by L. Maleki
As he walked away, through the large, open room filled with light and busy workers, I threw imaginary daggers at his back. I could not understand how Todd, once so compassionate, could turn out to be so … Frank-like.
As I bent over to unlock the drawer where I was keeping the incriminating papers, Frank came out of his office. I removed the key casually and sat up.
He was a mess.
A wig sat askew on Frank’s head, hiding his baldness and staples. His button-up shirt hung oddly over his wrapped ribs. His black eye had faded to yellow, but his pupils were dilated, only half-hidden behind squinty lids, revealing that he’d likely had a side of Percocet with his breakfast.
“You might want to straighten your hair,” I said. I was the one who’d suggested a hairpiece to his butler. He told me Frank had loved the idea so much, he’d had over a dozen delivered to the house and then laid them out on the oversized dining room table like alien dinner guests.
The day’s version was a surfer’s mop. Frank twisted the part further to the side. He resembled a punk kid on his way into Safeway to steal some Ho Hos. Or Donald Trump on a good hair day.
He stood over me, leaning against the back of my chair. “Listen, I need you to call Zina’s. Twice now they have not seated me. Last night I had to sit at the bar like a chump. I live across the street, I eat there all the time. If they want to treat me like a tourist in my own neighborhood, I’m goin’ to make sure they are replaced with a restaurant that’s friendly. You know, I want a place where they know my name. Tell them I know the health inspector. They better get their shit together.”
I took notes, pretending that was something I would attend to later. The pain meds must have been throwing his bipolar medication out of whack.
“Also, let the research assistants know they’re on notice. From now on they are to stay here until seven thirty.” He staggered back a step but kept himself upright. I swung my chair around to face him.
“What? They get here at eight a.m.”
“I came in last night and there was no one here. That is unacceptable. I can’t run a business this way. Someone should be here. What if one of the analysts needs something?”
The analysts rarely stayed past six. If they had work to do, they would do it at home. “Frank, this is going to make everyone very unhappy.”
“I don’t give a shit about your happiness. They’ll be fired if nobody is here.”
“So can they at least rotate who stays that late?”
“Fuck no, Paris. This means you, too. You just got a raise, there’s no reason for you to leave early.”
I stared at him in shock. This has to be a joke, right? He can’t legally make us work twelve hours, can he?
“And I need you to fire Michelle today.”
“No!” I jumped up out of my desk chair. “If you need to fire someone, fire Nicki!”
Frank scrambled back. A number of the traders and analysts were gawking at us. Frank didn’t care. He wagged a finger in my face, serious. “You wanted a raise. Well, this is how we’re going to make it happen. Michelle makes too much for an assistant, and she’s bossy. Now that you’re going to be here longer hours, you don’t need her help.”
“If Michelle’s not here, I won’t have time to do trades with you … Oh. That was never going to happen, was it?”
“We’ll never know, will we?” He did an abrupt about-face and then stumbled into his office.
This is so unfair. To everybody. The man treated his employees like homeless mutts, creatures to be beaten or exterminated upon a whim. How could he do that to Michelle after her years of dedication and putting up with his craziness? She’d trained everyone in this office.
You know what? Fuck this. I’m doin’ it. Michelle will keep her job. I’m going out in a blaze of glory, and I’m going to make sure Frank Coyle feels the burn.
He was either going to give me what I deserved or he was in for one hell of a ride at the investors’ meeting.
“Frank,” I said, following him into his office and shutting the door. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Put on your big-girl panties and do your job.”
I’m gonna do just that. I held out the sheaf of trading reports. “I know what you’ve been doing.”
He glanced at the papers in my hands. “What? Trading? Well, thank God you figured that out. I kinda assumed you already knew.”
“I’m talking about the illegal trades.”
Frank froze in his chair, his wig sideways. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on,” I said, throwing the papers on the desk in front of him. “The unnamed trades? How were you planning on fixing that before the meeting tomorrow? I left them out of the investors’ report, but I’ve got my own report, right here.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you are speaking to me in a manner that’s dangerously close to getting you fired.” He paged through the report.
“You’re not going to fire me. I’m quitting.” My courage was building, flooding me with endorphins. “Who in their right mind wants to work with you, Frank? You’re mean, you don’t keep your promises, and you have zero respect for others, including your son. You might not remember much of Galveston. But I do. Every painful second. You’re also dishonest. You are going to write me a glowing letter of recommendation, and you’re going to give me a severance package with one year of my pay, with the raise.” I stood tall with righteous indignation. I should jump up on his desk, make my voice heard. Quivering with justice, I said, “Or I will stand up at the investors’ meeting tomorrow and show them exactly how you used their money for your gain.”
“Shut your mouth, Paris.” He was quiet. There was no emotion on his doughy face. In a dull voice, he said, “You are to go home and not say a word of this to anyone. Report back to me, in here, at this time tomorrow. Then we’ll talk about your goddamn severance package.”
Confused by his response, some of the air bled out of my righteousness. “I mean it, Frank. I’m not just sweeping it under the rug.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear. After all I’ve done for you.” He shook his head in disgust.
I almost lunged across the desk. All you’ve done for me! Instead, I watched as his dignity slipped away with his wig—it slid over one ear and then completely off, landing on the desktop with a thunk.
He regarded the wig glumly. “Get out.”
I sauntered through his door, my shoulders back and squared, hot and sweaty with my victory and the belief that I was completely justified in my actions. But minutes later, when the elevator doors shut behind me, it wasn’t just the quick descent that made my stomach drop.
What have I done?
Chapter 29
The large boardroom was packed. Celebrities as well as the quietly rich lined the rows of padded chairs facing the podium. Todd had given the job of handing out the year-end informational packets to Nicki and the young research assistants. With swollen eyes and slumped shoulders, they worried about their jobs while the clients read about the millions they’d been raking in, thanks to the genius of Andrew and Frank. Really, just Frank.
I’d arrived at his office as instructed, long before the meeting, but waited and waited, with no sign of Frank. I couldn’t believe he’d stood me up.
He must not think I’m serious.
Am I serious? I mean, I’m not like a character out of a movie, this is real life …
Hell yeah, I’m serious. Get it together, girl.
I sat in the front row, to the side, next to Michelle. She seemed at ease, no idea Frank planned on firing her, too. In my bag, I had my own set of papers—Michelle would be safe, if I had anything to do with it. We were set to start in a few minutes and Frank still had not appeared. I hope nobody blames that on me. Todd was also missing, most likely trying to find Frank. Or sober him up.
Andrew was already seated in the front row, wearing a three-piece suit, crossing and uncrossing his legs, a briefcase at his side
. He was like a nervous best man, afraid the groom wasn’t going to show. Frank had so much power over other people. I couldn’t think of a less-deserving man to be in charge.
As one, the room turned toward a commotion at the door. Frank and Todd appeared to be in a tussle, each trying to get through the door first. Somehow, despite his wounds, Frank broke through, Todd behind him. Frank was wearing a suit and actual dress shoes, but the new bowl-cut wig, something Ringo Starr might have worn, ruined any sense of professionalism he might have wanted to project. That, and wrestling with his COO.
This man is a child.
The epiphany hit me, hard, a wallop to the back of my stupid head. I’m so much a better person than he is.
I peered around guiltily, and shoved my bag, and the evidence of fraud, under the seat with my foot.
My God. Blackmail? What was I thinking? How had I talked myself into believing that committing a felony was a good idea? I was no cheater, and I definitely couldn’t live with myself if I went through with it. Frank could do that, but I couldn’t.
Nor will I be able to live with myself if I let this cruel, unjust man take these people’s life savings. Not everyone in the room was grossly wealthy, but even if they were, they’d trusted PRCM to protect their earnings.
So, what was I going to do?
I jumped up and moved quickly to the podium, trying not to think about how my actions would affect my father. My future. I beat Frank and the gray-haired COO to the front of the room by half a second. I could live without a severance package if I knew this criminal was going to jail.
I tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention, though it was unnecessary, because everyone was already trying to figure out why there was such an odd start to the meeting. My heart raced. I felt sure the mic was picking up the swoosh of the blood storming madly through my veins. Frank stepped up to my right side, too close, while Todd was on my left.
“Hello, everyone,” I said nervously. “Welcome to PRCM’s yearly recounting of events.”
From the front row next to Michelle, Nicki sniggered, her pale lips twisted in an ugly, mocking smile. Michelle elbowed her and then, well aware something unprepared was happening at the front of the room, started clapping, trying to lighten the mood. The room swelled with a round of applause.
Todd said quietly, from between clenched teeth, “You two go sit down, right now.”
Frank ignored him, whispering in my other ear, his breath wet. “Paris, you have no idea what’s going on. You’re going to have to trust me, it’s going to be fine. Introduce the CEOs and go sit down. We will talk later.”
My boss moved back a step, leaving me to my own devices. Why in any of the hells should I trust Frank? But Todd pressed in closer. In a low, harsh tone, he said, “You keep your fucking mouth shut. Frank is the one who has no idea what’s going on. But I do. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”
I stifled a gasp. Did Todd know what was going on? Why hadn’t he done something before now? Why was he protecting Frank? Then it hit me—he thought I was the one who’d been doing something wrong.
A river of panic moved through me. I had no idea what to do. Then I purposefully settled my mind. I was going to have to explain things to Todd before I took any action, so he didn’t think I was doing this to cover my own tracks. The wind in my sails evaporated. My plan to shame Frank publically blew away.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” I stammered, attempting to cover the awkwardness of the past few minutes. The murmuring trailed off. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’d like to introduce the men who make this happen, who have worked hard to earn your trust. I think you’re going to be pleased with the trends over the past year, which you’ll find in the packets you hold in your hands. Furthermore, Purple Rock Capital Management is looking at an exciting year on the horizon. Please welcome your COO, Todd Lindstrom, your CEO Andrew Jones, and, of course, the hedge fund maven himself, Franklin Coyle.”
I clapped, briefly, stiffly, before walking back to my chair, moving like a marionette.
Andrew remained seated, frowning, a worry line etched deep into his forehead. It was an emotion I’d never seen from him. Frank stepped to the microphone. Todd was just behind him, glaring at me.
What in the hell is going on?
Frank lowered the microphone down to his level. His voice boomed across the room. “Hello there!”
Then he held up the report, waved it around. Todd looked like he wanted to grab it from him, but Frank was oblivious. “Welcome to the yearly meeting. If you come across any typos in this document, you can blame it on my assistant.” Frank proffered an exaggerated wink in my direction. “English isn’t her first language.”
Whaaat? He made me his opening joke! I sprang up out of my seat.
Gracefully, clear-minded, I turned to the crowd. “There’s something you should—”
“Ah, Paris, lighten up. I was just kidding,” Frank said over me from the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, my assistant here has been a lifesaver, in more ways than you know.” He gestured for me to take a seat. “For instance, she’s the one who brought to my attention that someone in this office was attempting to make illegal trades.”
My legs went rubbery. Todd’s eyes narrowed at Frank, then me.
I would have fallen to the floor if it hadn’t been for Michelle, beside me, guiding me to a seat. But her eyes were drawn elsewhere. Following the gaze of the crowd, I saw Nicki briskly hotfooting it down the side aisle toward the door, red hair flopping with the effort, her eyes round and hollow. The crowd muttered in confusion.
“Nicki, don’t bother,” Frank said conversationally into the microphone, leaning on the podium, a hand in his pocket. Behind him, Todd’s face was etched in shock. He hadn’t known this was going to happen. Me, either. Nicki? No way. Was she smart enough to have done this? I didn’t think so.
Yet, there she goes.
Nicki’s white face was pinched with terror. But not guilt. She didn’t stop. As she reached the doors, they were pushed open from the other side. Two of New York’s finest blocked her path.
“Yep, that’s your gal,” Frank said to the police officers.
“I’m innocent! This is crazy! He’s crazy!” Nicki shrieked. The junior assistant’s protests became fainter but didn’t stop as she was hauled away.
In the sudden dead quiet of the room, Frank shifted his gaze to me. It was hard to read his expression. The long Beatles bangs hung over his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped as usual, his skin grayish. He still looked like the beleaguered middle school science teacher.
Maybe, despite himself, he had taught me something. And saved me from myself.
“What do you have to say now, my little Persian princess? Your people aren’t the only ones who know how to throw a bomb into the room.”
His slur crashed around the room and fell at my feet. This time there was no second-guessing my response.
“I quit, you son of a bitch.”
The journey to the back of the room, down the long aisle, past our staring investors, took a lifetime. Cement had replaced the blood in my legs, but I held my head high.
Chapter 30
The peace evaporated as soon as the doors closed behind me.
What have I done? I’ll never get another job in finance. The shadiest bank won’t even hire me as a teller, not when Frank’s done with me. I choked, sliding down the wall in the hallway. Sorry, Dad. I am so sorry.
I found my cell and punched in his number. I needed to hear his voice now, to know he was going to love me after I’d failed him so miserably.
He answered. For the first time in two weeks, he answered.
“Parisa! Oh, my beautiful girl!” And then he burst into tears. “The house …” Sobs rolled out of him, crushing my soul.
I started crying, too. “I know. I am so sorry. I tried—”
Through shuddering breaths, he said over me, “How did you do it?”
“I just … Do what?”
Even in the worst moments, he was good to me. “Oh, Dad.”
“Who else buys a house for their father? Tell me, who?”
“Wha-what did you say?” My dad and I were having two separate conversations. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I will always be grateful, Parisa. Only you know how much this place means to me.”
“I think—”
“I could not believe it when the mortgage lender drove up and handed me the title. ‘It’s yours, Mr. Tehrani,’ he says, ‘free and clear,’ he says. I waited for him to cross the road before I fainted.” He spoke at a high speed.
“Wait!” I was so confused.
He finally took a breath and slowed down. “What you have done is a great good.”
And then it sank in—he was not distraught. Jubilation laced his voice, pure joy riding his emotions like a cowboy on a galloping horse.
“Someone bought the house?” I asked, trying to understand what was happening.
“What do you mean? The deed is in your name. You bought the house, Parisa.” Doubt crept into his voice. “Did you not?”
“Dad, go get the paperwork. Find the page where it lists the actual buyer, not the holder of the deed or the title.”
Flustered, he finally did it. I could hear him rummaging through drawers. Then he flipped through paper, muttering to himself. “Here it is. But I don’t understand. It says the house mortgage was paid off by Franklin Q. Coyle, the Third. Is that not your boss? Why did he do this?”
I had to sit quietly with that for a while.
“I’ll call you back later. But everything is okay.”
“So, the house, it is ours?”
“I think so. We’ll talk in a while. In the meantime, go have a glass of champagne.”
“Yes, just so. By the way, my little fairy, how can you tell if an Amish man is drunk?”
“Dad, I don’t have time for this …”
“He falls off the wagon!”
“Ugh!” But I laughed. “I love you.”