by Peter Darley
Emily looked up finally. Every time Belinda laid eyes on her, she was taken aback by how much she looked like Brandon. It seemed so contrary to see that particular face—the face of a formidable warrior—on one so timid.
“So, how’d it go today?” Belinda said.
“It was good.”
“Meet any good-looking guys.” Belinda raised her eyebrows in a faux-display of slyness.
Emily looked up, blushing. “Of course not. It’s a homeless shelter.”
“Hey, you never know. A guy doesn’t need a roof over his head to be hot.”
Emily giggled.
“Now, that’s more like it. Want a glass of wine?”
“Oh, I don’t think I should, really.”
Without a word, Belinda walked past her and into the kitchen. After taking a bottle of Chardonnay out of the refrigerator, she took two glasses from one of the cupboards and poured wine into the first glass. Then she remembered she was pregnant. After putting the bottle down, she opened up the refrigerator and took out a bottle of soda.
She re-entered her room and handed Emily the glass of wine. “Live, for once.” she said with mock sternness.
Emily looked uncertain, but took the glass.
There was a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it.” Belinda walked out of the bedroom and approached the front door. Upon opening it, she smiled at the powerful presence that stood before her. “Hi, Charlton. Come on in.”
“Thank you, Belinda. Dinner will be served at six-thirty, as usual,” Charlton Faraday said in a deep, Texas accent. He followed her into the bedroom, removed his Stetson, and held himself still for a moment. He looked at the two women with a warm smile that was visible through his thick, white beard. “Hi, Emily. How are you?”
“I’m fine thank you, Mr. Faraday,” Emily said.
“Emily, would you stop with that ‘Mr. Faraday’ stuff. Just Charlton is fine.”
“I-I’m sorry. You have been so kind to me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
He approached her and held her gently by the shoulders. “It’s me who should be thanking you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Just having you ladies here is like having a family. A real family. It warms my heart every time I come home. I just can’t figure out why the two of you wanna live in this old place. Why don’t you move over to the main house with me and Tyler?”
“I . . . I don’t know. We really like it here, Mr . . . Charlton.”
“Well, whatever makes you comfortable. I’m very proud of you for the work you’re doing with the homeless. You humble me.”
Belinda kept herself behind them and turned back to the window. She’d been a loner all her life and felt more comfortable with the touch of isolation that came with living in the guest house. Emily had gravitated toward her early on, and the two of them living together worked. It just happened. She needed to be around them, but she wasn’t ready for them all to be living under one roof. She just needed a little more time. However, Charlton was an extremely kind man, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt his feelings.
“Belinda,” he said, “did you say you had a degree in marketing?”
“Yes, I have. Why?”
“Well, no pressure, but if you ever feel like the walls are closing in on you, I’d be happy to set you up with a job, even part time, at the corporation.”
She looked at him with a degree of uncertainty.
“Hell, I know you’re OK for money, but the offer is on the table whenever you want it.”
There was something about his proposition that made her feel uncomfortable. She considered perhaps it was because the last time she was in a corporate environment she’d been scared for her life. “Well, I don’t have much practical experience. It was just college. My work experience only took me as far as being a secretary.”
“Alex would be more than happy to show you the ropes,” Charlton said. “Did I ever tell you I had some dealings with your old boss, Barton Carringby?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it was back in the eighties. Coldest son of a bitch I ever dealt with.”
They were distracted by the sound of Emily’s giggling.
Charlton’s face turned white, as though he’d realized his language in front of an ex-nun. He turned to her apologetically.
However, it was clear to Belinda that Emily was far from offended, not to mention a little tipsy. She smiled at the funny side of the situation. Emily was actually loosening up.
“No really, it’s fine,” Emily said.
“Well, in that case, I’ll see you all at six-thirty.” He turned to leave, but suddenly stopped in his stride. “By the way, I don’t suppose either of you know where Tyler is, do you? I haven’t seen him in two days.”
They both shook their heads.
“I never have been able to keep track of that boy.” With that, he made his way out of the house.
Charlton entered his office in the main house with deep concern. He hurried over to his desk, picked up his unregistered cell phone, and selected one of his contacts. After three rings it was answered. “It’s me. What have you found out?”
A male voice came through the receiver. “I traced him to Chinatown in San Francisco, but he just disappeared, like he melted into the crowd. I’m working on it. I’m sure he’s found shelter with one of the families.”
“Look, I don’t want my son to know anything about this. Right now I don’t even know where the hell he is.”
“Sir, I’m doing everything I can.”
“Well, do it faster. If Han Fong’s goons get hold of him, there’s a good chance he’ll be coming home in a goddamn body bag. Find Fong. When you do, let me know . . . and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Four
A & Z
“Leavin’ home, leavin’ home . . . Gonna find my pot o’ gold, got to give it all or nothin’ at all, on my, on my, on my . . . road of dreams.”
Tyler Faraday sat in a mixing booth, tapping his feet to the song and grinning proudly. His girlfriend, Nicole Hawke, stood on the opposite side of the screen singing for her life. Two sound engineers sat to his left, deeply focused on their tasks balancing the digital graphic equalizers.
Tyler had stolen himself away to Los Angeles, temporarily delaying his duties as chief investment specialist with the Faraday Corporation. He wanted to help and support Nicole so badly. In the six weeks since his brother’s funeral, they’d fallen in love. Helping her to start a new life gave him a deeper sense of purpose, and acted as a coping mechanism for his own grief.
Nicole was stunning. She captivated him as the overhead light in the studio caught her golden, shoulder-length hair, almost causing it to glow. She had been through so very much. She’d left her home in Minnesota in pursuit of success as a singer in L.A. only to have fallen into the clutches of a human trafficking organization.
Five years had passed since she’d escaped. During that time she’d been in hiding, finding different jobs in different states, always under an assumed name. She’d finally been persuaded to come out of hiding to help them in the rescue of Tyler’s sister from the same slave traders. If anybody deserved a break, it was Nicole.
The door opened behind him and Tamara Quinn, the acquisitions manager of A & Z Records, entered.
He turned to greet her, beaming. “Well? What do you think?”
“I . . . I’m not sure, Ty,” she said awkwardly. “I mean, she’s got a striking look and an incredible voice, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s the song.”
“She wrote it. I think it’s terrific. What’s wrong with it?”
Tamara sat beside him and looked through the screen as Nicole built up to the second chorus. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s catchy, inspiring, it has an amazing hook. But . . . what is it?”
Tyler frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s kind of a cross between Martina McBride a
nd Heart. It’s neither country nor rock.”
“So? It’s country rock.”
“Not the biggest seller, at least not in L.A.”
“Not the worst either.”
“No, but . . .” She paused for a moment, seeming embarrassed. “Look Ty, if there’s anyone on earth I’d want to help, it’s Nikki. Without her, we never would have taken Sapphire down, and she’s been my friend for the last five years. I know the hell she’s been through.”
“So what is it?”
“It isn’t up to me. Two weeks ago, we discovered a glitch in our accounts. Our cash flow is seriously down, so much so that we can’t afford to take any chances. We need artists guaranteed to sell.”
He held her gaze for a moment with a deadpan expression, and then slumped back in his chair laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
He composed himself, albeit with a look of amusement. “Money? That’s the problem?”
“Well . . . yeah, I guess.”
He stood excitedly. “I’ve never had any dealings in the music industry, but I think this is gonna be one of my most fun investments ever.”
He noticed the two sound engineers looking up at him hopefully.
Tamara stood, open-jawed. “You’re not serious.”
“How much do you need?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to discuss it with Rob Jacques. He’s the CEO, and the final word has to be his.”
“OK, let’s go talk to him.”
Nicole’s song reached the end and they all turned back to the screen to see her deliver her closing lyrics:
“. . . on my road of dreams.”
One of the sound engineers pressed the mike button on his console. “That’s a wrap, Nikki. You can take a rest.”
Tyler watched as she nervously removed her headphones and made her way toward the booth. As she entered, Tyler threw his arms around her before she could fully step through the door. “Baby, you were terrific.”
“Oh, boy. I’m still shaking,” she said.
“Don’t worry about a thing, babe. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Nicole glanced over at Tamara, hopefully. “Y-you’re signing me?”
Tamara shot her an encouraging smile. “You were terrific, Nikki. I didn’t know you were as good as that. And your song writing is amazing.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, nothing’s decided yet. I have to put it to Rob. But with the manager you have, I don’t foresee any problems.”
Nicole stepped closer to her with confusion in her eyes. “Manager?”
Tamara pointed to Tyler, grinning.
Nikki looked up at him with astonishment. “Tyler? What’s she talking about?”
“Babe,” he said with unbridled excitement, “I just got into the record business.”
One hour later, Tyler sat opposite Rob Jacques in Jacques’ office enjoying the record producer’s astonishment at his proposal. Nikki and Tamara sat on either side of him.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Tyler. Being rich is so damn cool.
Jacques, a middle-aged, slightly-portly professional, showed a ruddy complexion, indicating high blood pressure. His current financial setback was not likely to be helping. “Are you serious?”
Tyler smiled at the realization that what he’d just offered the man would be a boon to his health with which no medication could compete. “I’m very serious, and I also want to look over your books to see where we are. I’m willing to put up the money for Nikki’s album and promotion. But, if you’re interested, I’d like to offer you my help with your other problems.”
“You talking about a partnership?”
“Of course.”
“How much of a partnership?”
“That all depends on how much money I’m gonna have to throw into this label to make it fly again.”
Jacques glanced over at Nikki. “All right. Nikki, you’re signed.”
Her eyes widened and her breathing deepened. “Oh, my God.”
“But you should take my advice on a few things,” Jacques said.
“Of course.”
“You have a great look, a strong voice, and you are one hell of a songwriter. But there’s more to it than that. You need to know your market, and I can tell you, this ain’t Nashville.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
Jacques was quiet for a moment and appeared pensive. “Your voice does have a touch of the rock gravel. The rock scene is huge in L.A. Do you think you could rearrange your songs in that direction?”
“Piece o’ cake.”
Tyler felt a sudden grip of sadness. Brandon had been a major-league melodic rock fan, and he knew how much of a kick his brother would’ve got out of all this.
“OK,” Jacques said. “I think we should start working on this right away. How many songs do you have written?”
“Ten, so far.”
“We’ll need fourteen. You’ll need to come up with two more for the US release, and another two for the Japanese bonus tracks.”
Nikki’s mouth fell open. “Japanese?”
“Yeah, it’s a tradition. We distribute internationally.”
Tyler reached into his pocket, took out a check, and handed it to Jacques.
Jacques took it and gasped. “A million dollars?”
“I’ll sign it when everything is agreed. Once I’ve figured in recording costs and initial marketing, I may need to throw some more at it if we decide to run TV commercials.”
Jacques stood and held out his hand for Tyler. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Faraday.”
Tyler took the producer’s hand with a persistent kid-in-a-candy-store expression.
Nikki got out of her chair and threw her arms around Tyler. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me, baby.”
“I’m doing it for us. Besides, it’s business.” Tyler turned back to Jacques. “So, while I’m in town, let’s have a look at those accounts, shall we?”
Five
Home Security
Charlton Faraday sat in his study, deep in thought. Nobody had heard from Tyler for four days. That wasn’t unusual where Tyler was concerned, but the circumstances were different now.
For almost seven weeks, Charlton had suffered in silence. Since the day of Brandon Drake’s death at Wilshire Memorial Hospital, he’d been consumed with worry. Wilmot had gloatingly told him Han Fong had escaped the explosion on the docks, and had most likely taken refuge with the Tong. The director had planted the seed in his head that if Fong had the Tong’s favor, Tyler may be a marked man.
But how could he tell his son that? What if Wilmot had just been blowing smoke? He’d gone out his way to show what a total asshole he was. A cruel prank like that was certainly within his character. But what if there was something to it?
In anticipation of the worst, Charlton had taken the initiative and invested in considerable security measures for the ranch. However, that wasn’t any protection for Tyler if he was nowhere to be found. Was he safe? Or had something happened to him?
The speaker phone on the desk buzzed. “Yes, what is it?”
“There’s a young man at the gate, sir. He says he’s your son.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Yes, sir. Dark hair, approximately twenty-five or twenty-six, red Ferrari, and he’s with a young woman, a blonde knockout.”
Charlton exhaled, almost tearful with relief. “Yes, that’s my son. Let him through.” He ended the call and briskly made his way out of the study.
“Sir, you can go on ahead.”
Tyler looked up at a tall, dark-suited security guy, more than a little unnerved by the holstered pistol visible under his jacket. “Thanks a lot,” he said with a hint of the sardonic.
“What do you think’s going on?” Nikki said.
“Beats the hell outta me.” He gunned the car forward along the quarter-mile-long entrance road. The grass fields on either side of him never failed to fill him with warmth. Whenever they came
into sight, he knew his home was where his heart truly was. This time, a dark shadow had fallen upon it.
As they came closer to the main house, Tyler noticed four similarly-attired guards patrolling the front of the property. “This is crazy. What the hell is the old man thinking?”
He parked the car in his usual space on the gravel as Charlton stepped outside.
Nikki and Tyler climbed out of the car, and Tyler slammed his door as he faced his father. “What the hell is all this, Dad?”
Charlton’s face flushed with anger. “Where have you been?”
“What do you mean, ‘Where have I been’? What difference does it make?”
“I’ve been worried sick about you!”
“Why?”
“How could you have been so selfish?”
“Selfish? Since when has me being away for a few days been a problem for you?”
Charlton’s eyebrows rose, as though he was trying to quickly come up with an answer. “You have responsibilities. We . . . you were supposed to be finalizing the McKenzie account.”
Tyler turned back to the car, took out an envelope from the glove compartment, and handed it to his father. “You mean this?”
Charlton opened the envelope and took out a fully signed, witnessed, and dated contract.
“I stopped by their offices and got it all finalized on my way home,” Tyler said.
“Home from where?”
“Los Angeles.”
“What the hell were you doing in L.A.?”
Tyler felt uncomfortable having a private family conversation with the security goons all around him. Seeing a calmness come over his dad, he seized the moment. “Let’s discuss this inside, shall we?”
Charlton nodded. Tyler and Nikki followed him into the house.
The door closed behind them, and Charlton wasted no time getting back to business. “What were you doing in L.A.?”
“We were getting signed to a recording label,” Tyler said. “What’s wrong with that?”
“I want you to stay away from California, Tyler.”
“I can’t. I bought shares in the record company. I have a vested interest now.”