Carefully wiping her eyes with a tissue, Erika took a deep and cleansing breath of the fragrant air. Slowly she became more in tune with the happenings around her. Although Thanksgiving was only around the corner, the birds were chattering like spring. Here and there a muffled word or two. She allowed a few moments to revel in God’s beautiful nature before she steeled herself for the unsavory business at hand … first and foremost the removal of her trusted and loyal assistant, Ellie. Erika quickly willed a rising bitterness under control until that blessed peace had returned.
As Erika bent to retrieve her handbag, she heard a distinctly familiar voice just over the laurel hedge. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled with alarm. Her entire body went tense as she listened intensely to the muffled conversation.
“Hey man,” said Steve Caslin with that deceptively charming tone she knew so well. “I thought we had a deal,” he drolled in his most convincing manner. “The preliminary documents … and you file the patent. I’m not a miracle worker…”
“Caslin,” T.J. cajoled, “that preliminary junk is no use to me anymore. For all I know, you’ve sold these papers ten times over.”
“No way, man,” Caslin interrupted. “I’m a man of my word! No one else had seen the patent … although,” he continued while confidently rocking on his feet, “there are others who are interested as well … and all they want are the prelim’s.”
Crawling on her knees, Erika moved silently through the grass and crouched low behind the hedge so that she could hear the conversation more clearly.
“Caslin,” barked T.J. Morgan. “I want that patent and proof that you dumped your stock so I know I have the real thing and I want it tonight or there is no deal. I’m leaving tomorrow morning and I want this thing put to bed. Either you have it or you don’t.”
“But T.J.,” Steve Caslin gasped, “That’s … that’s impossible! I mean about the patent! I’ve already dumped all my stock, I can show you that right now!”
“Caslin! Nothing’s impossible for the right amount of money. You bring the patent to the table tonight … and I’ll double your … commission. You come empty-handed … and I’ll see to it the Security and Exchange Commissions is knocking at your door before morning,” T.J. finished menacingly. “Romans tonight at 8:00 p.m. sharp. At 8:15 if I haven’t seen you … my friend at the S.E.C. will be on the line.”
Erika waited tensely until she heard two sets of footsteps disappear. She covered her mouth tightly to prevent even an audible sound of breath, let alone the devastation of being so brutally betrayed by the man she could have given her life to. Ironically, she felt little disappointment in her former fiancé Steve Caslin. His actions were expected. Not in a million years could she have guessed that T.J. would turn on her and her family in this way. It was one thing to hate her … but quite another to participate in this corruptible act designed for Crawford’s utter destruction. The T.J. she knew was a fair-minded, principled person. How fooled she had been. How devastatingly wrong. Now, multiple thousands of Crawford Industries employees all over the world could pay for her folly.
Without a care for her cream-colored silk suit, Erika crawled back over to the bench. Surrounded by laurel, ivy and bougainvillaea, her private oasis allowed her to contemplate what her next move would be in this horrific game of deception and lies. Only by preserving her patent could she save her company from the inevitable tide of investor scrutiny and wariness. Resulting, of course, in the utter destruction of the empire that bore her name. She hadn’t much time she noticed after consulting her watch. Two o’clock and time was marching on … not a lot of time to change the forces currently working toward her demise.
“Mr. Cromwell?” the secretary inquired, “Miss Crawford is here to see you.”
Within seconds Alan Cromwell, the younger of the two attorneys had opened the door to his massive office suite. Its size nearly overwhelming, yet with its almost Irish pub and law library interior, it was the kind of atmosphere that invited private and confidential conversation. And as one of the premiere corporate attorneys in the country, the effect was splendid.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he inquired pleasantly to Erika, indicating a lovely chestnut colored leather chair. “May I get you something …”?
Erika quickly shook her head.
With a seasoned eye for detail, Alan Cromwell noticed Erika’s uncharacteristic behavior, jittery, nervous, the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin and who could miss the grass stains at the hem of her silk suit? With true concern, he asked quietly, “Are you okay?”
“I’m … I’m fine. I will be fine,” she truthfully amended after noticing the attorney’s inquisitive expression.
“Just a second,” he said over his shoulder as Erika began her tale. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.
“Well … no, but …”
“No buts,” he corrected. “Come with me.”
“Alan,” she sighed. “I don’t have any time … and neither will you when I tell you what I’ve come for.”
“You can take a minute for the most expensive attorney in the country,” he joked.
Smothering yet another sigh, Erika reluctantly followed him over to the bar area where Alan himself poured two cups of coffee, devoid of cream and sugar, and began laying out sandwich materials from the stainless refrigerator. “Ham or turkey?” he asked perfunctorily.
“Um, turkey,” Erika answered as she drew up a bar chair to watch, becoming somewhat amused. “You are very adept in the kitchen, Alan. May I ask where you acquired such talent?”
With a rare self-conscious smile, Alan confided he had put himself through college and law school on scholarships, grants and waiting tables.
“Well, now that you aren’t paying tuition, why not let your secretary do this for you?” she queried. “Better yet,” she smiled confidently, “have it delivered.”
“Erika, you should have been an attorney. You ask too many questions. I do it because I want to. Everyone is allowed some eccentricities in life. I just like to make my own food, my own way when I can.”
“I even do my own shopping,” he boasted while placing a delectable looking turkey sandwich on rye in front of Erika.
She had to admit, if only to herself, that she had been feeling a little weak … and a little hungry. Her mouth even began watering as she anticipated her first bite.
Alan waited patiently slipping a Club Soda while Erika daintily finished her lunch. “Remind me to make a reservation next time,” she joked as she gingerly dabbed the corners of her mouth with a crisp linen napkin.
Efficiently clearing her plate, Allan adeptly steered the conversation back to business.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I need Steve Caslin taken off all Crawford memorandum, documents … everything.”
“Already done,” he said.
“Where are we with the patent?” she questioned anxiously.
“We are almost there. We are just crossing every “t” … that sort of thing.”
“I want all mentions of Caslin in the patent documentation removed,” she responded shortly.
“I understand your motivation,” Alan said soothingly, “but there are other factors involved.”
“Like … “
“Like issues of intellectual properties,” he answered.
“Oh, come on Alan, we both know he had nothing whatsoever to do with development or testing …”
“Still, Erika. As Executive V.P. of Crawford Industries, he sat in on every meeting and was privy to all correspondence, even making written comments and suggestions. A case could be made.”
“Okay, then you get busy making a counter case,” she said firmly. “I need you to file that patent today.”
“Erika, that is impossible,” he said alarmed. “We need more time …”
“Alan,” she continued sharply, “there isn’t any more time. I can’t explain it all right now but I need that patent filed and documented today!
You’ve just got to pull some strings.”
Noticing his reluctance, Erika said meaningfully, “if you don’t, it could collapse Crawford, and if that happens,” she paused, “the most expensive attorney in the country won’t be paid a very lucrative fee.”
Sheepishly Alan Cromwell bowed his head in acquiescence. “I’ll do what I can,” was all he promised.
Satisfied Erika picked up her hand bag and headed for the door.
“Alan, I need your complete confidentiality in this.”
Bothered, Alan caught Erika’s arm as she tried to exit the lavish suite.
“I’ve handled a lot of things for you, personally, and for Crawford for a long time … if something’s up … tell me now! Don’t make me find out another way.”
For a moment, Erika’s bravado failed and Alan could see a flicker of vulnerability in her sapphire colored eyes.
“I … I can’t yet, Alan. When I can, I’ll tell you … I promise.”
Alan’s eyes clouded with worry as he watched Erika’s retreating form.
“Mr. Cromwell,” interrupted a secretary. “Mr. Caslin from Crawford is on the line. Says it urgent.”
“No,” replied Alan thoughtfully. “I can’t take it right now.”
“But Mr. Cromwell,” she persisted, “he told me to tell you that if you don’t take his call, he will be here in ten minutes and will not leave until he sees you.”
Breathing an audible disgusted sigh, Alan Cromwell agreed to take the call all the while telling himself that perhaps it was for the best … he had to protect his own interests as well as that of his client.
Meanwhile, feeling somewhat relieved over taking care of Capital Textiles’ most vulnerable asset, Erika hurried back to the office shortly after four that afternoon.
Ellie was busily taking a phone message when Erika walked in. Erika walked straight past her and into her office, shutting the door crisply.
Erika yanked open file drawer after file drawer searching for her paperwork on the textile patent. Growing concerned and somewhat alarmed that all her patent files had disappeared in her absence, Erika quickly popped open her notebook computer. She knew some of the memos were on the hard drive because she had accessed them at Priest Lake the week prior.
Gone. Every last file. Without a trace, every file and note had been deleted. Erika checked her computer recycling bin … no files. She checked her computer log … no files.
Snapping her computer shut, Erika turned toward the window as she always did when considering impossible solutions. It had to be Ellie … and Steve. Who else could have done it? Ellie was the only employee with access to her office, and files, and passwords. And Steve. He had motive and opportunity as well.
Yanking open the adjoining door, Erika commanded Ellie to come into her office.
Erika summoned her country club breeding, a haughty and cool exterior that came in handy at times like these. On many occasions throughout her life, Erika had witnessed the wives of Beverly Hills elite use the same tactics when confronted with their husband’s mistress. Erika had watched with respect and some amusement. Grateful for the tutelage, Erika found herself employing the very same skills.
Ellie sat waiting for Erika to begin, becoming somewhat uncomfortable in the ensuing silence.
“You wanted to see me?” she questioned sarcastically.
“What’s going on?” Erika questioned.
“What do you mean?” Ellie returned shifting somewhat nervously in her chair. She had wanted to postpone this conversation.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Erika said probingly.
“Well, dear,” Ellie answered, “sooner or later you will accept the fact that Steve prefers me to you,” Ellie responded coyly, deliberately misunderstanding Erika’s question.
With trained eyes never leaving Ellie’s, Erika snapped, “Where are they!”
Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Where is what?” she questioned with confusion.
“You know exactly what I mean! My files on the patent.”
A deathly silence hung in the air as each advisory carefully scrutinized their opponent. Both were confused by the other’s response. But that confusion had to be carefully guarded to protect their own knowledge and position in this corporate “king of the hill” game.
Ellie broke the silence with a coy remark. “I’m sure those files are exactly where you left them a month ago. I know this has been a very difficult time …”
“Don’t patronize me, Ellie. You are the only employee with access to my office … now all my files are missing.
Ellie sat in stunned silence. A gripping fear clutched at her evil heart when she considered the consequences to her plan if those files really were missing. Making a feeble excuse about finding the misfiled documents, Ellie escaped to the women’s restroom where she made a frantic call on her cell phone to Steve Caslin.
Erika’s fingers returned again and again to the keypad of her telephone. She wanted to call her Uncle Lawrence … but time was of the essence. He wouldn’t approve of her plan. In the first place, he wouldn’t believe her account of the mumbled confession behind a laurel hedge this afternoon. In the second place, he would act hastily. Now that the patent was hopefully pending, Erika had an almost morbid need to watch T.J.’s betrayal … catch him in the act. Only then, she believed, could she purge the memories that even now taunted her. But at the same time, buried so deep she couldn’t even consciously acknowledge it, was the tiny, furtive hope that T.J. Morgan wasn’t to blame, wasn’t involved in this horrendous and criminal scheme to ruin her family’s carefully built empire.
It was twenty minutes past six o’clock and Erika still hadn’t heard confirmation from Alan Cromwell. Unusual and more than a little bothersome. She had tried to call but wasn’t put through. Some of her colleagues thrived on pressure, Erika hated it. Most of all, she hated not being in control.
Steve Caslin glanced at the Waterford crystal clock resting proudly on his teak wood desk. It was twenty minutes after six. The secretaries from his floor had for the most part gone home. It would be his only opportunity to copy the documents he had so carefully contrived. It was an insurance policy really. Cromwell had insisted the deal would be done and that he would personally carry them to Roman’s. But the deal was too big to rely on Cromwell. Besides, he still wasn’t convinced where Cromwell’s loyalties lay.
T.J. Morgan sat alone in the dark of his penthouse apartment overlooking the Los Angeles city lights, his $5,000 suit coat thrown carelessly across the custom leather sectional. Like a bronze sculpture, T.J. sat motionless, staring out the windows, for hours. His housekeeper had peered at him around the corner until finally giving up and going home. Slowly digesting his life, his future, his love, and his bitter shock, T.J. slowly worked through every scene, every emotion of the last two months. The phone had rung three times, the fax … more than a dozen. Even the cell phone had not successfully roused T.J. from his study.
Finally, he glanced at the antique mantel clock resting on the contemporary concrete mantel. It was twenty minutes past six. Not a lot of time left, but T.J. had successfully compartmentalized every event and every emotion, walked through his life in entirety, redrawn his future and come to terms with Erika’s deception.
At five minutes until eight, Erika’s heart began to beat a little faster. A quick call to Cromwell had proved futile, so now, she waited and watched … anxiously watched. If the situation wasn’t so grave, she might be a little amused at herself. Here she sat in the back of one of the most notorious restaurants in L.A., sliding down in the corner of a red vinyl booth behind plastic greenery that divided each tufted and hob-nailed booth.
T.J. hadn’t yet arrived at the posh Italian restaurant, a must to-be-seen place in Hollywood’s golden days of old. Everyone knew the owners had strong ties to the mafia … but they were left alone for fear their own secrets embedded in the walls and booths and atmosphere of Roman’s may even yet come back and betray them. Superstitious? Pe
rhaps, but in Hollywood, fortunes were made and lost over a cup of coffee … or pasta.
Steve Caslin had arrived and was seated in one of the corner booths reserved for business moguls ready to make a deal. Erika surreptitiously watched him beneath lowered lashes and wondered for the millionth time what about the man had ever attracted her. He was so weak and … repugnant.
She folded and unfolded her hands at least a hundred times, waved the waiter away at least eight times, and generally sat in nervous anticipation. Once again, she glanced through the greenery and watched with disdain her former fiancé preen like a peacock every time a particularly attractive waitress walked past his table.
Unheeded, the image of Ellie perched on his lap in her office earlier that morning made the knife in her stomach twist a little tighter. Not for feelings of jealousy, just betrayal. It seemed that everyone in her life was poised on the chessboard of her life, vengeful and calculating.
Hating the turn of her thoughts, Erika quickly reached for the hot tea she had finally ordered from the waiter to get rid of him for a while. As the clear hot liquid burned a trail down her congested throat, T.J. walked purposefully down the isle toward the booth housing Steve Caslin. She froze. For just a second, Erika thought T.J. had seen her. And that wouldn’t do until the transaction was complete. Sliding down just a little in her seat made her feel a whole lot better. Now, almost against her will, her eyes ran admirably over the cut of his expensive suit, the curl of his midnight colored hair, the plane of his jaw. She watched as his large and capable hand reached out to shake a thin, small and frail looking hand in comparison.
It was that simple act that broke Erika’s reverie. Appalled at her weakness, she mentally brought herself to task and steeled herself for what she was about to witness.
“Caslin, you have what I need?” T.J. inquired while glancing around the room making sure his players were in place. He had, of course, seen Erika and was disgusted that she had to throw a kink into his plan. He had to recalculate some things now. She could make a scene. How she ever found out about this meeting he didn’t know. Now things could become more complicated.
Whispers of the Heart Page 33