“It’s okay, I understand.” It really wasn’t okay. Sheba was his last best hope, but it wasn’t her fault. The timing didn’t work out for him, but he was thrilled for her. This was his time to support her.
“Joel, I have one hundred million that you can have.”
The limousine came to a stop in front of the John Hancock Center on North Michigan Avenue. Sheba told the driver that they needed a few more minutes.
“No, don’t worry about the money. You’re in the middle of a project. You might need the cash yourself. Hang on to it. I’ll figure out something,” he said, not sure what that meant.
“You’re taking the money. Give me the information and we can go upstairs right now and have the money transferred into your account.”
“But—” was the only word he could get out before she spoke.
“You’re taking this money. I’m not taking no for an answer. If the situation were reversed, you’d do the same for me. Besides, I remember when you gave me a check for thirty-five million as an investment into my boutiques, with no strings attached.” She rested her hand on his. “Consider this an investment into your vision.”
“Thank you,” he said, grateful to have Sheba in his life. He was still two hundred short but, thanks to her, the road left to trudge was shorter and the goal more obtainable. She would forever be in his inner circle, no matter who else was in his life.
chapter
13
Abigail and Don sat in the great room of his infrequently used condo. Confusion is not from God. Don repeated the paraphrased verse over and over, reassuring his conscience that the mound of chaos wasn’t the end result. It never failed. If he was at DMI, there was going to be trouble. He could develop a complex if it wasn’t for the success he’d achieved before Joel’s reign and the substantial accomplishment he was currently realizing with his own company. Cape Town seemed far away; Naledi did, too. When he’d hired Naledi to be his assistant, there wasn’t the slightest inclination that their rapport would evolve into a relationship of sorts. His thoughts were humming.
“Can I get you some more water?” he asked. “You know that’s all I have here.” He propped his feet on the ottoman. “I need to get rid of this place, but Mother won’t hear of it. She’s gone so far as to offer to pay the monthly maintenance fees.”
“I don’t blame her. As long as you have a home here, it feels like you’re not really gone,” said Abigail.
“I’m here, but I do have to run back home and take care of a few things. I left Naledi there with no idea of how long I’d be gone.” Don noticed Abigail fidget when he mentioned Naledi’s name. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“It’s nothing.”
He groaned without responding.
“If you leave, how do I know that you’re coming back?” she asked.
“Trust me, I’m coming back. You’re the main one who helped convince me that this chaos is my so-called destiny.”
Abigail wasn’t in her usual jovial mood. Don didn’t press the issue. There would be time to figure out what was going on with her, outside of the obvious dejection stemming from Joel’s recklessness. For now, Don had to set Detroit aside and take care of LTI. His own expansion plans into France and England were underway and required his leadership attention. God had to have a plan. It was the only way this confusion could make sense. He was stretching across two continents, two companies, two missions, and two endearing friendships, none of which he wanted to surrender.
The day-long flight to Cape Town was preempted with a stopover in France. Don hadn’t spoken with Tamara since she’d run out of the building four days ago. He dialed her number again, at least the fiftieth time since she’d left. Worry threatened to consume him. He resisted, choosing to concentrate only on positive images. Tamara had suffered more than her share of trauma and grief. Don fervently prayed for his sister. In roughly twenty-five minutes, the driver he’d hired at the Nice airport was pulling up to her flat in Monaco. Don had never actually been to Tamara’s home. She moved every two or three years. He’d convinced her last year to let him have her address in case of a major emergency. Reluctantly she shared the information, mostly afraid that he would give the address to their mother. He promised never to reveal her address and had kept the promise.
Don’s French was weak, which was why Naledi was such a blessing. She spoke several languages fluently, including French. Her image brought comfort to his jittery soul. Worry and anxiousness mixed in his spirit, hurrying him to the doorman. Don rattled off the two French phrases he knew, which translated into “Do you speak English?” and “please.”
“Oui, monsieur, I speak a little English,” the gentleman responded.
“I’m here to see Ms. Tamara Mitchell in flat number forty-three. I’m her brother, Don Mitchell, visiting from the States. Can you please let her know I’m here?”
“No, I can’t, sir.”
Don’s mixture of worry and anxiousness turned to determination. “Why not? I’m her brother.” Tamara deserved her privacy, and he’d honored her request for many years, but she had to understand that he was frantic to know that she was okay. When he was only sixteen and Tamara seventeen, he couldn’t protect her from their brother, Andre. As a man now, Don was not leaving the building without seeing her. “I have to see my sister.” The language barrier didn’t prevent Don from making his intentions clear. He wasn’t leaving. Prepared for a battle, the doorman extracted a card-sized envelope from the receptionist’s desk and handed it to him. Don Mitchell was written across the front.
“I believe this is for you, monsieur.”
Don stared at the envelope extended to him. He didn’t want to take it. Notes weren’t too cheerful for their family. Sam had left one when he’d committed suicide. Tamara left one before running off. Don stood in the lobby, unable to think or move. The doorman left him with the note.
Every man had a limit. He had to be close to his. He’d lost two siblings, a third if he remotely considered Joel. Tamara was the only one left. She couldn’t be gone. There was no way he’d be able to comfort Madeline. Losing Tamara, really losing her, was certain death for his mother. He set the note down on the desk and buried his face into the palms of his hands and prayed silently: Father God, I know that you have the power to make this right. I’m asking you in the name of Jesus to protect my sister. Lord, my family needs some grace, a lot of grace. I’m willing to do what you want me to do, but I need your strength to deal with everything that’s coming at me.
Don took a deep breath, ready to read his sister’s fate. He slowly ripped the envelope open and removed the card, bracing for the worst. Skipping half the words in his haste to get to the end, the essence of Tamara’s note told Don that she wasn’t ready to be a part of the Mitchell family again. She apologized for letting him down and promised to contact him soon, when she was ready. Don buried his face in his palms again—this time in a moment of gratitude. “Thank you, Lord,” he said in a whisper. He couldn’t give Tamara a hug. He didn’t know where in the world she was, but at least there was no indication that she was gone for good. If she could hang on to life and continue trying to navigate her way to stability, then he would continue moving forward, too. Don was committed to trying to save DMI and his family. What he couldn’t figure out was why the road was so winding, painful, and full of struggles. He thanked the doorman, got in the car, and headed for the airport, unsure what calamity was in store.
chapter
14
The conference room was filled with local reporters. Joel hadn’t shied away from the camera until his love affair with the media had begun souring. During his glory days, which had lasted for a few years, they’d treated him like a rock star, clinging to his every move, hoping to get the coveted scoop. Times had changed, and he had to ensure that his personal matters weren’t exploited. Maintaining privacy was critical for his image. Joel removed his suit jacket and laid it across the chair in front of the podium. Abigail stood near the
podium with Joel. Sherry stood off to the side. There were no signs of Madeline or Don, which pleased Joel.
“The conference begins in eight minutes,” Abigail said, pulling him away from the microphones. “Remember, the purpose of this press conference is to ease concerns in the marketplace about the drop in sales, and to boost confidence.”
“We need to talk,” he told her, convinced that she’d change her mind and work with him to make the merger a reality.
She stepped farther away from the microphones, refusing to have her comments accidentally broadcasted around the room. “There is nothing else to say. Let’s get the conference over with. You can go back to what you’re doing and so can I,” she said in a snide tone that he had never experienced with her. She was visibly mad about the proposal to Musar’s daughter. Their friendship wasn’t easily discarded. That’s what he chose to believe. Allowing her space was necessary if he was going to win her loyalty again. Right now the media had his attention and he knew how to court them.
Eight minutes flew by and, on cue, the cameras were rolling and the microphones turned on. “Mr. Mitchell, there are rumors swirling that DMI is experiencing an economic downturn and is near bankruptcy. Is there any truth to the rumor?” the first reporter asked.
They could come at him all day with questions about the solvency of DMI. Regardless of other traits Joel had, he was business savvy. “No, the rumor is not true,” he said, relaxed, considering the circumstances. He adjusted the microphone upward for easier projection. “The company is solid. We haven’t seen the same record growth in this past quarter, but that’s to be expected given it took me two and a half years to double this company in size. We’re here and we’re not going anywhere. As a matter of fact, we have expansion plans underway that will catapult DMI into the international arena.”
“Isn’t the international expansion a source of concern for your client base, particularly those with a religious orientation?”
“Our customer base is sound.” The adrenaline flowed, boosting his resolve like a drug, addictive, exhilarating. Today reminded him of times not that long ago when he was on camera and Abigail was nearby, cheering him on. He saw her in his peripheral vision, but she seemed disconnected.
“Mr. Mitchell, can you confirm or deny the rumor that you’ve recently gotten engaged? Who’s the lucky woman?”
His legs wanted to buckle but he would stand firm. Abigail left the area, raising his suspicion that she had to be the one who’d leaked the information to the press. He’d only told three people in the U.S. about the arranged marriage, Abigail, Sheba, and Sherry. They were the only people he trusted in the world. His mother didn’t tell and Sheba wasn’t even a consideration. It had to be Abigail. The disheartening feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach was set aside until he could deal with the betrayal. He would wiggle around the topic until he was able to break free from the scrutinizing media. Confirming the allegation was premature. He couldn’t spring news about the marriage in a televised venue. His customers had to be informed. Directly, in some cases.
“Engagement, my vacation plans, and my personal life aren’t the topics of today’s discussion.”
Several remaining questions about stability were asked and answered. The conference ended with Joel determined to figure out what had happened. His mother left as Samantha Tate approached him.
“Mr. Joel Mitchell,” she said, as coy and taunting as she’d been the first time she’d interviewed him for her show a year ago. He didn’t mind, actually, today he welcomed the flattery. He was the master when it came to women, as Samantha had experienced firsthand. She was the refreshing dose of relief he needed. “Well, well, well,” she said. “So, I hear that you’re going to be off the market?”
“Come on, Ms. Tate, you can’t believe everything you hear,” he said, collecting his suit jacket without losing eye contact with her. She tried to maintain her flirtatious intensity. He knew she was no match and would cave to his finesse at his choosing.
She brushed against him. “Well, if you are getting married, let me take you to dinner. It could be like a good-bye dinner or a congratulations dinner or,” she said, stepping closer, “dinner used to turn into breakfast with us.”
“And if it’s not true?” he asked.
“If it’s not true, we can celebrate like old times anyway.”
Joel had easily won Samantha over too many times in the past. Truth be told, Samantha was good company. She didn’t give him the charge that Sheba did or the stability that Abigail provided, but Samantha was worth a dinner or two. “I have a full schedule over the next couple of weeks. We won’t be able to turn this into a marathon this time. Dinner is all I have time for this week.”
“We’ll start with dinner and figure out the rest as we go,” she teased.
That sounded like a plan he could entertain. He didn’t expect much to change when it came to spending time with his lady friends after getting married. If the only sacrifice was his living arrangements, then he would gladly endure an arranged marriage for the sake of DMI. It was a price he would eagerly pay.
chapter
15
Sherry returned to her office to tweak the press release going out to the newspaper and magazines, curious why Madeline hadn’t shown up to undermine Joel during the conference. Sherry had come to rely on Madeline’s consistency. Deviations made her nervous.
About thirty minutes later Madeline walked into the office, interrupting and unapologetic.
“I was expecting a visit,” Sherry said, taking off her reading glasses.
“I bet you were,” Madeline said, taking a seat without waiting for an invitation.
After Dave’s death, Sherry had been devastated, unable to see forward. Thanks to Joel’s nurturing, Sherry was able to believe in a future, to believe that she had worth and could add value at DMI after being out of the workforce so long. After Joel was born, she’d chosen to terminate her administrative assistant role and become a stay-at-home mom, a decision she’d never regretted. However, there were times when she had agonized over Madeline and Dave working side by side, day after day. Madeline and Dave had divorced, but Sherry had long ago come to realize that there was an invisible link clinching the two together in some unexplainable way. She’d tried and tried to establish the chief wife title but didn’t feel that it had ever been accomplished, despite Dave’s reassurance of his commitment to the marriage. Taking the job as Joel’s press secretary had been a huge boost to her self-esteem and worth. She was grateful to her son for rescuing her from her state of depression. If only she could keep Madeline out of her office and away from her son, depression would be obsolete. “Let’s get this over with. What has Joel done now?”
“You mean besides driving my company into the ground?”
Sherry didn’t bother responding. Madeline wasn’t there to have a civil conversation. She came to do what she always did. The only difference between the office and the Mitchell estate was the address. It didn’t matter to Madeline where she espoused her poison, so long as what she perceived as prey was within her grasp. The sun was shining and Sherry just didn’t feel like being a victim today. “Joel knows what he’s doing. Why don’t you trust his decision for a change?”
Madeline burst into laughter, then stopped abruptly. “That will be the day when hell officially freezes over.”
Sherry really didn’t want to be bothered. She put her reading glasses on. The press release had to be finalized, and Madeline was hindering her ability to complete it and possibly spare Joel from having to answer questions from a slew of overzealous reporters looking to capitalize on fabricated information. Sherry returned to typing on the computer.
Ignoring Madeline didn’t drive her away. “Why don’t you talk to your son and convince him to make the right decision?”
“Which is what, exactly?” Sherry said, peering over her reading glasses.
“Resign, of course,” Madeline said in her typically condescending way. Sherry was immune, an
d resumed her work.
“Don’t you have any feedback?” Madeline asked.
Sherry shook her head no. She chose not to speak and further engage Madeline in a pointless conversation.
“You’re a mother. I thought you’d be able to see what he’s doing and to help him think this through before he destroys his life and takes the rest of us down in this sinking boat with him.” Madeline finally stood. Keeping quiet and letting the fire die out without fanning the flames worked best. The predictability gave Sherry comfort. Madeline was leaving without making a scene, a rare event when it came to these two ladies occupying the same space for more than a few minutes. Before exiting into the hallway, Madeline said, “When his little Lego world comes crashing down around the both of you, don’t say that I didn’t warn you, mother to mother.”
Sherry wanted to jump in and offer a defense but there was no need. Madeline had gotten her dig in and retreated with no major damage. Sherry could live with it. She had for three decades. Dealing with Madeline’s perpetual tirade for a few minutes was nothing. Madeline did manage to spark a nerve of concern. Joel was dealing with a huge decision, the biggest he’d made since becoming the boss. None of the other board members were in favor of the merger; even Sherry wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. More important than trying to understand what was right or wrong businesswise, her job was to shield Joel from the media and from people like Madeline. That job she handled without fear.
chapter
16
Seventeen hours of travel between the south of France to Cape Town were a blur, not quite as long as the one to Michigan but equally draining. His prayers had to make a difference. Don’s mind was flooded with an endless list of possibilities, most of which weren’t heartwarming outcomes. He took solace in reflecting on Tamara’s strength. She’d endured the unthinkable and survived on her terms. She would be okay. She had to be. Madeline was a different story. His heart pumped faster as he thought about telling his mother Tamara was gone. Madeline had always known Tamara’s general whereabouts, but with the abrupt move, his sister was truly estranged. There was no easy way to break the news.
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