What you make me do

by Emma Quinn

  “We were wrong,” Mr. Willems said flatly. “They said they didn’t want a table, and they didn’t want any food. When we asked what they did want, they said they wanted the restaurant.”

  The expression on Mr. Willems’ face hardened as Helen felt her own turn to one of horror. She already knew where they were going with this story, even as her conscious brain tried to come up with alternatives. Reasons. Anything that could explain what had happened.

  “We told them we didn’t understand,” Mrs. Willems said. “The restaurant wasn’t for sale and we thought maybe it was better if they were to go.”

  Her face crumpled then, and she let out a sob. She buried her face into her husband’s shoulder, and he was left to finish the story.

  “They started flipping tables. Breaking glasses. They told us this place was a dump anyway and we should have sold when we had the chance. We were being offered more than it was worth.”

  “No! They threatened you?” Helen demanded, horrified by what she was hearing.

  Mr. Willems nodded. “I told them I would call the cops, but they just laughed. The one in charge, I don’t even know his name, he said that Roth, Inc. had the city in its pocket and the police wouldn’t do a damn thing for lowlifes like us.”

  There was clear anger beneath her father’s words, but the truth was, Helen was only half paying attention now. She had gotten caught on Roth, Inc. Michael’s company. He’d sent goons to take over her parents’ restaurant! To harass and terrify them!

  To take over their restaurant after he had promised her, he wouldn’t!

  “Then they threw a check at us and told us we should be grateful we were getting anything for this dump.” Mr. Willems ground out the word ‘dump’ clearly insulted by it.

  Helen might have started crying right then and there, just like her mother, but she managed to pull herself together. She would deal with Michael and how he could be such a backstabbing bastard later. Right now, she had to figure out how to fix this.

  “No. All of this is illegal,” she said, finding a firmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “They can’t do this! They can’t have bribed every police officer—we’ll keep complaining until we find an honest one.”

  Mr. Willems shook his head. “Helen, we’re in real trouble. I thought the same thing and I tried to get someone to come out. When he did, he explained the truth: We don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  “What?” Helen’s voice was pure shock. “That can’t be right.”

  “They left a stack of papers when they finally got out of here,” Mr. Willems explained. He left his wife to dry her eyes so that he could pull out the aforementioned papers. He handed them to Helen. “Here. From what I can tell, they used a law that says we are holding up the progress and betterment of our community by not selling. Which means that the government can step in and legally take the property for a ‘fair’ price, which is far below market value.”

  Helen was reading through the papers and was slightly ashamed to admit, she understood very little of it. It was written in legal jargon to the point where she didn’t know what it was actually trying to say. But she could see what her father was explaining in the words.

  She shook her head. “This can’t be right. We’ll fight it, dad. They may have the city in their pockets, but we can hire a lawyer. We can take them to court over this. At the very least, we can wrap them up in red tape until it’s too late to even go through with the damn project!”

  Neither of her parents looked convinced, but they both nodded their heads. Helen wrapped her mother up in her arms and only then did she finally let herself cry. She also let her parents think it was over the restaurant, when the truth was, she was crying because Michael had broken her trust.

  He’d done exactly what she thought he would.

  “Give me a second, I’m going to get ahold of a lawyer,” Helen told her mother. The pair of them wiped at their eyes, each offering a watery smile of comfort.

  Mr. Willems embraced his wife while Helen stepped away to call a lawyer. But before she did, she dialed the hero’s number. She was relieved in some ways that she got his voicemail.

  “This is Helen. Never come near me or my parents again. We’re over. Don’t call; don’t text. I never want to see you again.”

  She hung up then and with shaking hands managed to block his number. Then she started her search for a lawyer.

  18

  Michael

  M

  ichael's phone was off. It had been since the night before after saying goodnight to Helen. It slipped between the couch cushions disappearing until he'd dug it out this morning. He had already resolved to go into the office that morning and he didn't think that a dead cell Phone battery warranted going against that. Admit that as he got ready, he constantly checked his charging Phone to see if it had a high enough battery percentage then he could turn it on and see if he had a message from Helen. He laughed a little let himself feeling like an impatient teenager.

  “I’ll see Helen tonight after work,” he told himself. Of course, they hadn’t made plans or anything yet, but it had become a habit of his to stop by her office after he closed up. Whether they stopped for a quick bite or a late afternoon coffee, he made it a point to see her at least once before ending the day.

  She never seemed to mind.

  Still, he couldn’t help but check his phone after brushing his teeth and after changing his tie the third time. When he was out the door, he transferred the phone to a car charger and still managed to resist the temptation to turn it on.

  His driver took him to the office and dropped him off. “Thank you,” Michael chirped, feeling happy and free after his getaway with Helen.

  The driver tipped his hat, only a little surprised by Michael’s mood. It wasn’t that Michael was an unhappy person or that he was rude to his employees, but he was usually too busy to be bothered with pleasantries. Today, it seemed like all he had in him was pleasantness.

  Michael smiled to the doorman and let a woman go ahead of him into the elevator. When he reached his floor, he smiled at his coworkers and spread out good mornings liberally.

  “Good morning, Charlotte,” he told his secretary with a bright smile. “You’re looking lovely as always.”

  Her brow pinched, her manicured eyebrows pulling together. “Thank you, Mr. Roth. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Why is that?” Michael asked, picking up the stack of mail lingering on Charlotte’s desk. “I haven’t been that absent lately, have I?”

  He was only teasing, but her expression remained grim. “I couldn’t say, sir. I just know that I have to be packed up by the end of the day.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “I only came in to collect my things,” she explained, lifting her chin up to show that she was calm, collected, and every bit as cool as she always had been. “I’m certainly not working for that crack pot.”

  Michael was trying to figure out what was going on. When had Charlotte decided to leave? What crack pot was she talking about? Charlotte worked for him. Period. “Charlotte, what are you talking about?”

  As she began filling up the small box that he just now noticed, already half full of her things, she shot him a confused glance. “Do you honestly not know? Didn’t you get my message?” Charlotte inquired. “I tried to call last night but didn’t get an answer.”

  He cursed his phone. “My battery was dead.”

  She waved off his explanation with a delicate hand. “No wonder you’re in such a good mood. I couldn’t imagine how you would be happy after that message.”

  Something cold was beginning to seep into Michael’s bones. “Charlotte, what’s going on?”

  Sighing, she shook her head. “They’ve decided to move ahead with the project.”

  It took a long moment before Michael could put it together, but when he did, he was furious. “You’re kidding me right now. I explicitly—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you said or did,” Charlo
tte interrupted, and her voice was sad. “I tried to get you here sooner, but by the time I found out.” She shook her head. “The board is meeting this morning.”

  Michael froze.

  In the span of seconds, he understood what was going on. He understood why Charlotte was so morose, why she was packing up, and why it had been so important to get ahold of him. The project was going forward… and Michael wasn’t sure how much longer he would have to stop it.

  “Get ahold of Ethan,” Michael told Charlotte, already jogging down the hall towards the board room.

  “He’s already there!” Charlotte called after him.

  Michael wanted to say he was surprised; he wasn’t.

  Michael burst through the board meeting doors, breathing hard. The entire board was seated there, and they looked up in surprise at Michael’s disruption. Michael’s gaze made its way around the room, stopping on each board member until they looked down. He noticed only one member not present; Emilia Lawrence.

  Finally, Michael’s gaze landed on Ethan. Ethan Edwards, once upon a time, Michael’s father’s most trusted friend. The man who had helped raise Michael and when Michael’s father died, this was the man who had seen him through it.

  The man who had supported his decision to get an education.

  The man who had stepped up to the plate to run the company in Michael’s absence.

  The man who, Michael realized in this moment, had betrayed him.

  “This is a private meeting, Michael,” Ethan told him, meeting his gaze with cheery certainty. “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m CEO—” Michael began, but Ethan held up a hand to stop him.

  “About that,” he said, failing to keep the smile off his face. “The board just voted. They’ve decided that you are no longer making decisions with the company’s best interest in mind. That’s conduct unbecoming of a CEO and goes against our bylaws.”

  “You can’t be serious right now,” Michael muttered, but he already knew it was too late.

  Ethan shrugged. “So sorry, but we have to do what’s best for the company. And I think this woman has clouded your judgement.”

  “Helen has not—”

  Ethan didn’t let him finish. “You’re too close to this project and if you’re willing to make bias decisions now, who’s to say this woman won’t corrupt your judgement later? We simply couldn’t risk this.”

  Michael looked around the room once more. No one could meet his gaze save for Ethan. “This isn’t a full board,” Michael said, grasping at straws. “You need Ms. Emilia Lawrence here to make a unanimous decision, which is required when voting out a founding member.”

  “You aren’t technically a founding member,” Ethan pointed out. “That honor was your father’s. Besides, Emilia felt the need to… step down last week. Her health hasn’t been so good lately. She really needed the time. Tragic.”

  By the looks of the board room and the smug grin on Ethan’s face, Michael seriously doubted that Emilia left willingly. It seemed like the company was going through some very forced changes. “How long have you been planning this, Ethan?” Michael heard himself asking his longtime partner and once friend. He had the presence of mind to be impressed at the calm in his voice.

  Ethan waved off the question. “Don’t be a sore loser, Michael. This is just business. I was hoping you would be on board. I’m sorry to see that you don’t have that Roth killer instinct that I’d hoped for.”

  The urge to hurt Ethan was strong, but it was only the knowledge that Michael’s father had been a good man in the end that stopped him. Michael didn’t want to have anything to do with tarnishing his company’s or his family’s name.

  He’d leave that to Ethan.

  “By the time you all think to regret this, it’ll be too late,” Michael announced to the board.

  No one said anything else, not even Ethan.

  Michael had no choice but to let Ethan Edwards force him out of his job and his company, something that had been a part of his family and passed down to him. Guilt and hurt mingled inside him, leaving a growing bitterness.

  How had this happened?

  He didn’t know. Maybe he had been so blinded by Helen that he hadn’t realized what was going on right under his nose.

  At least I still have Helen, he thought.

  He left the building, not bothering to pack up anything from his office. He didn’t think there was much personal there anyway and he didn’t want to be longer than he needed to. The only thing he paused long enough for was to wish Charlotte well.

  “Find a better job than this,” Michael insisted with a half hug.

  She smiled wryly at him. “Oh, I will. But I’ll be hard pressed to find a better boss.”

  He thanked her for her kindness; he needed a little just then. They parted ways and he returned home. It was only then that he turned on his cell, planning to call Helen. She didn’t pick up the phone, however, and it went straight to voicemail.

  I’ll just stop by, he decided.

  But before he left his house again, he listened to the two voice messages he’d gotten. One was from Charlotte, as he expected. She’d tried to warn him, though there wasn’t much good to it. He would have been out no matter what.

  It was the second message that was a shock to his system.

  “This is Helen. Never come near me or my parents again. We’re over. Don’t call; don’t text. I never want to see you again.”

  “Helen?”

  He tried to call her again. He tried to text her and to leave her messages. He stopped by the restaurant, but it was closed with a sign that read SOLD across the front door.

  It finally all sank in at the same time.

  Helen thought he’d gone back on his promise. She was gone from his life and he didn’t think he’d ever get her back. His company had written him off. Everything that he valued was gone.

  His life was ruined.

  19

  Helen

  M

  r. Packard was a short man with broad shoulders. He was round in the stomach and the gray in his hair belied his age despite the rosy tint to his cheeks and the brightness in his eyes. The threadbare blazer he wore told Helen that he might not be the best lawyer out there.

  But at least he would agree to meet with her.

  “I mentioned that I don’t have a lot of funds,” Helen reiterated. She’d said as much over the phone but was worried that maybe he hadn’t heard her so well, especially with the long hairs crawling out of his larger ears.

  Mr. Packard smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, yes, I remember,” he insisted, setting his briefcase down on the old desk. There were scratch marks on the surface amidst the polish and what looked like a curse word inscribed near her side of the desk.

  His office was small and cluttered. Stacks of papers threatened to spill over the side of the desk, and he’d had to remove a treasure trove of folders to find Helen a place to sit.

  “I only charge if I win,” he insisted, smiling at her.

  “What if this doesn’t go to court?” she asked.

  He waved off her concern. “I have a stipend with the company. And if there’s a settlement, I’ll get a percentage, of course.”

  She tried to look around discretely. It didn’t look like much of a stipend, but she didn’t say that. “Okay. So, what do we do? Can we get them to cancel the deal?”

  Mr. Packard rubbed at the balding spot on his forehead which was weathered with deep wrinkles. He didn’t look confident, but she didn’t point this out either. “Against a titan like Roth, Inc.? Probably not if it goes to court,” he admitted. “But Roth, Inc. probably won’t want a scandal. If we threaten to drag this out in the public eye, they might be willing to settle outside of court.”

  Helen didn’t like how he kept saying words like “might” and “probably”. The lack of certainty made her feel terrible. Did her case stand a shot at all?

  “What about the harassment?” Helen added, trying not to sound as d
esperate as she felt. “That’s definitely illegal.”

  Nodding his head absently, Mr. Packard agreed. “Oh, of course. If we can prove it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Isn’t the word of my parents enough?”

  Mr. Packard lifted his head to make eye contact with her. His smile was sympathetic, crinkling at the corners, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “In a perfect world,” he assured her. “Unfortunately, we don’t live in anything close to that.”

  It wasn’t like Mr. Packard was telling her anything she didn’t already know. If she’d needed more convincing, it was Michael’s backstabbing that truly convinced her that the world was a horrible, dishonest place to live in.

  Although she put on a brave face and didn’t tell her parents what had happened – they only knew she and Michael had gone their separate ways – the truth was, she was hurt by Michael’s betrayal.

  She still didn’t know how he could do such a thing and there were moments where she felt the urge to call at him. To yell at him and tell him what a horrible person he was for going back on his word. Sometimes she just had the urge to demand he explain why he’d done what he’d done. Sometimes she just wanted to know if he had ever cared for her at all.

  But she resisted all of those urges. The smartest thing she could do was stay the hell away from Michael Roth forever.

  “Do your parents have a security system in place?” Mr. Packard asked, looking over the paperwork he’d begun for her case. “A security camera, perhaps?”

  Helen deflated further. “No,” she said miserably. “They have a security system, but it’s only an alarm and half the time the police don’t even show up when it goes off.”

  Mr. Packard didn’t seem surprised. He nodded his head, humming in thought. He scribbled something down on paper, then flipped to the next page. “Did your parents sign this paperwork?”

  Helen winced.

  The paperwork he was referring to was the new sales agreement. It was the notice that they would be forced to sell the restaurant for the “betterment of the community” for a flat rate decided upon by the city.