The Genesis Flaw

by L. A. Larkin

  Chapter 4

  She knocked at her new boss’s half-open door and, without waiting for an answer, took a deep breath and strode in. Martin Delaney beckoned her to sit down. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the nineteenth floor offered panoramic views across Sydney. The silvery waters of the Harbour rippled between North Sydney and the CBD, and from this height the green and gold ferries looked like toy boats in a bath. Delaney, tanned and in his forties, lounged back in his steel-grey leather chair as he unashamedly looked Serena up and down.

  ‘Consider it done,’ he said, charm dripping off him like fat off roast pork. He tapped his earpiece and ended the phone call.

  ‘Welcome, Serena. It’s good to have you on board.’

  ‘Thank you, Martin, it’s good to be here,’ she replied, giving him her friendliest smile.

  He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, revealing sterling silver golf club cufflinks.

  ‘You’re good. Very good. We both know that. But no matter how good you are, you wouldn’t be worth a cracker without Lenny White.’

  Lenny was her old queen of a boss who ran the London agency. Four years ago, she’d started in one of his pitch teams and rapidly advanced to pitch director, or ‘pitch doctor’. It was Lenny who had given Serena her big break: the chance to head the pitch for the Sony worldwide account. She’d won it, and many others since, helping to make London the most profitable Rooneys office in the world, and Lenny extremely wealthy along the way. But when he’d heard that Serena blamed the firm’s biggest client for her father’s illness, he had confronted her. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ he’d said. ‘You’re my shining star. I need you. Now promise me it’s over; otherwise, my dear,’ he’d said, ostentatiously clicking his fingers, ‘your career will be nothing more than a memory.’ Serena had raced back to Australia when she’d heard her father’s condition had worsened. Lenny had reluctantly pulled the necessary strings for her.

  Martin’s nasal drone intruded on her thoughts. ‘He saved your career. If you even consider doing anything like it again, not even God himself will be able to save your arse. You will be out this door so quickly, your feet won’t touch the ground. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘So, remember what’s in your contract,’ said Martin. ‘Stay away from Gene-Asis. Don’t go near them, don’t speak to them, don’t even fucking think about them. Do that and we’ll get on just beautifully,’ he continued, smiling broadly.

  She tried to return his smile. And I was here wasting my time with you when I could have been with Dad when he died, she thought. Two weeks ago, she’d been sitting in this very chair, selling herself into the Sydney pitch director’s role. Lenny had called in a favour and arranged the interview.

  Martin stood up, ran his hands through his curly hair and came round to her side of the desk.

  ‘Good. Now we all know where we stand.’ He threw a USB flash drive in her lap. ‘Everything you need is on that. The pitch is in eight weeks. It’s a billion dollar account. The previous pitch doctor, Matt Stevens, was a dick. Got himself arrested. I mean, who does coke in public? Anyway, he’s out of the picture now and, six months in, we need you to take over. You have to win it.’

  ‘Martin, it all depends on how good Matt was. We don’t have time to go back to the drawing board. I normally have six to nine months to prepare.’

  ‘Tough. You’ve got eight weeks, so deal with it. I expect you to earn that salary package you negotiated.’

  She ignored the comment. ‘What’s the team like?’

  ‘Pretty good. But you have whoever you want. If you need any of your London team out here, just say the word. That Sony win was something else.’ He fidgeted with a cufflink. ‘So, can you handle it?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. She’d win the Mitsubishi Asia-Pacific account, whatever it took.

  He paused, staring over her shoulder at the door, distracted for a moment.

  ‘I think you’ll find we work pretty much the same as London. Clients come first. Always.’

  ‘Knock, knock.’

  Serena recognised the woman’s voice instantly—Gloria Philladitis. She swallowed hard and turned to face the door.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Martin, but I wanted to greet our new arrival and let you know Al Bukowski from Gene-Asis is in the boardroom.’

  Gloria mouthed the company name in an exaggeratedly slow way, like a porn star reciting the name of the first book of the Bible: ‘Genesis’. Both Martin and Gloria looked at Serena, searching for a reaction. Serena’s grip on the tiny flash drive tightened and her pupils dilated, but neither of them picked up on her agitation.

  ‘Gloria. What a lovely surprise!’ she said, unconvincingly. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to Sydney.’

  ‘Why would you?’ Gloria sneered.

  ‘I thought you’d returned to New York.’

  ‘I will for the launch, but that’s none of your business.’

  Gloria’s New Yorker abrasiveness had got under Serena’s skin when they’d met in London. But Serena kept her cool.

  ‘Before you say anything, let me assure you I have no interest whatsoever in Gene-Asis,’ said Serena. ‘I have my own account to focus on.’

  ‘Well, just keep it that way,’ Gloria replied.

  One side of Martin’s mouth briefly curled into a smirk, in amusement at the women’s rivalry. His brow then knitted into a frown.

  ‘Did he say why he’s here? Jesus, why fly all the way from New York? They must be pissed off.’

  Gloria nodded in Serena’s direction but Martin missed the hint. ‘Perhaps we should discuss this later.’

  ‘What? Oh, of course,’ he replied, finally getting the message. ‘I don’t like it,’ he went on, chewing his fingernail.

  Gloria began to walk away and then stopped at the door.

  ‘Serena, I never got to say … you know … how sorry I am about your dad.’

  Gloria’s sneer was gone. Serena even thought she saw a flicker of compassion.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gloria’s overpowering Chanel No. 5 lingered behind her after she left. ‘Serena, we’ll talk later.’ Martin nodded towards the door. ‘Jodi’s your PA. She’ll show you around.’

  Martin hustled Serena out and turned towards reception. Serena stopped in the corridor to watch him. A purple wall, which turned out to be a door, rolled back at the flick of a switch to reveal an enormous boardroom. Martin stepped inside. Gloria was talking to a man in a black suit, the same businessman who’d been in the lobby earlier. There was nothing about his behaviour to suggest he’d been violently attacked: his smile was broad and warm, and his movements relaxed. Gloria was hopping from one stiletto to the other, flicking back her dark hair and grinning toothily. Serena had never seen her behave like a smitten schoolgirl before.

  Serena could only see Bukowski’s profile but now she recognised him from all the research she’d done. The man who’d haunted her dreams was standing a few metres away. Her stomach churned as the purple soundproofed door shut tightly.

  Chapter 5

  It had been four years since Serena had seen the Flynn brothers and all day she’d been looking forward to their company. The Flynns had been Serena’s next-door neighbours and the brothers were her constant companions when she was growing up. John leaned against the doorframe with his head nonchalantly tilted to one side. His mischievous smile hadn’t changed, but Serena noticed a touch more grey hair around his temples and that he wore it longer, curling just above the neckline of his crumpled T-shirt. Droplets of water from his hair temporarily darkened the blue cotton. He squeezed her into a tight hug and placed his chin on her head, which not many men could do: Serena was 173 centimetres tall. She closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the familiarity.

  ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Johno,’ she said, breathing in his scent. His skin smelled of sun and shower gel.

  ‘You’ve been to the beach,’ she said, still leaning into his shoulde
r.

  He pulled away and gazed at her. ‘Yes,’ he replied. An awkward silence ensued.

  The evening sun streamed into the hallway behind John. Ahead, Serena could see into the lounge room: stylish faux suede sofas, what looked like a Noguchi coffee table, a number of healthy looking indoor plants and a fish tank. This was not the bachelor pad she’d been expecting.

  ‘Great to have you back at last.’ John paused. ‘Seri, I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral. I feel really bad. I was overseas at a wanky conference. I couldn’t get out of it.’

  She hadn’t been called Seri for a while.

  ‘Don’t worry. I … it’s fine.’ She didn’t want to talk about it. Every time she did, tears welled up. ‘So, how are you?’

  Before he could answer, she heard a voice from inside. ‘Seri!’ shouted Barry, who’d appeared from the kitchen with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. His arms were open wide and he wore a huge grin. ‘Give us a hug.’

  Serena and Barry swayed from side to side in an embrace that was more like a wrestling match. They both laughed. Younger and shorter than John, Barry—or Baz as they called him—had dark, closely cropped hair. He released her.

  ‘Perfect timing, dinner’s ready. Tonight, for your dining pleasure, my specialty: seafood linguine.’

  Serena grimaced. ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘It’s okay, he won’t poison you, I promise,’ John said.

  ‘But, just in case, have some wine. That way you won’t feel a thing,’ said Baz. He led them into the kitchen, where the smell of chilli, ginger and lemongrass greeted her. ‘I started cooking a little early, so do you mind if I dish up?’

  ‘God, no, I’m starving,’ she replied.

  Once they were seated, John raised his glass. ‘To Seri; it’s great to have you back,’ he said.

  ‘Now, I want to hear all about London. And I mean all,’ said Baz, winking.

  Serena laughed. ‘If you’re expecting a load of goss, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint,’ she said, before launching into a potted version of the past four years: her work; the pitches she’d won; her skiing trips to Austria and Switzerland; her best mate, Tracey.

  ‘So, you still haven’t got yourself a fella?’ asked Baz.

  John flicked him a furtive glance, which he duly ignored.

  ‘No, no boyfriend. Hasn’t been for a while. But that’s okay. Work takes up most of my time.’

  John looked down at the table for a moment. He shifted uncomfortably on the wooden stool.

  ‘You always were a workaholic,’ said Baz. ‘I remember you studying like crazy for your HSC, and your birthday was the weekend before the first exam and you wouldn’t leave your books to celebrate. We organised a party at our place, remember? And had to lure you over there by pretending we wanted to study.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I do. And after all that, John got top marks without even trying.’

  ‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ said John. ‘I hacked the exam papers. I knew the questions.’

  ‘What! You never told me that. Why didn’t you tell me what the questions were?’ said Serena, playfully smacking John on the arm.

  ‘Because you’d have got all righteous on me.’

  Serena blanched. ‘Was I that bad?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Baz, ‘because you had us getting you into trouble. So, anyway, back to London. You must have met someone over there?’

  Serena looked down and twirled the wine glass stem between her fingers. ‘Not really, it was all work. When a pitch was on, we’d work night and day for weeks. And when that pitch was over, we’d be onto the next one.’ She looked up at Baz, deliberately avoiding John’s gaze. ‘But enough of me,’ she continued, ‘what about you two?’

  ‘Ah, you know me,’ Baz winked. ‘Love ’em and leave ’em. Nothing’s changed. Still doing recruitment. But this one.’ He nodded at his brother. ‘Full of surprises.’

  ‘Ooh, do tell,’ Serena said.

  ‘He’s gone full-on corporate,’ Baz said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘And get this,’ he continued. ‘Chief information security officer. For a bank.’

  ‘No way!’ Serena laughed raucously.

  ‘Are you finished yet?’ John said.

  ‘What I can’t believe is, he’s now paid a fortune to stop people doing exactly what he used to,’ Baz went on. ‘He even employs hackers.’

  ‘Officially, we don’t do that,’ John said, smiling at last.

  ‘Of all the places I thought you’d end up—and prison was one of them—I never ever would’ve picked a bank!’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said John, in mock indignation.

  Baz reached for another bottle of wine. ‘Let’s make things a little more cosy.’ He tossed Serena some matches. ‘Be a love and light the candles, will you?’

  The image on the matchbox caught Serena’s eye: a 1950s bombshell posing seductively in a pink corset.

  ‘Great matchbox,’ she said.

  ‘Have them. I picked them up in a bar.’

  ‘Thanks, I love fifties stuff.’ She popped the matchbox in her bag. ‘I picked up a whole load of it at Portobello markets; you know, the big antique market. I’ve got one of those square black Bakelite phones with a rotary dial, and the most gorgeous French-polished wooden valve radio. I’m having it all shipped back.’

  ‘Sounds awesome. Is it coming to Sydney or the farm?’ Baz said.

  ‘Here. I’m looking for a place to rent. I’m in a serviced apartment for now, courtesy of Rooneys.’

  ‘What about here? We’ve got a spare room,’ said John.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah, ’course,’ John replied.

  Baz looked serious for a moment.

  ‘Um, Seri, you need to know something, before you decide.’

  ‘That you have smelly feet? I know,’ she replied, laughing.

  ‘Uh, no. I’m a recruiter in biotech now—you know—life sciences and pharmaceuticals. That includes Gene-Asis.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She put down her fork and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

  ‘I thought you should know.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I decided not to do anything.’

  ‘You what?’ John clearly hadn’t meant to let his surprise show. ‘I mean, why?’

  She could feel her face reddening. Voices of revellers on a nearby balcony floated through the window. It sounded to Serena as if they were laughing at her.

  ‘I need the bathroom,’ she said as she left the kitchen. The brothers looked at each other in silence.

  Serena felt a familiar weight on her chest. She’d hoped leaving the farm would give her some respite from guilt’s nagging appetite. She felt as if a rat were gnawing through her ribcage, trying to get to her heart. It was unbearable. She sat on the bath’s edge, waiting for the moment to pass. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock on the door. She unlocked it to find John standing in the hallway. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped, then tried again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Seri, I was surprised. That’s all. Mum and Dad said you were talking to a lawyer. You were going after Gene-Asis. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it. I mean …’ Her voice trailed off. He put his arm around her and led her to the lounge room. ‘Let’s sit and you can tell me what happened.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘I could always talk to you. God, I’ve missed you,’ she said leaning into his chest. John had been her childhood protector and confidant. In fact, she’d always been closer to John than to her own brother, which Keith had always resented.

  ‘The lawyer said he’d take it on but it’d take a lot of time and money. Expert witnesses. Geneticists. It could go on for years. And did I really want to do this.’

  She stopped and gazed out of the window at the tops of the trees. The party next door was in full swing. The music was louder.

  ‘So you spoke to a lawyer before he died?’

  ‘Yes, this was when I was still in
London. I never met the guy; we talked on the phone. Some hotshot city lawyer who worked on the James Hardie case. At the time I didn’t realise Dad only had a few weeks to live.’

  ‘So you decided to drop it. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘Not then. Dad’d heard what I was doing. He phoned and told me to leave it. It was nobody’s fault, he said. Dad was really insistent. You know how stubborn he can … could be. And he wanted to spend time with me while he could. So I flew home.’

  ‘That’s what I’d have done,’ John said.

  She could feel the tears coming.

  ‘You did the right thing: you followed his wishes.’

  Serena composed herself before she continued. ‘But, John, I knew. I did my research. I knew in my heart the pollen from that T-Speed canola caused the cancer, but I gave up.’

  ‘Come on, Seri, your lawyer was right. It would’ve dragged on for years and the chances of winning were next to zero.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ She dropped her head and tucked her hair behind each ear as it fell forward. ‘John, my reasons weren’t that noble. It was Lenny who changed my mind.’

  ‘Who’s Lenny?’

  ‘My boss in London. How he’d heard, I have no idea. I hadn’t breathed a word to anyone at work, for obvious reasons. Anyway, he said that I couldn’t continue at Rooneys if I took their biggest client to court. I knew that. But I was full of myself and thought I could get a job somewhere else. Lenny put that into perspective in his own inimitable style. He said I had two choices: I could continue my “meteoric” rise as a pitch director and could even be running the show in London when he retired. Or I could go after Gene-Asis and become a pariah. I’d be “toxic,” he said. I’d never get another job in advertising.’

  ‘What a prick.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, he was just telling me how it really was. And he did get me the job here.’ Serena scanned John’s face for signs of disapproval. ‘Anyway, that’s why I didn’t do anything. I’ve worked like a slave to get where I am today and I just couldn’t throw it away. The truth is I’m too selfish.’