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Joel sat in the library, surrounded by darkness. Three A.M. He wanted to sleep, longed to sleep, but it wasn’t his to claim tonight or last night, or the night before. Zarah eased into the room. “What are you doing up?” he asked with a modest amount of concern mixed with a heavy dose of irritation.
“I came to be with you.” She sat on the floor in front of him.
He had to be alone, to figure out his next move. The air in the room was being sucked out. Each thought of DMI collapsing required an extra breath or two. “Why don’t you go on back to bed. There’s no reason for both of us to stay up.”
Her gaze dropped, followed by a few tears. He lifted her chin with his index finger. “Zarah, are you okay?” The wet streaks down her cheeks and around her mouth were his answer. “Please, sit here,” he said, lifting her hand, and her body followed. He got up and let her sit in the chair he was in. He bent down next to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She was reluctant to speak and turned her head to wipe away the tears, which were flowing steadily now. Getting her to openly talk with him was a task he hadn’t consistently mastered. Close to three months seemed long enough to form some type of rapport. The compassion in him said to keep trying. Her father was very ill. He’d gotten better but was not on a solid road to recovery. Joel didn’t know whether to applaud or cry for Musar’s current state. Joel’s head pounded day after day, being forced to rely on someone else for his path to freedom. “You’re going to be okay.”
She thrust her arms around his neck, practically cutting off his air with her tight grip. “Please let me stay with you tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”
Intimacy didn’t exist. Layering complication on top of problems was unwise, a road he opted not to travel. In the middle of this night, though, he’d noticed a couple of times how much she radiated. He hadn’t studied the details of her face much before. The softness of her silky skin rested on him. The feeling wasn’t easy to ignore. He’d been known to appreciate an eye-catching woman, but not one with the label of his wife. She moved her arms down to circle his shoulder and wouldn’t let go. The affection was more than he had expected and definitely more than he could manage. He pushed her away, gently. Then she hung on to his biceps as if they were a lifeline.
“Please let me stay with you.”
“Why don’t you go back to bed?”
“Are you coming with me?”
“I will.” He imagined that was how a parent felt trying to comfort a child in the middle of the night. He would do what his parents did for him when he was a child, put her to bed and stay there until she fell asleep. Tonight of all nights he had to use every minute to carve a way out of his situation. In twenty-one hours his ninety days were up. Payment to the investors was due. Practically every hour of the past had been spent brainstorming, figuring this or that, each scenario leading to a dead end when it came to raising the money. He never dreamed of being in this predicament. He was too wise for this. He had to get the funds. Forfeiting another division to Uncle Frank’s shyster investors wasn’t imaginable. Madeline and the board of directors would certainly oust him. If it happened—he was determined not to let it, but if it did—he’d probably step down on his own and save whatever dignity could be retained.
He tucked Zarah in and sat on the bed next to her. Gazing at her, he saw the lives of two children cemented in order to fulfill the legacies of their fathers. At that moment he felt a spark with her, one of mutual purpose. He stroked her hair. She deserved more, a man who could love and cherish her. Not one who had at least three other priorities before getting around to her. He didn’t have time to coddle. A woman in his heart had to be self-sufficient. She had to be independent, challenging, and full of excitement and uniqueness. Zarah relaxed into the plush covers as her hand reached out for his. An hour later she was asleep as Joel crept from the room.
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Streaks of sunlight met Joel on the master staircase, having overtaken the dark. The day was budding, not yet in full bloom. Joel had a finite set of hours to save his life and that of DMI. He hurried to his private office near the rear of the house on the first floor. Entering, he locked the door behind him. The housekeeper would have to watch Zarah today. He couldn’t be disturbed by anyone for anything. This was the single most important day of his life.
He whipped out a sheet of paper and jotted down a series of numbers. “Six thirty,” he rattled. If Musar died by six thirty, Joel would have access to the money needed to pay off the investors. The ten and a half hour time difference dictated the cutoff time. Joel glanced at the pendulum swinging in the clock on his desk. Four thirty. He closed his eyes and slapped his open palm across his forehead. How did he get here? A struggle waged in him. He had to get the money but wishing death on Musar slowed his blood flow. There had to be another way, but desperation and circumstance blocked his view. He called India.
“This is Joel Mitchell. I’m checking on Musar’s condition,” he told Kumar, the attorney managing Musar’s estate.
“He had a very good day today, much stronger.”
“Oh, all right,” Joel responded. Spewing out words of insincerity wasn’t his way. Actually, the uncertainty was great within him. He didn’t know how he truly felt about Musar’s miraculous comeback. The fatherless boy was cheering but the man who wanted to make his father proud wasn’t overjoyed at the news. The boy and the man would have to keep tussling until a clear winner emerged. In the meantime, he’d let the man have an edge.
“Please share the good news with Zarah.”
“Of course,” he said and ended the call.
Countless times Joel had wanted to ask the attorney for a loan and decided against it. He’d picked up the phone no less than fifteen times over the past three days alone. The handful of millions Musar gave him at the wedding was the traditional dowry, payment in exchange for marrying his daughter. Receiving money for marrying Zarah didn’t bother Joel. That was their culture. Five million plus another two possibly from Sheba was miles away from the three hundred million he owed. It didn’t even cover the thirty million in interest. His personal funds were zapped in the merger. Tapping his mother’s money wasn’t a consideration. She was secure and he intended to keep her that way. He had to think. There was money out there, but where? He could smell defeat at the door. For now the lock could keep it at bay, but he wasn’t delusional. Time was dashing away.
Alone. There was no one who could give him the advice he craved. He’d hounded Sheba excessively for comfort over the past three months. She deserved a break from his troubles. Reaching out to God now, in a time of crisis, didn’t seem sincere. Besides, there was no guarantee with the timing. He needed a finite solution in a matter of hours. The notion of waiting forty days and forty nights for an answer wasn’t remotely a possibility. Completely out of solutions, he set pride aside and made the dreaded call, formulating his sales pitch as the phone rang.
“This is Joel Mitchell again,” he told Kumar, hesitant to proceed. After need punched out pride, he continued speaking, faster, attempting to get it out before pride recovered. “I’m having a slight delay in transitioning Harmonious Energy with my clients.”
“Is there a problem?”
He gave pride another kick, to stay down. “I need to raise three hundred million dollars in a short-term loan. The board members won’t release the company funds until they’re sure the merger is in the best interest of DMI. We know that it is, but they want some kind of assurance. My job is to keep the company going during the transition.”
“It’s important to Mr. Bengali that this merger be successful. It is his inheritance for Zarah and for her future children.”
“I know, and I’m committed to making this work. I’ve invested all of my time and personal funds, and now I need help. I’ve depleted the financial vehicles in the U.S. I’m calling to see if you have any suggestions for me.” The attorney was silent so Joel boosted his appeal. “I�
�m committed to making this merger work for the sake of me, my wife, my family, and my future children.” Exactly which wife and children was irrelevant.
“Let me speak with Mr. Bengali.”
“No,” Joel blurted before he could think. “He’s weak. I don’t want to bother him with this.” He recalled how frail Dave Mitchell was during the last days. Those precious moments weren’t to be wasted on worrying about money and business deals. He was desperate for the cash, but wouldn’t resort to flat-out heartlessness. “I’ll find another way.”
“Let me speak to Mr. Bengali’s team. I’ll get back to you.”
Joel felt a glimmer of hope. “What time is it there?” as if he didn’t know the ten and a half hour time difference precisely.
“Three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Okay, that puts me in a tough situation.”
“Why is it?”
“I need the money before the banks close in the States.”
“We’ve completed other transactions in Europe and Australia very rapidly. Let me see what we can do,” Kumar said.
Joel was feeling whimsical. The chains were falling off, a thousand pounds at a time. “Give me a line of credit, a loan, and I can repay it.”
“I’m certain we can get the money for you today.”
“Oh, you have no idea how important this is for the merger. Thank you,” he said with an air of sincerity that resonated from his toes and traveled eagerly to the crown of his head. Vitality was returning. This was a new day. He might even spend the day with Zarah, kind of like a peace offering. Her family had saved his. It was only fitting for him to show gratitude in a way that mattered to Musar.
Five minutes after ending the call with India, the phone rang. “Joel Mitchell.”
“Mr. Mitchell, I have good news for you,” Musar’s attorney said.
“So quickly?” Maybe his luck was changing.
“We work very closely with our bankers and other colleagues.”
“Good, that’s good to hear.” Joel glanced at the clock, relieved that he had nearly an hour and a half to spare before running out of time.
“We have three colleagues in Asia who will back your loan.”
“What do they get out of the deal?” Nobody gave away three hundred million without wanting something in return, at least not where Joel lived and did business.
“What would be reasonable?”
Joel didn’t have any extra money. DMI was the only collateral he had left that hadn’t already been hocked to close the original deal with Musar. “I can offer one of the divisions if the money isn’t paid as agreed.” It was like an out-of-body experience. He heard the words utter across his lips, and couldn’t figure from where they came. That would put three out of four divisions at risk. There was nothing else to offer. He would have given his soul, but the value was less than the diminishing worth of DMI.
“We’ll need a market value for the papers, but it won’t matter to our colleagues. They are long-time colleagues of Musar and want to help.”
Joel was too ashamed to guesstimate the worth of DMI. The value was plummeting deeper daily. They’d realized a drop of fifteen cents on every dollar since the contract was signed. He thought quickly. The only way to make the company look attractive and avoid giving the impression that they weren’t floundering to the degree that they were would be to value DMI in pieces. His skin cringed, remembering his father’s plea to not let the company be broken into pieces. It was like cancer. He had to offer up a limb to save the rest of the body. Joel was grateful to have the loan originated in Asia, away from the watchful eye of the media and the scrutiny of the U.S. lending institutions. There was plenty of worry to be spread around his brain. Cameras, uptight bankers, and nit-picking board members weren’t welcomed.
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Joel was revived. The knock on his office door wasn’t a distraction. “Excuse me, Mr. Mitchell. What would you like for lunch?” the housekeeper asked after Joel opened the door. Zarah stood near the housekeeper.
“Thank you for asking, but I won’t need you to prepare lunch today,” he said approaching the door. The housekeeper stepped aside and Joel took Zarah’s hand. “I’m taking my lovely wife out for lunch.” Her tiny hand clutched his. “Please get ready, and I’ll meet you at the garage in fifteen minutes if that’s okay with you.”
She nodded in rapid succession like the little bobble-headed puppy in the back window. Her demeanor appeared bright for the first time in months.
Outside, the sun was sitting high in the sky. He didn’t have a single complaint about taking Zarah out for the afternoon. It was actually a blessing to get out of the office. The money was on its way, according to Musar’s attorney, just in time to divert a disaster. There was only a shred of concern until the wire confirmation actually hit his account.
He opened the car door of the Mercedes for her, choosing to give the highly charged Lamborghini a rest. The four-door Mercedes was more appropriate for Zarah, reliable, classy, but conservative. He’d leave the Lamborghini for Sheba. “Let’s eat and then we can find a park. It will give us a chance to talk, to get to know each other. How does that sound?”
“Very nice.” Seeing her spirit lighten gave him a sense of joy, too. She wasn’t the enemy, in spite of the arrangement.
He pulled off the grounds into the street, talking and letting his gaze wander her way. She was like a giddy schoolgirl, blushing from the attention. Something she got very infrequently from him. “Let’s go to Greektown. You can try something different.” The mood was breezy and the day was shaping into a positive experience. “By the way,” he said, wanting to share the information without damping the mood, “I spoke with your father’s attorney this morning.” Zarah stiffened. Joel placed his hand on hers. “He’s doing much better, getting stronger.” Joel felt the tension loosen in her hand. “I’m offering to send you home to see your father if you want to go.”
“No, I must stay with you. It’s what my father would want.”
“What do you want?” Joel appreciated and, if he admitted it, tended to gravitate to a woman who was outspoken. Unintentionally he was surrounded by them. The afternoon was off to a good start. He wanted to draw her out of the clingy subservient shell and get to the core of who this woman was.
“I want to stay with you.”
Joel patted her hand and then stroked her face. “So be it,” he said, easing onto the highway. “We’ll be downtown in thirty-five minutes. I sure hope you’re hungry.”
She gave a fully formed smile, one he hadn’t seen since knowing her. At least Zarah was eating better. The transition was going to take time, a commodity he didn’t have in surplus. He could give her what he had when he had it. Requiring extra attention would be a problem.
The phone lying on the console between the seats buzzed. UNKNOWN CALLER flashed on the screen. It was probably India. He took the call, eager to hear the good news.
“This is your friendly reminder that today is the day. Pay up or put up.”
“It’s good to hear from you,” Joel said without giving any indication of who was on the phone. Zarah didn’t know Uncle Frank’s involvement and never would. He switched the phone to his left ear, closest to the driver’s side window and the farthest from Zarah. “We’re on track as agreed.”
“Good, because you don’t want to deal with the consequences of missing the due date.”
“I’m sure,” Joel said, intentionally being cryptic.
“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that these aren’t the kind of investors who slap you with a late charge and a poor mark on your credit rating. They go for the jugular, understood?”
“Totally.” Joel was quite aware of the consequences of missing the payment, the loss of another division and his reputation, neither of which he could accept.
“Then I’ll say, it’s been nice doing business with you. I look forward to working with you next time.”
“Oh, there won’t be
a next time.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” Uncle Frank said. “By the way, I guess congratulations are in order. You’re a married man.” Joel listened without responding. “I saw you on the news a few months ago. Boy, I’d love to know the terms of that deal,” he said, chuckling, and then disconnected.
Once and done. There was no intention of returning to his uncle or the pseudoinvestors. The terms turned out to be higher than he could handle. The stress of the past three months coupled with Uncle Frank’s taunting wasn’t worth it.
The afternoon passed, lunch was enjoyable, and the ride home around three P.M. was uneventful. He pulled the Mercedes into garage bay number two, sandwiched between his prized Lamborghini and the Land Rover, the vehicle he rarely drove. Nothing wrong with keeping a spare for backup, it was his philosophy.
“Can I sit with you?” Zarah asked, clutching his arm.
The afternoon was satisfying, but he had work to do. The day was passing and the transaction had to be cleared, the investors paid, and Madeline silenced finally. “I have work to do.”
“I can sit with you,” Zarah said.
“Not this time. Please, let me do my work and then we can talk later.” She walked away, wounded. He started to reach out and then decided to let her go. Two hours would pass like two minutes. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said as she left.
He locked the office door and got to work. Several keystrokes and he was into his account. For a second he wondered why he hadn’t used an offshore account to help keep his business private. Too late, the transaction was in progress. He checked the account and didn’t see a deposit. Instantly he was on the phone to Kumar. One thirty in the morning Indian time didn’t stop the call. “Are you still on track with delivering the money?” Joel asked as soon as the connection was made.
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