by Carol Caiton
Simon inhaled, then let it out. "Six percent," he said. "A six percent penalty from Ethan, and from me as well for accepting his icon without authorization. You can vote on the method of delivery."
Malcolm turned to his left. "Ethan?"
"I agree."
"All right. This is what I propose. Six percent monetary from Ethan, to be paid directly to Simon because the link between Simon and Nina was sanctioned from the beginning—whether it was accepted or not. Anyone object to that?"
Silence.
"And six percent from Simon," he went on. "Monetary, to be reinvested in the corporation for future expansion." He looked around the table. "Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Agreed."
Simon wondered at Malcolm's perception. One penalty could have been used to cancel out the other, but Simon wanted some sort of retribution and Malcolm had known that. And knowing it, he'd maneuvered so that both of them, technically, were indeed penalized, but it wouldn't cost Simon a penny. He'd simply turn over Ethan's six percent as his own penalty toward future expansion.
"Mason, you'll draw up the documents?"
"Yes."
Malcolm tapped his pen twice on his legal pad. "Let's move along then. Elliott, is the Moon Orchid Spa still on schedule?"
"Hannah tells me the last of the equipment trucks should be cleared out by Sunday."
"Oliver? Are we still within budget?"
"Just under. But I suspect we'll be slightly over on completion."
"Translate that into a dollar amount."
"Seven thousand. Maybe eight."
"Really." Malcolm raised a brow. "I expected more than that. Well done."
"If you're passing around halos, I won't be turning one down. We worked our butts off for this."
Simon had seen both Elliott and Hannah on the construction site after hours more than once during the many times he'd been tracking down Nina. So yes, Elliott deserved his halo.
"Statistics?" Malcolm spoke up, calling him back to the present. "What do the numbers say this week? Good news, I hope."
Simon glanced down at his report. Several figures had been circled in red and he started with those. "As a matter of fact, we do have good news."
"Finally," Michael breathed.
"Along with some interesting news," Simon added, "and some that's not good."
"Well give us the good stuff first," Michael said. "Then the bad won't be so hard to take."
Simon nodded. "All right, good news first. Statistically, new-hires don't activate their memberships until they've been with us for two or three months, and then it's in stops and starts. But forty-two percent—all of them new mall employees—have already gone active."
"Yessss."
"How many of the new-hires are college students?" Elliott asked. "Were you able to tell if Hannah's suggestion made a difference?"
"Yes. And yes, it did," Simon told him. "We've hired one hundred eighty-three female college students, and Rita tells me we have another hundred and fifty applicants on file."
"All right!" Oliver pushed back his chair, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands in his lap. He turned to Elliot and said, "Tell Hannah we said nice going."
"I'll do that."
"So all the openings have been filled?"
"Yes."
"What about Spring Break? And summer vacation?" Michael asked. "Are we covered?"
"We are," Malcolm said. "A sufficient number of those we didn't hire live locally and are prepared to fill temporary positions. As well, Human Resources is swamped every year when out-of-state students return to Florida looking for summer jobs. The transition won't be a smooth one, but we already know the advantages outweigh the time and expense. Added to that, since we'll be replacing full-time employees with part-time, the consistent increase may call for expansion sooner rather than later."
"We should keep a close eye on the stats," Oliver said. "We'll want to have as much advance notice as possible."
"You're right. Simon, any other good news?
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Of all the college students we've hired, only eight will be graduating this Spring. That means it's possible we'll have most of them back with the fall semester."
"Exactly what we hoped for."
"Indeed," Malcolm said. "Now give us the interesting news."
"All right. Believe it or not, a substantial number of these young college women are virgins. Twenty-three of them to be exact."
"You've gotta be kidding."
"I wish I was."
"What the hell is drawing them here?" Oliver wanted to know.
Simon shook his head. "I don't have a clue."
Malcolm considered that, then said, "Okay, give us the bad news now."
"It comes in two parts."
"Terrific," Elliott muttered.
"It sounds worse than it is," Simon told him. "Four of our female clients have applied for high-ranking links. Green status-3 or better."
"Ah, geez."
"They're using the system for matchmaking."
"Four isn't so bad," Oliver said.
"But Simon said this was part one. What's part two?"
Simon slid his report back onto the table. "Another fourteen have applied for nothing less than blue."
"Fourteen?"
"Oh, hell."
"New-hires?" Mason asked.
"Six of them, yes. But the remaining eight are current employees who never activated their memberships and finally decided to."
"Wonderful."
"Legal," Malcolm said, steering the meeting in a different direction since time was running short. "Give us an update on the riot out front."
Mason answered without the need to glance at his notes. "There were a total of thirty-one arrests, including the six men and three women —all from PIC by the way—who took part in overturning Nina's car. Both cameras covering the gate captured it on video, and Jeremiah copied everything to disk for the state attorney's office." He looked at Ethan. "I'll need Nina's signature on some papers for the civil suit."
"I'll speak to her."
"And I need copies of her medical bills. Yours as well since you're seeing someone off property now."
"All right."
Mason nodded. "All thirty-one defendants are out on bond, courtesy of PIC. But I think it's safe to say we'll be putting a substantial dent in their bankroll." He briefed everyone on what he had in mind, outlined the various claims, and quoted the total amount he planned to ask the court to consider."
"Way to go, Mason."
"Thanks, Michael. I'm also asking for an injunction against PIC as a whole and we may get it this time. If any of you remember something we haven't already discussed, let me know. I'm not going to file until next week."
"Sounds to me like you've got all the bases covered."
The murmurs of agreement were unanimous.
"And Ethan . . . I had an interesting phone call from Phillip Davidson of Davidson, Davidson & Bligh."
Ethan's brow raised. "I've met Davidson."
"I figured you had since he dropped your name. In fact, he phoned Security first, asking for you specifically and the call was forwarded to me."
"You're right—this is interesting. So what did he want?"
"Permission to view our I-Drive videos."
Ethan began to smile. "Did he say why?"
"I asked, so yes. He's concerned that someone connected with the firm may have taken part in the riot."
"Really." Ethan's smile broadened. "What did you tell him?"
"That I'd discuss it with you and get back to him."
"Go ahead and send him a copy. I hope he finds what he's looking for. —And DD&B might turn its nose up at RUSH, but I'd say Phillip Davidson is someone who wouldn't mind granting a favor in return, should one ever be needed."
"I thought of that."
"I figured you had."
Mason smiled, sat back in his chair, and said, "There's one more issue I need to disc
uss. My son is in a private kindergarten right now, but he's going to be entering public school next autumn."
"Damn," Elliott said, "I know where this is going."
Mason nodded. "It's time. There will be forms to fill out and kids ask other kids where their parents work, what their fathers do. Already Joshua thinks I work at a place called Hurry Up. It won't be long before he puts that together with RUSH."
"Hurry Up?"
Smiles went around the table.
"So how much longer will we have you?" Oliver asked.
"Not long. I've got two attorneys in mind, possibly three for you to talk to, see what you think. But I'll stay on long enough to make sure whoever you decide on is prepared to take over."
"Well," Michael said, "we knew going in that this was gonna happen. If you've got some people you feel good about, we'll listen. We talked about buying you out when it was time, too."
"We'll need to discuss the sale of Ethan's shares as well," Malcolm said. "Let's all use this coming week to decide whether or not we want to consider an outside buyer. Meanwhile, everyone be prepared to coordinate some free time for interviews. Mason, when you're ready, go ahead and contact the law firm that finalized our partnership. We'll try to move things along for you as quickly as possible."
"Thanks, Malcolm. I appreciate it."
Malcolm nodded. "There's something else I want to bring to the table before we're joined by the management team." He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "There have been some interesting ideas to come out of our suggestion boxes. This is another one from Hannah. It's dated this past Saturday." He looked at Elliott. "I believe it might be time to consider a rise."
Elliott chuckled. "It's called a 'raise' here in the states. And yes, I've been thinking the same thing. Hannah's worked just about every weekend for the past two and half months. She's kept things running smoothly."
"Three percent?"
"Sounds good."
"Everyone?"
The amount was agreed on and Malcolm used his left hand to make a note on his legal pad. "Apparently," he went on, "Hannah recognized one of our clients—someone who wears a mask. She doesn't mention a name in her suggestion, but she knows this particular woman has a primary residence in New York. Which caused her to wonder if we have other clients from around the country and whether it might be worthwhile to add a hotel to our repertoire."
"Geez . . . ."
Malcolm continued. "There's no For Sale sign on it, but she goes on to say that the acreage adjacent to our west wall might be available. She suggests we check into it and go in low with an offer." He smiled wryly. "Low, because the owner may find it difficult to sell due to its proximity to RUSH."
A long, contemplative silence followed. Malcolm refolded the paper and slid it back inside his pocket.
"Forget the raise," Oliver said. "We should be offering Hannah stock in the company."
CHAPTER 11
Ali wasn't sure what to expect by coming to RUSH. She had two goals in mind though. First, she wanted to know that Rachel was safe here. Jill kept assuring her everything was fine, that Rachel was making extraordinary progress. But how could this place be safe when the body of a young woman had been found behind one of the nightclubs? The media had reported handcuffs embedded in the walls, a secret underground maze of tunnels, and a pillory on the grounds—a medieval punishment device, for heaven's sake. Undoubtedly it would be a woman locked up in one of those things. What sort of punishment would she have to undergo and why? What sort of place was this? After the way that jerk Michael Vassek had treated Rachel, Ali needed to find out for herself. She'd been having trouble falling asleep at night. Thoughts about Rachel, that pillory, and secret tunnels kept flitting across her mind.
The website hadn't been helpful at all. It never had been. She'd checked it often enough—first out of disbelief and morbid curiosity, then out of fear because of Rachel's interest. And lately . . . yes, because of Mason—which was the second reason she was here.
Her impressions of him were so far removed from medieval torture devices, and so contrary to the deviant rumors that circulated every time RUSH was in the news, that she wanted to see him in this environment. She wanted to know the truth, one way or the other, and put to rest all the awful dots she'd connected in her mind.
Learning that he was part of RUSH, that he was one of the corporate partners, for goodness sake, had stunned her. It had taken days for the reality of that to sink in until it didn't surprise her every time she thought about it. And then she'd been left with the feeling of having been cheated of something that might have become special, something she'd been waiting for all her life it seemed. It was that—the feeling of having been cheated —that wouldn't seem to go away. She'd gotten past the shock, was learning to live with the disappointment, and was trying to forget the man who had made a sizeable impact on her emotions after knowing him only a few hours. But this sense of having been cheated of something that waited for her—continued waiting for her—wouldn't go away.
So here she was. She'd made an appointment to see him under the auspices of watching out for Rachel. His secretary had mentioned two entrances and said the parking garage at the gate on Treeline Drive was closest to the administrative building. But Ali had missed the turnoff, so she'd gone on to the entrance at International Drive—the entrance where that girl's car had been overturned by a rioting mass of protesters just a couple of weeks ago.
Today only a handful of people milled about the grassy area in front of the stucco wall. She put on her turn signal and edged into the turnoff lane, then tensed when they began yelling at her, pumping their posters in the air.
Four uniformed security guards stood a post in front of the massive gates and stepped forward as though anticipating trouble. But she passed without incident to the guardhouse and a fifth security guard approached her car.
Braking, she lowered her window, and saw that he carried a tablet computer in one hand.
"Good morning," he said, ignoring the shouts out on I-Drive. "How can I help you?"
Ali removed her sunglasses and returned his greeting. "Good morning. I'm Alison Brosig. I have an eleven o'clock appointment to see Mason Ingersol."
He lifted the tablet, tapped the center of it with a stylus, then tapped again. "Right here. I'll need to scan your driver's license, Ms. Brosig."
She reached inside her purse for her wallet, handed over her license, and watched as he slid the magnetic strip through a slot on the side of his tablet.
"And now I'll need you to press your hand onto the screen so we can match your handprint to your ID." He tilted the tablet toward her and rested it against the window opening.
"Why do you need my handprint?"
"Because all the doors in RUSH are operated by biometric scanners. Plus, if you stop for something to eat at the food court, scanning your hand at the register will post the cost to your account." He smiled. "It also means you ladies don't have to carry a purse if you don't want to."
"I see."
She did as he asked and he returned her license. "Drive through the gate and follow the road to the parking garage. You'll see signs for guest parking, and signs for the checkpoint and Member Services."
"Okay. Thanks."
"You're welcome. Enjoy your visit."
She raised the window and watched her side of the gate glide open. Her stomach tensed. It was eerie to drive through the mysterious gates —gates through which no one passed without exclusive membership or personal invitation—gates that led to a place of so much controversial publicity, she would probably lose her job by being here.
The grounds were as beautiful as the photo on the website portrayed them to be, only more so. She drove through a jungle canopy of tropical vegetation, slowed to stare at the bunches of bananas on banana trees, then lowered her window to breathe in the fragrance of flowers and freshly watered earth.
Level 1 inside the parking garage was full which surprised h
er. Orange County schools had closed for winter break, but it was Friday morning. Didn't any of these people have jobs in the private sector?
She found a slot on Level 2, parked, and shut off the engine. After a moment's hesitation she opened the door, slid out, and began following the signs that pointed toward the checkpoint. Opting for the stairs instead of the elevator, she realized she was gripping the strap of her handbag and consciously eased her hold. There was no reason to be nervous. Mason was expecting her and she'd told Jill where she was going.
On the ground level she encountered another uniformed guard, this one driving an open electric car that bore a decal identifying it as a RUSH Security vehicle. Just how big was this place? The guard nodded a greeting and continued on his way and for some reason she felt a little better.
A short distance to her left, a softly glowing sign above a pair of wide pneumatic doors showed her she'd found Checkpoint 1. They slid open as she approached, leading into a short, wide corridor. An elevator just to the right caught her attention because it had no call button. Instead, a small rectangular sheet of glass was imbedded in the wall beside it and she was reminded of the biometric scanners she'd seen on television. On her left another set of doors led to Member Services, but she wasn't a member and she didn't plan to be so she continued forward, the heels of her leather boots scuffing softly on the pale marble floor.
Security cameras were mounted to the ceiling and positioned at angles that surveilled all the entrances, the corridor, and the elevator. She'd noticed them inside the parking garage as well and noted even more in the lobby. She continued on toward a long, chest-high counter where four other guards were busy taking care of whatever needed taking care of back there.
"May I help you?"
"Yes. I'm Alison Brosig," she introduced herself again. "I have an appointment to see Mason Ingersol."
He tapped a few keys on a computer keyboard then said, "Spell your last name please, Ms. Brosig."
She did, and apparently her name came up in the right place because he looked up and smiled. "Are you familiar with our check-in procedures?"
