Taking Control

by Jen Frederick

  “Someone needs to keep the lights on,” Louis replies snippily.

  “Someone needs to remember who signs the checks around here.” Despite the evenness of my tone, not even Louis could mistake the steel in my eyes—if he had the balls to look at me.

  He tugs on the cuff of his shirt, apparently obsessed with getting the correct cuff-to-sleeve ratio. “You aren’t the only multinational holding company in town.”

  It’s a weak threat, but a threat nonetheless. I require only one thing from the people in my inner circle: loyalty. “One pussy is as good as the next?” I ask.

  He exhales in relief. “Right. I mean unless she’s shitting out golden eggs, then there’s no point in jeopardizing a deal over her. I was worried there that she’d swallowed you up or something. Nice to see you’re coming to your senses.” He laughs a bit self-consciously and tugs at his cuff one more time before glancing up. His smile dies off at the hard look on my face.

  Clasping my hands together on my desk, I lean toward Louis. In clear tones, so there is no mistaking my meaning or purpose, I tell him what I think. “You have fifteen minutes to get your personal effects together, turn in your company-issued equipment, and leave the building. There will be no severance pay.”

  I watch for a few seconds as he opens and closes his mouth like a beached whale and then switch USB drives. After a minute of no movement, I comment, “You’ve got fourteen minutes now.”

  The second USB is devoted to Malcolm and Mitch Hedder. As the summary of the elder Hedders’s past ten years rolls by, I hear the office door close quietly.

  Malcolm Hedder was busy running his small time operation of high-end hookers and prescription drugs. Jake notes that Malcolm had acquired a new escort who was about the same height as Tiny and had similar features. Jake also points out that this was creepy. I agree. But it wasn’t just Malcolm’s possibly escalating obsession with Tiny that caused me a twinge of concern. Mitch Hedder’s last Palm Beach sugar momma had been found dead under suspicious circumstances, and several pieces of her extensive jewelry collection were missing. Now he was here sniffing around Tiny.

  No, she wouldn’t like a bodyguard, but she damn well is going to have one. Jake recommends four different individuals—three men and one woman. No question who I’d pick, but the decision will be Tiny’s.

  Picking up the phone, I alert Rose to the new development. “Louis is taking a new job. Please call building management and let them know.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Kerr.” Rose’s voice is filled with smug pleasure. She informed me how much she didn’t like Louis when I gave her the news of his impending departure last week. Thirteen minutes later, I’m in the office lobby, still digesting the Hedder report. That bodyguard for Tiny needs to be hired immediately.

  The receptionist is my assistant Rose’s daughter, Fawn, in keeping with the outdoorsy theme, I guess. She’s nineteen-going-on-thirty and enjoys testing her baby wiles on the older men in the company.

  “I love your tie today,” she coos as I wait for Louis to appear. He’s always been punctual before, but now that I’m kicking him out, he’s dawdling. Probably attempting to download as many analyst reports as possible. Information is power, and Louis will attempt to leverage my superior research team for a better position somewhere else.

  “Thanks, my fiancée picked it out.” Not really a white lie. She did suggest that the pale blue silk would look good against the black-checked suit coat.

  “I didn’t know you proposed.”

  “This weekend.” I love the word fiancée. There’s a sense of ownership and belonging in that word.

  “Congratulations!” She smiles, and it’s genuine. At thirty-two, I might be interesting but I’m old. “She has good taste then,” she says and then turns back to reviewing emails—office ones, I hope. A muffled clatter of wheels down the carpeted hallway signals Louis’s approach. He’s dragging a wheeled cart behind him. The indignity of it is probably crushing.

  “Everything go smoothly?” I ask.

  A muscle in his jaw is working overtime as he struggles with how much he’d like to tell me to go to hell, possibly while sucking on a donkey’s dick on my way down. But he manages to hold back whatever profanity-laced diatribe he’d like to trot out and instead hisses, “You’re going to regret this decision.”

  Fawn’s eyes widen in anticipation of a potential scene.

  “I doubt it. My priorities have changed.” I walk toward the glass doors of the entrance and out of Fawn’s hearing. “You’ll enjoy yourself somewhere else.”

  “All this over some illiterate snatch? Fuck, man, you can do better than that.”

  My hand curls around the edge of the glass door. I’m tempted, for a strong and long moment, to take Louis’s head in one hand and the glass door in the other and bash the two together until one or both of them break into little pieces. But physical violence is transitory. Louis will hurt more when I remove his status and money-making ability.

  “There’s a very important piece you are missing here, Louis.” I pin him with a stare and this time he can’t look away. I won’t allow it. “To be a good investor, to make good decisions, you have to be both unemotional and observant. You’ve shown neither trait here.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I continue. “Every attempt I’ve made to inform you that Victoria would be an integral part of my life has been met with either dismissal or disdain, which means you failed to notice both recent warnings and past signs. I stick up for people in my circle. You were once there.”

  He gives me a weak nod as we both probably recall his first management meeting, which took place at Colicchio & Sons. The target’s outgoing CEO mocked Louis’s lack of an Ivy League education. I reminded the CEO that at least Louis had a college degree and a business school education—unlike myself. He’d shut up after that, and Louis had worn a grateful look on his face for an embarrassingly long time.

  But in the months that I’ve spent with Tiny, I have sensed Louis’s impatience with me. He worried I’d take too long to make decisions, his attention had begun to wander, and—like a jilted mistress—he’d sought affirmation elsewhere. Jake’s investigative report telling me that Louis had racked up large debts at high end department stores, as well as overextended himself with other high-end toys, only confirmed what I’d begun to suspect. Louis wouldn’t be happy working at Kerr Inc. much longer. I’d merely hastened his exit.

  His latest purchase had been a yacht. A fucking yacht. What a fool. He had been meeting covertly with Howe’s investment firm, likely passing on reports and insider information.

  “If you’d just wake up, Ian. There’s so much business out there for us, and we’re letting it pass us by.” His brows are furrowed and the handle on his briefcase is clutched so tightly that his knuckles are white.

  As he rolls out, his face hardens and a shifty gleam appears in his eyes—a look that says he’s going to pull one over on me. But he’s too late. If he thought I was a vicious, money-hungry asshole before, he’ll appreciate how a predator with a family to protect will act. And perhaps learn a good lesson.

  “There’s always more business,” I drawl.

  Louis doesn’t waste time. Likely he has some reporter in his pocket. We all do. In just a few hours, the stock for Kerr Inc. has fallen dramatically. The business television ticker hints at instability in Kerr Inc. upper management.

  Tokyo won’t be alive for another few hours. I shoot off an email to the legal counsel handling the SunCorp offering. I want to move forward on this now that I’ve dealt with Louis.

  I’d hoped to have a late lunch with Tiny, but the chaos caused by Louis’s departure prevents that. Just another checkmark in his “Con” column.

  “I wanted to take you out, bunny, but I have some business to attend to.”

  “Oh, okay.” She’s clearly disappointed.

  “I’m sorry. I could break away for maybe thirty minutes if you can come down here.” Thirty minutes is time I don’t really have, but I hate
the sound of her dismay.

  “No, it’s not a big deal, besides I’ve got something to work on—but can you be home early? Like six or so?” There’s a weird thrum in her words. I can’t make out the emotion, but it sounds vaguely like excitement.

  “I’ll be there,” I promise. And I will, even if I have to burn the trading floor down to get a moment’s respite.

  Rose brings me lunch and a sheaf of papers. “What’s this?” It’s a stack of resumes, of younger investment analysts and recent business school graduates. “Just some replacement ideas for Louis,” she says demurely.

  “Thank you.” My soft laughter follows her out.

  I field a dozen or more calls from hedge fund managers wanting to know more about the Wall Street rumors about Kerr management’s instability. I tell them the truth—that Louis Durand has left the company. Despite my evidence, I don’t share that he’s been stealing information. It would only make the company look weaker. When Gabe reaches me by mid-afternoon, I know the tipping point has been reached. “Do I need to sue anyone on your behalf?”

  Gabriel Allen has a voice he wields like a weapon. I’ve seen other lawyers nearly piss themselves at a glare and a sharp command. His sonorous tones are set to comfort at this moment.

  “You can pack away your therapist persona. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “I’m watching your stock fall by fifteen percent. The more it falls, the faster the pace of the selling.”

  “My ticker says the same thing yours does.”

  “You’re playing some deeper game.” It isn’t a question.

  “I built Nessie for just this purpose.”

  Gabe’s silent for a moment. “You knew, then?”

  “I suspected. Asked Jake to look into it, and he sent the confirmation this morning.”

  “When were the flags first raised?”

  “About a month after I met Tiny. I’d been spending more time with her away from the office. I could tell he was getting restless. I’d hoped that I was imagining things, but…”

  “Better safe than sorry,” he finishes for me.

  “Yes.”

  “When will you step in?”

  “Tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday. If the price is going to drop, let’s wait it out.” Instinct, honed at a young age, tells me that now is not the time for action.

  “Your nerves are made of steel.” He compliments me.

  I snort. “As if yours aren’t? Besides, this is only dangerous if you care. Kerr Inc. could die tomorrow and I’d still have enough funds to make sure that Tiny and I lived a good life. But thanks for the concern. I won’t forget.”

  “I was elected to call you. Everyone was perturbed, but we didn’t want to inundate you with calls if you were busy putting out fires.”

  “I’m watching the conflagration right now and enjoying the heat.”

  Louis has inadvertently timed his leak perfectly because the domestic stock market closes with Kerr stock at an all time low. By the close of trading, Kerr Inc. stock had fallen by nearly a quarter, erasing nearly $19 billion in market cap—a record drop off by a holding company that had only seen growth since its inception over a decade ago. Some business talking heads called it a correction, saying that the market cap had been too high for too long. I saw it as an opportunity.

  Whatever cooked information Louis had shared with his reporter friend is leading this downturn, but as I’d reminded Gabriel, I have a separate, private holding company with an obscene amount of ready capital. When Kerr Inc. stock falls to thirty percent below opening trading, it will be the time to buy. My guess is that it would happen before noon tomorrow.

  The rest of the late afternoon is spent handling phone calls from frantic board members. I assure them that all is fine. I don’t know if any of them have been listening to Louis’s whispers, so I don’t share my plans with them.

  Right before I leave, Rose alerts me to the director of the Frick on the phone. “Mr. Kerr, I’m so sorry to bother you today. You must have a lot on your plate.”

  “No problem, Ross. What can I do for you?” I try not to sound impatient because the Frick event is one that must go smoothly. I need Ross Fairchild to ensure that.

  “It’s about your donation. I know we’ve received the first one but…” he trails off.

  “In light of the impending financial news, you’re worried my pledge may not be sound?” I finish for him.

  “Of course not. Only, if we are to provide naming rights for such an important expansion, we want to ensure that it the renovations encounter no barriers. I’m certain you would agree if you were me.”

  I tamp down my anger at his insinuation that I’d make a promise and not live up to it. “What will it take for the event to proceed as planned with the naming rights as we previously discussed?”

  “The entire amount?” he suggests. At my stony silence, he relents. “Perhaps sixty percent?”

  “The cashier’s check will be on your desk first thing, Fairchild. The event better be fucking perfect.”

  “Of course, and thank you for your understanding.”

  Fuck you.

  I slam the phone down and close my eyes. The amount of the Frick donation is sizeable, and while I have contingency funds, it isn’t bottomless. I hadn’t accounted for the entire five million to be called in like that.

  Any other time and I would’ve told Fairchild to fuck himself, but then again, any other time and he wouldn’t be asking.

  The phone rings again, but I’m done for the day. I need to see Tiny.

  EIGHTEEN

  WHEN I ARRIVE HOME SHE’S already there, vibrating with energy. The sight of her helps to drain away some of the tension of the day.

  I drop my bag on the floor and enclose my arms around her slender waist. “I’m disappointed. When you told me to come home right away, I thought for sure you’d be wearing nothing but whipped cream.”

  “Not every night is your birthday,” she teases.

  “No, but we can pretend,” I answer. “But before I ravish you, you appear to be bursting with news. What is it?” I bury my head in the side of her neck, growling and rubbing my afternoon scruff all over her tender skin. She squeals and pushes ineffectually at my hands.

  “Stop. I seriously have something to tell you.”

  Drawing back but still keeping her within the circle of my arms, I say carefully, “Are you pregnant? And if so, do you want to be?”

  “No! Come over and sit down though.” She leads me into the living room and has me sit on the sofa. There’s a cold beer, fresh from the cooler, waiting for me on the side table. Picking up the beer, I obediently take a long drink. She waits, hovering at the edge of the coffee table as if she can barely contain herself.

  “Lay it on me,” I say, dropping the beer on the table and leaning forward.

  “I was thinking about Howe,” she begins.

  With a groan, I lean back and cover my eyes. “No, Tiny, you said you wouldn’t.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” She pauses. “Much. I haven’t done much of anything.”

  “I’m going to kick Jake’s ass.” I pick up my phone to start a verbal flaying.

  “Wait. I never left the office. Okay, a few times, but I knew Steve was following me.” When I set the phone down, she continues. “I asked Jake about what research he’d done on the other women who had been rumored to be involved with Howe. He told me that you’d done background checks and had them followed, but they appeared to be ordinary women. There was one girl who was a student at Columbia. Another who was an intern for a councilman connected to his dad. The third, though, was a waitress. She worked at Table 57, a restaurant that Howe liked to go to without his wife.”

  “His wife didn’t like going because it was too down-market.” I finish for her. “I know this. I read the report when Jake put it together.”

  “Well, the waitress bothered me. The other two women came from money, so maybe it was easy to see why they would turn away yours. And maybe they didn’t want
to be in the eye of a scandal, particularly the intern, but the waitress was like me. She seemed to be barely scraping together enough to live on. Jake said she lived in Brooklyn and took a two-hour train ride to get to Table 57. You’d think she’d be okay with suffering through a few pictures in exchange for the hefty half-million you were willing to pony up.”

  “You’d think,” I say.

  “But then I thought about blackmail. Did you know that Malcolm wanted your signature in the hopes of blackmailing you in the future?”

  “I thought that might be the case,” I say, unconcerned. I never gave Malcolm my signature, and there wasn’t anything that would tie me to him—except for Tiny, and she was worth any risk.

  “I had Jake check the marriage records for her mother. They showed that her mother remarried once, for like six months, to a guy who is currently in prison. But there was another kid who lived with them.”

  “I’m interested. Keep talking.” I think I know where this is going, but I want to hear it all.

  “The kid from the marriage was in juvie, and he got out. Lauren, that’s the waitress, was the one who picked him up, according to one of Jake’s contacts.”

  “So she’s related. A half-brother. Maybe a stepbrother,” I muse out loud. “He gets out conveniently around the time I start sniffing around.”

  “Yes,” she claps her hands. “It’s crazy, but maybe he’s bought off a judge or something. The kid gets let out and Lauren is super grateful. Whatever he holds over their heads is more important than the money.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  “Both of us?” Her eyes are glowing.

  “Would you let me leave you behind?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s futile for me to insist on going alone. So you knew about Steve?”

  “Yes, and you knew I was following Howe around?”

  I nod. “Steve wasn’t spying, but he did ask me if I knew you were watching Howe eat lunch several times a week.”

  She grimaces. “And you didn’t say anything?”