Tangled up in Hate

by Charlotte Byrd

  I don’t care about going to court and making a case for duress. All I want is for Harley to be safe.

  “Great, thank you very much,” the lawyer with the video says. “Now, if you do not mind, I’m going to turn the camera toward you and record a little video of you.”

  “What kind of video?” I ask, despondently.

  “We would like you to just make a statement that you have made this agreement with Lindell industries without duress and this is really what you think is best for your company.”

  The absurdity of this statement makes me chuckle.

  “How will anyone ever believe that?” I ask. “I mean, why in the world would I want to just give him fifty-one percent of the company?”

  “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I forgot to give you this.”

  I stare at the check that he hands me. It’s printed from Lindell Industries and addressed to Minetta. The memo line reads, In exchange for a fifty-one percent share. I resist looking at the amount until I can’t not look anymore.

  “He is giving me a check for fifty-million dollars?”

  “Of course.” The lawyer chuckles. “How else could this deal go through?”

  “And, of course, we will accompany you to the bank to see that you deposit it in the account.”

  A wave of relief sweeps over my body. It’s not that I’m actually relieved, it’s just that my body is giving up.

  The Lindells have thought of everything. Of course, the contract would mean nothing if they didn’t pay me for the share.

  But they didn’t actually pay me what it’s actually worth.

  They paid me a lot more of its value. There are many different ways to estimate the worth of a company but given how much money it has been losing recently, it’s definitely not worth fifty-million.

  When I made the deal with Aurora, she paid me two million in exchange for thirty percent. That was more of an accurate estimate of Minetta’s worth.

  “This is way too much,” I point out.

  “Yes, the Lindells are aware of that, of course. But they know that you are giving away the controlling interest of the company and they want to compensate you adequately for it,” the other lawyer from the opposing side says.

  Yeah, right, I say to myself.

  No, what they’re really doing is paying me extra because they are going to turn Minetta into a company for laundering money.

  It’s the same reason why all those oligarchs overpay for real estate in New York. They don’t care how much it is, they just need to find a way to launder their billions.

  Each one of them carefully goes over the paperwork that I signed, making sure there’s not a single mistake.

  Then they close their briefcases and collect their things.

  “I’ll deposit this later today,” I say as casually as possible. Maybe if they see me cooperating then they’ll let me off the hook.

  “No, I’m sorry,” one of my attorneys says. “We have to follow the protocol exactly. We will accompany you to the bank, deposit this into the account, and once we know that the amount has cleared then you will be free to go.”

  He may be my attorney on paper, but he has none of my best interests in mind. He sounds like he is one of the kidnappers, forcing me to pay a ransom in exchange for Aurora. The only difference is that instead of money, they want my company.

  “How will I know that Aurora will be fine?”

  “She is fine. She will be let out as soon as the money clears your account.”

  “Is that your policy with all of your hostages?”

  “Mr. Ludlow, there must be some sort of misunderstanding. Lindell Industries does not take hostages.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. He must be delusional.

  “So, how do you explain this situation?” I ask. “With Aurora?”

  “That was just a negotiating tactic.”

  He’s so full of shit that he actually believes his lies.

  When we get to the main bank, we go straight to the back room and meet with the bank manager and his advisors.

  This is one of the oldest buildings in New York. Its tall ceilings and almost gothic architecture with stained windows and elaborate banisters gives the place gravitas and significance.

  But none of these things change the fact that they are helping the Lindells commit massive fraud.

  I sign the back of the check and the manager processes the transaction.

  “How long will it take to clear?”

  “Usually two to three days, but given the special circumstances of this transaction, they will be available in your account in a few minutes, Mr. Ludlow.”

  Perfect, I say to myself sarcastically. How convenient.

  Of course, all of this could’ve been done with a wire transfer, by just wiring the money from his account to mine without me being here at the bank.

  But I have the feeling that the Lindells wanted to make sure that people saw me. Wire transfers are done electronically but checking account deposits of this amount require the person’s actual presence.

  They wanted me to actually come here, in person, sign the back of the check, and go through the motions.

  Everything is recorded, only further solidifying their case that the company is now theirs and that this transaction is not conducted under duress.

  They may be many things but they are not dumb.

  19

  Jackson

  When they leave me alone…

  After we walk out of the bank, the lawyers all pile into the same town car and disappear down the street.

  They offered to give me a ride back to my house, but I said no. I do not want to spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary.

  I try to process the moment as it is now. I am no longer the main shareholder of Minetta, and that means that I have no say in what they are going to do with the company.

  A part of me wishes that they just took the whole thing away from me. What’s the point of holding on to what’s left?

  The contract that I signed keeps me at CEO, but it’s not really the job I want.

  I built that place from scratch and to keep running after this coup just seems pointless.

  Companies are not just these inorganic objects that you can just toss to one side.

  The thing that my mind keeps coming back to is the employees. Minetta is their livelihood.

  It’s how they pay rent and their mortgages. It’s how they support their children. If I let the Lindells drive it into the ground, what happens to them?

  I pull my phone out of my pocket.

  I should call them, at least the department heads and let them know what’s going on.

  But I can’t bring my fingers to press the dial. I’ve just lost everything that I’ve worked for.

  If I were to call them now, then I would have to deal with the fallout.

  There will be questions that I cannot answer.

  And there will be others that I shouldn’t answer. Besides, Aurora isn’t safe yet. I will not do anything until I know that she’s fine.

  I pop into a small stationary store and look at all the beautiful paper products. Elaborate thank you cards, printed in Italy and Spain.

  Fountain pens.

  I pick up a handmade journal with an outline of flowers on the cover.

  I don’t know much about the paper industry, but the unlined paper inside the journal feels thick and expensive. It’s not made of leather and I know that Harley would love this.

  This is the store where I bought the paper for the letters that I wrote her. How can I make amends now for what I’ve done? A part of me thinks that I can just go to her and explain. But I know that I have hurt her, deeply. Is an explanation enough? Probably not. Still, I buy the journal for her and tuck it under my arm.

  It feels like I’m walking around aimlessly, but my feet seem to take me to her. Half an hour later, I’m standing on her corner, near her apartment building, and waiting. I even walk over to the intercom and stare at the button
s. Just press it, I say to myself. Just do it, already.

  But something stops me. No, I’m not ready. I’m ready to see her, but I’m not ready to face her. And I’m not ready to be rejected by her.

  She didn’t let me up the last time, even after I wrote her all of those letters. Why would this time be different? Why would she give me the chance to explain now?

  When the front door starts to open, I run around the corner and hide behind the wall.

  A few moments later, I glance out and see that it’s just an older woman walking her little dog. I let out a deep sigh of relief and step away.

  That’s when I hear him. I recognize Martin’s voice immediately even though I can’t make out the words. I duck behind the wall again and wait.

  Harley follows behind him. They walk out together laughing and head across the street. As I watch them getting further and further away, I still don’t know what to do. Unable to decide, I just follow them. They go inside the large chain pharmacy at the corner and I walk in a few moments after.

  Harley walks down the aisle, looking at products in the makeup section. I head down the one next to it. Luckily, the separations between the aisles are tall enough for me to remain safely on the other side. But they also make it impossible to see what’s on the other side.

  “What are you doing?” Martin surprises me. He looks back, making sure that she’s not following him, and then pulls me past the pharmacy counter and into another aisle on the other side of the store.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to see her.”

  Martin shakes his head, disapprovingly.

  “You broke up with her. And this is the first day that I’ve seen her act like a human being again.”

  My heart clenches up from the pain that I must’ve caused her.

  “It’s over,” I finally say. “The threat from the Lindells.”

  “What happened?”

  “I signed over half of the company like they wanted. I don’t think they will try to hurt her again.”

  Martin nods and then shrugs.

  “I want to talk to her,” I whisper. “I want to make things right again.”

  Martin looks down at the floor.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that she was really hurt. And if for some reason you don’t think it’s the perfect time to make contact then you should wait.”

  I nod. He’s right. I don’t know if Aurora is back yet. All I know is that they got what they wanted. But is that enough? What will they want next?

  “I understand,” I mumble.

  “Also, you have to stop following us. You’re distracting me and I can’t focus on the actual threats that she might be facing.”

  I go home without talking to Harley. If she’s feeling better then that’s enough for me for now. After tossing my coat on the couch, I head straight into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Aurora walks up to me and wraps her arms around my neck.

  20

  Harley

  When I move on…

  It’s hard to say whether I am making progress because progress isn’t really a linear process.

  Some days, I feel normal again, or at least somewhat normal.

  And other days, I miss Jackson so much that my whole body shakes.

  This morning, I feel better. I still think about him, but when I try to put those thoughts out of my mind, I actually succeed.

  Today, tears do not start to flow down my face at the thought of everything that I’ve been through.

  Instead, I sit down at my desk and start to work.

  The last thing that Jackson did was give me a very big check. I wanted to rip it up into a million pieces.

  Then I wanted to stomp on what’s left and grind it into the sidewalk. But I did neither of those things.

  I just kept it in my wallet until I felt better. And yesterday, I deposited it.

  A part of me still thinks that maybe that was the wrong thing to do. The check was his way of making everything alright.

  It was almost as if he were trying to pay me off and to write off his guilt. At least, that’s what I thought about it at first.

  But with time, I came to the conclusion that that’s not what he was doing. I am still not entirely sure why Jackson broke up with me, but I know that he is not a cruel man.

  He did not use me and he was not trying to pay me off with this money. He was just giving it to me because he wanted me to have it.

  But I didn’t accept it because I wanted to make him happy. I accepted it because I need it.

  I am going to try to become a successful independent author and for that I need money.

  The only way to compete is to have money for advertising and turning this check down means that I will again be back to working paycheck to paycheck to pay my portion of the rent.

  No.

  I’ve done that already and I’m ready to do something else. He doesn’t know this yet, but I accepted the money as a loan.

  I will be putting away whatever profit I manage to make toward paying him back every single cent of this.

  I spend the day writing and working on marketing while Martin and Julie laugh and make cutesy looks at each other on the other side of the room.

  I hate to admit it, but they actually make a pretty nice couple.

  Unlike the asshole guys that Julie usually goes out with, Martin is grounded and down to earth.

  He looks at her like he really sees her for the person that she is, rather than an object to hang off his arm.

  I wish that they would just leave me alone and go out somewhere together, but Martin is technically on the job.

  He’s my bodyguard and that means that he has to be with me at all times.

  At first, I found his presence annoying and bothersome. But now, I’m pretty used to it.

  It feels nice to have someone there watching over my back so that I don’t have to. I had forgotten how timid I’ve become whenever I am outside.

  My eyes are darting all over the street and around corners, in an effort to make sure that if Parker is around then I will see him first before he sees me.

  But now, with Martin going with me, a big part of me is back to normal.

  Safe. Is this how regular people feel?

  Just at peace all the time?

  Wow, imagine that.

  I head to the kitchen for what feels like the tenth time today for yet another snack. I really need to cut down on all of this snacking, but I can’t.

  I’ll stop eating all of this junk food tomorrow, I say to myself.

  For now, I give them a brief nod and grab a bag of chips that I purchased last night at the convenience store on the corner.

  I should’ve never bought this.

  Why can’t you just have willpower like other people?

  Just because Jackson broke up with you it doesn’t mean that you have to stuff yourself with all of this crap and gain thirty pounds on top of it.

  I stuff the chips into my mouth feverishly.

  The salt, and fat, and fried potatoes send endorphins through my body, making me feel energized and happy.

  At least, for the moment.

  I eat about half a bag in no time and stare at what’s left with disgust.

  You don’t need to eat the rest, I say to myself.

  Just throw it away.

  I toss it in the trashcan under the desk.

  I try to focus on the words that I’m writing, but the harder I try not to think about the chips sitting less than a foot away from me, the more I think about that exact thing. Eventually, I give in and finish the bag.

  Half an hour later, I run to the bathroom and bury my head in the toilet.

  21

  Harley

  When something’s wrong…

  I continue to throw up most of the evening and well into the morning.

  I feel so sick that I can barely make it back to my bed.

  Julie brings me water with electrolytes to drink but I throw that
up as well.

  I spend the night lying on the cool tile floor, waiting for the next pang of nausea to set in and praying for death.

  Surprisingly, I manage to make it until morning and things only get worse from there.

  The nausea is pervasive and never-ending.

  It seems like every time I move my head just a little bit, I have to empty the contents of my stomach.

  “What did you eat?” Julie asks, sitting down on the bed next to me.

  “Nothing,” I whisper. My lips are chapped and I see spots whenever I open my eyes. She hands me a glass of water to drink but I push it away. I threw up the last few times I even had a drop of that.

  “You have to drink something. You’re getting dehydrated.”

  But I shake my head no.

  “You think it’s just the stomach flu?”

  I shrug and turn away from her, burying my head in the pillow.

  The following day I am not feeling much better. I spent another horrendous night throwing up and Julie is so concerned that she wants me to go to the hospital.

  The thought of traveling in a car over bumpy streets and sitting in the emergency room is unfathomable.

  “It’s going to cost a fortune,” I mumble.

  “Okay, fine. But I’m making you an appointment to see someone at the clinic tomorrow.”

  I want to fight her on this, but I am too weak and too tired. Plus, I am starting to get really worried. What if something is seriously wrong? What then? I’ve had a stomach flu before, but this seems like something much more serious than that. With all of these thoughts swirling around in my head, I turn toward the wall, pull the blanket over my head, and shut my eyes.

  In the morning, Julie and Martin help me downstairs and into the waiting cab. The clinic is only three blocks away but there’s no way I can make it down there on foot.

  I can barely make it downstairs.