by Steve Hadden
He jumped when his phone rang. He dashed across the room to the smartphone on the kitchen table and waited one more ring, while he tried to catch his breath.
“Donovan.”
“Damn it, you said Clarke would not be a problem!” the synthesized voice said.
“My guys are on top of it. I’m just reviewing the audio now.”
“There’s no damn reason to review the audio! I’m telling you, she’s starting to nose around! Now what are you doing about it!”
“Look. She thinks she screwed up. I’ve got a man tailing her 24/7. If she makes a wrong move, we’ll take care of it.”
“Like you took care of Wellington?”
“Don’t worry about Wellington. He’s history. Tonight he attacked that weasel Prescott. Got a security guard in our pocket. He saw the whole thing. Wellington has been fired, and we have an insurance policy.”
“I don’t give a shit what you have. Just do your damn job.”
Donovan jerked the phone from his ear as his client slammed it into the cradle. He shook his head. “Asshole.” He’d worked for assholes for the past ten years and made a ton of money, but he didn’t have to like the bastards.
He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear.
“It’s me. Look, we need to stay close to her. If she makes another move and starts snooping around let me know.”
Donovan set the phone down, clicked the mouse and continued to listen. The conversation with his client was still on his mind. He fantasized about being Wellington in the hospital room and pounding Prescott’s head into the floor. No one would have been able to pull him off. Then, it hit him. The solution to the problem was so obvious. It was clean, it was clever and it would be fun. He hit the redial and watched the lights of the freighters slowly tracking across the dark Pacific.
“We need Waters—now.”
He threw the phone on the table and grinned. He loved the hunt. He identified with the soul of the great whites surely lurking in the depths of the black waters sprawling before him to the horizon. He was just as undetectable and even more deadly. He sure liked his job.
CHAPTER 21
David Wellington watched as Monday’s evening business news reported the change. It was then that the reality hit hard. Rexsen’s CEO, the news anchor explained, had been replaced by Royce Brayton. Mr. Wellington was unable to continue as CEO due to injuries sustained in the unfortunate crash of Rexsen’s corporate aircraft that took the life of its founder, Adam Rexsen. Royce Brayton had a great track record for increasing shareholder value, he said. Then, in a well-planned sound bite, Brayton appeared on screen and said he planned take the company public immediately, out of respect for Adam Rexsen’s commitment to fight cancer with CGT. The room seemed to close in on David. He pressed the remote harder and harder, switching from newscast to newscast, until he finally threw the remote, and it shattered against the wall. He repeatedly crushed the nurse call button in his hand.
“What can I do for you Mr. Wellington?” she asked.
“You can get me the hell out of here!”
David locked his arms across his chest and scowled.
“Now there’s no reason to take that tone with me, Mr. Wellington.”
David looked away from her and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but have you been watching the news?”
The nurse chuckled. “No, I’ve been taking care of my other patients.”
David had to laugh at himself. Millions of people probably saw the broadcast and said: so what.
“Well, it was pretty bad stuff,” he said, losing some of his self-pity.
“I know it seems that way. Sorry about your job. But you’ll get another. And I understand you guys at the top get a pile of money when you leave anyway.”
So much for sympathy. What did she know? She didn’t build the company from a ten person firm to one of the largest in the country.
“When can I get released?” David asked again.
The nurse came over to his bedside and checked the readings on the monitor beside his bed.
“You can ask the doc on rounds tomorrow morning. I think he’ll want to run more tests.”
“No more tests,” he quipped.
“That’s between you and the doc. He’ll be here around eight.”
She straightened his pillows and gently pulled the sheet up to his neck.
For a moment he was reminded of his childhood, and how his mother gently tucked him in each night. That is, until his father’s carousing finally caught up with her, and she put a bullet in her head. He’d never felt more alone than that night. The same emptiness now gnawed inside him.
The nurse left the room. David turned to the phone on the nightstand and dialed Joe Pirelli’s number. He was the only friend he had.
“Joe here.”
Joe Pirelli had been David’s driver for fifteen years. When they first met, David sensed Joe was not a great fan, but over the years, the two grew closer. One evening, after a few drinks, Joe told David how he hated Priscilla and Prescott and how poorly they treated everyone, especially the hired help. Joe wondered out loud why David tolerated Priscilla’s cheating. He even absolved David for his trysts with several Newport Beach beauties on board David’s yacht. David wasn’t sure if Joe genuinely liked him, or just felt sorry for him. But Joe was trustworthy, and he needed someone he could trust.
“Hi, Joe.”
“Hey, boss. How the hell are you? I thought you might be taking a dirt nap!”
David smiled. Joe’s sense of humor was tactless but still funny.
“Nope, I’m still looking at the grass from the right side.”
David heard Joe chuckle.
“So what’s up boss? I saw the news. Looks like the inmates are running the asylum.”
“You’re right there. Speaking of asylums, I want you to be here at eight tomorrow morning to get me out of this one.”
“Cedars?”
“Yup.”
“They letting you out already? Damn, you are a miracle man.”
“Just be here at eight sharp. Pack some clothes for me; we’ll be going to the beach house.”
“I love that place.”
“Me too.”
The beach house had been David’s third extravagant purchase after his annual earnings reached the more-money-than-you-can-spend level. It was his private hideaway. He spent as much time there as anywhere, to escape both the job and Priscilla. Joe and he spent many nights on the deck swapping stories. David would explain the mysteries of the human genome and the backstabbing of corporate politics, while Joe told of clandestine missions in far-away places that officially never happened. Each took an oath that what they said on the deck never went any further. It helped build a strong bond of loyalty and trust.
“Be sure to keep this quiet,” David asked. “I want you to bring my briefcase from the office at the house. Buy a phone for me too, but not in my name.”
“Got it, boss. Be there at eight. And boss, sorry about Mr. Rexsen. He was a nice guy.”
“Thanks Joe. I miss him more than you can imagine.”
David placed the receiver down and turned off the TV. He recalled his last conversation with Adam Rexsen just before the crash.
They had reached cruising altitude, and, as he always did, the old man monitored the pilot’s communications with ground control. David assumed it reminded Adam of his days as a highly decorated Viet Nam war pilot. Apparently satisfied the cockpit crew had the flight under control, the thin, white-haired man removed his head phones.
“David, how do you think the meeting went?” he had asked leaning across the aisle.
David made a quick check of the aft cabin to make sure Jeff Resse was still out of earshot.
“I think it went well, Adam. Our presentation went very well. Reese was convincing and left no doubt that the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, the directors at the FDA, and all the critical subcommittees will be in support of our CGT treatment. We already had the nod
for Treatment Investigational New Drugs, which allowed the critically ill to start treatment right away, and I expect formal FDA approval next week.”
Adam gave a gentle smile. “That’s really important to me, David. Those people suffering from that terrible disease need hope, and that’s why I started this company in the first place.” His eyes softened as he went on: “I know you guys were taught differently about business. I was taught you’re in business for a purpose; to do something noble for society, to improve our way of life. I understand Harvard Business School taught you you’re in this to make money, create value for the shareholders as measured in the stock market. But I think that’s how Enron got in trouble and ruined hundreds of thousands of lives. They believed that hokey pokey about ‘virtual assets’ and ‘creative accounting,’ all kind of legal mind you, but they lost sight of why they existed in the first place.”
Wellington chuckled.
“You’re right there, Adam. But that’s what it takes these days. Fact is, your board and your kids would send me packing if I didn’t deliver earnings any way I can.”
Adam’s eyes turned sad. “My kids, now there’s a pair. Did you see that son of mine slithering around this week? He’s up to something.”
Wellington was surprised by the comment. “He was a little strange.”
“You’re too kind to this old man. I know a lot more than you think. But it’s nice to know someone respects my feelings.”
“What do you mean?”
Adam leaned farther into the aisle and whispered. “I know all Prescott wants is the money. I know your 1980’s MBA says you want it too, but at least you know how to make it. He just knows how to spend it.”
Wellington acknowledged the comment with a nod.
“And that wife of yours, if you can call her that, is just as selfish.”
Wellington felt uncomfortable. The old man knew a lot more than he let on. He didn’t reply.
“Yes, I have connections too,” Adam continued. “I know she fools around, and I know you’ve put up with her to keep me happy. But you don’t have to please me. Priscilla is my daughter, and I will always love her. But she’s greedier than Prescott. She’s also much smarter and much more cunning.”
David stared into the brandy in the Waterford crystal glass.
“I don’t know what to say, Adam.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Whatever happens to me, don’t let them get control of this company. They have no sense of purpose. Their mother died of cancer. Still, they don’t care about all those men, women, and children who are dying needlessly from that insidious disease. They don’t care about our employees, many whom have worked their entire career for us. They’ll sell out to some big pharmaceutical company for the money, lay off our people, and we’ll lose our sense of purpose for sure.”
David reached across the aisle and gently squeezed his forearm.
“I promise I won’t let you down. They won’t get the company.”
The old man looked frail and tired; he leaned deep into the back of his chair and closed his eyes; he was done talking. Those were the last words he’d ever speak.
At the time, David didn’t know why Adam Rexsen’s words hit him so hard. Before the crash, success was all about the earnings and the money. But now, something deep inside him said the old man was right. He wasn’t sure if it was the crash, the loss of his job, or the little girl down the hall, who bravely faced death. But he was sure of one thing: He wouldn’t let Adam Rexsen’s dream die, at least not without a fight.
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday morning took forever to arrive. David checked his watch and sighed; it was almost eight. Since he’d placed the call to Joe, David had checked the time nearly every hour. He knew Prescott and Brayton would move quickly to solidify their positions and probably planned to sell out to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t lie there and let them get away with stealing his company.
He paced his room in his well-ventilated hospital gown. Although he still winced when he took a deep breath, he was ready to go. He’d cleaned his breakfast dishes to the bone and stacked them neatly on the tray. The bed was made with each corner tightly tucked into the frame. Each time the sound of footsteps in the corridor approached, David prepared to make his case to the doctor. He’d make sure it would be a short conversation.
A crisp knock on the door announced the doctor’s arrival. He wore a white lab coat and stethoscope, a neatly groomed forty-something man with graying black hair entered the room. As with the last two visits, he appeared confident and David immediately knew he would not be easily intimidated. The nurse trailed him.
“I’m ready to go Doc. Just sign me out.” David ordered.
The doctor looked at his chart.
“Good morning Mr. Wellington,” he said, ignoring David’s demand. “We have another MRI to run before we let you go. You’ve had a rough time. We need to be sure you’re in shape to go home.”
The doctor’s tone was unemotional. David thought he should have been a corporate lawyer with those negotiating skills. Still, David pressed his case.
“I’m ready to go now. I don’t need an MRI to tell me that I feel fine, and I want out now. As I see it, we can stand here and argue about this or you can just sign me out now and save yourself some valuable time.” David smiled.
The doctor shook his head.
“As your attending physician I cannot release you, in good conscience. However, if you insist on taking this foolish risk, I’m obligated to let you know you can sign a release and go.”
“Where do I sign, Doc?”
The doctor frowned and turned to the nurse.
“Get Mr. Wellington the forms, and I’ll give you the patient instructions.” He turned back to David. “Since you insist on leaving now I want you to follow my instructions and schedule a follow up within a few days for the last test.”
“No problem, Doc.”
The doctor marched out and nearly ran into Joe in the doorway.
“Sorry, Doc,” Joe said, stepping aside.
The doctor just gave Joe a nasty glance and left.
“What’s his problem, boss?”
“Me,” David said laughing.
Joe laid a change of clothes on the bed. “I’ll be just outside when you’re ready.”
He closed the door, and David stripped off the gown and slipped into the tan slacks and yellow polo shirt with a pair of Sperry Topsiders. He heard a knock on the door.
“Damn it, Joe, just a minute!”
The door opened just a crack and a squeaky voice said, “Who’s Joe?”
David slipped on his last shoe and stepped to the door.
“Amy?”
Amy stood in the door clutching an Elmo doll and wearing her red Angels cap.
“Mr. Wellington, sir, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come down and visit today.” Her big blue eyes begged him to stay.
“I’m sorry. I’m leaving today.”
Amy dropped her head. David wasn’t sure what to do. Amy looked weaker in the morning light. Her face looked drawn and pale. Her eyebrows were gone, victims of the chemo. Despite his years in the business, he hadn’t been this close to a child with terminal cancer since Connor died. He remembered the old man’s lecture on purpose in life. The image of his young son entered his mind.
“Uh, do you have a phone number where I can call you?”
Amy raised her head and smiled. “Yes, my mom has it, I’ll go get it.”
Amy ran down the hallway, while Joe and David waited patiently. She returned with her mother in tow. Faith Carlton’s golden brown skin and athletic lean figure reminded David of the girls at the marina. But Faith had a mature look about her; something the yacht hounds didn’t have.
“Mrs. Carlton. How are you?” David smiled and extended his hand.
“Just fine,” she said as she returned the smile and shook his hand.
David felt her strong grip.
“I hear you’re leaving already,”
she said looking down at Amy.
“Yes. I have to go. But I wanted to stay in touch with Amy.”
“You don’t have to do that. I know you’re going through a tough time. I can’t ask any favors.” David knew she was referring to getting Amy into one of the clinical trials.
“It’s no problem. I do want to stay in touch with you.”
“Okay. I gave Amy our number. We’ll be home tomorrow. She wants to tell you something.”
Amy reached out and touched David’s hand. It was a gentle, calming touch. She handed him the phone number and then motioned for him to lean down.
“I know you’re someone special,” she whispered, “and God thinks you’re special too.”
David drew back slowly. For a moment he was speechless. What the hell do I say to that? He knelt down and looked at her at eye level.
“You’re someone special too. I’ll call you at your house.”
“Promise?” Amy asked and extended her hand.
“Promise.” David shook her hand and smiled.
Amy smiled and nodded to Faith, as if to say, “I knew he’d promise.”
Over his lifetime David had made many promises; some he kept, many he didn’t keep, and some he made just to get rid of people. But he knew from the moment he spoke the words, this was a promise he’d keep—no matter what. To keep it, he needed to somehow regain control of Rexsen Labs. He didn’t know how, but he knew time was now his enemy. Based on her looks, Amy didn’t have long to live. And he understood the longer Prescott, Priscilla, and Brayton were in control the more difficult it would be to get his company back. They’d voted him out behind his back, and he was certain they’d laugh off a request to help Amy. He needed to get on with getting his company back.
