by Laurie Lewis
“I feel as if we’re already old friends,” she laughed.
“You arrived just in time. Come with me.”
Ethan guided her past the main reception area, down a hallway that ended in a blue marble wall where an eagle-eyed Latina woman sat at a desk. The impressiveness of the space, and the woman’s instant dislike of her, assured Olivia that this was Hudson’s office, and the woman was Alejandra.
Ethan ushered her to the left, into a glass-walled conference room where eleven people sat around a long mahogany table with their laptops open. “Everyone, this is Olivia. I know you’re all familiar with her work.”
Genuine welcome radiated from each face. Olivia nodded and smiled as everyone introduced themselves. Ethan opened the meeting with a brief synopsis of several upcoming assignments, which included another microbusiness project and a water project Hudson and The Bauer Group had been focused on for the past two years. In Ethan’s words, “Sweet Water” had the potential to change the geopolitical future of parched areas of the world and, therefore, was a top priority for The Bauer Group, the WHO, and the majority of the UN General Assembly.
The name of the project struck Olivia immediately. “Sweet Water” came from Hudson’s great-grandparents’ legacy, the idea that a good man had a duty to provide this basic element of life for his family. Family. Olivia knew that was at the crux of the name. This wasn’t a financial enterprise. This was personal.
After Ethan’s intro, he turned to Olivia. “After reviewing the beautiful job you did with the Syrian refugees’ microbusiness venture, we’re all agreed that we’d like you to head up the new microbusiness project. We’re calling it MBA—MicroBusiness America.” Olivia’s heart sank. She so wanted to be on the Sweet Water project.
By day’s end, three committee members were assigned to her team. After three brainstorming days, individual assignments would be made. Everyone would then go off to work independently, and Olivia would return to New York as needed.
When Ethan closed the meeting, he asked her to stay behind. Olivia used the opportunity to settle the question that nagged at her peace. “Tell me straight, Ethan. Did I earn this opportunity on my own merits, or on Hudson’s recommendation?”
His brow furrowed. “The team reviewed your work and voted you in. Hudson didn’t know I had chosen you for the committee until I told him. And for the record, no one else on the team knows you were Hudson’s colleague at college.”
“Colleague?” She forced a smile. “Is that how he described me?”
“And that you are a wizard of design. And he was right, but then again, the boss has always had a knack for hiring the best talent.” He breathed on his fingernails and polished them against his shirt. “I wish you’d consider moving here. There is so much more I could involve you in if you were in-house.”
The offer both intrigued and terrified her. “Maybe someday. I’d really like to work on the Sweet Water project.”
“No, no. no. You can’t do your best work on two projects. Especially while telecommuting. And the Sweet Water team may have to travel to Africa. No. I need you on MBA.”
“Please, Ethan. I promise my work on MBA won’t suffer. The idea behind Sweet Water is important to me. I don’t need to play a large role. I’d just like to contribute.”
He placed a finger on his lips and frowned. “Sweet Water is Hudson’s pet project.” Ethan smiled. “All right. I’ll have the Sweet Water team assign you something small. Also, Hudson asked me to give this to you.” He handed her an envelope bearing Hudson’s HB insignia.
“What is this?”
“Rumor has it that it’s a dinner invitation for two at five o’clock at the restaurant here in the tower. Now hurry!”
Olivia blushed red. “Thank you, Ethan. For everything.”
A nervous excitement rolled over her as she gazed at Hudson’s mysterious dinner invitation. She grieved again over her uninspired, sensible wardrobe, but she took a moment to brush her hair out and apply fresh lipstick before presenting her reservation to the maître d’. His eyes brightened at the mention of her name. He produced another envelope from a drawer at his station and handed it to her. It read:
Never worry that you are your mother. She possesses the same
beautiful eyes, but you are not her. Enjoy your visit and see for yourself. H
Dinner with her mother? With her romantic expectations dashed, Olivia wanted to run straight back and tell Hudson off for meddling. Before she could make her exit, the maître d’ led the way to an area by the fountain. Seated there, nervously toying with her compact, was Diane. Olivia wondered what her surname was now and what husband she was currently with. She studied her mother from the doorway, noting how timid and fretful she appeared. It had been almost ten years since they had last seen one another—Christmas of Olivia’s junior year. Time was leaving its mark on Diane’s beauty, but she was still what her last husband called her—a looker.
Diane pressed her hands over her mouth and gasped when she recognized Olivia. When she stood, she appeared small beside her stately daughter, requiring a stretch to reach her arms around Olivia’s neck, and in return, Olivia bent to receive her mother’s awkward hug. Diane’s eyes glistened as she studied her, muttering, “you’re so beautiful” and reaching for her hand over and over until Olivia begged her to stop and look at the menu.
The catch-up came quickly. Diane was still married to Peter Thibodeaux. The Louisiana plumbing contractor had opened her world, introducing her to NASCAR, Bluegrass music, and Cajun cuisine. She was even taking college classes.
Olivia redirected all questions about her past eight years, avoiding any discussion of Jeff. The last thing she wanted was to have her mother compare their choices and marriages.
“I can’t stay long. I have a meeting back in the tower.”
Diane’s eyes sparkled with pride. “In this tower? Smart and beautiful. You’re exactly as I imagined.”
Olivia hung on the words. “You imagined me smart and beautiful?”
“Of course. You were destined to be beautiful, but I knew your smarts would be your ticket.”
Tears burned Olivia’s eyes. “I never felt pretty. I thought I was a disappointment to you.”
Diane drew close and framed Olivia’s face in her hands. “No, no, baby girl. I was the disappointment. I felt your disapproval, even when you were little. My momma valued beauty, and that’s all I had. But I wanted something better for you, and look at what you’ve become: a successful businesswoman who can send her mother on a trip to New York City!”
Hudson had apparently arranged everything in Olivia’s name, and she didn’t correct the misunderstanding. Conversation came easier from that point on. When the pair parted, the hugs were genuine, and they made plans to meet again before leaving the city.
To her surprise, tears filled her eyes as she made her way to Hudson’s office to thank him for making the arrangements. Alejandra was still at her station, guarding the palace. She greeted Olivia with a smile carved into the concrete set of her face. “Hello, Mrs. McAllister.”
Olivia froze and stepped back. “You know who I am?”
“I made your flight arrangements.”
The explanation did not lessen the strange vibe the woman was giving Olivia. “I’d like to see Hudson, please.”
There wasn’t the slightest shift in the woman’s expression, though Olivia didn’t believe her when she said, “I’m very sorry. Hudson left for Bahrain this afternoon. Shall I give him a message when he calls in?”
Olivia knew Hudson’s trusted assistant wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “Please just tell him I said thank you.” And without pressing further, Olivia turned and left.
18
A gentle hand fell softly on Hudson’s shoulder, momentarily drawing his attention from the street scene eighty-seven floors below.
“She just stopped by to say thank you. I told her what you said, that you were on your way to Bahrain. It’s your fault I’ll be going to confessi
on this Sunday.”
Hudson’s pinched reflection looked back at him from the window. “How did she seem?”
“Happy. Content. You did a nice thing for her tonight.”
He laid his hand over Alejandra’s.
“You’re a good guy, Hudson. Have I told you that lately?”
“Good enough to warrant some of your homemade empanadas?”
“Homemade empanadas? I’m a big executive now, with a very demanding boss. I don’t have time to cook.” She gave his shoulder a pat and walked a few steps away. “All joking aside, I’m worried about you. You’re here day and night. Barely sleeping or eating. You look like hell.”
He turned to her and smiled. “Now you have another topic for confession.”
“This woman isn’t good for you. You can’t afford to go back down that rabbit hole again. Too much depends on you right now.”
He rubbed his fingers deep into his eyes.
“I see. You still love her, and you can’t get those feelings to go away.”
“I’m all right, Alejandra. Having her so close today was tough.”
“As every day has been since she came back into your life. End this once and for all. Go to her and tell her you still love her. Get couples’ therapy or call my priest to conduct an exorcism on you so you can be free.”
He laughed. “I hadn’t considered some of those options.”
“I’m serious, Hudson.”
“It’s out of my hands,” he answered brusquely, as he moved to his desk and slumped into his chair. “I’m sorry. I can’t go to her anymore. Olivia has lived her entire life by other people’s expectations. I’m not going to impose mine on her. She deserves the opportunity to become her own person. If that journey brings her back to me, I’ll be the happiest man alive.”
“And if it doesn’t? Will you be able to survive that?”
19
Two days after returning from New York, Olivia locked Hudson’s beach house, severing this tie to Hudson and the past they shared. Closing her eyes, she retrieved a sweet moment, a final image to hold on to from those early days. Several bubbled into her memory and were quickly eclipsed by the memory of their final anguished goodbye and kiss.
Laurel, Ben, and Joey were the only bright spots in Olivia’s personal life. Pepper sent Olivia a final text admitting that she had been wrong about her ability to be an objective counselor. She realized that her relationship with Hudson continued to get in the way. She sent several referrals, but Olivia never called any of them.
Rain and clouds cloaked her in a world as gray as her mood. Six weeks passed in a fog of work, broken only by time spent with Laurel and her family or at the gym Olivia joined. She missed the beach, but even without Hudson’s house and his view of the sea, thoughts of him crept into unoccupied moments. Guilt always followed, creating a painful, unending cycle.
The day finally arrived for her visit with Susan and the long-awaited opening of the safe deposit box. Conversations over the month helped the women retain the progress they had made in their relationship. When Susan arrived, Olivia honestly saw her as a welcome friend.
Small talk on the way to the bank centered around three themes: Olivia’s recovery, her new home, and Susan’s work. The love Susan felt for her students was evident to Olivia, but when the conversation hit a noticeable lull, Susan asked, “Is Hudson still keeping in touch?”
The question seemed additionally awkward coming from Jeff’s sister. Olivia stalled while she considered how to answer. “He was a wonderful support to me. He couldn’t have been a better friend, but it was time for him to get back to his own life.”
“Hudson is a good man. Did I tell you that I’ve always assumed that he’s the benefactor who funded The Pioneer School?”
“How would he have even known you needed a new school?”
It didn’t surprise her. Hudson’s goodness caused another ache in Olivia’s heart that hovered over the remainder of the ride to the bank.
Mr. Curtis, the bank manager, examined Susan’s ID before leading her and Olivia to a private room. He left, and returned a few minutes later with a long metal box, which he set on a table. “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything further.”
Olivia felt chills snake up and down her spine as the door closed, and she handed Susan the key. For a moment, she questioned the plan, but before she could reconsider, Susan opened the box.
It was empty except for the items Susan expected—a copy of her parent’s will and Jeff and Susan’s birth certificates—and a plain manila envelope. Susan picked the envelope up, opened it, and removed the contents. A handwritten letter lay between a stapled document and a sheet of paper.
She looked at Olivia and down at her shaking hands. “It’s for you.”
Olivia recognized the handwriting immediately—Hudson’s—though the penmanship was sloppier than normal. One glance at the first line, and she knew why.
I’ll be gone before you two return.
Now Olivia’s hands began to shake as she read the pleasure Jeff’s friends—the wedding goers—took in delivering news of the nuptials to Hudson. And then she hit these lines:
When Jeff didn’t show up for the meeting, I assumed he was sleeping off a party binge or with a member of his entourage. But you two? I never saw this coming. How long was I the stooge? I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I can’t see us working together going forward, so I’m giving you two Arena Corp as a wedding gift. I owe it to our investors to make sure it succeeds, but after a year, I’ll bow out. My attorney will make transfer arrangements. I guess there’s nothing left to say except, be happy, Liv. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.
Hudson
The shaking moved into her legs. Olivia leaned into the table to steady herself while the information in the letter sank in. “Hudson gave us Arena Corp.”
“What?” Susan picked up the stapled pages. “Yes, he did. Here are the documents.” She scanned several pages. “They were signed by Jeff through a proxy in 2009, and the company was sold in 2011.” Susan’s head cocked to the side. “You didn’t know this?”
“No. I didn’t know a lot of things. How could Jeff have kept this from me?”
Susan sat heavily into a chair. “Where did the money go?”
“I have no idea. It didn’t come to us.” She remembered Hudson’s allusion to Jeff’s secrets. “Hudson knew. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Jeff was with you every day. How could he own a fortune and live like—” She caught the pain in Olivia’s face over the reference to their lifestyle. “I’m sorry, Olivia. None of this makes any sense. There has to be an explanation. Maybe he wasn’t husband of the year, but neither was he deceitful. I just can’t wrap my mind around this.”
Olivia reached over and picked up the last piece of paper. It was blank except for a series of letters and numbers written in Jeff’s hand. “Another mystery. I can’t take any more.” Tears streaked down her face as she dropped her head into her hands. A sense of frailty overtook Olivia, as if her entire world was made of sand. Wringing her hands, she said, “I need to get out of here. I can’t think about this right now.”
The women closed the box and opened the door, finding the bank manager standing near.
“Is there anything else I can do for you ladies?”
“No, thank you,” Olivia managed to say. “We appreciate your help.” As she beelined for the exit, Susan turned back to the man.
“Could you take a look at something for us? Olivia, can I show him the numbers?”
Olivia handed Susan the sheet.
“Do these letters and numbers mean anything to you?” asked Susan. “They belonged to a man named Jeff McAllister. He passed away several months ago. Does that name ring a bell?”
The banker studied the paper and bit the side of his cheek. “I believe this series follows Switzerland’s IBAN, or International Bank Account Number format.” He pointed to the string of characters. “The ‘C’ and ‘H’ here are the count
ry code for Switzerland. The rest of these numbers are in the right order and of the correct length to identify a bank and an account, but you’d need someone to run it through an IBAN validation program to verify its authenticity.”
“Could you?” Susan stopped herself and turned to Olivia. “I’m sorry. It’s your call.”
Olivia nodded. “Please. Would you do it? We’d both like to know.”
He left for a few minutes and returned with an apologetic smile. “I thought I remembered the name Jeff McAllister, but I needed to be sure. Six or seven years ago, Mr. McAllister made an appointment with me, asking me to recommend a Swiss bank. I did my research and called him back, suggesting Zurich Cantonal, which another of our clients uses. That’s all I know. Mr. McAllister contacted them and made all the financial arrangements himself.”
“So he really did it,” said Olivia flatly, as the chaos and betrayal rushed back in.
Susan’s eyes welled up. “Mr. Curtis, can we access that account? We need answers.”
“Did he have a will?”
The women looked at one another and shook their heads. “He died in an accident,” said Olivia. “Wills just didn’t seem important to a man of thirty.”
Mr. Curtis’s face softened with understanding. “I do understand. However, I’m afraid Mr. McAllister’s passing, the international nature of this account, and the absence of a will complicates matters considerably. You need a good attorney to sort this out.”
Olivia thanked the man, grabbed Susan’s hand, and pulled her through the front door as her mind wrestled with an increasing list of questions. There was money she never knew about. Money from Arena Corp. Money they could have built a life with. Why had Jeff kept it secret?
“Do you have a good attorney?”
“That depends on your definition of good.” Olivia did know an attorney, a sleazebag who knew how to bend the rules to get information, and Larry Brewster owed her.
