Man of Fate

by Rochelle Alers

  “Are you sure about this?” Duncan asked.

  “I’m only telling you what Cherise told me. Apparently it’s getting so bad that it’s disrupting my staff. And you know I can’t have that.”

  “Don’t worry, Kyle, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “No problem.”

  Kyle ended the call. “One down and one to go,” he said under his breath. He had the receptionist patch him through to Ivan, but was told that Ivan was in session. “Please leave a message for him to call me. It’s rather important.”

  Cherise’s eyes sparkled like polished copper pennies. “Thank you, Kyle.”

  “No problem. If Jordan’s in his office, please ask him to see me.”

  Pushing to her feet, Cherise left the office. Two minutes later Jordan walked in. He’d loosened his tie and rolled back his shirt cuffs. Kyle gestured to the chair Cherise had just vacated.

  “Please sit down. Why didn’t you tell me the women from the other offices were annoying you?”

  Jordan focused on a spot over Kyle’s shoulder. He’d noticed something about his friend and boss that wasn’t apparent when they’d gotten together for drinks earlier that year. Kyle Chatham was only thirty-eight, but he was graying at an alarming rate.

  “They don’t annoy me. I suppose all of the attention makes me a little uncomfortable.”

  “Why didn’t you say something, Jordan?”

  “I didn’t want to make trouble.”

  “It’s not about making trouble,” Kyle countered, “it’s about maintaining a comfortable work environment. I won’t stand for someone outside this firm disturbing our peace any more than I’d permit our employees to cross the line to disrupt Ivan’s or Duncan’s. You’re a helluva lawyer, but if you hope to make partner you’re going to have to assume more of a take-charge stance. My secretary shouldn’t have had to come to me on your behalf.”

  Jordan nodded. “You’re right. I’ll step up next time.”

  Kyle smiled. “Good. Now, are you ready for your tenants’ meeting tonight?” Jordan was scheduled to meet with the tenants’ association bringing the suit against his grandfather’s company.

  A sinister smile marred Jordan’s good looks. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

  “Be careful, Jordan. Motivation fueled by revenge can force you to take unnecessary risks,” Kyle warned softly.

  Jordan’s expression was a mask of stone. “It’s a risk I don’t mind taking.” He exhaled a breath. “I’d like you to come with me tonight.”

  “Why? I thought you have everything under control.”

  “I do, but I’d like you there as an observer.”

  “I’m not going to be much of an observer if the tenants recognize me,” Kyle countered.

  “If you look as if you’re going to a ball game they’d never recognize the always sartorially resplendent Kyle Chatham, Esquire.”

  “Speak for yourself, Wainwright. I’m willing to bet you’ve never bought a suit off the rack.”

  “Why should I when I can use my father’s tailor?”

  Kyle knew arguing with Jordan about his wardrobe would end in a stalemate. The young attorney, always impeccably attired, had set the bar for the other attorneys at Trilling, Carlyle and Browne. Even the senior partners and associates rethought their fashion choices after Jordan joined the firm. He was never seen without his solid-gold, scales-of-justice cufflinks—gift from his father to commemorate his son’s law-school graduation.

  “Do you really want me to tag along?”

  Jordan nodded. “I need you there to evaluate if I’m able not only to walk the walk but also talk the talk.” He’d set up a meeting with the rent-strike leaders in a small eatery on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.

  “Okay, Jordan. I’ll come. But I don’t intend to get involved.”

  “I don’t want you to get involved. I’ve spent countless hours on this case and I don’t intend to deviate from the script.”

  “What time do you want me to show up?”

  “Get there about seven-fifteen.” Jordan stood. “I’ll see you later.”

  Kyle stared at the departing figure of the man who, in two weeks, had turned his firm upside down with his A-list fashion-model looks. His staff had buzzed about the new attorney, but within hours had settled down to their assigned tasks. However, it appeared that the period of adjustment for the women who worked for Ivan and Duncan hadn’t come as easily.

  His phone rang. It was Ivan. It took Kyle less than a minute to inform his friend about his employees’ inappropriateness. There came a pregnant pause, then Ivan said he would address the problem.

  He’d just hung up when his private extension rang. Glancing at the display, Kyle saw Ava’s name and cell number. Smiling, he picked up the receiver. “Hello, auntie. How are you?”

  “I’m good, thank you. I’m calling to let you know that I’m coming home tomorrow.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in two weeks. I’ve missed you so much, baby.”

  There came a beat. “And I’ve missed you, too, Kyle.”

  He picked up a pencil and made interlocking circles on a piece of scrap paper. “How’s your sister doing?”

  Ava had gotten the call her sister had gone into labor, but after sixteen hours had been unable to deliver her baby. When doctors decided to perform a C-section, Ava had made arrangements to fly, rather than drive, to Maryland.

  “She’s getting around pretty good now.”

  “How’s the baby?”

  “Omigosh, Kyle. You have to see her! She’s more beautiful every day.”

  “She must look like her auntie.”

  Ava laughed. “No, she looks like her paternal grandmother. She’s such a good baby. After Aisha feeds her she goes right to sleep. The only time she cries is when she wants to be changed or fed.”

  “What time are you coming in?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Kyle. I’ll take a cab.”

  “What time does your flight come in?”

  “It’s scheduled to touch down at three-twenty.”

  Kyle scribbled her name over the circles. “I’ll meet you. Are still coming into LaGuardia?”

  “Yes, and don’t forget to call the airport before you head out.”

  “You worry too much, Miss Warrick,” he teased.

  “I just don’t want you to waste your time, Kyle.”

  “Waiting for you is hardly wasting time, Ava. I’ve waited thirty-eight years. A few more hours will not make a difference.”

  “Goodbye, Kyle.”

  “Why are you hanging up?”

  “I have to go, Kyle.”

  “No, you don’t. Isn’t this what you social workers call avoidance? Are you trying to avoid the inevitable?”

  There came a pregnant pause before Ava said, “What is the inevitable?”

  Kyle stopped doodling. “That it is fate that brought us together.”

  “I’m a realist, therefore I don’t believe in fate, Kyle.”

  “Perhaps I’m going to have to change your mind.”

  “You can try, but I doubt you’ll be successful.”

  He smiled. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  “Yes, we will. Goodbye, Kyle.”

  “Goodbye, darling.”

  Kyle’s smile was still in place when he began putting his desk in order. He’d planned to work late, but had promised Jordan he would come to his meeting—incognito. Walking out of the office, he stopped to tell Cherise he was leaving and to call his cell if she needed to reach him.

  He took the stairs to the first floor and left the building, walking out into the oppressive mid-July heat and humidity.

  * * *

  When Kyle got out of the taxi and walked in the direction of Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard he noticed a small crowd had gathered on the north side of the street. A news van from a prime-time netwo
rk was parked along the curb. Vehicular traffic, including buses, slowed as drivers and passengers craned their necks in an attempt to see what was happening. Taking advantage of the lull in the flow of traffic, he jogged across the avenue, weaving between cars.

  The scene that greeted Kyle was one he would remember for years to come. Jordan, who’d gathered the members of the rent-strike committee, was holding a press conference on the street like an elected official. Grinning, the skin around his eyes shielded by a pair of sunglasses, he moved closer to hear what Jordan was saying.

  Jordan spied Kyle standing off to the side of the swelling crowd. He doubted if the tenants’ committee recognized him in a loose-fitting T-shirt, baggy jeans, running shoes, a cap and shades. With a barely perceptible nod, he turned his attention to the cameraman who held up his hand before lowering a finger one-by-one. It was his signal to begin the interview.

  A recognizable investigative reporter in a business suit turned to face the cameraman. “We’re live in Harlem to call attention to the plight of a group of citizens who have taken on a Goliath named Wainwright Developers, the second-largest real-estate company in the east. What makes this lawsuit so unique is the man who has offered to represent them. His name is Jordan Wainwright, grandson of the company’s president and CEO.” Shifting slightly, she held the microphone closer to Jordan. “Mr. Wainwright, what made you decide to bring a suit against your family’s company on behalf of the One Hundred-Fourteenth Street Tenants’ Association?”

  “I didn’t bring the suit. The association did. I’m their legal representative.”

  “Are you saying they came to you even though they know you have ties with Wainwright Developers?”

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he gave the reporter a penetrating stare. “I don’t have ties with Wainwright Developers. I work for K. E. Chatham Legal Services. When the case came across my desk I accepted it as I would any other case. The tenants have not brought a frivolous suit. It’s been six months since they have had hot water. They heat water to bathe and wash dishes and use their ovens to heat their apartments during the winter months.”

  He held up enlarged photographs of the interiors of some of the apartments. “What you see here is unconscionable. These pictures show missing tiles and holes in the floors of bathrooms where one is able to look into the apartment below. Window sashes are so rotted that tenants can’t raise them to put in window air-conditioning units. Walls are covered with mold and insect and rodent infestation is rampant, and yet building management demands they pay rent to live in such squalor. They’ve called 3-1-1, filed complaints and, aside from a few minor repairs, none of the major problems has been corrected.”

  Jordan looked directly into camera. “I’m ashamed to be a Wainwright when I see people living in conditions not fit for human habitation. I promised these tenants that I’m going open my wallet to pay for new windows and air-conditioning units for each apartment. I’m also going to underwrite the cost of a new heating system for the two apartment buildings so they can stop heating water on their stoves. I will spend whatever it takes to make the eighty units habitable. Meanwhile I’m going to sue the hell out of Wainwright Developers Group. I’ve always respected my grandfather, but this is one time I have to say—shame on you, Wyatt Wainwright.”

  He turned his back, huddled with the tenants, then, en masse, they walked into the restaurant to rousing applause from the spectators. The TV reporter had to shout her name and station call letters to be heard over the escalating noise.

  Kyle laughed so hard his sides hurt. Jordan Wainwright had missed his calling. Instead of practicing law he should’ve gone into acting. There was no shame in his game. He’s used his name and his wealth to embarrass not only the holding company, but the parent company. Reaching for his cell phone, he hit speed dial for Jordan’s cell.

  Jordan answered after the third ring. “Did you see it?”

  “I saw and heard it,” Kyle confirmed.

  “What did you think?”

  “I think I’m going to start calling you gangsta.”

  “Wait a minute, Chat. Let me move where there’s not so much noise. Kat said the segment should air before the end of the week.”

  Kyle noticed Jordan had referred to Katrina Nichols as Kat. “How well do you know Kat?”

  “We went out a few times, then decided we got along better as friends.”

  “What about the fallout from your grandfather?”

  “I welcome it, Chat. One thing he can’t stand is negative publicity. He prides himself on his philanthropy and to be labeled a slumlord is certain to tarnish his image. When I went into some of those apartments I couldn’t believe people were forced to live in such horrific conditions.”

  “Welcome to the real world, Jordan.”

  “Even if Wyatt wasn’t my grandfather, he’s still going down. Are you going to come in and join us?

  “No, thanks. This is your moment. Enjoy it.” Kyle punched a button on the tiny phone and pushed it into his jeans. Jordan’s method may have been a little unorthodox, but it was certain to gain the attention of Wyatt and the city officials.

  * * *

  Ava sat up in bed reading, her back supported by several pillows. It was the last night she would sleep in her sister’s Silver Spring, Maryland, home and she hadn’t realized until she spoke to Kyle earlier that afternoon how much she had missed him.

  It had taken two days—less than forty-eight hours—of sleeping with Kyle to become addicted to his lovemaking. He’d given her the go-ahead to take advantage of him and she had. Her brazen shower exhibition had not only taken Kyle by surprise, but also herself, and each time she recalled what they’d done to each other, her body reacted. Coming to Maryland to help her sister had put some distance between her and her lover, but had done little to quell her desire for him.

  “Ava, are you up?”

  She set aside the magazine. “Yes. Come on in.”

  Aisha Warrick-Davis opened the door and walked slowly into the bedroom and crawled into bed with her sister as she’d done when they were children. “I can’t believe two weeks have come and gone so quickly.”

  Ava tugged on Aisha’s thick braids. “It did go quickly. Is Crystal asleep?” Her sister was a younger version of Alice Warrick. She’d inherited their mother’s café-au-lait coloring, large brown eyes and delicate features. And, like Alice, she was a teacher.

  “Yes. Raymond just put her to bed.”

  “You guys are lucky she’s a good baby.”

  Aisha rested her head on Ava’s shoulder. “I’m blessed that you came to be with me.”

  “I told you I would come down when you had the baby.”

  “You’d planned to hang out and bond with your niece, not cook and do housework.”

  “Stop, Ai,” Ava said softly. “And you hadn’t planned on having a C-section. Besides, I cook once a week and I don’t do housework.”

  She’d promised her sister that she would take two weeks of her annual four-week vacation to come and help her out after she gave birth. Raymond Davis had wanted to hire a private-duty nurse for his wife, but Aisha complained about having strangers in her home.

  “That’s true,” Aisha concurred. “Mama just called to say she got approval to take a week off, so she’ll be here Friday night.” Alice Warrick had come from Washington, D.C., to spend the weekends with her daughters and grandchild, but had had to return to work every Monday morning.

  “I probably won’t get a chance to visit again until the Labor Day weekend.”

  Aisha shifted into a more comfortable position. “Raymond and I talked about coming up to New York for Labor Day. By that time Crystal will have had her shots, and she can hang out big-time with her auntie.”

  “Auntie Ava’s going to spoil her rotten.”

  “What Auntie Ava needs is a baby of her own to spoil rotten.”

  Ava shook her head. “I don’t think so. A lot of things have to happen before I think about becoming a mother. Rememb
er, I’m going to have to move when the Servinskys return. I have to contact a real-estate agent for listings of co-ops before the end of the summer.”

  “Have you thought about renting?”

  “I don’t want to rent.”

  “You don’t want to rent, you don’t want a baby and you probably don’t even want a man.”

  “I never said I didn’t want a man.” Ava knew she sounded defensive, but she was past caring. Whenever she and Aisha disagreed, it was always about a man. Her sister believed she wouldn’t be complete unless she had a man in her life.

  “Do you have a man, Ava?”

  “Yes, I do.” The admission was out before she could censor herself.

  “I hope he’s nothing like that last loser you hooked up with.”

  “He’s the complete opposite.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  Ava told her sister how she’d run into Kyle’s classic car. She was forthcoming about everything that had happened between them with the exception of their sleeping together. They talked until Aisha’s eyelids grew heavy. She kissed her sister, left the room and entered her own bedroom, where her husband waited in bed for her.

  CHAPTER 12

  Kyle tore open the package with the videotape he’d dropped off to the computer geek. His heart rate accelerated, beating a rapid tattoo against his ribs. The typed report verified his suspicions. The tape had been edited.

  He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” His shouting had Cherise and Jordan racing into his office; they stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Kyle hoisted the video in the air. “I got the evidence I need to prove Rashaun Hayden’s innocence.”

  Cherise rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “I thought something was really wrong,” she mumbled under her breath as she walked away.

  Kyle beckoned Jordan closer. “Come take a look at this.”

  Jordan’s gaze shifted from the tape to the typed report. He was still on a natural high from his staged television interview. “How did the D.A. get this tape?”