by Jan Moran
People at surrounding tables began darting glances in their direction.
“Sit down, Verena,” Derrick said in a hushed tone. “Let’s talk about this.”
“After what you’ve done to me, how can you think I’d sit down and have a meal with you? You’re a deceitful, lying, conniving crook.”
Derrick threw his napkin down and stood up, nearly pushing his chair over with the force of his action. He towered over her, glaring. “You didn’t keep up your end of the bargain, Verena.”
“Oh yes, I did. It was your man, Jimmy Don—and what kind of an idiotic name is that?—who stalled the deal with Passari. On your direction, I’m sure. Or Roper’s. Those private strategy sessions you and Jimmy Don had—I wondered why I was excluded. Now I know. You were plotting against me.”
With satisfaction, she saw his telltale tic, the throbbing vein in his temple that began to bulge.
“Shut up, Verena, you lost your company, and you can’t accept it.”
“You stole it. There’s a difference.”
The restaurant had grown quiet. All eyes were on them.
Derrick’s vein seemed ready to explode. When he didn’t answer, Verena said, “The truth isn’t good for business, is it, Derrick?”
“I told you to learn how to play the game.” Derrick blew up, spitting his words. “Do you think anyone cares?” he yelled. “No one cares, Verena. No one.”
His words stung, but Verena continued with steady vengeance. “And to think at one time I wanted to marry you. You’re a cold bastard.” She jerked the blue box from her purse. “Here’s your fake engagement ring.” It tumbled across the tablecloth.
The manager approached Derrick. “Sir, please keep your voice down or leave the restaurant. You’re disturbing other guests. We don’t tolerate this behavior.”
Derrick moved to leave, but he hesitated, eyeing the ring.
“Go ahead, take it, you can give it to whoever you call babe,” Verena said. “I’m leaving.”
The manager stood his ground. “It’s time you left, too, buddy. No one treats a woman like that in my restaurant, especially not Verena Valent.”
Derrick shot him a look, and then barged through the restaurant and out the front door, racing ahead of her to the valet attendant.
Verena strode through the restaurant, her head held high. She might have lost everything she had worked her entire life for, but she refused to lose her dignity.
As she passed a table, someone called to her and her heart sank. It was Greta Hicks, Derrick’s ex-girlfriend and reporter for Fashion News Daily. Verena hadn’t seen her since the event at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
Greta was with her publisher from New York. “Verena, care to comment?” she asked with a sneer in her voice.
“I just did.” Verena continued through the restaurant, weaving among the tables, hearing people whispering as she passed. It seemed to take forever. Her face blazed with anger.
Outside, Derrick was yelling at the valet attendant about his car. Verena ignored him and pressed a bill into another attendant’s hand. “Thanks for keeping my car in front.” He held the door for her as she slid in, and then closed it behind her.
She pressed the gas pedal and whipped into traffic, leaving Derrick sputtering curses behind her on the curb.
And that’s how I do it. She turned her car for home. She looked back and saw Derrick stumble and fall to the sidewalk. No one offered to help him up.
A few minutes later she pulled into her garage, got out of her car and walked straight into her bedroom, fury burning inside of her. She flung open the closet door and snatched several of Derrick’s cherished Savile Row bespoke suits she had picked up from the dry cleaners for him when he’d been out of town. He’d never picked them up. A pair of scissors on her desk caught her eye. Why not? She heaved them onto the bed and went to work.
She shoved his clothes and everything he’d ever given her into a black plastic garbage bag. She dumped it into the trunk of her car and wheeled out of the garage.
When Verena arrived at Herringbone’s office building, she hoisted the garbage bag over her shoulder and strode in, ignoring the stares of passersby. When she reached their office door, she took aim with her high heel and kicked it open.
In the waiting room Verena recognized a pair of important female institutional investors from the state pension funds that she’d met a few months ago with Derrick. Everyone jumped, startled, and the receptionist hurried from behind her desk.
“Miss Valent, I’m so sorry about what happened,” the young woman said. “I hate them all for what they did to you,” she added, sotto voce. “I’ve decided to quit.”
“Good for you, these men aren’t your mentors.”
Derrick and Roper raced into the room. Verena spun around, her anger spiraling.
“What are you doing here?” Derrick grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, but she jerked away from him.
Never again would she allow him—or any other man—to hurt her.
“Returning your rags,” she said, relishing her revenge, even though she knew it was a bit childish of her. Roper started to speak, but Verena cut him off. “Shame on you, Thomas Roper. You can both go to hell.” Verena opened the garbage bag and shook out Derrick’s shredded suits.
“What have you done?” Derrick screamed.
“Same thing you did to my company.” As Verena flung jagged fabric in his face, morbid satisfaction surged through her.
The two investors edged toward the door. “Looks like now is not a good time,” one of the women said.
“No, wait, I can explain.” Derrick called to the women, pleading.
“We have nothing more to discuss with Herringbone Capital,” the other woman said, frowning. “We don’t like what we’re seeing here.”
With a satisfied nod to the two women, Verena brushed a thread from her sleeve and marched out of the building. As angry as she was, she had to admit one thing. That felt good.
Later that evening, she met with Scarlett at a café. Verena knew she’d been arguing all day with the other attorneys on her behalf. Scarlett hugged her when she saw her.
Verena had no appetite for food, so they ordered coffee. Scarlett told her the attorneys had been hammering away at the final points, but the net result was unchanged. Herringbone was taking over the company.
“I’m so sorry, but the battle is over,” Scarlett said. “I just received some of the final documents from Herringbone’s attorney. Do you want to look at them and sign them now?”
“I need a day, Scarlett. I’ll sign tomorrow.” She needed to review the legal documents with a clear mind.
“You’ll have to pack up your office tomorrow,” Scarlett said, taking her hand. “Or have Lacey do it for you.”
Verena felt numb inside. “I’ll take care of it.”
25
THE NEXT MORNING, Verena dressed in somber black and went to her office for what she knew was the last time. She arrived early, unlocked the door, and climbed the stairs to her office. She passed the familiar photos of guests that Mia had proudly shared with her when she was a little girl. It’s the last time I’ll see these. She paused to fix them in her mind. This had been their legacy.
She strode into her office and opened her email. The first message contained the online edition of Fashion News Daily.
The headline read: Valent Swiss Skincare and Herringbone Capital Battle for Control.
Unable to read it, Verena turned her computer off. She knew what tomorrow’s headline would read.
Lacey tapped on her door and pushed it open. “I’m so sorry, darlin’,” she choked out, her shoulders shaking with grief. Verena wrapped her arms around her. She was going to miss Lacey, who’d been by her side at the office every day since her parents had died.
After a few moments Lacey pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Scarlett is on the phone for you. And that police investigator is back looking for Jimmy Don.”
Verena gritted her teet
h. “If I ever get my hands on Jimmy Don again, that officer will be investigating a homicide.” What I wouldn’t give to snap that boy’s neck.
“He asked me if I knew Marvin Panetta.” Lacey picked at a thread on her lace dress. “Do you think Jimmy Don had anything to do with his death?”
Verena jerked her head up. “It was ruled suicide.” However, Marvin’s wife had been vehement in her disagreement of the assessment. Could Jimmy Don have been responsible? “But honestly, nothing would surprise me now.”
Lacey glanced around the office. “Let me know when you need help.…” Her voice gave out and another sob caught in her throat. She closed the door behind her.
Verena sat at her desk for the last time and picked up the phone. “Hello, Scarlett.”
“Hi Verena.” Scarlett’s voice sounded strained. “They want you to sign some of the documents today. There will be more later, but these are important.”
“Okay, I’ll be through here shortly. I’ll come by your office in a while.” Verena swallowed a lump in her throat. Derrick and Roper hadn’t wasted any time. With the news out, phone calls from business associates would start soon.
Scarlett agreed and hung up. Verena gazed around her office.
Three months ago, she had been planning the expansion into Asia, and their future looked bright. Today, she was broke, in debt, unemployed—and utterly devastated.
The only redeeming point was that she hadn’t let Mia put her retirement savings into the business. Or the college fund.
Verena picked up the photo of her parents that had rested on her desk for a decade and brushed a speck of dust from the glass. She blinked, clearing her eyes. Somehow, she felt her parents were reaching out to her, offering her comfort. I did the best I could, she told them.
She blinked again and pressed a button on her phone. “Lacey, I’m ready. Would you come and help me pack my personal effects?”
After Verena signed the documents at Scarlett’s office, she wound through the familiar streets of Beverly Hills on the short drive from the salon to her home. She was in an emotional fog. With her mind in turmoil, she missed a turn that she knew by heart.
How will I tell Mia? A wave of guilt crashed over her. Her grandmother had devoted her life to the business. Her mother and father had dedicated their all-too-brief time to Valent Swiss Skincare. And now, it was over.
Verena pressed a shaky hand to her mouth, her breath coming in short rasps. She’d managed to maintain her dignity at the salon. She’d called a meeting with all the employees—with the exception of Jimmy Don—during the short time in between skincare sessions, and thanked each person for their service and friendship over the years. Together, we built something we can all be proud of, she told them. Many of them were sobbing or fighting tears, and every one of the estheticians and team members hugged her before returning to their duties.
Missing another turn, Verena found herself lost in the neighborhood she knew so well. When she could no longer see through her tears, she pulled to the side of the road and stopped. She sank her face into her trembling hands, dreading the moment she’d have to tell her grandmother and break her heart.
Four filing boxes of personal effects from her office sat on her back seat. Four boxes of photos, mementos, press clippings, personal notes, and books. For all she had given to the business—all the hours and days and weeks and years. Her devotion, her ideas, her nurturing…her love. It was all condensed in four plain boxes.
A crumpled invoice sat on top. Jimmy Don had itemized every business lunch she’d paid for in the last five years—meetings with buyers, media interviews, and working lunches—all to advance the interests of the business. She had scanned the list and saw flowers she had sent to her top retail buyer when the woman’s husband died, and the trip she had taken to New York to train the salespeople on a new account. He’d included birthday gifts for valued employees and dinners for employees who’d worked late into the evening for special events, such as the Academy Awards gala.
When Jimmy Don presented the bill, which was for thousands of dollars, it was the final insult. She knew Roper was behind it. What did Lacey always say? You lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.
She had no intention of paying for those business expenses. She’d give it to Scarlett, who would contest the bill for her.
She couldn’t remember how long she’d sat in her car, her emotions alternating between rage and sorrow, when a tap on the glass surprised her. It was a Beverly Hills police officer. She wiped her cheeks and rolled her window down.
“Everything alright, ma’am?”
Verena drew a deep breath. “Yes, thank you officer. I’ll be fine, I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts.”
He touched his hat and walked away, leaving Verena to compose herself before she had to face Mia. Finally, she turned the ignition and started for home.
“We’ve lost everything,” Verena said, sitting on her bed and sobbing on Mia’s shoulder. Since she’d arrived home, she’d been inundated with phone calls from people who had called the salon looking for her, only to be told that she no longer worked there. Her other salon managers and employees, vendors, and guests—they all offered their condolences, as if a death had occurred.
In a very real way, it had.
It was the demise of a dream, of a lifetime of work, of a way of life. Caring for treasured guests who had entrusted them with their skincare—and their heartaches and triumphs—for decades, even generations.
Running the salons, providing skincare, creating products—this was all Verena knew. What will we do?
“I’m turning in early tonight,” Verena said, wiping her eyes. Anika and Bella had gone to a friend’s house to spend the night and wouldn’t return until morning. “I still can’t believe what’s happened. It’s been a nightmare.”
“And now it’s over, Verena,” Mia said, sounding numb. “You did the best you could under the circumstances. Don’t look back.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“And you won’t, not for a long time. Losing a business is the death of an endeavor. We must accept death as part of life. Doesn’t mean we like it, but it signals the end of one era and the beginning of another.” Mia kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “A good night’s sleep is exactly what we need. And don’t worry, we’ll think of something. We’re smart women. No one can keep us down for long.”
Mia closed the door. Verena flopped back on her bed, her brain blazing. She had failed everyone—her grandmother, her sisters, their employees and guests. The salon had been a haven where women and men could count on being pampered, made to feel whole and healed. It had been a haven for her family, too.
Verena drew her knees up, tears burning her eyes. Scarlett had told her it was the worst time since the Great Depression for business lending, but she couldn’t forgive herself, even though Herringbone’s unscrupulous behavior was really to blame.
Anika and Bella would never take their place beside her in the business. The business with which she had been entrusted was gone.
Verena sobbed as she thought of Mia and the loss of her reputation. For decades Mia had enjoyed a certain status in town as the founder of Valent Swiss Skincare. She had been celebrated and lauded for helping women of all ages feel and look their best, and for helping awkward teenage girls blossom into confident young women.
Verena mourned the loss of their life’s work. No longer could they aid those who suffered from acne, psoriasis, burns, scar tissue, birth defects, or skin cancer with Valent’s medicated formulas, or simply make people feel more attractive and relaxed with other organic products and relaxing therapeutic services. Professionals whose careers hinged on their appearance depended on them.
But Jimmy Don didn’t care. He planned to terminate their most experienced skincare specialists. “They’re too expensive,” he’d told her. Of course, those were Roper’s words. And probably Derrick’s, too. She remembered how he’d started grilling her about
minor personal expenses.
Another sob wracked her body as guilt ripped through her. Others would soon lose their jobs, too.
The worst of it was that Scarlett had called her to say that Herringbone was demanding that she sign an agreement that would turn over all her intellectual property to Herringbone, including the products she’d been developing. She would be barred from working for competitors for five years, or selling to any retailer she’d ever been in contact with.
The final insult was that never again could she use her family name in skincare. Herringbone owned Valent. She choked as she wept.
Even her name belonged to Herringbone.
She allowed that some of the demands made sense to Herringbone, but it was terribly restrictive for a woman who had never done anything else, had studied and taught only this, and had committed her life to this cause.
As she thought of the restrictions against her future, another wave of anguish crushed her, sending her stomach into spasms. She rushed into the bathroom, retching from the disgust and disdain she’d had to swallow, her body expunging the injustices from her system.
Afterward, she lay on the cold tiled floor catching her breath, until once again, her body heaved against the cruelty that had been visited upon her. Her life, as she knew it, was over.
Again and again as the night drew on, her body purged itself of the evil she’d ingested, until finally Verena lay weakened and spent on the hard surface, feeling as if her soul had been shredded from her body.
Even then, the solace of sleep eluded her guilt ravaged mind.
She was still awake when the morning sun began streaming through the bathroom window. Finally drifting to sleep from sheer exhaustion, she woke again sometime later when footsteps pounded across the wooden floor and the door banged open. The twins had just arrived home from their sleepover.
“Verena, come quickly!” Anika’s face was white. She pulled frantically on Verena’s arm. “It’s Mia, her chest hurts. You have to come right now.”
