by nikki blaire
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He swallowed hard before skimming over her father’s biography. “The first Black Chief Judge, ever.”
Marcus couldn’t believe what he was reading. He had thought his father’s legacy was overbearing, but Charlisse’s father was a first. That definitely was a lot of pressure, just like she had said.
He huffed loudly, annoyed with himself for remembering every detail of their conversation. He hadn't been acting like himself since he met this woman.
The last few links were videos of her sitting on panels and sharing her expertise on politics and public affairs. Hearing the sound of her voice soothed the little ache of longing that he had from her never responding to him.
Inside, Marcus couldn’t help but feel like he had stumbled upon his unicorn. Professional, check. Smart, check. Funny, check, and the sex...
Check, check, check.
He kept clicking until he finally dozed off with his phone still in his hand.
In what felt like only a few hours later, a continuous vibration against Marcus’ chest yanked him out of his sleep. He lifted it to his face to see the time and the caller I.D., even though he knew that it was his sister. Repeated calling was Ayda’s distress signal.
“Ayda, it’s 4 a.m.” He picked up. “What’s the matter?”
Marcus groggily looked around, realizing he had fallen asleep in his clothes. Her voice was frantic and laced with trepidation, which made him sit up.
“A reporter friend of mine just called. He told me that a scandal story is going to break about Dad this morning. An affair...and possibly embezzlement. Marc, what the hell is going on?”
This was not what he had expected to hear. He thought she would need money or some other problem that he could easily fix.
Marcus bolted out of bed and began to pace in order to think through his sister’s emotional outburst.
“You know how those reporters fish for anything, Ayda. You shouldn’t have given him any of your time. He was probably trying to corner you into saying something detrimental.”
“I’m not dumb, Marc. I know how to handle reporters. I do it for a living, remember?” She smacked her teeth.
“And this was definitely not just fishing, Marc. He called and said it’s bad. He wanted me to have time to do damage control for the family before it came out.”
“We don’t need any damn damage control.” He growled. “It’s not anything we need to devote our energy to.”
“You’re being an arrogant dumbass.” Ayda’s voice was thick with disapproval. “I know you think that our father is the second coming, but you can’t have your head so far up his ass that you ignore what’s right in front of you. Mom and Dad are not good, Marc. I've been talking to our mother and there are things that you don’t know. ”
“But you do?” He scoffed. “I manage the money for the damn firm, Ayda. There’s no damn way there’s any embezzlement going on and whoever said it can go fuck themselves!”
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but Ayda had a way of touching every push point. There was a pause on the other end before Ayda continued. He could tell that she was biting her tongue.
“Well…” She paused again. “I believe my source, and if it’s as bad as he says it is then they’ve got hard evidence, Marc.” She sighed. “I can’t deal with this. I need to draft a statement at the very least.”
“There’s nothing to deal with, Ayda. You don’t have to do a damn thing. It’s not true!” He raised his voice again, which shut her up.
“Alright, Marc.” She exhaled. “If you think you have it handled, then I’ll let you handle it.”
The phone went silent. She hung up.
Marcus ran a hand down his face then quickly moved to the bathroom. He needed to get dressed and to the office as quickly as possible.
After getting himself together, he dashed downtown, constantly trying to reach his father along the way.
“Dammit!” He groaned, as he sped down 16th Street.
He got his father’s voicemail for the seventh time, as he veered into his parking space then raced upstairs. The office was still empty, which was welcomed. Marcus needed a moment to process what was really going on without any distractions.
He stomped to his office, turning on the television in the lobby as he passed. While walking by, he caught a glimpse of a shadow in his father’s office.
“Dad, is that you?” He edged a little closer, just in case it was an intruder. Security in this building was top-notch, but with the news that Marcus had just received, he was beginning to believe that anything could happen.
“It’s me.” His father’s voice called out to him.
Marcus eased into the office, which was dark and dreary. His father had the curtains closed and hadn’t turned on a single light. The usually grandiose man sat slumped in his large office chair with his head in his hands, while the news played in the background.
Financial powerhouse, Marcus J. Forde, Sr. is said to have had an affair with the EVP of Nexlon Materials, Margaret Winters, daughter of the company’s founder. This torrid affair, which began over a year ago, is said to have been hot, heavy, and extremely expensive. Allegedly, the pair embezzled money from Nexlon Materials to fund their extravagant romps across the country. Neither could be reached for comment.
Marcus moved closer to his father, who had yet to look up at him. He inched forward cautiously, given the circumstances. He knew his father’s temper and had yet to ever see him in such a defeated state.
“Dad, what the hell is going on? This is...not true. Right?”
His father finally glared up at him with a look of disgust.
“How dare you ever ask me some bullshit like that?” His deep voice barked. “You think I’d ever steal some damn money? Do you think I could ever steal from myself?”
But that had actually been the furthest from Marcus’ worries.
“I’m talking about the affair, Dad. Did you...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
What Ayda had told him seemed completely ridiculous, but as the news sounded behind him, things started to seem more credible.
Marcus began to go back through his thoughts. His father’s missing expenses. His parents’ bickering. They all rushed to the forefront of his mind and he began to feel nauseous. He needed his father to say that it wasn’t true to his face. But Marcus, Sr. stayed silent, which hurt.
Marcus was going to throw up, but pushed it back down to stand firm.
“I didn’t embezzle a damn thing and you should know that.” His father finally stood up then went to his window. “This is all being blown out of proportion.”
His voice wavered a little. “And your mother...”
“Is that why you’ve been managing the Nexlon account alone? That’s sick.” Marcus couldn’t help his word choice.
His mother was the epitome of everything. What kind of man cheated when he had everything?
“You’ve always had this perfect view of your mother, Marc. You don’t know a damn thing about her or what it takes to be married at all. The pressure, her obsession with keeping up appearances. Save me the shit.”
He kept his back to his son.
“I’ve always had the same view of both of you.” Marcus corrected. “I guess I should have been saving it for her.”
His anger was starting to bubble up and he was fighting hard to control it. His father was his role model, his closest friend. His ability to keep on a lie like this was Earth shattering.
“How long?” Marcus demanded in a voice so aggressive that he didn’t even recognize it.
“Excuse me?” His father turned around to face him, but Marcus didn’t repeat himself.
He knew his father had heard him.
“Long enough,” was all the man said then moved towards his wet bar to make a drink.
“You need a drink.” Marcus, Sr. grabbed two glasses then proceeded to pour scotch into both of them.
“Here.” His father held the glass out
to Marcus, but he didn’t reach for it.
“You sacrificed everything that we’ve all worked so hard to maintain for some pussy?” Marcus grimaced because the words tasted even more absurd than they sounded.
“Watch your damn mouth, Marc.”
“Watch your dick.” He shot back, completely forgetting that he was talking to his father.
“I’m not discussing that with you and I didn’t embezzle a damn thing! I’m handling this shit and I need you to have your shit together too, Marc!”
His father erupted, just as the news broadcast began to loop the story again.
Seeing his father this way shook Marcus to the core. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to fix this.
“I’ve called our lawyers and they suggested that we bring in an expert. Someone who knows how to handle these kinds of things, a crisis manager.”
His father kept talking, but Marcus wasn’t very tuned in. All he could think about was his mother. She was also seeing this news, and even worse, she was likely alone.
“They will be able to tell us how to move forward. I need you to hold things together, Marc.” His father’s voice finally lowered.
Marcus could tell that he was detaching himself from the situation in order to properly deal with it, a tactic that Marcus also used in the worst of times.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me,” Marcus started to protest, but then realized that he could not.
He had spent his entire life being the strong sibling. This was the worst time to decide that he didn’t want to be in that role anymore.
“Marc, I need you.” His father cut into his thoughts.
Marcus couldn’t verbalize a confirmation, so he just nodded.
“Everything we’ve discussed is between us.”
“There will be a federal investigation, Dad. Whether you,” He paused at saying the word “embezzle.”
“Whether you did it or not. I’m not going to lie. I’m not making shit worse for me.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, son.”
Son.
Marcus repeated the word in his head. He was, in fact, Marcus Forde, Sr.’s son, and they had built an empire together. This meant that he was also obligated to protect what they had built. His father glared at him then held the glass out to him again.
This time Marcus took it and tossed the scotch back. The liquid burned as it rolled from his throat to his chest. It was just what he needed to refocus.
“And when does this expert join us?” He looked over to his father, who was pouring himself another glass.
“Immediately.” He responded after taking a sip. “Our attorney was reaching out first thing.”
“Who is it? Someone we know? I’d prefer it be someone who we know that we can trust. Ayda does this for a living, is Dwele involved with the legal strategy?” The drink had taken the edge off, so now Marcus was finally able to problem solve.
“Your sister and brother?” His father scoffed. “A blind man could see that they wouldn’t do what’s best for the firm.”
“I disagree. Despite our differences, Ayda and Dwele,”
“They’d pose a conflict of interest. So, they aren’t to be involved with anything other than what I allow them to be.” He cut Marcus off.
“Someone else was suggested. They’ve got a long track record with these kinds of things. Someone with a French name. I can’t recall at the moment, but they’re supposed to be the best.”
Marcus held out his glass for another round as well.
“They better be.” He scowled as his father refilled it for him.
Everything was on the line and they couldn’t take any chances. They definitely needed the best...and then some.
*****
Capitol Hill never grew old to Charlisse. She loved the sound of the marble floors clacking beneath her heels. The eerie silence that hung over the halls some days, while on others, staffers frantically ushered legislators through.
The environment thrilled her, as she often envisioned the courageous pioneers who roamed these halls before her. Sometimes, Charlisse wished that she had more of a civil rights focused career, like her father, instead of cleaning up dirty laundry. However, she knew that if she had ever taken that route for herself then her accomplishments would have been tied to her father forever.
Being Chief Judge Alphonse Lageaux’s daughter was restrictive enough. She had received even more scrutiny after her mother passed away. Everyone was always whispering what would become of her without Marjorie’s influence.
That time period in her life made her shy away from the spotlight, which led to her career as a behind-the-scenes “fixer.” She was the most known anonymous person in the city and that suited her just fine.
She stepped onto an escalator and headed towards one of the Capitol Hill exits just as a text message from Terry popped up on her phone screen. She swiped it open and made a news article enlarged itself.
“Washington, D.C. millionaire caught in a web of lies and deceit.” She read the headline and her stomach dropped.
She quickly dialed Terry’s number. He had said that he was still deciding whether to run the story about Marcus Forde, Sr. What had changed?
Also, part of her wanted to know if Marcus Forde, Jr. had been implicated. Her curiosity about him hadn’t died just because their tryst was only for a night.
“You said you weren’t running the story.” She rattled off as soon as Terry picked up.
“I said I didn’t want to.” Terry corrected. “But I also told you that I was under pressure and that my source had receipts, chile. What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, you’re the editor-in-chief. Don’t you have the final say?” She blew out a sharp breath, as she stepped off of the escalator.
“I do, and my final say after reviewing the evidence was that his ass deserves this for cheating on a Black woman with a white woman.”
Charlisse’s feet stalled at hearing his statement. “What?”
“You heard what I said.” Terry sniped. “And read the damn article first before you call me all up in arms.”
He scoffed. “Besides, why do you care so damn much anyways?”
A queasy feeling formed in her gut.
“I don’t. I just...you know I don’t like to see this kind of thing happen.”
She attempted to cover up her true feelings. “I’m just leaving the Hill. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up then stepped outside of the building.
The fresh spring air that surrounded her was welcomed because she had started to feel sick. She felt like she had been fooled. For a moment, during their night together, she thought that she had seen something different in Marcus.
Her thoughts floated back to the single text that he had sent her yesterday. It had taken so much of her will not to respond. She had almost believed that he was a good guy, but his father being implicated in such a scandal signaled what Marcus was truly capable of doing. The apple never fell far from the tree.
“Wow.” She let out another exasperated breath, while she scrolled through the article.
It detailed a sordid affair between Marcus Forde, Sr. and one of his clients, Margaret Winters, the EVP of Nexlon, which was a major materials contractor for the federal government. Margaret was also definitely a white woman who had nothing on the city’s unofficial First Lady, Claudette Forde.
Charlisse hailed a cab then briskly jumped inside. She sat quietly in the backseat for the entire ride wondering if she should respond to Marcus’ text with an offer to help.
“No.” She shook her head to herself, causing the driver to glance at her in the rearview mirror. “Sorry.”
She flashed a meek smile then went back to her inner thoughts.
Working with Marcus is definitely not going to help anything.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She already had one client that was interested in her. Having a clie
nt that had already had sex with her was a worst case scenario. Her phone began to vibrate in her lap and thankfully, the name that flashed across the screen was her father’s.
“Hi, Daddy.” She picked up, her mood lightening at hearing his voice.
“Bebelle. What’s wrong?” He had always been able to sense her moods, even when she was a little girl.
“Just a rough day at work. That’s all.” She sighed, wishing that she was able to tell him everything.
“Well, you’ve survived all of your worst days, so you’ll be fine.” He smiled into the phone.
“Plus, you’re Charlisse Lageaux. I’ve never met a problem that you couldn’t solve.”
“Thanks, Daddy, but this one seems out of my control.” She sighed even deeper.
“Well then, you shouldn’t worry about it. What did your mother always say about things that you can’t control?”
“That’s God’s business.” She recited, recalling her mother’s voice.
“Exactly.” He chimed in. “And we don’t have any business in God’s business, so it’s best we not worry and leave it all be.”
Her father’s thick New Orleans accent always warmed her heart. While hers had faded after years of graduate school and being in Washington, D.C., her father’s was strong as ever.
“You get your mind off what you can’t control and onto what you can. Makes more sense, don’t ya think? Now, let’s focus on what we’re going to eat when I get in town.”
“Daddy, you always want to go to the same place and get Ethiopian food.”
“We don’t have that down here. I swear, whatever they do with that food is sinful, it’s so good. That work for you, bebelle?”
“Of course, Daddy.” Her father always washed the worry away.
She couldn’t let herself get worked up, despite how much she would like to intervene. Just as she was letting the thought go, a phone call began to beep in.
“Daddy, I’ve gotta go. I think this is work.” She looked at the unknown number then clicked over after saying goodbye.