by Alexa Davis
"My boss is dead," I blurted out.
"Wait, what?"
"My boss is dead," I repeated. "I don't know how he died, just that he died yesterday and that I'm not supposed to talk about it because the guy who is now in charge told me not to."
"Is this the boss that was at your graduation?" she asked.
"Uh huh," I nodded as the tears welled up and then started to fall. Cece set her plate down on the steamer trunk that doubled as my coffee table, and then put her arms around me rocking me back and forth while I cried harder than I had in the bathroom at work. "It's not fair!"
"Nope, it's not," she murmured as she patted my head. "It sucks balls."
"It sucks balls, indeed," I smiled through the tears. Cece let out a snorting laugh that made me giggle and before we knew it, both of us were laughing so hard we had to hold our sides. As I wiped the tears from my eyes, I looked at her and said, "I don't know what's going to happen now."
"Maybe that's a good thing?" she offered. "I mean, you've been wanting to get out of that assistant position and do some real programming work for a long time. Maybe this is your way out."
"But what about my job?" I asked. "Now that Dr. Powell's dead, they might let me go. And if I lose my job, how am I going to afford all of this?" I gestured around the apartment.
"You're not going to lose your job or your apartment, silly chica," Cece chuckled. "You're going to land on your feet; like you always do. And if you need some help along the way, well, me and Mando are always here and all you ever have to do is ask!"
"I can't ask you for help," I said shaking my head. "You guys are hanging on by a thread."
"Oh please, we've been in far more precarious positions," she said waving me off. "We're actually in a good place right now with the delivery service taking off and karaoke bringing in the late night crowds. Besides, you're family, and we always help family."
I hugged her tightly as I nodded. I hoped I wouldn't need their help, but if I did, it was nice to know it was there.
"So, what's up with you?" I asked as I pulled back and picked up my plate.
"Girl, you don't even want to know," she grinned as we resumed eating. Over the next hour, Cece filled me in on all the details of her current love interests and gave me the odds on each one and their chance of making it past the initial dating stage. Cece's love life always amazed me because she managed to juggle three or four guys at a time, all while never losing track of who was who and what his status in the dating hierarchy was.
Guys came and went from Cece's life on a regular basis, but rarely did they leave unhappy. Sometimes, when things weren't working out with her and a guy, she'd connect him with a friend she thought was better suited. I often teased her that she was a one-woman dating site and that she ought to charge for her services. She laughed it off and said that life was too short to be dating people who weren't right for her, but she didn't like to see people sad and alone.
"I've got a guy who might be perfect for you, Echo," she said waving her fork at me. "He's smart, interesting and seriously hot."
"Yeah, not so much," I laughed shaking my head. Cece had been trying to fix me up for as long as we'd known each other. She knew I had a think for smart men, but that my job kept me too busy to really get out and meet any. She also knew that my experiences with boyfriends had been less that successful, so she tread lightly and only suggested guys that she had thoroughly vetted.
"C'mon, chica," she urged. "You're young and smart and hot! You need to get out in circulation and meet some eligible men! You need to shake that booty while you still can!"
"Oh my God!" I burst out laughing. "It's not like I'm so old and decrepit that I've lost my chance! I'm twenty-seven! I'm still young!"
"Yeah, but you're not getting any younger," she said with a sly grin.
"You're evil!" I protested.
"Be that as it may, I still think you need to meet this guy," she said as she stood up and carried our plates to the kitchen. "I have to get going. Got a date with the hot Italian tonight. He's taking me to a club in Jersey."
"A club in Jersey? Do they even have clubs in Jersey?" I laughed.
"Pshaw! Of course, they do!" she said with mock indignation. "There are some of the finest clubs in the tri-state area in Jersey! Do not mock Jersey."
"I'm not mocking!" I laughed. "I was being serious."
"Yes, there are clubs in Jersey," she said. "Not sure how well this guy is going to work out, but I'm willing to take a chance and see what happens."
"You're so brave, Cece," I said as I walked over to where she stood and gave her a big hug.
"So are you, chica," she said hugging me back. "You just need to use that courage to get yourself a man!"
"Get out of here!" I laughed as I pulled back and lightly punched her in the shoulder. She laughed all the way out the door and down the hallway.
It wasn't until the next morning that I realized she'd left the money I'd given her for dinner tucked under the sugar bowl in the kitchen. I grabbed it on my way out the door and made a mental note to stop and give it to Mando on my way home.
Chapter Five
Ryan
The next morning I woke to someone pounding on the door yelling, "Mrs. Powell, open up! This is the New York City police and we're here to serve you with an eviction notice!"
When I got up, I found Eva curled on the living room sofa with a cup of coffee sipping it as she ignored the yelling coming from the other side of the door. We'd spent the previous day calling around trying to get ahold of the corner's report, but no one seemed to have any idea where that report was. Eva called in some favors from her friends in high places, and was able to get one of them to try and track it down. I wanted to take it to a Navy doctor and have them interpret it for me.
The pounding continued. I looked at Eva and she shrugged, so I walked over to the front door and opened it.
"Where is Eva Powell?" the officer asked.
"I'm right here, officer," Eva said raising a perfectly manicured hand and waving it as if she were volunteering to answer a question in class. "No need to shout."
"Mrs. Powell, you've been warned that you had a limited number of days to pack up and move out," the officer said as he shifted nervously. "Today is move out day. Are you ready to leave or do we need to call in the sheriff's office and have officers do the moving for you?"
"No, I'm ready," she said. "I just wanted to spend my last morning in the one room in the place that made me happy."
"Mrs. Powell, I suggest you go put on some clothing and gather your things," the officer said as he walked over and handed Eva the paperwork he held in his hand. "It's time to get going."
"Ah well, it is indeed," Eva sighed. "I've always loved this place. It's a shame that I don't get to stay here."
"What on earth is going on?" I asked looking between Eva and the officer. "Why is she being evicted?"
"And you are?"
"Ryan Powell, I'm Alan Powell's son," I said taking the papers out of Eva's hands and unfolding them. As I read the sheet detailing the numerous attempts to remove the Powell's from the premises, I realized that this had been going on for over a year. "Eva, what is this all about?"
"I have no idea," she said as she sipped from the china cup. "Alan told me he'd taken care of everything after the first notice, so I didn't worry about it until the collectors came calling every few days trying to get information from me."
"But Dad had plenty of money, I don't get it," I said as I read the notice again. There was nothing in it that said anything about what had happened, only that my father had failed to pay the mortgage for almost fifteen months and that the bank was now foreclosing on the apartment and turning it over to the building owners to re-sell. This seemed wrong. It seemed to fast, and why hadn't my father launched an investigation into what had happened? "Eva, who was in charge of the mortgage on this place?"
"Do I look like an address book to you?" she asked impatiently. "I have no idea how your father r
an that part of the finances."
"Do you have any idea of how he ran any part of the finances?" I muttered under my breath. "Of course not."
"All right, well, it looks like they do, in fact have the right to boot us out," I said as I looked at the officer and shrugged. "So, you'd better go get your stuff and get ready to check out of the Hotel Powell."
"God, this is such an inconvenience," she moaned as she set her up down and pulled herself up off the couch. "I've got too much to do today to be bothered with packing. I'll just change my clothes and go to my mother's."
"Ma'am, whatever you leave in the apartment will become the property of the bank," the officer warned.
"Oh let it. Who cares?" she said waving her hand at him again. "It's a good excuse to build an entirely new wardrobe now that I'm a widow."
I looked at the officer and rolled my eyes as I walked back to the guest bedroom where I tossed what few things I'd taken out into my duffle bag and headed for the door. I looked around the place one last time and thought about how much my mother would have hated this apartment, then I saluted the officer and said, "I wish you luck with that one," before I exited out the front door and headed down to the street.
I had an appointment with the Commander over at the Navy Recruiting Headquarters in two hours, thanks to Commander Marks calling ahead and scheduling it for me. I needed to get information about Opie's family so that I could go see them and let them know that they'd been in his last thoughts. Down on 77th, I thought about hopping on the subway and then decided against it. I needed a chance to clear my head before I met with the Commander.
Something was definitely fishy with the apartment and my father's finances. It was completely unlike him to let something as important as a mortgage slip by. When I was a kid I could remember him drilling it into my head that it was absolutely essential that I be a man of my word. If I agreed to do something, then I was obligated to do it — no matter what the cost. He'd told me over and over again that a man's word was really all he had in the world, and that once he was deemed unable to keep his word, a man might as well hang it up.
I shook my head remember how the lecture was delivered in the early hours before dawn as my father woke me up to warm up and go running with him. He believed in a healthy mind and a healthy body, and he became more strident about it after my mother died. It was as if his determination to keep me fit and healthy was the only thing that continued to connect us once my mother died. The problem was that for as much time as he spent working out with me, he never once talked about anything outside of physical fitness or school. So, I followed his lead and kept it all inside.
In the process, we became exceptionally good at keeping secrets and maintaining our masks of normalcy, but we never found a way to help each other cope with the pain of loss. When I'd announced, in the middle of my senior year of high school that I'd be joining the Navy as soon as I graduated, my father shook my hand and said, "Good choice, son. Now you can become the best of the best — a SEAL."
I remember being surprised that he hadn't tried to talk me into joining the Marines instead, but that was quickly replaced by the feeling of gratitude I'd learned from my mother. Although he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, my father had shown his love the best way he knew how, by letting me be my own man.
At Lexington and 53rd, I hopped on the E train and road it all the way to 23rd where I backtracked down 8th Avenue to 24th Street. I entered the Navy Recruiting Headquarters and reported to the receptionist at the front who sent me up to the twelfth floor for my meeting with the Commander.
I felt self-conscious carrying everything I owned with me, but I knew that I had no other choice until I visited my father's office and found out what had happened to him. I asked the young brunette secretary with the tight sweater in Commander Donnelly's office if I could stash my bag behind her desk while I met with her boss. She smiled and told me it was no problem, and I knew that if I asked her out, she'd say yes. The problem was that I was technically homeless and there was no way I could think about women until I found a place to live while I straightened out my father's affairs.
Fifteen minutes later, she showed me into the office. I stood at attention in front of the Commander's desk until he said, "At ease, sailor," and gestured for me to sit down in one of the chairs across from his desk.
"So, Commander Marks says you want to meet with Ensign Morgan's parents. Is that correct, Lieutenant Powell?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I nodded. "I'd like to go see them and convey my deepest sympathies and give them a message from their son."
"Do you think that's wise, Lieutenant?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I nodded. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all," he said as he rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. "I'm just wondering if it's a little too much for you to be expected to deal with your father's death as well as the death of your team member.
"Not at all, sir," I shook my head. "I am absolutely capable of handling both, sir."
"This isn't about whether or not you're capable, of course you're capable. You're a SEAL," he said without hesitation, then his voice turned softer and he added, "The question is whether or not you should be doing both."
"Sir, I feel confident that I can manage both tasks without any significant problems," I said as I met his gaze. "I'm concerned about Ensign Morgan's parents. And I want to give them his last words."
"That's all well and good, Lieutenant, but what kind of assistance do you need to help deal with your father's death?" he pushed.
"I'm fine, sir," I said as I looked him in the eye knowing that while I wasn't technically lying to him, I was evading his questions. "Really, I am. I spent the night with my stepmother and later today I'm going to meet with my father's business partner."
"Alright, Lieutenant, I'll let you off with that explanation," he warned. He'd been doing his job long enough that he knew bullshit when he smelled it, but he let it pass. I think it was because he knew that SEALs were team players, and when a team was needed, they did not hesitate to speak up and ask for one. I nodded as I rose from my chair and stood at attention again. Commander Donnelly continued, "But if you need anything, anything at all, you are to call me at my private number. And I want you to report in once a week. Do you understand, sailor?"
"Hoo-yah, sir," I said as I saluted him and then did a point turn and marched out of the office.
I quickly grabbed my bag and gave the pretty secretary my number before realizing that, even if I wanted to, I didn't no longer had a home in the city. I smiled and, knowing that I would be ghosting her, made a mental note apologize later.
#
I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and walked down 7th Avenue to the TriCorp building on 7th and 19th Street. It rose up out of the sidewalk a tower of green glass and steel that reflected the world neighborhood around it but gave nothing away as to its interior contents. It had been designed by an architect specializing in biomedical research and had been intended as the first in a series of buildings that would be erected around the city representing the marriage of biology and community.
The first time my father had brought me to see it, I'd gone home and told my mother that it was a giant that was going to eat the whole block. My father had reprimanded me saying that this was a lie, but my mother had calmed him down with her smile and an explanation that I was studying Grimm's Fairy Tales in school, so it was natural that I'd be associating the things in my world with the things I was studying in school. As always, she made it sound like I was a genius for making the connections.
In reality, I'd had nightmares about the building for weeks after our visit, and after that, my mother had found excuses for me not to have to visit when my father suggested I accompany him to the office. After a while, he stopped asking.
I hadn't been in my father's office in almost fifteen years, so I wasn't surprised when no one recognized me as Alan Powell's son. I let the receptionist know I had an appointment with Julian Bai
nes, and she buzzed me in and told me to go to the sixteenth floor and check in with Ruth. She cast a suspicious eye on my duffle bag, so I said, "Just home from a SEAL mission, and need to check in," and her eyes widened and I saw the look turn to interest. Some people can be so predictable.
Unfortunately, Julian Baines was not one of those people. He and my father had been friends in high school and started TriCorp after my father had returned from Vietnam. Julian had secured an educational draft deferment and had spent the war years earning multiple degrees in business and management. My father had taken advantage of the G.I. Bill when he returned and had gone back to college. It had taken him seven years to earn his PhD in biochemistry, and by the time he was done, he and Julian had developed the basic business model for TriCorp.
They spent two years talking to investors before they finally hit pay dirt and landed a pool of investors who fronted the money for their first project. In the end, the artificial intelligence research my father had designed had failed, but it spawned a host of other projects that were viable and incredibly profitable. So, my father put the AI development on the back burner and focused on generating enough capital to allow him to return to his first passion.
Meanwhile, Julian spent his time running the business end of the company and living the high life of a man who was trying to attract wealthy donors. As long as Julian didn't require my father to make more than an appearance at any given function, my father was happy to let him have the spotlight. They ran the business this way for two decades, until the industry shifted toward the tech side of things. At that point, my father began hiring younger people who'd been trained in the new technology and began resurrecting his AI project.
Julian had objected because the project wasn't as much of a moneymaker as the biochemical research they'd been doing. He and my father had had lengthy discussions about the direction TriCorp was going to take in the twenty-first century, and they had finally agreed to split the labs into two parts. One that continued to do the bread and butter biotech research and development, and the other would be under my father's direction and work on the AI project.
