by Steve Hadden
“We’ve gotta go, Amy. I’ll talk to you soon. Let’s go, Joe.”
Joe helped David into the wheel chair, and the nurse pushed David to the elevator. He looked back at Amy. She stood in the hallway, clutched her red Elmo doll, waved and smiled. David waved back, then Joe rolled him into the elevator. He knew if he failed, this would be the last time he’d ever see Amy alive. He’d made a promise, and at that moment, he decided failure would not be an option.
CHAPTER 23
It was Tuesday evening and Royce Brayton admired the orange glow surrounding the silhouette of Catalina Island. The breeze off the water was refreshing and steady. He felt the chartered yacht rock gently in the small swells. The skipper turned the three deck pleasure cruiser parallel to Balboa Island and headed south. Brayton faced the shoreline, leaned on the brass rail, and took in the offshore view of Newport Beach. Sunset lost its battle with dusk, and thousands of lights brought the coastline back to life. This was the good life, he mused, and it only would get better from here.
Priscilla Wellington stepped from the cabin with two glasses of Dom Perignon cradled in her slender fingers.
“Well, Royce, here’s to us,” she said. She draped her arm over his shoulder and looked at the sparkling shoreline.
Royce glanced at her. She was irresistible. Her light silk dress waved softly in the breeze. The sweet smell of Pleasures drifted around him and drew his body closer. The silk loosely wrapped her full tan breasts she pressed against his side. He’d never been able to resist an opportunity for pleasure. Even as a young man, he was unable to resist the advances of two of his three stepmothers. All beautiful trophies for his father, and the reason his father eventually threw him out.
“You look beautiful tonight. I hope the crew doesn’t mind us disappearing after dinner.”
Royce took Priscilla in his arms and they shared a wet, passionate kiss. Priscilla seemed to share his appetite for sex.
“Royce, now that you have control of the business, I sure hope you can keep it,” she said.
Royce stepped back from the rail and held Priscilla by her shoulders, peering into her dark brown eyes.
“What do mean, you hope I can keep it?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about what would happen if David found a way to get his position back,” Priscilla said, turning her gaze to the coastline.
“And how would he ever do that, my dear?” Brayton kept his eyes fixed on her.
“It’s just that now he’s asked me for a divorce and he’s survived the crash, I’ll have to split everything with him, including my shares in the new company. That gives him quite a bit of clout, doesn’t it?” She still gazed at the lights glimmering in the distance.
Brayton joined Priscilla at the rail, sipped his Dom Perignon and looked silently across the swells. He drew in a deep breath of the fresh salt air. She peeked at Brayton to catch a glimpse of his expression, then quickly gazed back at the coastline.
“You know, I hadn’t considered that a threat, until now.”
How did I miss that? No loose ends.
He knew Priscilla might be right. Wellington could gain enough leverage with his shares to maybe convince an institutional shareholder to join him. He wasn’t sure if Priscilla was asking him to do something or just sharing a concern. They never talked about his plans, and now would not be the time to start. After all, she was just a good lay, not his partner.
He convinced himself he’d deal with Wellington later. Tonight was about his coronation as the winner. He had the company, and he had Priscilla. He was the victor. And to the victor go the spoils.
“Let’s not let that spoil our evening,” he said raising the champagne flute.
Priscilla raised her flute and, with a ring, clicked it gently against his. She smiled. It looked like it was a smile of satisfaction. But Royce didn’t care. He had one thing on his mind.
He led Priscilla into the master stateroom. The room was paneled in teak wood. Two small lamps at the head of the wide bed warmly lit the room. The leopard skin spread was tucked tightly into the bed frame. Brayton dimmed the lights and slipped closer to Priscilla. Gently, he unwrapped the silk that covered her smooth tan breasts. He felt her firmness; the smooth silky skin; he slid away her lingerie and exposed her sexy tan line.
This was his trophy. He’d defeated David Wellington, taken his company, and now he’d take his wife. He was certain he could handle Prescott, and the other half of the Rexsen Family Trust was now underneath him, groaning in passionate pleasure. He was firmly in control. CGT’s imperfection would remain a secret, and in one week, he’d be richer than he’d ever imagined. He drifted into a trance and enjoyed one of the forbidden fruits of his labor. To him sex was power, and tonight, he had all the power.
CHAPTER 24
David Wellington entered the darkened first floor of his Laguna Beach house and flipped the light switch. The soft light warmed the familiar surroundings, and for the first time in days, he felt safe and secure. The contemporary décor ran through the entire beachfront home. White rounded chairs were accented with soft pink pillows and draped with sand white afghans. Every corner where walls or ceiling met was carefully rounded into a smooth gentle curve. The soft lines of the room drew the eye to the serene beach and sparkling blue surf outside. As he watched the ocean foam onto the long stretch of beach through the massive windows, he relaxed his labored breathing.
Everything about the place was soft and comfortable to David; eight million dollars worth of comfortable.
“Just leave the bags in the room, boss?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, I’ll unpack later,” David said as he stretched.
He kept looking outside as the Pacific churned wave after wave onto the beach.
“You gonna be okay, boss?”
David turned and saw the look of concern on Joe’s face. It was the first kind face he’d seen since the accident. Joe always took care of David and David, in return, took good care of Joe.
“You know I’m going to need some help figuring some things out,” David said, looking at Joe.
“You know me boss. I’m ready when you are. I don’t like what those bastards did to you, especially after your accident and all. That prick Prescott didn’t give a damn about Mr. Rexsen dying, and he was his dad; the best damn man I’ve ever known.”
David turned back to the ocean. Adam Rexsen was the best man he’d ever known too. David couldn’t shake the last conversation they had or the image of the old man’s last moments.
“Do you know what Adam’s last words were?”
Joe walked up and stood next to David as they both stared at the surging tide.
“No, boss,” Joe replied.
“He said Prescott and Priscilla had no sense of purpose.”
“Purpose?” Joe asked.
David looked out to sea. “He said the reason he was in this business was to give people hope. To help all the men women and children who suffered or died from cancer. That was what drove him.”
“Yea, that sounds like Mr. Rexsen. He always felt that way. I heard him tell the employees the same thing when he’d visit with them.”
“Well, he really believed it. You should have seen how peaceful he was just before the crash. He said one other thing, too.”
“What was that, boss?”
“He asked me not to let his children get control of the company. It’s like he had a premonition. I promised him, Joe.” David stopped.
“Promised him what?”
“That I would not let them get control of the company.”
David continued to stare out the window. He realized he’d let his mentor and friend down. He was out as CEO, and Adam Rexsen’s greedy children had control of the Trust and therefore the company. Maybe he could have headed this off, if he’d listened to Adam years earlier. He was too caught up in himself and the money. Adam was right, David decided. Under the banner of creating value, he’d lost sight of the purpose of Rexsen Labs. His failure had cost Adam Rexsen
his life.
He felt Joe’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, boss,” Joe said.
David nodded, pulled himself together.
“Well then,” Joe said, “we’d better get to work, boss.”
For the next several hours, they sat at the dining room table and shuffled through the mountain of papers. Using his contacts with the clerk in the corporate secretary’s office, Joe had obtained news clips, David’s employment agreement, and a bootlegged copy of the minutes of the last board meeting. They had read and re-read each document, searching for any way to undo David’s firing. They had also made dozens of phone calls.
“Okay, then,” David said, as he placed one hand on his forehead and reviewed his notepad, “the calls I made to the executive committee got us nowhere. The ones I could reach just clammed up. Said they couldn’t speak directly to me on the advice of counsel. They all directed me to work through my attorney.”
“What’d he say?” Joe asked.
“He just kept apologizing about me losing my job and promising he’d negotiate a great severance.”
“Sounds like an attorney,” Joe said.
“What did you come up with?”
“My guys in the garage gave me what they could. They drove the board members to the Monterey airport after the meeting and overheard them talking about what went on.”
“What’d they say?”
“First of all, they all hate Prescott. But apparently he used some strong-arm tactics to get the vote. He told them since he now owned the controlling shares in the company, they’d all be replaced within a month, if they didn’t vote you out. He told them you were incompetent to continue, from the crash and all. Then, he had the underwriter and a few other investment bankers tell the board that the IPO would do better with Brayton at the helm. They all went along to save their own greedy butts.”
“That’s okay Joe. I expected as much.” David patted Joe on the arm.
“So what are we going to do, boss?”
David took a deep breath and scanned the table.
“We don’t have many options, do we?”
“We ain’t got shi …” Joe’s reply was interrupted by the buzz of David’s personal BlackBerry.
After checking caller ID David answered it on the second ring.
“Hello.”
The caller paused. “Mr. Wellington? David Wellington?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Mr. Wellington, I’m so sorry to bother you after … you know, after your crash. Your old secretary gave me the number, after I begged her for it. I didn’t know where to turn.”
David heard the stress in her voice. He looked at Joe and raised his eyebrows.
“You worked for me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Tori Clarke, a senior researcher for Rexsen. I think …” she hesitated but David remained silent, “I think I may have discovered a problem with CGT … and maybe a cover-up.”
David made a writing motion with his hand in the air, and Joe jumped up and delivered a pen and David’s notepad.
“Okay. What’s the problem?”
Tori hesitated again. “Not over the phone Mr. Wellington. There’s something weird going on. I need to meet you in person. Some place where there are not many people.”
David thought for a second.
“Slip 29. At the Eagle’s Nest Marina.”
“Okay, but just you. What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
The phone clicked dead.
David slowly returned the BlackBerry to the table and stared at Joe. He knew a problem with CGT, if exposed, meant there would be no FDA approval. And without the earnings potential of CGT, the IPO would not go forward. Billions of dollars were at stake. If there was a conspiracy, David was certain Prescott and Brayton were the ones who were in control and would profit the most from it. Maybe Adam Rexsen’s fears were a premonition. Maybe the plane crash was not an accident, but a means to get control of Rexsen. David stiffened at the thought of his friend being murdered by his own son.
“Boss?” Joe said, breaking his train of thought.
David threw the notepad on the table.
“We may have a plan.”
CHAPTER 25
The fog chilled air seeped in from the moonless night and drifted along the bare tile floor. Shrouded in darkness, Butch Donovan hunched over the table and meticulously reviewed the checklist illuminated by a single halogen light. A razor sharp dagger did an impression of a paperweight, and glistening parts of a disassembled Mark 23, including a sleek silencer and laser aiming device, were laid out like chess pieces on a soft square cloth. He felt in control. This was his office and he did his best work under the cover of darkness. He’d prayed for pitch black nights like this on every mission he’d completed.
In less than an hour, he’d devised a flawless trap. The team had the necessary evidence, and he was certain he had the right pawns in play. His body tingled with a surge of endorphins when he moved to the last actions on the checklist and imagined using his knife with the precision of a surgeon. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he locked his hands behind his thick neck and savored the feeling.
The ring of the black cellular phone, neatly positioned to the right of the makeshift mini command center, interrupted his deadly daydream. It was a little after eight p.m., and the display indicated the call was from Long Beach.
“Donovan.”
“We gotta problem.” Lane said.
“Go on.” Donovan said with anticipation.
He loved problems. Problems meant action. He felt confident he’d anticipated this one.
“Just sending you an audio file from Wellington’s beach house and another containing a phone call he received a few minutes ago. Sure glad we got our equipment in place. You’d better listen right away and call back.”
“Will do,” he said calmly.
Donovan stood, grabbed the knife and headed to the laptop tucked into the far corner of the room. Passing by the kitchen island, he picked an apple from a bowl and had gutted it into bite sized quarters before he reached the computer. He logged in and clicked on the first of the two audio files. The voices were identified in the window as Wellington and his driver. Their conversation was circular, Donovan thought, and going nowhere. No big deal. But the last few words caused him to reposition the cursor to play the last few seconds again.
“We may have a plan.”
The words made him bristle in anticipation of hearing the next file. He closed the file and opened the remaining audio file containing the call. He carefully listened to Tori Clarke’s voice, and noted the tone, and the inflections. He replayed it and confirmed his conclusion: she had information devastating to his client and his planned retirement.
“Shit!”
He knew they needed to move quickly. Much sooner than he thought, but still his planning had been clairvoyant. His adrenaline surged, and he grabbed the phone and crushed the numbers into the keypad.
“Let’s get going on the contingency plan for Clarke and Wellington now,” he ordered. “We only have until ten to set up our insurance plan; I’ll brief you on the remaining details once you connect with Waters. It’s sooner than we thought, so get the second team going too. It’s 8:17 now and they need to have the evidence and the weasel in place and be out of there by 9:30, so this is a scramble.”
“Affirmative,” Lane replied.
Donovan hung up the phone, retrieved the knife from the computer desk, and with several huge strides, moved through the darkness, back to the kitchen table. He picked up the polymer frame of the MK 23, and in less than thirty seconds, methodically assembled the pieces and grinned. He unsheathed the knife and admired the blade glimmering in the shadowy light. He thought about the plan and imagined its smooth execution. It would be an enjoyable night.
CHAPTER 26
It was nearly nine p.m. The champagne was still cold, and Brayton gulped the half full glass, while he watche
d Priscilla wriggle into the silk teddy and disappear into the head. He felt the gentle rock of the yacht and sank back into the pillows, locked his fingers behind his neck and sighed. The smell of her perfume lingered in the soft silky sheets. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew he was good in bed. He loved their compliments every time they left his bed. He replayed his last three conquests in his mind and concluded he was getting better with age.
The ring of his BlackBerry jolted him from his ego-building narcissistic self- review. He reached to the teak wood nightstand, glanced at the closed bathroom door, and answered.
“What’s up?” he whispered.
“You have a problem.”
He hated the implication he was in this alone almost as much as he hated having to use this contact. The man he despised most in his life sat in his comfortable cell at Lompoc, while Brayton struggled to pay back his debt to the deadly bankers his father had recommended.
He pushed himself up from the bed and swung his feet to the floor. His glance checked the closed door again.
“What is it this time?” he growled.
“That Clarke bitch you called me about earlier is on the move, and I think she’s headed towards the marina as we speak. Looks like she’s meeting with Wellington on his yacht.”
Brayton shot up to his feet and stood naked, trying to keep his voice low but still make his point.
“What the hell do you mean?” Priscilla’s words from earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.
Now that you have control of the business, I sure hope you can keep it.
“We have to move quickly here, Royce.”
Brayton felt the pressure build inside.
“What do you want me to do?” the voice asked.
Brayton checked the door again, and turned away from the closed bathroom door, paced to the opposite side of the stateroom and raised his voice slightly.
“You guys are supposed to help me. I’m paying you a ton of money so do your job.”