“Bec, you’re a beautiful person. And yes, you never really stuck up for yourself. But that’s you. I asked you to marry me because you’re genuine and true to yourself, not because you’re a raving feminist with attitude. And you’re still like that. But the difference now is that you’ve found the person who you need to be, and I also love that person. So it’s all good.”
Sean looked at his wife and thought that the comparison between”then” and”now” was like those crass ads you see in the magazines with the before and after shots. Bec had not only developed a confidence that was amazing, but she had stopped using food as a crutch and solace and the weight was dropping off her as if she plugged herself into her own private liposuction machine each night. She had already lost twenty-six pounds in eight weeks and was now so focused on her rediscovered body that she was becoming obsessed about health and fitness. It was gym three days a week, the personal trainer on two other days, and then power walking Saturday and Sunday.
“Sean, you’re a bonus and I wonder why you stuck with me all those years. Frightened, fat, and fifty, that’s what I ended up. But not anymore!
“I can tell you from the heart, I love you for supporting me through thick and thin. And I’ve now got the determination to stand up for myself, and for us, to fight tooth and nail to get us through this mess. I know the deal that we finally ended up with is not what we wanted out of Carlton, but at least we won’t lose the house, and you said we should even see some payback of our initial investment once Stage One fully settles.”
Sean nodded in agreement, a wry smile developing on his otherwise expressionless face.
“And best of all, we’re now free to find another project and start again.”
Bec looked at Sean through loving eyes and continued, “But next time, I need to be involved every step of the way. It’s you and me against the bastards out there, and we won’t be screwed again.”
Sean was still coming to grips with his”new” wife. He liked what he saw and started to become excited about the future again. Bec had such brilliant taste and was so good at interior design that he started thinking to himself that maybe they should harness each other’s talents and go boutique and exclusive: a small townhouse development that didn’t require a loan equivalent to a small African nation’s national debt to build and something he could construct with just a handful of trades, instead of needing an army. They could work through it together and probably knock it over inside twelve to eighteen months.
“Yep, way to go, to be sure. And no partners to give it to us up the arse when we’re not looking,” said Sean in a moment of introspection. “And with you onside to help me, it’s a given.”
“Paul, you need to ring that slimebag Tony to make sure his clients intend to settle on time. You know him and me don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
It was 8:35 a.m. and Steve was stuck in rush hour traffic on his way into the Carlton project. He was frustrated because the stupid newly licensed driver hesitating in front of him, cocooned in the Audi that Daddy had obviously bought her for her twenty-first birthday, was constantly hanging back, showing no aggression and causing him to miss the lights, intersection after crowded intersection.
“Fucking dumb bitch,” he yelled, slamming his fists down hard onto his steering wheel, presuming she could hear him through her rearview mirror.
Steve was listening to some inane crap on talk radio about an unmarried pregnant bimbo who the shock jock was trying to build a sympathy case around due to her lack of social welfare support, and it held absolutely no interest for him.
“Fuck her,” he yelled at the DJ on the radio. “My taxes are paying for her mistake. Piss off . . .
“And Jesus . . . you just missed another set of traffic lights. Get out of my bloody way . . .”
Steve wasn’t exactly the picture of calm, peace, and tranquility. He was as wound up as a tightly coiled spring and was about to lose it. He switched off the left-wing prick sprouting his garbage on the radio and rang Paul. He was on his to-do list.
“Steve, with the way the deal’s been restructured, I really couldn’t give a rat’s arse anymore about Carlton. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sean and I need this to go through to have our security released, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”
Steve let Paul’s acrimonious reply slide off his back. He knew Paul had no other choice but to do his bidding. It was the only way he was going to save his arse.
“The last time Tony and I spoke was before Christmas and the outcome wasn’t good. Funny about that,” said Steve, with a cavalier inflection. “The bastard tried to threaten me, so I put him back in his box, along with all the other dead shits like him I’ve crushed over the years.”
Steve felt a wave of satisfaction rush over him like a hot flash as he recalled how he had eventually cornered Tony, blackmailing him with some serious dirt he managed to drag up from his past. Steve had enjoyed observing Tony squirm, as surely as if he had applied thumbscrews.
Then with Tony out of the way, with the precision of a general commanding a military campaign, Teflon Steve was set to implement his personal escape plan: to see Paul and Sean out of the way, leaving him with a thirty percent silent shareholding and the Chinese owning the rest of their student accommodation project.
Until that bloody nerd’s scathing article in the Australian Tribune, that is.
“How did that bastard reporter come up with that information? It was supposed to be confidential,” Steve repeated to himself over and over again, ever since the article was published. But apparently Macillicuddy had, and it totally killed his Chinese deal.
Chinese investors rescue troubled Indian student development
The Australian Tribune, Wednesday December 29
Robert Macillicuddy
. . . according to informed sources, their Carlton student accommodation development may be experiencing significant cash flow shortfalls, which if true, could potentially threaten the security of the investment of the twenty-two people who have already paid a deposit on apartments in the complex.
. . . it has been reliably confirmed that as part of a rescue package, the development will be sold to a mainland Chinese syndicate
who will complete the project and then sell the finished apartments to Chinese nationals.
If true, this appears to be yet another case of an overseas investor taking control, and ownership, of an Australian development.
. . . which reading between the lines means that the blue-sky upside may look rosy for the new overseas owners of the project, but the downside for the original local investors is not looking all that positive . . .
The day after Macillicuddy’s article was published, Steve had received a very sternly written”without prejudice” email from the Chinese investors’ Australian solicitors informing them that, in light of the breach of confidentiality regarding their involvement in the takeover, they were withdrawing from the deal, effective immediately.
The Chinese investors then ran away faster than Usain Bolt competing in the hundred-meter dash, never to be seen again.
Which left Steve holding the baby. A scenario which he definitely hadn’t factored in. Instead, he found himself with no other option than to take the whole development over, lock, stock, and barrel. The only alternative was losing big bucks, which as a choice for him didn’t exist.
Teflon Steve never lost money, even if his partners did. The project’s got far too much promise to let it fall through, he had justified to himself as he was arranging his personal finances to enable a full takeover.
The problem was that the ground rules had changed yet again. Except this time they had done such a huge about-face since early December when the China deal had first been put on the table to the three partners that the latest arrangements were nothing like what had originally been discussed. Now the deal was so heavily stacked in Steve’s favor it was as if Paul and Sean had ceased to exist.
And if it hadn’t been for that stupid send erro
r in one of his many emails that had been flying around just before settlement, Steve would have successfully been able to hide his involvement in the rescue of the project from Paul and Sean, and the three of them could have all”suffered” a huge financial loss together.
But that wasn’t to be. Steve accidently included Paul’s address in one of his many emails to his bank.
And Paul and Sean weren’t happy. In fact they were livid, but they were between a rock and a hard place. Steve had screwed both of them so hard under the guise of him being an anonymous”blind” purchaser who had appeared”out of nowhere” to save the deal that they ended up losing all their seed money they had invested, and all future profits from the sale of Stage One. By accepting Steve’s offer, their best-case scenario was that Paul and Sean would walk away with their security freed up, but that’s all.
Once again, Paul and Sean found themselves in no position to argue, or even bargain. They had to accept what Steve put forward, or otherwise face bankruptcy.
Steve was playing hardball. Since he now”unfortunately” owned the project one hundred percent, it was his money on the line.
“It’s a take it or leave it offer. No exceptions,” Steve had told Paul and Sean when he put it to them after they found out about his deception. “At least this way you’ll walk away with your security freed up. But you won’t see any cash returned. That’s been chewed up.”
Which effectively meant that Paul and Sean had to kiss goodbye several million dollars in hard-earned money, and to add insult to injury the Teflon Man ended up owning the whole project for less than fifty cents on the dollar.
“Look Paul, with the Chinese ducking for cover, me taking out the whole project was the only way you were going to get out of the shit. I’m sorry that it ended with you guys not seeing anything at the end of the day, but at least you’ll get your assets released from all encumbrances.”
Steve had won again of course. Money makes money and the Teflon Man never lost.
“Now that’s what I call a good deal,” Steve had confided to Jo one night after they had all formally exchanged contracts.
“It’s had more twist and turns than the Big Sur, but it’s finally done and dusted.”
Jo just accepted that whatever her husband did was right. Although he did seem to be getting a bit stressed out with this latest venture.
“I’ll finish off Stage One, then sell fifty percent to a new joint venture partner. Can’t get sweeter than that.”
“Yeah? Doesn’t seem worth the effort,” Jo replied.
“Well that’s the clincher. We’ll get all our money back and still own half of the project.”
It was a bit too”high finance” for Jo.
“What about Kaz and Bec? I’ve left heaps of messages for Kaz, but she hasn’t got back to me.” Jo had just assumed Kaz was busy.
Steve had neglected to mention that this”convenient” financial arrangement was totally at Paul and Sean’s expense. Someone had to take the fall, and they were it, so Jo would have to get used to being ignored by Kaz and Bec for a while.
A very long while.
Steve smiled to himself as he was talking to his wife. He was feeling very altruistic. The fact that he’d totally screwed his partners out of their rightful return never occurred to him. Rather, he regarded himself as the white knight who, out of benevolence, had rescued the deal and put it back on track. And Jo and him profiting very handsomely along the way was simply a bonus.
“Paul and Sean don’t like what they ended up with, but I saved their bacon and kept them out of the bankruptcy court,” said Steve, justifying his harsh treatment of his partners to his wife.
“You know best, Steve. I’m sure you did the right thing.” Jo was ever trusting of her husband. He’d given her a good, want-for-nothing life, so why question it now?
“They’ll get over it. Give it six months and they’ll see that it was all for the better.”
As if pigs might fly! This was a lifetime rift.
As Sean had said to Bec over end-of-day drinks in their kitchen a few weeks ago, “I wouldn’t take the time of day to piss on Steve if he was on fire. In fact, I’d enjoy watching him burn. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“Sean O’Rourke, what a terrible thing to say! Hatred doesn’t solve anything.”
“Bec, the Irish have been hating our friends across the Irish Sea in England for over eight hundred years. So I don’t think you can say that ‘hate’ isn’t in our blood. No Bec, I hate him. And I hope he ends up in purgatory. One day he’ll get his comeuppance, the arsehole that he is. Other than that the Lord Almighty will surely see him burn in Hell.”
“Paul, if you take that job, I’m leaving,” ranted Kaz. “You’ve just lost all our savings, and now you’re having a belated midlife crisis that’ll see you trying to save the world. I married a banker with a very good job, not some misguided dickhead who’s going backward in life.”
Kaz was fuming. “Just get a grip! What you have to do is go back to work with your cap in hand and your tail between your legs.”
Kaz conveniently overlooked thirty-one years of marriage, three kids, and the fact that when she met Paul, he hadn’t been a banker. He was a starry-eyed unemployed kid just out of university who had ambitions to change the world.
Kaz’s world had been turned upside down over the past few months and she was at sixes and sevens as to how to react. Her previously secure life was an amalgam of shopping, lunches with girlfriends, supervising the hired domestic help, looking after the family, visiting an array of healthcare practitioners, going to the hairdressers and the day spa, and arranging their next holiday. And now Paul intended to resign from the bank and work for a charity, totally upsetting her apple cart and almost perfect life.
“How do you expect us to live? Where’ll the money come from? Certainly not from that job you’re looking at. And don’t expect me to join the workforce; I’m far too busy.”
“Kaz, you don’t get it, do you? The Carlton development crashing out made me realize that what I’ve been working for all these years was all false. It provided us with a great lifestyle, but somewhere along the way we became sidetracked.”
Paul let his mind wander, then continued, “Money’s not the prime asset in life—time is. And we need to value every precious moment. When you’re dead, that’s it, Kaz. All over, red rover.”
Kaz looked at him dumbfounded, then interjected, “Paul, you simply can’t resign from the bank . . .”
Cutting Kaz off midsentence, Paul finished his rationale. “If I’m offered the job, I intend to take it, and that it. My mind’s made up.
“And why? Because time’s slipping away, and the next thing I know it’ll all be too late and I’ll be saying to myself when I’m in a wheelchair, ‘If only I had.’ Well that’s not going to happen.”
Since the Carlton development came to a head some two months ago, Paul and Kaz had been drifting further and further apart. Kaz refused to accept the writing on the wall: that a changing of the guard had occurred, Steve was in control, and Paul no longer had a position in the new regime.
“Steve will ‘reemploy’ you once the project starts up again. He’ll have to,” Kaz had said to Paul only a few weeks ago, to which Paul had replied, “No Kaz, that’s it. It’s over between us. And besides, I’ve already told him to go fuck himself. I never want to see that prick again. Ever.”
Kaz just couldn’t see past her own problems. Even with their demise the world still revolved around her.
“You’re just so tied up with your own selfish life that you simply don’t have a clue what’s going on around you, do you?” Paul was sick of pussyfooting around. “You don’t care what I want; it just falls on deaf ears.”
Kaz was totally devastated that Paul would dare speak like that to her. After all she had done for him. So after that fateful conversation, Paul started holding back and saying nothing. It was far easier that way.
Then the straw that broke the camel’s
back was when Paul visited his doctor. He didn’t have a specific complaint, but rather a general malaise, and had walked away with a script for antidepressants and a recommendation to visit a psychologist to discuss his”problems.”
What a load of horse shit, he thought to himself as he angrily stormed out of the clinic.
“I’m not crazy. I’m not depressive. And there’s no way I’m going to walk the antidepressants pathway,” he said to himself as he pensively sat in his car after the doctor’s appointment, tearing the script in half in disgust.
“I’ll sort this out myself.”
Then, as the universe always seems to have the last word, it was as if a magnificent example of serendipity occurred. On the way home from the doctor’s, Paul received a phone call.
“Hi Paul. It’s Tom Rea from ‘Care the World.’ I’ll come straight to the point, as you said you’re driving. Well, I’d like to be the first to congratulate you. You’ve secured the position of CEO with us. I hope you’re as excited about joining us as we are in offering you the role. So, the next big question is, if you’re still interested and accept the position, when can you start? We’re keen to kick this off as soon as possible.”
With a clarity of thought that had been eluding him for months now, coupled with the shock of his doctor’s assessment and subsequent diagnosis of his condition as being depression, Paul unequivocally accepted the job on the spot.
“Kaz, I may now be working for a nonprofit organization, or ‘charity’ as you like to refer to it,” Paul said to Kaz as soon as he arrived home, “but I’m being paid. This isn’t pro bono. I’m an employee, just like I am at the bank at present.”
“Maybe, but you’ll be working for peanuts,” replied Kaz bitterly.
“Isn’t that what they feed the monkeys whom you’ll be fighting for?” Kaz was mighty pissed off and refused to see it from Paul’s perspective.
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 27
