline. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, and soon they’d be entwined in the soft comfort of the bed inside. She opened her eyes and watched the breeze toy with a line of pelicans floating in the afternoon sun. She decided she would send him back to New York this evening in style.

  She quietly rose and left the deck of the beachfront home. After retrieving the pitcher from the refrigerator, she poured another Bacardi daiquiri. The staccato ring of her iPhone interrupted her first sip. She checked the small digital screen and recognized the number. She slipped the phone to her ear.

  “I thought you forgot about me,” she said, smiling with her rum-wet lips.

  She knew he’d never forget her. None of them ever did. And her latest affair held a special ranking on the list. Royce Brayton was handsome, strong, and arrogant, but they all had that. Brayton, however, worked for her husband. He had been hand-picked to replace him, her brother Prescott had told her, and he would make them all richer than they imagined. The added tension and excitement of sleeping with the man who’d get rid of her husband and push her father aside, made him special.

  “I’d never forget a beautiful, sensuous woman like you,” Royce Brayton playfully replied.

  Brayton had a way with women ever since he was fourteen years old. He was handsome and confident, traits he inherited from his father, who’d been a successful banker until he was sent to prison for skimming millions. While Brayton’s mother was trophy wife number two for his father, he’d used his smooth charm and good looks to bed numbers three and four in his teenage years without his father’s knowledge. Priscilla was a much greater challenge, but still was susceptible to his masterfulness.

  “I guess that means you’ve been thinking about me.” Priscilla replied as she sipped her rum-laced frozen concoction.

  “I’ve been thinking about last Friday. Your deep brown eyes, your long sexy legs, your luscious round breasts, and that long night of lovemaking.”

  Priscilla squeaked out a sexy girlish giggle. “Where are you?” she asked.

  She had to check. It would be a messy scene if Brayton suddenly showed up at his own home and found Priscilla with her latest twenty-something boy toy.

  “Still at the office. But I can’t wait to see you tonight. You and I will pick up where we left off.”

  “I’m not sure, Royce. I talked to David earlier and he said he would be back tonight.”

  Royce chuckled playfully. “So? He’ll never know.”

  The certainty in his voice caused Priscilla to pause for a moment. She’d been told why Brayton was here. She knew he’d take her husband’s job and gain control of the company. She’d decided to steer clear of anything between David and Royce to preserve her innocence in the eyes of her father. After all, David was the son he’d always wanted, and there was the Trust; the Trust that would soon balloon to billions of dollars when the company went public. She and her brother were the sole heirs, and the controlling share of the trust would pass to them once their father died. She’d do nothing to prevent that from happening.

  “You still there, Priscilla?” Royce asked after the long silence.

  “Yes, I’m still here.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tonight around eight at my place.”

  Priscilla choked back a laugh. He didn’t know she was already there.

  “And wear that sexy little number again for me.”

  “I will, but only for a little while. I plan on taking it off, taking it all off for you.”

  She ended the call, tossed the iPhone on the table, smiled and sipped the third drink in her rum parade. She slipped off her gold bikini top and returned to the chiseled young model who had just been caught admiring her legs again. It was a little after five. She was sure she had more than enough time to give him a proper send off. Maybe one he’d never forget.

  CHAPTER 6

  Royce Brayton had looked forward to Friday night all week. The headlights of his bright red Ferrari 360 Spider illuminated the iron gates guarding the entrance to the exclusive neighborhood perched atop the seaside cliffs of Laguna Beach. The gates opened, and Brayton pressed the gas pedal down. Powered by an engine able to go from zero to sixty in four seconds, the car leapt forward and he sped down the short winding drive past the multi-million dollar homes whose occupants included Hollywood stars, NBA bad boys, and the wealthiest business people in Southern California.

  To say he was eager was an understatement. Priscilla was waiting for him at his tri-level home overlooking the seascape of the Pacific. The thought of the silky soft lingerie clinging tightly to her firm, tanned figure had his body throbbing with testosterone. He’d already demonstrated he could manipulate Prescott, and in five minutes he’d be in bed with the only other heir to the Rexsen Family Trust and the best lay he’d enjoyed in years. Life didn’t get much better.

  He turned into his driveway and pulled next to the red Mercedes SL5
00 convertible. The house appeared to be designed by an exhibitionist. Massive glass windows on every wall were framed in white stucco and provided magnificent views of the ocean or the rugged Pacific coastline from every room. The house was topped by a sunburst terra cotta tile roof and surrounded by exotic palms, ferns, and Hydrangea. Brayton swaggered to the glass doors at the entrance to the home and entered as a conquering hero.

  The sprawling black granite floor led to walls of light gray. The furniture and cabinetry were all ebony, and the hand-rubbed finish made them sparkle in the sparse light. Its furnishings were smartly accented by chrome frames and glass tabletops. Obscenely priced art work and fine ceramics from around the world were displayed on chrome framed tables and tripods and filled the remaining empty spaces. He knew some would call the décor cold, but he called it masculine.

  He turned left into the kitchen that was covered in jet black granite with rarely used sparkling chrome fixtures. The stairway leading to the second floor reached along the back wall and was silhouetted against the view of the Pacific through plate glass windows that ran the entire length of the house. He stopped and gazed at the lights from tankers and cargo ships glittering across the water. Soft music drifted down from the second floor master bedroom. Brayton threw his keys on the table and headed upstairs. He slowed his gait when he topped the marble steps.

  The smell of jasmine was faint at first, but grew stronger as he turned down the hall to the master bedroom. The room was dark, except for the soft yellow light flickering from the granite framed fireplace. Priscilla lay in the soft firelight in a sea of fluffy silk linens.

  Her sleek legs stretched from under the black silk sheet, exposing just a hint of her beautifully shaped hip. Brayton’s knees weakened, and his desire grew out of control. He followed the silhouette of her body, tightly wrapped in the silk sheet. The end of the sheet revealed her large round breasts, scantily covered by a deep red negligee draped loosely between those two works of art. She smiled and her red lips glistened in the firelight. Her dark brown eyes invited him in.

  “Hello, Royce. I’ve been waiting for you.” She gently patted the bed.

  “And I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he replied.

  He tugged at his dark blue tie from side to side and snapped it from around his neck. He twisted the top button and released his starched collar. Priscilla rose to meet him. Her eyes locked on his as she fondled each button on his cream colored shirt with her sleek red-nailed fingers and caressed his body between each tug on his shirt. His body tingled with anticipation, while she massaged and stripped him at the same time. Brayton thrust her onto the soft sea of silk, and in a moment, the two were lost in the fiery passion of adulterous sex.

  As they completed their last act of passion, the black cordless phone next to the bed rang. Brayton reached across Priscilla, grabbed the phone and checked the digital display.

  “Brayton.”

  “It’s me.” Brayton immediately recognized the voice of the head of Rexsen’s security team. “We may have a problem. Not sure yet.”

  “What do you mean a problem?” Brayton replied. Priscilla sat up in bed, and she examined Brayton’s face for any indication of what was being said. Catching her gaze, he turned his look away from her and did his best not to give anything away.

  “I just got notified by the Coast Guard that Wellington’s plane went down just off Point Conception at the northern tip of the Santa Barbara Channel.”

  “What?”

  He twisted out of bed and started pacing with the phone.

  “There’s more, Royce. They said the 11th District dispatched an HH-65A rescue helicopter out of Los Angeles to search the site.”

  Brayton shifted the phone to his left hand and slid his shirt sleeve over his right and tried to conceal his joy. With Adam Rexsen and David Wellington gone, the company was his. All of his problems were solved. He would take Rexsen public as the CEO and be on the cover of Forbes, Fortune, Money, and Business Week. He’d join the elite circles of power and experience the riches Wall Street could provide.

  “And there’s a survivor.”

  Brayton froze in mid-stride and he clenched his teeth. He locked his blank stare on Priscilla.

  “What! A survivor from 26,000 feet! That’s impossible. They’re full of shit. It can’t be!”

  Royce raced through the possibilities. Did Adam Rexsen survive or was it Wellington? Maybe he was lucky, and it was one of the pilots. His dream of Wall Street riches disappeared in the fog of uncertainty.

  “I’ve confirmed they’ve picked up someone through my sources monitoring communications in the area. The person is near death and broken up pretty bad. They don’t think he’ll make it. But they’ve flown the victim to Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. They won’t release a name until the family has been notified.”

  As if on cue, Pricilla’s iPhone rang from across the room. Naked, Priscilla darted from bed and fumbled through her purse. While staring at Brayton, she grabbed the phone and placed it to her ear.

  She listened for a moment, then spoke. “Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” She stuffed the phone into her purse.

  “Shit! It’s David. He’s been pulled from the waters off Santa Barbara by some offshore oil workers. He’s almost dead. They want me at the hospital now. My father was killed in the crash.”

  Brayton thought for a second and put the phone back to his ear. “You get that. It’s Wellington.” He pressed the button disconnecting the call, and threw it on the bed. It was the worst option: Wellington was alive. He hated him. Not for any character flaw or anything he’d experienced under Wellington’s leadership. After all, Wellington was a money-hungry, no-prisoners type just like he was. It was simply that David Wellington stood between him and everything he thought he deserved: Priscilla, the CEO job and the money. It was nothing personal, just business.

  “He’d better die,” Priscilla scowled. She slipped her dress over her head and it unfurled along the curves of her tanned body. Brayton chuckled at Priscilla’s inability to hide her disappointment.

  They’d never talked directly about her husband and didn’t want to. The less they talked about him the better. Royce tried to read her face. Her dark eyes flashed and darted away when she caught Royce’s stare. There was something in her look that kept Royce on edge. He didn’t trust her. But that was not surprising to him. There was no woman he trusted; his long line of sex driven stepmothers had seen to that. Priscilla was the means to an end. Still, he understood they shared a common enemy. There was one obstacle that kept both of them from getting what they wanted. And David Wellington was still breathing—barely.

  CHAPTER 7

  If Priscilla Wellington had hand-picked a hospital to have to visit, Cedars-Sinai would be her first choice. Priscilla guided the convertible red Mercedes SL500 off of Santa Monica Boulevard and onto Rodeo Drive. She couldn’t help herself. Cedars-Sinai was less than a mile away, and sure there were faster routes, but none as elegant as this. This was The Golden Triangle of Beverly Hills. Each boutique was adorned with sparkling walls of glass, polished marble, and glittering stainless steel. Prada, Cartier, Tiffany, Armani, Versace: the names elicited an affection a woman should only have for her children. Even at 11 p.m., Porches and Mercedes still roamed about. No, Priscilla decided, she wouldn’t mind this hospital visit at all. From her luxury suite in The Peninsula, Beverly Hills’ most exclusive hotel and spa, she would be steps from the Golden Triangle shops and within a sympathetic three-quarters of a mile of her dying husband’s hospital bed.

  With Beverly Hills still in her mirror, Priscilla maneuvered along Beverly Boulevard, and turned right onto George Burns Road, then down Gracie Allen Drive to the valet parking near the emergency room. As she approached the entrance, the glass doors parted, and she crossed the polished white floor to the admissions desk.

  “I’m Mrs. David Wellington.” She tried to pretend she enjoyed the title. “I received a call that my husband was brought here.” />
  She was politely ushered into a waiting area and told a doctor would be with her momentarily.

  She tried to forget she was Mrs. David Wellington; the thought of her marriage made her stomach sour. She hated all those years of acting as if she liked David just to please her father so he might let her run the company one day. With her father now gone and Prescott next in line, she’d undoubtedly wasted her time.

  She sat alone on the uncomfortable steel-framed chair. The chill of the ER began to seep in. No one sat with her. She maintained her outward air of superiority, but uneasiness churned deep in her heart. The father who’d given her everything, except the one thing she’d wanted, was dead. She raised her head and was actually happy to see her brother Prescott enter the ER. He immediately spotted her and slinked down the sanitary corridor.

  “Hi, Pris. Just got the news. Looks like the old man’s gone.” Prescott smiled and rubbed his hands together.

  The words hit hard and deep. Her father was gone. She remembered how he’d always made time for her as a young girl. He’d been a great dad. She got whatever she wanted as a child. He spent lavishly and never said no. Despite the long hours required by his job, he’d always found the time to make her feel special. Lunch at school, those little Saturday morning errands with just the two of them, basketball in the driveway, making Sunday morning breakfast and sitting next to her at church, all said how much he loved her.

  But she’d wanted more. As she got older, the jealousy grew. She convinced herself there was something he loved more than her. He’d talk about his purpose in life and how Rexsen Labs filled that purpose. She couldn’t remember when it happened, but soon a hunger for power and money replaced her hunger for her father’s love. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  “From what I hear your hubby may be next.” Prescott smiled and feigned a hug that Priscilla successfully dodged.

  “The nurse instructed me to wait here and said the doctor would be down to speak with me.” Priscilla complained. “Can you believe they want me to wait? I don’t think they know who we are.” Priscilla glared at the young girl behind the desk.