Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  “Thanks, my fiancée picked it out.” Not really a white lie. She did suggest that the pale blue silk would look good against the black-checked suit coat.

  “I didn’t know you’d proposed!” she exclaims.

  “This weekend.” I love the word fiancée. There’s a sense of ownership and belonging in that word.

  “Congratulations!” She smiles, and it’s genuine. At thirty-two, I might be interesting but I’m old. “She has good taste then,” she says and then turns back to reviewing emails—office ones, I hope. A muffled clatter of wheels down the carpeted hallway signals Louis’s approach. He’s dragging a wheeled cart behind him. The indignity of it is probably crushing.

  “Everything go smoothly?” I ask.

  A muscle in his jaw is working overtime as he struggles with how much he’d like to tell me to go to hell, possibly while sucking on a donkey’s dick on my way down. But he manages to hold back whatever profanity-laced diatribe he’d like to trot out and instead hisses, “You’re going to regret this decision.”

  Fawn’s eyes widen in anticipation of a potential scene.

  “I doubt it. My priorities have changed.” I walk toward the glass doors of the entrance and out of Fawn’s hearing. “You’ll enjoy yourself somewhere else.”

  “All this over some illiterate snatch? Fuck, man, you can do better than that.”

  My hand curls around the edge of the glass door. I’m tempted, for a strong and long moment, to take Louis’s head in one hand and the glass door in the other and bash the two together until one or both of them break into little pieces. But physical violence is transitory. Louis will hurt more when I remove his status and moneymaking ability.

  “There’s a very important piece you are missing here, Louis.” I pin him with a stare and this time he can’t look away. I won’t allow it. “To be a good investor, to make good decisions, you have to be both unemotional and observant. You’ve shown neither trait here.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I continue. “Every attempt I’ve made to inform you that Victoria would be an integral part of my life has been met with either dismissal or disdain, which means you failed to notice both recent warnings and past signs. I stick up for people in my circle. You were once there.”

  He gives me a weak nod as we both probably recall his first management meeting, which took place at Colicchio & Sons. The target’s outgoing CEO lightly mocked Louis’s lack of a Harvard education. I reminded the CEO that at least Louis had a college degree and a business school education—unlike myself. He’d shut up after that, and Louis had worn a grateful look on his face for an embarrassingly long time.

  But in the months that I’ve spent with Tiny, I have sensed Louis’s impatience with me. He’d worried I’d take too long to make decisions, his attention had begun to wander, and—like a jilted mistress—he’d sought affirmation elsewhere. Jake’s investigative report telling me that Louis had racked up large debts at high-end department stores, as well as overextended himself with other expensive toys, only confirmed what I’d begun to suspect. Louis wouldn’t be happy working at Kerr Inc. much longer. I’d merely hastened his exit.

  His latest purchase had been a yacht. A fucking yacht. What a fool. He had been meeting covertly with Howe’s investment firm, likely passing on reports and insider information.

  “If you’d just wake up, Ian. There’s so much business out there for us, and we’re letting it pass us by.” His brows are furrowed and the handle on his briefcase is clutched so tightly that his knuckles are white.

  As he rolls out, his face hardens and a shifty gleam appears in his eyes—a look that says he’s going to pull one over on me. But he’s too late. If he thought I was a vicious, money-hungry asshole before, he’ll appreciate how a predator with a family to protect will act. And perhaps he’ll learn a good lesson.

  “There’s always more business,” I drawl.

  Louis doesn’t waste time. Likely he has some reporter in his pocket. We all do. In just a few hours, the stock for Kerr Inc. falls dramatically. The business television ticker hints at instability in Kerr Inc. upper management.

  Tokyo won’t be alive for another few hours. I shoot off an email to the legal counsel handling the SunCorp offering. I want to move forward on this now that I’ve dealt with Louis.

  I’d hoped to have a late lunch with Tiny, but the chaos caused by Louis’s departure prevents that. Just another checkmark in his “con” column.

  “I wanted to take you out, bunny, but I have some business to attend to.”

  “Oh, okay.” She’s clearly disappointed.

  “I’m sorry. I could break away for maybe thirty minutes if you can come down here.” Thirty minutes is time I don’t really have, but I hate the sound of her dismay.

  “No, it’s not a big deal, besides I’ve got something to work on—but can you be home early? Like six or so?” There’s a weird thrum in her words. I can’t make out the emotion, but it sounds vaguely like excitement.

  “I’ll be there,” I promise. And I will, even if I have to burn the trading floor down to get a moment’s respite.

  Rose brings me lunch and a sheaf of papers. “What’s this?” It’s a stack of resumes, of younger investment analysts and recent business school graduates. “Just some replacement ideas for Louis,” she says demurely.

  “Thank you.” My soft laughter follows her out.

  I field a dozen or more calls from hedge fund managers wanting to know more about the Wall Street rumors about Kerr management’s instability. I tell them the truth—that Louis Durand has left the company. Despite my evidence, I don’t share that he’s been stealing information. It would only make the company look weaker. When Gabe reaches me by midafternoon, I know the tipping point has been reached.

  “Do I need to sue anyone on your behalf?”

  Gabriel Allen has a voice he wields like a weapon. I’ve seen other lawyers nearly piss themselves at a glare and a sharp command. His sonorous tones are set to comfort at this moment.

  “You can pack away your therapist persona. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “I’m watching your stock fall by 15 percent. The more it falls, the faster the pace of the selling.”

  “My ticker says the same thing yours does.”

  “You’re playing some deeper game.” It isn’t a question.

  “I built Nessie for just this purpose.”

  Gabe’s silent for a moment. “You knew, then?”

  “I suspected. Asked Jake to look into it, and he sent the confirmation this morning.”

  “When were the flags first raised?”

  “About a month after I met Tiny. I’d been spending more time with her away from the office. I could tell he was getting restless. I’d hoped that I was imagining things, but . . .”

  “Better safe than sorry,” he finishes for me.

  “Yes.”

  “When will you step in?”

  “Tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday. If the price is going to drop, let’s wait it out.” Instinct, honed at a young age, tells me that now is not the time for action.

  “Your nerves are made of steel.” He compliments me.

  I snort. “As if yours aren’t? Besides, this is only dangerous if you care. Kerr Inc. could die tomorrow and I’d still have enough funds to make sure that Tiny and I lived a good life. But thanks for the concern. I won’t forget.”

  “I was elected to call you. Everyone was perturbed, but we didn’t want to inundate you with calls if you were busy putting out fires.”

  “I’m watching the conflagration right now and enjoying the heat.”

  Louis has inadvertently timed his leak perfectly because the domestic stock market closes with Kerr stock at an all-time low. By the close of trading, Kerr Inc. stock had fallen by nearly a quarter, erasing nearly nineteen billion in market cap—a record drop-off by a holding company that had only seen g
rowth since its inception over a decade ago. Some business talking heads called it a correction, saying that the market cap had been too high for too long. I see it as an opportunity.

  Whatever cooked information Louis had shared with his reporter friend is leading this downturn, but as I’d reminded Gabriel, I have a separate, private holding company with an obscene amount of ready capital. When Kerr Inc. stock falls to 30 percent below opening trading, it will be the time to buy. My guess is that it will happen before noon tomorrow.

  The rest of the late afternoon I spend handling phone calls from frantic board members. I assure them that all is fine. I don’t know if any of them have been listening to Louis’s whispers, so I don’t share my plans with them.

  Right before I leave, Rose alerts me to the director of The Frick Collection on the phone. “Mr. Kerr, I’m so sorry to bother you today. You must have a lot on your plate.”

  “No problem, Ross. What can I do for you?” I try not to sound impatient because the Frick event is one that must go smoothly. I need Ross Fairchild to ensure that.

  “It’s about your donation. I know we’ve received the first one but . . .” he trails off.

  “In light of the impending financial news, you’re worried my pledge may not be sound?” I finish for him.

  “Of course not. Only, if we are to provide naming rights for such an important expansion, we want to ensure that the renovations encounter no barriers. I’m certain you would agree if you were me.”

  I tamp down my anger at his insinuation that I’d make a promise and not live up to it. “What will it take for the event to proceed as planned with the naming rights as we previously discussed?”

  “The entire amount?” he suggests. At my stony silence, he relents. “Perhaps 60 percent?”

  “The cashier’s check will be on your desk first thing, Fairchild. The event better be fucking perfect.”

  “Of course, and thank you for your understanding.”

  Fuck you.

  I slam the phone down and close my eyes. The amount of the Frick donation is sizeable, and while I have contingency funds, it isn’t bottomless. I hadn’t accounted for the entire five million to be called in like that.

  Any other time and I would’ve told Fairchild to fuck himself, but then again, any other time and he wouldn’t be asking.

  The phone rings again, but I’m done for the day. I need to see Tiny.

  CHAPTER 18

  When I arrive home she’s already there, vibrating with energy. The sight of her helps to drain away some of the tension of the day.

  I drop my bag on the floor and enclose her slender waist in my arms. “I’m disappointed. When you told me to come home right away, I thought for sure you’d be wearing nothing but whipped cream.”

  “Not every night is your birthday,” she teases.

  “No, but we can pretend,” I answer. “But before I ravish you, you appear to be bursting with news. What is it?” I bury my head in the side of her neck, growling and rubbing my afternoon scruff all over her tender skin. She squeals and pushes ineffectually at my hands.

  “Stop. I seriously have something to tell you.”

  Drawing back but still keeping her within the circle of my arms, I say carefully, “Are you pregnant? And if so, do you want to be?”

  “No! Come over and sit down though.” She leads me into the living room and has me sit on the sofa. There’s a cold beer, fresh from the cooler, waiting for me on the side table. Picking up the beer, I obediently take a long drink. She waits, hovering at the edge of the coffee table, as if she can barely contain herself.

  “Lay it on me,” I say, placing the beer on the table and leaning forward.

  “I was thinking about Howe,” she begins.

  With a groan, I lean back and cover my eyes. “No, Tiny, you said you wouldn’t.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” She pauses. “Much. I haven’t done much of anything.”

  “I’m going to kick Jake’s ass.” I pick up my phone to start a verbal flaying.

  “Wait. I never left the office. Okay, a few times, but I knew Steve was following me.” When I set the phone down, she continues. “I asked Jake about the research he’d done on the other women rumored to be involved with Howe. He told me that you’d done background checks and had them followed, but they appeared to be ordinary women. There was one girl who was a student at Columbia. Another who was an intern for a councilman connected to his dad. The third, though, was a waitress. She worked at Table 57, a restaurant that Howe liked to go to without his wife.”

  “His wife didn’t like going because it was too down-market.” I finish for her. “I know this. I read the report when Jake put it together.”

  “Well, the waitress bothered me. The other two women came from money, so maybe it was easy to see why they would turn away yours. And maybe they didn’t want to be in the eye of a scandal, particularly the intern, but the waitress was like me. She seemed to be barely scraping together enough to live on. Jake said she lived in Brooklyn and took a two-hour train ride to get to Table 57. You’d think she’d be OK with suffering through a few pictures in exchange for the hefty half-million you were willing to pony up.”

  “You’d think,” I say.

  “But then I thought about blackmail. Did you know that Malcolm wanted your signature in the hopes of blackmailing you in the future?”

  “I thought that might be the case,” I say, unconcerned. I never gave Malcolm my signature, and there wasn’t anything that would tie me to him—except for Tiny, and she was worth any risk.

  “I had Jake check the marriage records for her mother. They showed that her divorced mother remarried once, for like six months, to a guy who is currently in prison. But there was another kid who lived with them.”

  “I’m interested. Keep talking.” I think I know where this is going, but I want to hear it all.

  “The kid from the second marriage was in juvie, and he got out. Lauren, that’s the waitress, was the one who picked him up upon his release, according to one of Jake’s contacts.”

  “So she’s related. A half brother. Maybe a stepbrother,” I muse out loud. “He gets out conveniently around the time I start sniffing around.”

  “Yes,” she claps her hands. “It’s crazy, but maybe Howe’s bought off a judge or something. The kid gets let out and Lauren is super grateful. Whatever he holds over their heads is more important than the money.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  “Both of us?” Her eyes are glowing.

  “Would you let me leave you behind?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s futile for me to insist on going alone. So you knew about Steve?”

  “Yes, and you knew I was following Howe around?”

  I nod. “Steve wasn’t spying, but he did ask me if I knew you were watching Howe eat lunch several times a week.”

  She grimaces. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  Taking another swallow of the beer, I raise an eyebrow. “I was waiting for you.”

  “I guess we should start sharing things with each other.” She studies her hands.

  The room seems slightly chilled, and after a day like I’ve had, the last thing I want to do is fight. “We’re both used to carrying our own burdens. This is a process.” I pull her toward me for a quick kiss. “We’re learning we can lean on someone else. That’s new and it will take time.”

  She gives me a grateful smile and rises. From the kitchen she says, “Jake says I’m really good at this and that I’m wasted behind the desk.”

  “He does, does he?” I follow her. She’s rummaging around the refrigerator looking for ingredients. Apparently she’s excited enough to cook. I wait for direction on what to chop. “What exactly does he think you’re good at?”

  “Investigative work. He says I’m good at seeing puzzle piec
es and putting together a bigger picture.” She hands me an onion and two tomatoes and a few cloves of garlic. When we first met, Tiny informed me she had a limited mental recipe box. Since living together, we have both learned to cook new things. She dumps butter to melt in the pan while she starts dredging pieces of beef in flour. I start prepping.

  “I’ve always felt you were quick.”

  “Jake says I could do fieldwork and more,” she babbles on as if I hadn’t spoken. “If, you know, my reading skills were better. I can’t do any of the searches, like using the marital records database or looking up the criminal blotter.”

  I stay silent, and not just because I am tired of hearing “Jake says” come out of her mouth; I can sense that this is important. I consider and discard a dozen different responses before settling on one. “What do you want to do?”

  “I think I’d like to try again. You’d have to hire me a tutor. One that specializes in helping dyslexics read,” she says quietly. Her head is down, and I can’t see her expression, but I think I hear something in her voice that sounds like hope.

  I nod, painfully aware of how close to the surface my own emotions are. She’s asked me for almost nothing. Clearing my throat, I say, “The best. I’ll hire the very best. No matter where they are in the world. They’ll come here and teach you what you need to know.”

  “Thank you,” she says quietly. There’s a sheen in her eyes, but I know that hugging her will look too close to pity. I simply give her a small kiss on her forehead and return to my sous chef tasks. Beside me I hear her sigh in pleasure.

  “I don’t know why I’m so emotional lately,” she admits, firing up the pan.

  “Maybe you are pregnant.” I’m only half joking. I’d love it if she were pregnant.

  She sucks in a breath and pats her belly. “I-I don’t think so, but we haven’t been careful.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement. I’ll call around tomorrow for a recommendation for an OB.” I pick up her hand, messy from the food, and kiss the ring. Her face glows with pleasure, and I want to shove everything aside and take her right there.