“Relax, T.J.,” Steve answered. “Enjoy life a little,” he said while raising a glass of claret in toast.
T.J. ignored the proffered drink, instead unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in the opposite seat.
Steve Caslin spread his palms wide in pretend consternation. Again, T.J. couldn’t even begin to understand Erika’s attraction to the pompous clown. He would never admit love because begrudgingly, he admired her too much for that. In fact, it almost made him furious to imagine Caslin’s hands on her at all!
“Caslin,” T.J. said exasperated. “Do you have it or not?”
A smug smile spread across Caslin’s face as he reached into his briefcase resting on the bench beside him and produced an unmarked manila envelope.
It was the moment that should have made T.J. revel in his victory. May have been twenty-four hours earlier. He hadn’t been emotionally involved then. Now, he just wanted everything finished so he could just go back to his real life.
For what seemed like an eternity, T.J. carefully studied the papers in front of him and all the while an unperturbed Steve Caslin had yet another drink. Erika held her breath. So in tune to T.J.’s every move, Erika failed to notice the face of a red-haired and freckled intern now watching her every move. Had she noticed him she would have remembered meeting him in an elevator at Crawford weeks prior.
It seemed like the entire room of the restaurant was now unnaturally quiet. Caslin was unaware for the effect of his now numerous drinks. Erika wasn’t consciously aware for she was transfixed on the momentous scene building to a crescendo before her.
Finally, T.J. collected the documents and returned them to the envelope. Caslin’s now blurry eyes were watching T.J. expectantly while he reached inside his jacket to produce another folded document and laid it in front of Caslin.
Caslin acted a little flustered and obviously tried to concentrate on the wording of the document but realized his senses were too dulled by drink to do much about it.
T.J. excused himself from the table and was gone a short while. Erika’s eyes watched him until he was out of sight and counted the seconds until his return. In but mere seconds, he returned.
Sliding into the red vinyl booth, T.J. offered his pen to Caslin. Caslin looked dubiously at the offered pen and hesitated momentarily. Erika held her breath. Caslin, obviously under pressure, finally took the pen and begrudgingly signed the document. Erika assumed it was some kind of insurance about the stock issue.
T.J. studied the document once again before carefully folding it and putting back into his suit pocket. Moving purposefully, he quickly retrieved the cell phone resting inside his suit pocket. Erika’s heart grieved once again as she knew he would now be transferring millions of dollars into an offshore account with Steve Caslin’s name on it. Nausea bubbled to the surface as she tried to rise from her hidden sanctum … and then her world broke into a million pieces.
Pandemonium broke loose. Everything happened bewilderingly fast. Before Erika had a chance to even step away from the booth and confront T.J. and Caslin, three men were at her table grabbing her arms and her handbag. Angrily she protested but the vise on her arm only increased its hurtful grip. She was shoved and pushed through what now seemed like a madhouse of people shouting and pushing. “What is going on?” she cried … no one answered. She craned her neck one last time, but her view of T.J. was blocked.
The very next thing she knew, a blanket was thrown over her and she was shoved into the back of a waiting limousine. The door slammed and the vehicle shot through the darkness. Erika … more angry than scared … ripped the blanket off her head. With eyes blazing she confronted her abductors and demanded an explanation of the three men.
All three stared blankly. Through a myriad of bold threats, accusations, and finally when exhausted, tears, they continued to stare. None of it moved them. Finally, Erika laid her head against the cold window, shut her eyes, and waited for the inevitable.
Very shortly, the limo stopped and her door was yanked opened. She braced herself for the worst … but this time a hand was extended to help her out of the car. Gulping the lump that was growing in her throat she willed the return of her earlier determination and demanded an explanation. Instead the man vanished and the limo disappeared down the avenue. Erika’s heart stopped beating as she realized she was … home.
For hours Maime gently rocked Erika, much as a Mother would comfort an infant. Sobs shook her slender body, incoherent words and phrases were uttered between sobs, but Maime paid little mind to it. For she had learned … patience. Never would she learn the events of that night until the tide of emotions had receded.
Finally, Maime quietly closed the door to Erika’s room and crept silently down the plush Persian carpets and into the living room. Holding herself tightly, Maime prayed earnestly for Erika and T.J. for she knew that something horrible had happened that night. After hours, when that peace that she sought finally filled the room, the phone rang. Maime quickly picked it up for she was sure it was either T.J. or Lawrence Bancroft.
“Maime?” T.J. asked anxiously.
“T.J.!” she cried.
Chapter Twenty
The weather had changed. She knew it before ever opening her eyes. There was a distinct chill and her room felt darker than usual. Erika lay in a half comatose state for some time. Her body ached and she knew if she had the courage to open her eyes, her head would split right open. But therein lay another problem. Her eyes were … swollen shut.
Cautiously, she rolled to the opposite side intending to drown herself in medicinal sleep before she allowed any memories to flood her consciousness. She knew something horrible had happened the previous evening … she didn’t want to remember.
Willing her mind to stop … focusing on a blank slate … thinking of … shopping … nothing worked. It was too late. As if a movie reel had begun to play … she remembered in crystal clarity the events of the previous night. The horrific nightmare … was relived. Over and over she saw T.J. making the call … of herself propelled from the restaurant and shoved into the back of a car … the fear … the uncertainty … the pain. It wouldn’t stop. Like she was on a merry-go-round that had no end.
Finally, … the nightmare subsided as consciousness was just around the next corner. Muted memories replaced the nightmare. She couldn’t quite grasp it … but it was becoming more distinct. Definitely unfamiliar. But very, very comforting and warm. It was something out of a dream, a longing when she was but a child. Singing. Someone was singing. Followed by a clink here and a cupboard slamming there. Then the subtle aroma of coffee. The sound of a blender. Then … bacon? In my apartment, she questioned? The coziness … the security … it had to be a dream … her body was awake but her mind was in a dream. That was a sort of plausible explanation.
The words of the song finally drifted into her room. She knew the tune and hummed along with it and then … the word came … “in the sweet by and by, we will meet on that beautiful shore.” Tears pricked her already swollen eyes. It was then that Erika experienced a stinging sensation. Hope. Perhaps after all this misery … there was hope after all.
With only two hours of sleep, Maime felt surprisingly chipper. Joy came in the morning … and certainly this morning … even on this morning when Los Angeles was drenched in a driving rain.
“Good Morning,” Maime called gently as she turned from the stove to welcome her sleep drugged charge. “You feelin’ alright?”
“Maime,” Erika answered shyly. “I’m so sorry about last night.”
“Young lady,” Maime admonished, “I don’t want to hear another word ‘bout last night!”
Erika smiled and amended, “I mean about not calling and then coming home until so late.”
“Oh,” recalled Maime while busily frying an egg. “Well, I was very, very worried! I wanted to call the police only Papa strictly forbade it!”
“Now, Erika,” Maime began after happily situating Erika in the Morning Room and sufficiently bless
ing their breakfast, “I’ve had a word with your Uncle Lawrence this morning …”
“Good,” Erika exclaimed as the events the evening before came rushing back. Maime put a stern hand out as Erika was quickly leaving the table. “Now, I made a lot of fuss about this breakfast and you’re going to sit down and eat it, young lady.”
Erika was momentarily suspended and shocked. Maime had never spoken to her that way before. And though she appreciated the breakfast, there were matters of the life and death of her company weighing in the balance.
“Maime,” she answered in what she hoped was a calm voice.
“No, Maime me,” she responded. “You sit down right here and eat this before it gets cold. There’s a thing or two you don’t know! Now you just sit,” she said while pushing Erika gently back down onto the padded seat.
Erika bit her tongue and tried to calm her exasperation as she acquiesced. After all, she did need a good cup of coffee before tackling the day, she explained to herself. And she was most interested in those ‘things she didn’t know.’
In minutes, Maime’s voice bubbled along with pleasantries that even cajoled an unwilling participant in Erika. Before long, she had even put aside her anxiety and truly enjoyed the morning meal with her very dear … friend, more like a surrogate mother.
As Erika sipped the last drop of coffee from her coconut-colored mug, Maime became very serious. The change at first amused Erika until she noted the seriousness.
“As I said earlier, your uncle called this morning and told me that you need to watch Channel 11 for a special news bulletin. And following that bulletin, he would be by and all your questions would be answered!”
Erika frowned. How could he have possibly known about her questions?
“And,” Maime continued while collecting their plates from the table, “it all happens at 11:30 and that is just three minutes away!”
Erika raced into the library and switched on her flat screen television.
“I still can’t believe that thing.” Maime said as she too rushed into the library. “It looks like a picture hanging right there on your wall and low and behold, it comes alive!”
“And now Channel 11 has a breaking story. Miguel Sanchez is taking you live to the corporate headquarters of Crawford Industries where you may remember the company has been plagued with scrutiny following the announcement by C.E.O. Lawrence Bancroft’s niece, soon-to-be-named President of Capital Textiles, of her broken engagement to Crawford’s Vice President Steve Caslin.”
Erika caught her breath as she saw the image of her Uncle shuffling papers behind a podium that was obviously in place for a news conference. What was happening? Could he know?
She hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud but Maime answered emphatically, “Of course he knew! He’s running everything ain’t he?”
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Lawrence began, “we’ve had a sad state of affairs in the Crawford family of employees last evening. In all our 36 companies, we have always taken pride in our commitment to our customers, and to our clients, and to our employees. Crawford has taken the lead in extending to our employees benefits that far surpass what most companies can or are willing to extend. Crawford was the first to offer a day care program, free of charge, to the families who work here. We have one of the most competitive whole health programs available as well as the leading 401k and savings programs available anywhere. I say all this to say that in exchange, we demand a high standard from our employees. From the part-time hourly wage earner to our top executives, we enforce strict ethical conduct in both their personal and private lives. Unfortunately, that code was broken last night.”
Erika held her bated breath knowing that T.J. Morgan and Steve Caslin had been caught and would soon be indicted on numerous charges. She glanced sympathetically toward Maime. She had known T.J. for his entire life.
“This morning, authorities have arrested Steve Caslin.” An image of a handcuffed pair being escorted to a waiting unmarked car was shown and Erika immediately recognized Steve … and Ellie! She blinked as she tried to process the new information quickly. “Steve Caslin had been promoted to Vice President of Crawford Industries in June of this year. He had previously served in various executive capacities and was a well-deserved candidate for the promotion. Mr. Caslin, of course, has been removed from the position, as was his assistant. Thank you for your time.”
Amidst a myriad of questions yelled from reporters across the room, Lawrence respectfully held up his hand and refused to answer more questions. It was over.
The reporter signed off and Loren Davis continued to give background on the surprising and breaking news.
“Miguel,” she said, “Mr. Bancroft denied to give any background information into this explosive case, but Channel 11 has learned that apparently, Bancroft himself had retained the infamous T.J. Morgan to help in what is now being considered a sting operation.”
“Yes,” Miguel responded. “We tried to reach Mr. Morgan but he has denied numerous requests for interviews. In fact, my understanding is that he has already left L.A. on his private jet.”
“Yes,” continued Ms. Davis, “we can confirm that. Our sources say that the whole scene broke at the infamous Roman’s Restaurant in Westwood last night and that apparently, Mr. Morgan had convinced Mr. Caslin that he wanted to buy, under the table I should add, a certain patent Capital Textiles was ready to file that would allegedly revamp the entire textile industry in the U.S. And allegedly, Mr. Caslin sold that patent to Mr. Morgan and at the same time, dumped all his stock in Capitol Textiles. Our reporters were tipped off last night by one of our sources in the FBI and we will now take you to the scene at Roman’s Restaurant last evening.”
Scenes of the pandemonium at Roman’s Restaurant the night before flashed across the huge screen in vivid detail. Agents were everywhere! T.J. was in charge. Steve Caslin looked like a deer in the headlights. And there directing the officers was the red-haired, freckled face of the supposed intern she had met so many months prior. Realization dawned as she now knew why he had been unexpectedly in her office, always around the corner, and why Ellie instinctively hadn’t liked him. And now she knew why her files had disappeared, and why she had been rushed from the restaurant. It was all so clear … now. She had been protected. Someone had seen to it that Erika Crawford’s name would not be sullied. Erika supposed it was her uncle. But, her uncle had not been at the restaurant. Her heart skipped a beat when she asked herself if T.J. could have possibly seen her and orchestrated everything?
As reporters and analysts gathered on the news room set to discuss what impact this would have on Crawford stock, etc., etc., Erika muted the volume on the television. She didn’t have time for speculation now.
“I should have been there,” she announced quietly.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Maime responded sharply. “Not lookin’ like that!”
Erika burst out laughing. It felt so good to laugh. Like a mountain of suspicion, and apprehension, and guilt, and responsibility, had finally lifted from her slender shoulders. So much so that when the doorbell rang, she ran without decorum to the door to wrap her arms around her Uncle Lawrence.
For nearly an hour Erika exhausted all her questions. Satisfied that her involvement would not have made a difference, merely presenting another obstacle to overcome given her relationship with Caslin and Ellie. Finally, she asked the question that most plagued her. T.J. Morgan.
Lawrence merely nodded his head. T.J. Morgan is a prince of a man, he believed. But in his estimation, he wasn’t a man that assimilated things of the heart easily. And that given time, Erika would hear from him.
Maime agreed.
“He called last night,” Maime said after a time of silence.
“He called for me?” Erika asked hopefully.
“No,” Maime said softly. “He saw you in that restaurant last night … knew you’d be in danger in case something went wrong. Those men that brought you home worked for him. He also knew
you’d be tellin’ me everything and he wanted me to hear it from him. That’s all.”
Erika felt the mood in the room shift. Waiting, waiting for her reaction. In that moment, she realized what trials she had put these two people through. And although her heart was breaking and her eyes were glassy … she would be all right. She would go on. She would never ever lose her love for T.J. Morgan, but life could go on. And right then and there she made a commitment to herself. Too much time had been spent wallowing in self-absorption. It was time to put it on the shelf and concentrate on other things … most importantly, other people. And what better people than the two people sitting in front of her … two people that she loved more than life itself.
“Maime,” she said sternly.
“Yes,” Maime answered cautiously.
“You’ve been in L.A. for more than twenty-four hours and have yet to see anything but these walls.”
Catching her spirit, Maime answered, “Yes, and I’m getting cabin fever!”
“Then get some clothes on and we’re going shopping on Rodeo Drive!”
Chapter Twenty-One
T.J. took one more backward glance as his private jet soared over Los Angeles. He could still see the palm trees waving in the breeze, the magnificent coastline, and then finally, the Hollywood sign mounted on the side of the hill overlooking the city. Shaking his head, he realized his emotions were too raw to spend much time in contemplation and instead buried himself in work. And for the next few days, he literally lived on his jet, bouncing from state to state, meeting to meeting, finally stopping on Thanksgiving at the family home in Cape Cod out of obligation.
The entire Morgan clan was in attendance. It was noisy, deafening at times, but definitely diverting. At no time was anyone allowed to wallow in self-pity, absorb themselves in their own thoughts or retreat in any way! T.J. had little time to grieve … or remember. It was moments like this … Thanksgiving … that gave one pause to remember the important things of life. To set aside petty grievances and to be truly grateful for the blessings. Family, T.J. reminded himself, was his most poignant blessing.
Whispers of the Heart Page 34