He had to tell her about the situation, though, and he had to do it today. Earlier this week, she and Monty had argued over how much to list the house for, exchanging emails and copying David. Candace had instructed David not to forward them to Helen—she was six months pregnant now, but looked as if she were eight and a half months, according to her husband. Candace had said that she would personally handle any communication with Helen by phone and that she didn’t want to upset her right now with any bad news.
When the house was ready to go on the market, Monty wanted to list it for $2.1 million, with the expectation of getting just under two. Candace believed the house wouldn’t bring in half that amount. David felt she was right. The Carawans weren’t going to make any money, and David’s task was to minimize how much his client lost. Then she—and he—could remove it from her list of investments.
However, Ken needed to finish the work first, and then he had to be paid. A contract had to be signed with a realtor, who had to locate a buyer, a task that wouldn’t be easy. David just hoped that potential buyers wouldn’t meet the neighbors and find out how long the renovation had taken to complete.
Fashion Week was scheduled to begin in just over three weeks, and Candace was looking forward to unveiling SwimZ.
The samples were ready in every color and pattern that she had approved. She had tried on each style and was pleased with all of them. Of course, no one in the industry (or the general public) knew about the line—everyone at SlimZ was sworn to obey the commandment thou shalt not leak. Breaking that commandment meant losing one’s job.
Previous new garments the company had shown to buyers during Fashion Week had wowed everyone, creating that sought-after buzz before the product became available in stores a few months later. The new SwimZ line would do the same. Candace was proud of her achievement in making it a reality; it had been in development for years, and now was the right time.
She looked over the photos on the SlimZ internal system. Everything looked great. Her competitors would be stunned with the new line and would scramble to imitate the designs. But they wouldn’t succeed. In the spring, SwimZ would be the must-have swimsuit, and no other apparel company’s product would come close to its customer appeal. The SlimZ brand name was a major positive in marketing and was worth quite a bit of money. With an average unit retail price of $200, Candace expected to sell about 1.25 million units, yielding sales of $250 million, which equaled a gross profit of $125 million.
She enjoyed making a profit, but money wasn’t what she worked for—at least not anymore, and not for its own sake. The money was an added bonus, a way to measure success, like an SAT score or an index of accomplishment. Candace liked earning high scores. As long as she kept working and SlimZ kept thriving, her money kept coming in, and her success increased.
She had a passion for her products and for the company she had founded. She was proud of the fact that she had done all the research herself and had created products that had never existed before. The fact that she had been financially secure at the time and could afford to take a chance on a new idea had helped, but it wasn’t the reason for her success. She had been a creative visionary then and she was still one today. She thoroughly enjoyed the process; that was the reason she kept on working. Besides, if she ever stepped aside, what would she do? She didn’t want to retire. She had created her ideal job.
She also enjoyed her social connections to the super-wealthy in business and to many New York and Hollywood celebrities. She thrived on their admiration for what she had done professionally. She couldn’t imagine herself without the financial status she had achieved. It was an integral part of who she was, like her IQ or the shape of her nose.
And in recent years, she’d grown very accustomed to the finer things: well-made designer clothing, bags, and shoes; luxury vehicles; private jets; fine hotels; expensive wine. She’d become quite used to getting exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it. The things that she wanted added up to thousands of dollars—tens of thousands—but that wasn’t extravagant, given her net worth. They added up, but she didn’t intend to live without them, or to feel guilty for the lifestyle she led.
She didn’t see herself as pretentious in any way, though, or as a snob. She had never hidden—or been ashamed of—her middle-class family upbringing. She couldn’t help it if she counted her pennies; she had inherited the trait of frugality from her father. Like him, she had an irrational, deep fear of losing everything that she had saved and everything that she had built for reasons beyond her control. It was a fear she had had to push away more than once. The French had an expression she often repeated to herself when her fear surfaced: gardez votre sang-froid. Keep your sangfroid, your composure. Your cool.
Her inbox signaled a new message. It was from Darlene, who handled public relations and social media, and it was marked urgent. She clicked on it, skimmed it, and reread it with alarm.
Candace,
I just saw this blurb on woohoo.com:
“SlimZ, the fabulous shapewear company founded by Candace Morgan, is about to unveil a new line to store buyers at New York’s Fashion Week: Swimsuits! We can’t wait to see them, and we know you can’t, either. No word yet on colors, designs, or even the new logo, but check back often: we will post more info as we get it!”
Darlene
Candace rose from her desk, her heart racing, and walked from her office straight to Darlene’s desk. Then she leaned down to her.
“How did this happen?” Candace whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Someone must have talked.”
“Everyone here knows not to say a word about the line. Not to their friends, not to their families, not even to their husbands.”
“Evidently, someone did, and now it’s on Woohoo, a site millions of people read every day.”
Darlene bit her lip. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, yet. I’m going to have Jess call the department heads in, and after I talk with them, I’ll send for you to come over. So stay here, and stay mum.”
“Oh my God, Candace.”
Candace gave her a stern look. “Continue your work, as if nothing’s going on.”
“Okay.”
Candace walked to Jess’s desk and stopped in front of her. “Call Amanda, Paula, Ginger, and Courtney to my office, right now.”
Fifteen minutes later, Darlene’s phone buzzed. It was Jess.
“Candace would like you to come to her office right away.”
Darlene rose from her desk and walked down the hall toward the CEO’s office door. Passing by Jess, she glanced at her with a nervous smile, then paused before opening Candace’s door.
The four SlimZ department heads stood opposite the CEO, who was standing behind her desk. “Darlene,” she said in a low tone. “Come in, and shut the door.”
Darlene did as she was bid, then turned and stopped, looking around.
“Have you seen anything else online?” asked Candace.
Darlene shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Okay. As we all know, this is a very unexpected and unwelcome development. It’s not the end of the world, though. Before we get to how it happened, we need to talk about what to do next.”
Darlene nodded.
Candace continued to address the group. “A leak like this has never happened to us before. We’ve always been able to control the news of what we’re doing and manage our narrative. We can still do that.”
Amanda piped up. “We need to know who leaked it.”
Candace held her hand up, palm out. “First, we need to know exactly what got leaked. The fact that we are about to unveil a new line of swimsuits is out there. What else?”
“The blurb on Woohoo said, ‘We will post more info as we get it,’ ” said Amanda. “They’ve got a source. When they get more info, they’ll disclose more, and that
means our competitors will know more.”
The other women in the room looked at each other with worried expressions. Candace leaned toward them and placed her hands on her desk. “It’s important that we keep calm. The SwimZ line will be shown in three weeks. That’s going to happen. Somehow, Woohoo knows about it. We don’t know if they know anything more. If they had renderings of our designs, I suspect they would have already put them out there. They’ve made a connection with someone who wanted to make some money, and evidently that person hasn’t given them anything else yet.”
Darlene looked at Amanda. “We can take control of this. We can act like we meant to let it out, to garner attention pre–Fashion Week. A teaser.”
“That’s exactly what we need to do,” said Candace. “But we do need to trace this.”
Paula looked around. “No one on my team would leak it.”
“Nonetheless,” said Candace, looking from Paula to Amanda, then to Ginger, then Courtney, “I need for all of you to take a new look at each of your direct reports. You know them. You know their personalities. You know how long they’ve been here. You know who they live with, who they call on the phone.” She paused for a few seconds. “I’m sure that no one in the company did something stupid like talk about SwimZ in an email or on their Facebook page. But someone told Woohoo—or they told someone else, who told Woohoo. It may not have even been someone here at the company. It could have been a seamstress, or even a fabric vendor who wanted to make some cash. So we need to widen the search beyond SlimZ employees. Paula, see what you can find out. Get Shelly on it, too, and get back to me as soon as you know anything.”
The following Friday afternoon—eight days later—Monty dialed Candace’s number.
He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t take his call. After the beep, he left a message, speaking in a cheerful tone. “Hey, Candace. Just wanted to ask how everything’s going over at the company. I’ve seen some stuff about you online. Something about a new line of bathing suits coming out soon? Good luck with that. Call me back as soon as you can. I need to talk to you about a proposal. And about Helen.”
He clicked the phone off and put it down. It was almost four o’clock, and Rachel would be getting back to the condo soon. She never worked much past four on Fridays; none of her decorator clients would schedule an appointment so close to rush hour at the beginning of a weekend.
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.
“Hi, Candace. Glad you had a minute. I’m sure things are busy at the office—”
“What about Helen, Monty? Is she okay?”
“Well, not exactly. The doc says she may have to go on bed rest in a few weeks. She’s an emotional mess.”
“Monty—”
“She’s stressed. She can’t believe she’s going to have to give birth to twin boys, then come back to live in a crumbling three-bedroom ranch house with three kids. We need to move into a house that’s big enough for our family. One that’s safe, and one that’s clean. One that’s right for us.”
“If you don’t like the house I’m paying the rent for, go out and find yourself another one. You said you have a job, so—”
“The house we want to live in—the house we deserve to live in—is the one on Arcadia. Why are you so against us moving back in to it, once the work over there is done? You and I both know this isn’t the right time to put that house on the market. My family needs to live there, until that time comes.”
“Are you saying that you’d pay me rent to live there?”
“Do you need the money? I don’t think so. You don’t even need that house as an investment. Let’s stop bickering about all this. You know what you ought to do: give us the house and forgive all the debt.”
“We’re not bickering. You’ve strung me along and manipulated me out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. I don’t trust you anymore, and I never should have. I’ve made my decision: you’re on your own now. I’m not going to enable you to live a lifestyle beyond your means. Giving you the house would be doing just that. You couldn’t afford to maintain it, anyway.”
“You’re a presumptuous bitch, and you always were. Our ability to maintain the house is none of your concern, and neither is our lifestyle. You don’t get to control us simply because you made an investment that you could well afford, and one that you don’t even need.”
“You’re the one who’s presuming here.”
“Whatever. You’ve screwed me long enough. You need to give us that house, and we need to move back into it before the twins are born. You also need to give us a tiny portion of your obscene fortune—the fortune you’ve been paying what’s-his-fuck to manage for you. Share the wealth with your blood relatives, Candace. Pay me ten million, and then we’re done. For life.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Which one of your employees leaked the news about your new swimsuit line?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m just wondering how that happened.”
“What goes on at SlimZ is none of your business.”
“So, you don’t know how it happened. I bet there’s a lot going on over there that you don’t know about.”
“I don’t have time—”
“If you don’t give me what I’m asking for, you’re going to lose a whole lot more than just trust in your employees. You’ll lose ten times the amount I’m asking for. I guarantee it.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“All I’m saying is, I wonder what else could go wrong over at SlimZ. Think about it. Do you want to take that chance?”
“Monty—”
“You don’t have to give me your answer right now. I know you’re very busy getting ready for Fashion Week. By then it will probably be too late, though. Take the weekend and think about my proposal. I’m sure you’ll decide to do the right thing.” Monty hung up and put his phone down. Then he poured himself a few fingers of vodka and sat down at his laptop to wait for Rachel.
That evening, Candace sat on the sofa across from Rob in her living room in Midtown. He had arrived in Atlanta an hour earlier, and he planned to stay in the city for the next two weeks. She placed her martini on the glass cocktail table and regarded him.
“I can’t prove it yet,” she said, “but I’m convinced that Monty found out about the new line from someone at the office and leaked it to Woohoo.”
“Does anyone at the company know him?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think anyone did. People are aware that I have a brother, but I never talk about him.”
“Well, if you’re right, then someone at the company does know him—or someone knows someone else who does. Are you any closer to figuring out who leaked it?”
“No. I’ve been too busy to worry about it lately. Once the news was out, we had to manage it, and the publicity. Plus, I’ve been busy making sure everything’s ready for New York. But if Monty found out about the line from someone at the company, what else does he know? What did he mean by saying I would lose a hundred million dollars if I don’t give him the money he wants and the house?”
Rob shook his head. “There’s no way he can cause you to lose money. Has David found out who his employer is?”
“Not yet. All Helen had for him was the principals’ first names, and a cock-and-bull story Monty told her about what they do.”
“You didn’t ask Monty about it today?”
“No. I should have, though. It was just—I was flabbergasted when he made his demand. ‘Pay me ten million, and then we’re done.’ Who does he think he is?”
Rob took a sip of his cocktail. “A genius. But he’s a fool.”
“When I spoke with Helen the other day, she said he’d been making cash deposits once a week in their checking account, saying it’s his salary. He told her he’s being paid in cash because the principals are European, and they’
re not set up yet with the IRS.”
“Sounds far-fetched.”
“Exactly.”
“If it’s true that he’s working, good for them. If it isn’t, which I suspect, then I wonder where he’s getting the money.” Rob set his glass down and leaned toward her. “But that’s Helen’s concern, not ours. I’m certain there’s no way he can hurt you or the company.”
“I hope you’re right.”
17
Plans
On Labor Day morning, Helen stepped out of the shower in the black-and-white-tiled bathroom, a beach towel wrapped around her expanding body. She inspected her appearance in the frameless mirror that was bolted to the wall over the sink, then shed her towel and began to apply cocoa butter to her stomach. Though she was only six and a half months pregnant, she looked nine, and her back ached constantly. She couldn’t imagine making it to her late November due date.
Three years ago, Adele had arrived on time and with little fuss, weighing seven pounds, eight ounces. At Helen’s obstetrician appointment last week, Dr. Russell had estimated that the twins were now about four pounds each. The sonograms had shown two different sacs, which added extra fluid, weight, and volume to Helen’s pregnant belly. The doctor said the babies should gain about a pound a month from now on, and she wanted Helen to carry them as close to term as possible.
With her due date over ten weeks away, Helen had her doubts. If the babies did gain weight as the doctor said they should, by November she would be carrying thirteen pounds of baby inside of her. Luckily, her skin hadn’t broken, probably because she’d been pregnant before. This pregnancy was much worse, though. She felt uncomfortable all the time. Her belly had seemed to stop protruding farther out in front, and had started expanding in width to make more room.
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