“Sir,” Tommy interjects. “The box was filled with manure, and it can be used in bombs.”
A uniformed officer pushes us away from the doors. “Please step back.”
Mr. Graham looks at me. “Why would anyone want to send you a bomb?”
I shake my head as the police come racing up in a van that says Bomb Squad.
People give them a wide berth, and an officer approaches the three of us.
“Tell us what you know,” he says.
I walk them through what happened. Mr. Graham’s security team arrives, and they usher him away. Great. At least he’ll be safe. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine in the superhero costume hiding under my clothes.
The bomb team pushes us farther away from the door. “Don’t leave,” one of them tells me.
I nod and shiver against the cold. I left my coat upstairs.
The news vans have arrived and are setting up. This is not the kind of publicity Mr. Graham is looking for. If I have a job after this is over, it’ll be a miracle.
I watch the bomb team examine the box from afar. They seem to agree on something, but I’m not sure what it is, until I see a robot wheeling out to the sidewalk.
The crowd begins to grow. The police have cleared out the entire city block.
An officer returns to drill me with questions. “Has Mr. Graham received any threatening letters or other mail?”
The head of Mr. Graham’s security, Jim Adelson, materializes next to me. He drapes a coat over my shoulders.
“Thanks, Jim.”
“We’ve received a few small threats in recent months, but we’ve passed them along to Detective Lenning.”
“Tell me more about how you got the package.”
“It was delivered to Mr. Graham’s office, addressed to me, and he pointed it out to me when I arrived.”
“Why didn’t you call the police immediately?” the officer presses.
“It never occurred to me that it could be anything other than a stinky box.”
“A stinky box?”
“The stench was strong, so I just shut the box and held it as tightly as I could while I took it down in the elevator.”
“How do you know the threats you’ve received are insignificant?”
I shrug. “I figured it was an environmental group unhappy with the company.”
They’ve evacuated the neighboring buildings now, and people are fleeing quickly. I can’t blame them.
We watch through a camera as the robot approaches the package behind a piece of glass that I’m told will withstand a blast. I spot the television crews zooming in, and everyone can see what’s going on.
An arm extends from the robot. It carefully opens the first flap. I’m holding my breath. The robot opens the second flap. I’m freezing, yet sweat is running down my back. A camera extends and zooms in on the box, focusing on a note that is partially covered in what looks like feces.
Once I read what it says, I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole. Keep your hands off my man.
The robot carefully removes the note, and a man or woman dressed in a Pillsbury Dough Boy suit takes it away. The robot then reaches into the box. The officer explains that the camera is looking for signs of electronics, but nothing is sending off any signals. After a moment, the bomb squad seems visibly relieved.
I watch in horror as the robot clasps an article of clothing and pulls it out. It’s a Goldminers jersey— number eighteen with Sanders in block lettering across the shoulders. It’s covered in feces.
This is not a threat for Mr. Graham. It’s for me.
Every single one of the twenty-five hundred employees that have been spilled onto the sidewalks are going to be pissed at me. Jackson will be beyond pissed because he’s lost an entire day of productivity because someone wants me to disappear from the asshole’s life.
I can feel eyes on me, and I fight back tears. The news crews are watching every moment.
As the police pack up and people file back into the building, I take the stairs to the forty-second floor. I can’t stand around and listen to the snark. If Heather hadn’t spread it around the building that Bobby and I were dating, I could play dumb. Bobby didn’t name me specifically when he broke up with me on the news, but thank you, Heather, for making sure everyone can fill in the gaps.
By the tenth floor, I’m asking myself why I chose to walk up. I stop to catch my breath and overhear a conversation in the hallway beyond the stairwell.
“I bet she did it for attention.”
“Why would Bobby Sanders date her? She’s not that pretty.”
“Did you see her smile when Jackson Graham walked up to her? He was pissed.”
“We should start a pool to see how long she has her job.”
“I’d bet on that…” They move down the hallway, and I don’t hear the rest.
I keep climbing. I hear others, but I don’t want to stop to listen. It only makes me feel worse.
I finally make it to the forty-second floor, and I won’t have to go to the gym today—or maybe even all week.
There are three women standing with Heather when I return to my desk, and all of them look me up and down with complete disdain. I sit down hard in my chair. Jim walks out of Jackson’s office with a police officer.
He smiles at me. “Come on in.”
I nod. “I’ll be right there.” I click a few buttons on my computer, print a document, and open a few files. I’m ready to be fired. This is it.
He points me to the couch. It’s just him and the officer in the room.
“This is Officer Parker,” he tells me. “Jackson was clear that a messenger sent over the package?”
I nod. “He said it arrived early this morning.”
“Did you break up with your boyfriend?” he asks.
“I believe so,” I say.
“You don’t know?” Officer Parker asks.
“Well, he didn’t call and tell me to my face,” I explain.
“Is he ghosting you?” Jim asks.
“No.” I take a big breath. “He announced it in response to a question at a press conference.”
“Press conference?” Officer Parker asks.
“I was dating Bobby Sanders, from the San Francisco Goldminers.”
“Tell us about the news conference,” Jim says gently.
I walk them through what happened. I add that I was out with a friend last night and ran into Mr. Graham.
“Have you called him?” Officer Parker asks.
“No. He made his decision abundantly clear during the press conference.”
“When did you call his girlfriend?” he asks.
“Never. I haven’t reached out to either of them. The last time Bobby and I talked was Sunday after the game. It was a tough loss, and he wanted to be alone.”
Jackson walks in with his team. I stand.
“I need to speak to Mr. Graham,” the officer informs me.
I nod silently, wondering if this embarrassment could possibly get any worse. I guess I’m going to find out.
As I return to my desk, my cell phone begins to ring. Eight missed calls. It’s Gabby.
“Hi.”
“Oh my God, you made the news wire.”
“What?” This can’t be happening.
“There are at least six news agencies now talking about whether or not you sent it to yourself. Through his agent, Bobby’s saying he and his new girlfriend, Colette, had nothing to do with it, and you’re mentally unstable.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I wish I was. I’ll send you some links. The coverage is split. The real news stations say you called the police because it was a suspicious package.”
“It was Bobby’s jersey, and it was covered in shit.”
“What kind of shit? Paint?”
“No. I mean actual shit.”
“Why?”
“It had a note that said Keep your hands off my man,” I whisper into the phone. “I’m so embarrassed. The police a
re talking to Mr. Graham now. The whole block knows, and it’s all over the news.”
“How about drinks after work?”
“If I still have a job—we lost the morning, so I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
“Call me if you’re up for it,” Gabby insists.
I hear muffled voices approaching the door. “I’ve got to go. I hear him coming.”
“Thank you for your time,” Officer Parker tells Mr. Graham.
“Anytime,” Jackson says. He gives me a nod.
Officer Parker stops at my desk. “None of your fingerprints were on the inside of the box. We’ll continue to investigate. What’s the name of your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure. Someone called her Colette, but I don’t know if that’s correct or what her last name is. I know she’s a cheerleader, though.”
I watch him leave. Heather is ignoring me, so at least that’s a positive.
Finally Jim steps out of Mr. Graham’s office. “Corrine, can you please come in here a moment?”
I nod. This is it.
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Are you wondering where it all started?
Read Emerson & Dillon’s steamy story.
Forbidden Love
Billionaire Venture Capitalists book 1
A Preview
by:
Ainsley St Claire
CHAPTER ONE
Emerson
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. I wasn’t supposed to need him. I wasn’t supposed to want him. But I did fall in love with him, I do need him, and I most certainly want him.
In the beginning….
I can’t believe that today of all days I’m running late. I’m usually never late. I live the mantra that late is if you aren’t at your destination fifteen minutes before scheduled time. Ugh!
Running into the new office in downtown San Francisco, I am greeted by a well put-together receptionist at Sullivan Healy Newhouse, often referred to as SHN. We’re the preeminent venture capital firm in the Bay Area. As of last Friday afternoon, they purchased my company, Clear Professional Services, and I’m now joining the firm as a partner to manage the professional services of all their investment start-ups. It’s a way to have a steady paycheck and work with some of the brightest people in San Francisco and the Bay Area.
The offices are bright and open with sparkling clear glass walls, leather office chairs in bright colors, white shellacked desks and tables, and bamboo wooden floors helping to give the space a clean and sharp look. Exiting the elevators, I introduce myself to the receptionist. “Hi. My name is Emerson Winthrop. I’m supposed to meet Sara White.”
Smiling, she stands from behind her desk in a soft blue skirt suit that meets just above her knees, a black patterned silk blouse and a soft blue matching jacket. Her highlighted blonde hair is up in a tight chignon, and her jewelry is tasteful yet expensive. Reaching out, she shakes my hand and says, “Welcome, Emerson. I’m Annabelle Ryan. We’re happy to have you here at SHN. I’ll let Sara know you’re here.” She makes the call and alerts Sara of my arrival, then tells her she’s going to bring me back to her office with a detour by the company break room. “Emerson, follow me. We’ll grab coffee and breakfast, and I’ll walk you back to Sara’s office.”
I saw the break room during the process of SHN buying my company; it was impr
essive then and even more so now. Located in the center of the office, it hosts coffee machines that make coffees, teas, different cocoas, and ciders, an espresso machine where you can make your own, and also a Nespresso machine. Lined atop white Caesarstone counters, there doesn’t seem to be any escape from caffeine should anyone desire it. Next to the sink is a glass-fronted Sub-Zero refrigerator stuffed with sodas, juices, waters, fresh fruit and vegetables. Open shelving on the walls gives the kitchen a giant pantry feel with each floor-to-ceiling shelf containing unending rows of almost every snack you can imagine.
In the center, an island which stores all the various plates, silverware, chopsticks, napkins and a food buffet. This morning’s breakfast food selection includes various fruit salad selections, bagels, pastries, a cheese plate and a warming plate with eggs and bacon. I’m awestruck. “Is this the spread every day?”
“Unfortunately for my waistline, yes. The guys can eat like crazy, though most of us girls here don’t have the metabolism to eat like this. I usually bring in my own coffee so I’m not tempted. Lunch is catered every day and arrives about noon. There is a menu on the fridge so you’ll know if you want to bring something in from home. And for those working late, there’s a light dinner brought in most evenings.” She reminds me of Vanna White as she points out the various amenities. “In the fridge is an assortment of sodas and beers. If we don’t carry your favorite, let me know and we’ll stock it.”
I fill my cup with pure black coffee and an artificial sweetener and follow Annabelle to meet with Sara. She’s the corporate counsel and currently runs all the operations at SHN. I’ll be taking all the human resources and talent pieces off her plate. She’s my peer and the only other female partner. During the purchase, we bonded, part of the reason I chose to sell to SHN.
House of Cards (Tech Billionaires) Page 33
