Destined

by Patricia Haley

  Destined

  Also by Patricia Haley

  Chosen

  Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

  Still Waters

  No Regrets

  Blind Faith

  Nobody’s Perfect

  Destined

  PATRICIA HALEY

  GALLERY BOOKS

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Patricia Haley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Gallery Books trade paperback edition June 2010

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  Designed by Carla Jayne Little

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-1-4165-8063-8

  ISBN 978-1-4165-8351-6 (ebook)

  Destined is dedicated to special family members who’ve gone on to glory in the past year, but whose zest for life and love for family will always be remembered as an inspiration.

  Uncle Willie David Haley

  Aunt Hilda Mae Haley Handford

  Demetri “Meechie” Miller, Sr.

  and

  Treva Ann Tenner

  When anxiety was great within me,

  your consolation brought joy to my soul.

  —Psalm 94:19

  Prologue

  Heartache and disappointment were his constant companions. Once the recommendation was handed down from his so-called father, the almighty Dave Mitchell, his baby brother, Joel, was running the company. Twenty-three years old and barely out of diapers and teething rings. Don sat quietly with no retort, unlike his mother, Madeline. He slowly packed his belongings, avoiding eye contact with the board members as they scattered from the room with his mother nipping at their heels.

  The decision was one of many rips in the veil of affection he’d worked so hard to mend. This time he wasn’t four years old, crying himself to sleep for a father who now had a different home. He was a thirty-one-year-old man seeking only respect, since his father’s love continued to elude him.

  His mother came back into the room after chasing everyone else away. “Mother, it’s done,” he said while fumbling with the stack of papers in his portfolio. “Dave Mitchell made his choice and it wasn’t me.” He braced both hands against the mahogany table and let his head bow with eyes closed. “What did I expect?”

  “Don’t you worry,” she consoled. “I’m not going to stand for this. You are the rightful heir to your father’s ministry. Now that DMI is worth more than a billion dollars, your father’s little conniving, gold-digging wife wants it, too. I don’t know what your father was thinking, but when I’m through, you’ll be in charge. That’s a promise, if it’s the last thing I do. I will not lose to her, not again, not without a fight. I mean a real war this time.” Her voice faded for a second but Don knew she was putting on a brave face, guarded by a tough disposition. Others saw his mother as a shrewd businesswoman, but his image of her was padded by the countless childhood memories he had of her crying when she thought no one was looking. Loss after loss spread over two decades was bound to wear her down.

  “Don, don’t you worry. I’ll take care of this. Your father has to answer to me,” she said, pausing for a moment, regaining strength in her voice. “He has to do right by at least one of my children. There’s no way I’m going to stand by and let that woman and your father destroy you. It won’t happen.”

  Steering clear of the conversation surrounding his siblings was the best approach to take with his mother, given the fresh layer of defeat she was experiencing yet again at the hands of Dave and Sherry Mitchell. “Mother, don’t bother.” Every time there was peace and a chance for his mother to consider releasing the anger she harbored about the divorce, something new came up to nurse her bitterness—years of fresh cuts on an old scab.

  Don’s heart sank deeper, which he didn’t think possible. Madeline was a committed and nurturing mother. He wanted her, at sixty-two, to begin living her life outside the clutches of bitterness, but he didn’t know how to help her make the transition when he couldn’t help himself.

  She squeezed his shoulder tight and pushed her cheek next to his.

  Don blew out a deep breath as he watched his mother leave the boardroom. He wanted someone to do something, but in the end he knew no one could. No sense fretting any longer. Don packed up and left the room, semidazed. He clashed into Joel upon entering the hallway.

  “Good, you’re still here.” Joel extended his hand to Don. “I know this is awkward but I look forward to us working together and maybe getting to know each other better,” he said. “I can learn a lot from you,” he said jovially.

  Don didn’t extend his hand. There wasn’t much to say.

  The enthusiasm in Joel’s eyes fizzled. Maybe he was shocked and remorseful or maybe he really was that selfish, spoiled-rotten kid who was good at pretending to be sincere when it benefited him. Either way, Don would maintain a semblance of dignity. He planted his feet solidly, pleading with his soul not to let an inkling of his disappointment be exposed, not running the risk of giving Joel extra gratification.

  “I had nothing to do with this decision. This came from our father,” Joel said with his back stiffening. “For whatever reason, he feels that this is the way to go. Apparently he’s prayed about it and feels like this is what God wants him to do. I didn’t ask for the role. As a matter of fact, I asked Dad to reconsider and let you take the lead.”

  “Why would he do that? You’re the new man in charge,” Don said, and let the realization sink in. “Although I’m the oldest and the most legitimate.”

  Joel took a step back.

  Don felt good letting the wind out of the chosen one’s sails. The controversy surrounding their father leaving his wife to marry the much younger secretary wasn’t easily forgotten. Twenty-five years had passed and the fallout remained raw. The innuendos about Joel’s legitimacy must have stirred a hornet’s nest, judging by the cutting look he was giving Don. It seemed best to calm the brooding waters before the awkward conversation got out of hand.

  Conscious of escalating the tension, Don quickly acted to diffuse it. “If our father and Sherry deem you the most suited to run DMI, then that’s the way it is.”

  “Leave my mother out of this.”

  “How can I?” Her reign as the other Mrs. Dave Mitchell had led to the perpetual and merciless annihilation of Don’s family. Rehashing the past with his father’s other son was a waste of time. Before Joel became too defensive, Don shifted the focus back to the business. “Regardless, I’m willing to be a team player.” He heard the words squeak through his teeth and wondered from where they’d come. If only they were true. Don was a half-smashed bug under Joel’s feet, hoping the crushing weight would leave enough ego
intact for him to crawl away, balancing a load of dejection on his back. This wasn’t his brother. Joel was no more than an unwanted relative wedged into his world. Don conjured up as much gratitude as his pride would allow and slung it at his father’s son.

  “Don,” Joel raised his voice and spewed, “I came to you with open arms and this is what I get from you?” He scowled. “You were welcome to stay, so long as you left my mother out of this, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

  “What do you mean?” Don said, taking a step back this time. His father and Abigail, the consummate and faithful assistant, were gingerly moving toward them.

  “I don’t think you need to be around here.”

  “What?” He chuckled. “You have to be joking.”

  “I’m not,” Joel said, staring into Don’s eyes.

  “Who do you think you are? My mother built this ministry. Your mother just stepped in.” Abigail and Dad were coming close.

  “Come on, is that the best you can do?” Joel said.

  The passive approach wasn’t working. Don had to demand that his disapproval remain harnessed. His glaring eyes clashed with Joel’s in the center of the hallway before he began walking away, praying every step of the way that his burning distress would never graze the surface. What was the point? Hating his half brother for always getting the best couldn’t come close to alleviating his rage.

  He burst down the hallway seeking an exit, without speaking a single word to his father. Everything had been said.

  Dad called out for Don, as he stood on his cane, letting his gaze limp around the room. Abigail went after Don. Joel didn’t budge.

  “What happened?” Dad asked, clearly shaken by the outrage of his sons.

  “I had to fire him. I didn’t want to, but what could I do?”

  “He’s your brother,” Dad said, barely audible, as Don hustled down the corridor.

  “And Sherry is my mother. I have to protect her. Let’s face it, Don hates me and Mom. Dad, I know this isn’t what you wanted to happen, but he had to go. If this company is going to succeed under my leadership, I have to cut out anything and anyone who wants to undermine me and your vision,” he said, hesitating. “That includes family.”

  “Son, my heart is heavy. Don’t give the enemy an opportunity to destroy our family or the ministry any further.”

  Don stood outside, looking but not seeing beyond his dilemma. He peered into the early evening autumn sky, watching the sun dip behind the tiny clouds, appearing unable to maintain its rightful position in the forefront. Abigail was gone. She’d followed him in a gracious attempt to comfort him. Generally her presence was sufficient to turn his cloudy days into sunny ones. The blow he’d sustained from his father and Joel were too powerful even for Abigail’s healing touch. The sun’s rays finally succumbed to the resistance and faded behind the baby clouds, offering no warmth for his chilled heart. The reality of his darkness set in. He dashed to his car determined to get away, as far away as possible.

  chapter

  1

  We don’t have anyone else to turn to,” Abigail said. “I shouldn’t ask, but I truly need you to come home.”

  Her plea sailed across the miles, resonating with him. Don fed on the tranquil ambiance of Cape Town, peering from his office window into the majestic rich blue sky carpeted by the bay, which was generally still warm this early into the year. Solitude had suited him well. His small leadership training company was thriving. After fleeing from Detroit, Don poured his energy and wit into LTI, determined to make it a success without David Mitchell or DMI influence. His company didn’t offer extravagant accommodations, but the breathtaking view of Table Mountain from any window seemed to keep morale soaring.

  Two years and eleven months since he’d set foot in South Africa, and not a day wasted. Sanity was slow coming and forgiveness even slower, but he’d managed somehow to reach this place of peace, a place that seemed unattainable at the onset of his escape from Detroit, from the pit of his hell, the place he used to call home. Keeping a safe distance from the Mitchell drama was wise, but Abigail’s plea was difficult to discount. Don recalled telling her that no matter where he was in the world, they would only be a phone call apart. He intended to honor his promise, especially since she hadn’t asked him for anything before now. He wanted to say yes without hesitation, but the power of tranquility wouldn’t let him hastily commit. “Why do I need to come back to Detroit? Can I help you from here?”

  Abigail paused and he could sense the distress in her words. “I don’t think so. We need you here, me and your mother. We’re in big trouble with the company. I really believe Joel has gone too far with this merger and has driven DMI into serious financial instability.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Worse. I’m not even doing it justice. We’re in serious trouble and you’re the only one who can help. You have to take over the CEO position, that’s the only way we will have a shot at salvaging DMI.” There was a time when no challenge, number of miles, or situation was large enough to keep him from getting to Abigail. But the time was a while ago. Life, Joel, and circumstances had eroded the pull but hadn’t completely dissolved his affection for her.

  “Your mother is calling an emergency board meeting in two days. I’m counting on a miracle. If you can get your sister’s stock shares, your mother and I will give you ours. Combined, you’ll have the majority.”

  “An easy ride into the CEO position?” A role he once earnestly sought, a dream that had been stomped out. The automatic elation wasn’t there. He was smart enough not to get lured into the CEO illusion.

  “You got it. Are you up for the challenge? Can we count on you to help us?”

  “It’s a huge request.”

  “But you’re the only one that I can ask for help.”

  He wanted to say no flat out, but he couldn’t do that to Abigail, not easily. “I don’t know. I’ll have to seriously think about it.”

  “Don’t take too long. You’ll need to leave soon if you plan to be here in time. I’m praying that you say yes.”

  “We’ll see. I’ll think about it and give you a call back later today,” he said, closing out the conversation and clicking off the speakerphone button. He let his jumbled thoughts wander. The excruciating ache deep in his heart had subsided to a dull manageable pain. There wasn’t an urgency to dig into the closed wound by hopping a plane to Detroit without absolute certainty that there was no other way to help.

  The melodious voice interrupted him, breaking his gaze across the ocean. Naledi graced the room with the blended hue of her skin capturing the essence of Africa, India, and Europe. Even her accent was perfectly blended with a heavy dose of the local dialect and a distinctive sprinkling of French. After twenty-three months together, he was as equally mesmerized by her today as he was when they’d met. He looked up to catch a quick glimpse of her standing at his office door and was comforted. She renewed his faith in the possibility of long-lasting commitment. Disappointment and heartache would no longer hold him captive. Don beckoned for her to come in.

  “We must make a visit to Unilever in their Paris office. Have a look at your diary and let me know what dates are good.” Naledi said.

  Images of Detroit and his deceased father’s struggling ministry, DMI, whisked in like a tsunami, hindering his ability to concentrate on what Naledi was saying. He beckoned for her to take a seat. “You might have to take the trip to Paris for me.” That part was easy, asking her to fill in for him. He’d grown to rely heavily on her loyalty and aptitude, a certainty that had long passed from his old friend in Detroit. Abigail belonged to DMI and to his brother, the core of his ache. Shake it off, he thought. Naledi looked puzzled. “I might have to go home,” he told her.

  “I see; it has been a time since your last visit. Will you be there one week?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe a day, maybe a week, maybe a month,” he said, rearing back in the chair, tapping his fingers together. “If I go, and that’s
a big if, I’ll be there as long as it takes, I guess,” he said, not interested in conveying false confidence. He felt compelled but not fully devoted to saving his father’s company from the peril his brother had created. The peace he languished so freely was a direct result of cutting the ties with Detroit and building his own world. Jumping back into the fray wasn’t generating a warm sensation. Yet, the only two people he cared about in Detroit were seeking his help. His head, which was responsible for rational thinking, wasn’t aligned with his heart, which was pushing him toward shark-infested waters to save a drowning company.

  “I do hope that all is well with your family.”

  Don chuckled. “My family is never completely well. There’s always something wrong with somebody.” He chuckled more. “It’s the Mitchell way.” The translation into terms Naledi could understand would be too much, so he didn’t bother. Not because she was South African, more so because she was from a close family and couldn’t possibly understand his.

  “My friend Abigail pleaded with me to return to the States to fix a problem with DMI. Against my better judgment, I might have to go.”

  “If you’re not comfortable going, why should you go?”

  “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times and keep getting the same answer—maybe. Abigail wouldn’t ask unless it was critical. I can’t tell her no. On the other hand, I can’t say yes,” he said clasping his hands behind his neck and rearing back in the chair, then realizing no position would minimize his discomfort. “I’m not sure what I have to do there or how long it will take but I have to make a decision. I’d have to leave tonight or early tomorrow morning.” If he waited a single day, he’d probably not get involved at all.

  Naledi kept silent initially, then said, “Go for as long as you must. I will take care of matters here. Don’t worry; you can rely on me.”

  He already knew that. Don stood to give her a hug. At least in one corner of the world, life was stable for him, finally.