The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy)

by Grace Marshall

  Harris had already spoken to the press, and the evening had been a torture chamber of handshakes and making nicey-nice that he might have otherwise enjoyed had he not been constantly aware of Stacie’s every move and the fact that Jamison never let her out of his sight. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, and he desperately wanted to tell her that, to tell her what an amazing evening she had put together in spite of the horrible situation in which she found herself. But instead he ignored her, waiting on edge for the right moment when she could be snatched away to safety. Ellis’ pilot had the plane on standby to take her to a destination even Harris didn’t yet know, though he would be by her side wherever it was. In a few short hours, she would be safely away from Jamison, and probably mad as hell, but he could live with that. In a few short hours, nothing would delight him more than to throw himself at the mercy of Stacie’s anger. All that mattered was getting her to safety.

  As she came out of the small lounge and Jamison latched onto her arm, it hit Harris: he had never seen Stacie truly angry. The women in his life had always been comfortable with anger, and he’d survived more than a few run-ins with both Kendra and Dee’s anger. His stomach clenched almost as hard as his fists when Jamison leaned in and kissed Stacie’s ear. Stacie made no sign one way or another how she felt about his unwanted affection.

  Harris glanced down at his watch. Where the hell was Flannery? He was supposed to have been here when they arrived. His name was on the guest list by virtue of his friendship with both Stacie and Ellis. If their plan was to work, they needed Flannery, and if Flannery didn’t show up – well, Harris would take Stacie by force if he had to, but he’d get her away from Jamison one way or another.

  Waters had moved back to chatting up the woman in the gold cocktail dress, plying her with expensive champagne he hadn’t paid for, and Stacie was talking to several of the Japanese contingent, when Marston came to his side, looking pale. His face was pinched into a tight frown.

  ‘Damn it. Where the hell is Flannery?’ he asked. ‘I need him. I need all y’all for a word.’ He nodded his head toward the small lounge, now deserted. Harris could see Ellis, Dee, and Wade heading that way. Kendra kissed Garrett on the cheek and left him to keep an eye on Stacie.

  Stacie and Jamison had just disappeared into the Samurai Room with Garrett trailing discreetly behind, so neither of them saw the small party who now gathered around the computer screen as though they were totally fascinated by the film loop, which played for the hundredth time.

  ‘She’s planning to kill the bastard,’ Marston hissed without preamble, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected Stacie and Jamison to be listening in. ‘I think she may be planning to kill him,’ he repeated.

  ‘What?’ Harris and Kendra said at the same time.

  Not giving anyone else time to comment, Marston continued. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think about it, why I didn’t make the connection early, but that night in New York when he beat her –’ Marston’s face reddened; it was hard to tell if he was embarrassed at having to bring up such a time in Stacie’s life or if he was angry at Jamison. ‘That night, I rode with her in the ambulance. She was sedated and, well, she must have been delirious. She kept saying over and over again that he’d killed Zoe Hanson and that she’d see he paid for it. Mind you, she never said who he was. She just kept saying she’d make him pay for what he’d done. Course, I thought she was talking loan sharks or Mafia, something like that. As I said, I never made the connection.’

  ‘Al, the woman had just been beaten half to death,’ Kendra said. ‘What would you expect her to say? That doesn’t mean she’d actually … That doesn’t mean she’d …’ Her voice drifted off, not sounding too sure any more. ‘And besides, Zoe Hanson’s death was a suicide.’

  ‘Hell, I know that,’ Marston said. ‘But you can understand why Stacie would blame Jamison for it. And think about it. Think about the set-up here: the fact that Stacie suddenly and very convincingly is pretending to be broke; the fact that she turns to Jamison, a man she has more reason to hate than any of us do. It’s almost like she’s baited the trap for the man with the one thing she knew he couldn’t refuse. Jamison’s a sore loser, we all know that. And he lost Stacie outright in New York when she got the gallery out of debt in such a public way. It was like she thumbed her nose at him in front of the whole damn world. Come on, Ellis, you know the asshole better than I do. Does it make sense to you that he’d let an insult like that stand?’

  ‘It wasn’t an insult,’ Kendra said. ‘It was a woman getting her life back.’

  ‘Course it was,’ Marston replied, ‘but to Jamison it was an insult.’ He glanced around again. ‘Where the hell’s Flannery?’

  ‘Even if what you say’s true –’ Ellis said, and he looked like he might almost believe it ‘– we can’t do anything until after the big speech, and she certainly won’t ruin the event.’

  ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ Harris said. ‘Stacie would never do such a thing.’

  ‘I know for a fact she has a gun,’ Al said. ‘She told me so.’

  ‘Lots of people have guns, Marston, but that doesn’t make them killers,’ Harris responded.

  ‘Goddamn it!’ Marston’s patience snapped. ‘I’m not saying she’s a killer. I’m saying that’s the only explanation for this whole set-up, the money and all.’

  ‘The question is –’ Wade spoke for the first time ‘– if that’s what she plans, is she up for the task?’

  ‘Jesus, Wade,’ Harris said. ‘I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.’

  ‘No, listen to me. If that’s Stacie’s plan –’ Wade raised a negating hand to the protests. ‘I’m not saying that it is, but if that’s what she has in mind, then if she pulls it off, she’d be looking at a long prison sentence. But if it’s her plan, and she can’t pull it off, then she’s in even more danger. We already know Jamison’s capable of anything, and she’s at his mercy.’

  ‘This is ridiculous, Marston,’ Kendra said. ‘If she really wanted to kill him, she’s way too smart to do it in so public a place.’

  ‘She kept saying it would all be over tonight,’ Marston said. ‘I thought she planned to somehow pay him back. She did keep saying she’d pay her debts; she’d pay him back in full. What the hell else could it mean when she doesn’t even owe him anything?’

  ‘It means we have to get her out of here and away from him,’ Ellis said, ‘with or without Flannery.’ He looked down at his watch. ‘As soon as the closing speech is over, I’ll confront Jamison about Valderia. That’s a valid excuse for me to engage him, and then, Harris, you take Stacie’s arm and walk away with her. Jamison won’t want to make a scene. We just do it. Then anything else is a moot point.’

  ‘Jamison’s never gonna let it be that simple,’ Kendra said. ‘He has his guards all over the place.’

  The sharp tinkling of a bell announced the closing remarks, and Jenny’s voice came over the mic, calling everyone to gather in the main exhibition room.

  ‘I’ll get her away,’ Harris said, as they all moved toward the main hall. ‘I’ll get her away, no matter what it takes.’

  By the time they moved into the hall, Jenny was just introducing Stacie, who came to the podium as if she was above it all, as if Jamison standing nearby with his eagle eyes locked on her and his two guards standing at the main entrance had nothing whatsoever to do with her. She was glorious in a dress that looked like the black silk caressed her each time she moved. She wore her hair up, and the only jewelry was a string of pearls. Any goddess would have felt the urge to do homage, and Harris was pretty sure it wasn’t his imagination that the whole room felt that exact sense of awe as she smiled out over them, and silence fell.

  ‘This gallery, this particular exhibition, has been my dream for a long time,’ she said. ‘Learning the ropes of running a gallery from my dear friend Zoe Hanson back in New York filled me with dreams of having a gallery here in Portland, in my home town, having a gallery that reflected the ar
t and the beauty and the life of the Northwest. Ever since those early days, those lean days, I’ve dreamed of coming home, of finishing what I started in New York.’

  Was Harris mistaken or did she just glance down at Jamison?

  She continued, ‘But everyone who’s here tonight knows the real reason for this exhibition. It’s my attempt to give something back to the place I love and the home that I may have left for a while, but that never left me. The Vigilant Trust is all about giving something back. It’s about restoring, reclaiming, and returning to nature what we’ve taken, what we’ve destroyed. Tonight, you’ve seen an exhibition of photos that you might not consider art, but I believe that in many ways is art at its most advanced level.

  ‘Art represents the consciousness of a culture and reflects it back. In many ways, art is the conscience of the culture that creates it, a constant reminder of what’s good, what’s bad, what inspires us, what horrifies us, what we are in our darkest moments and what we’re capable of becoming at our very best. That’s what we’ve seen tonight, what we are in our darkest moments.’

  All at once, the pictures flashing on the big screens around the room were no longer Harris’ photos nor were they Kyle Waters’. They were the photos Stacie had taken at the Bald Hill clear-cut the day of the storm. ‘When I was a little girl, just moved back to the States with my family, I used to play in this place, watch the stars in this place, pick huckleberries in this place.’

  As she continued to speak, the deluging streams, looking bloody in the run-off from the deforested hillside, flashed on the screen. The scars and gouges and the remains of high stumps, looking like specters ready to attack and devour, flashed on the screen. ‘You wouldn’t know it now to look at the devastation. No one would want their child to even see this place, let alone play there.’

  The mammal carcass, so badly decomposed even Harris couldn’t tell what it was, flashed on the screen. ‘The cost of reversing such damage, of healing the wounds, is enormous, but not insurmountable.’

  The logging road, buried by the mudslide, flashed on the screens. ‘And yet, for 12 years it’s been easier to turn a blind eye than to look at a place that can only cry out to us, that can only convict us.’ This time she most definitely looked at Jamison. ‘A place that can only demand that we don’t look away, that we acknowledge the things we’ve done, that we make restitution.’

  Over the ocean-like roar in his ears, Harris could barely hear Stacie’s words, spoken in the silence of a room that held its breath. Knowing that Jamison was responsible for the Bald Hill clear-cut, knowing that he was being publically accused, sent another shot of fear-charged adrenaline through Harris’ body. Dear God, please let this have nothing to do with Marston’s fears. Stacie wouldn’t kill Jamison. She just wouldn’t.

  It was only by the tight gripping of Jamison’s fists at his side that Harris could gauge his response to what he clearly had not expected. And that made Harris all the more nervous.

  Stacie continued, ‘What we are in the darkest of our cultural consciousness, the most greedy, the most destructive, the most brutal parts of us, must be mirrored back at us so that we can see, so that we can understand and move beyond and heal what we’ve so badly damaged.’

  The pictures she had taken of the mountain lions and of Harris photographing them flashed on the screen. ‘These shots are my own reflections on what art can do for us, how it can move us, inspire us, drive us to be more than we are. They were taken up on the Crooked River where I went with Harris Walker to watch him photographing one of the millions of reasons why organizations like the Vigilant Trust are so important. If you’ve not had the chance to speak to him and to Ellison Thorne about their conception of Vigilant Trust and about their exciting plans for the future, please make sure you do. And when you’ve talked to them, I’m sure you’ll be as convinced as I am that there’s never been a more worthy cause, and that you’ll be convinced to dig deep and help create a future where humans are a part of nature rather than the cause for its destruction. Thank you.’

  There was a huge round of applause, and the film loop began again, but almost before Stacie could clear the podium, Jamison grabbed her arm and steered her sharply away from her clearly adoring audience. Even before Harris fully realized what had happened, two of Jamison’s thugs ran interference to keep him and Ellis from Stacie. While Jamison hurried her out of the room, Flannery showed up, looking the worse for the wear.

  ‘My people are on the door,’ he said breathlessly, nodding to where Jamison and Stacie had vanished. ‘They won’t leave without us knowing.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Harris blurted. ‘Where the hell have you been? What happened?’

  Flannery raised a neatly folded white handkerchief to a swollen lip to check for bleeding. ‘Let’s just say someone didn’t want me at this little soiree.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The Rubicon had been crossed; Stacie knew it by Jamison’s bruising grip on her arm and by the way his breath came in angry little puffs against the back of her neck as he half escorted, half dragged her upstairs to her office. He practically shoved her through the door, shut it hard behind him and locked it. Then he offered her a smile that was tight with patience she knew he didn’t have.

  ‘What? Did you think your friends would rescue you? Is that why you pulled such a ridiculous stunt? What an incredible amount of confidence you have in your tree-hugging boyfriend and Thorne and his lackeys, you stupid woman. Surely you didn’t think just because you were here now instead of New York that the troops would rally, did you?

  Keeping her eyes on his clenched fists, she backed slowly away from him until she felt her desk pressing comfortingly against the backs of her thighs. Then carefully, willing her hands to be steady, she felt her way along the desktop until her fingers traced the recessed grip of the middle drawer.

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about the Bald Hill clear-cut,’ he was saying while Stacie struggled to pull the drawer open, shielding it as much as she could with her body, hoping against hope he wouldn’t notice until she found what she was looking for. ‘I didn’t give a fuck when it happened, and I don’t give a fuck now. I’ve stood with a smile on my face while people with far more power than you’ll ever have tried to point an accusing finger at me, and you know what, Stacie, every single time I walked away unscathed.’

  Slowly, cautiously, she inserted her hand into the breach and felt for it. All she needed was just to get to it. She knew exactly where it was, and all she had to do was keep him ranting until she could find it. But now it was real, everything was way more difficult than it had been in her head when she planned it. When she planned it, she hadn’t been pumped with fear and adrenaline.

  ‘After your little display here, darling, I’m going to take special pleasure in the clear-cutting of the forest in Valderia, down to the very last tree. In fact, I’m going to do my best to expedite a speedy deal and see that logging begins ASAP. Your boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend will have you to thank for that.’ And, just like that, he changed the subject. ‘Where’s the necklace?’

  ‘It’s in the safe,’ she managed, amazed that her voice sounded so calm. ‘The pearls have sentimental value, and I wanted to wear them for the closing speech.’ And then it happened: her wriggling finger touched it, practically jammed up against it, and the solid feel of it was so welcome that she wanted to weep with relief.

  In a heartbeat, he was on her, his hand twisting the pearls around her neck. ‘I don’t give a damn how much sentimental value they have.’ He tightened and twisted them until they cut into her neck, until she couldn’t breathe. ‘I asked you to wear my necklace. Perhaps you didn’t understand –’ He tightened the pearls again. Bright spots of color exploded before her eyes, and she fought to stay conscious. ‘It wasn’t meant to be a request, Stacie. It was a demand, and you were to obey. Surely you remember the rules.’ Then he gave the pearls a hard yank and the necklace broke and bounced and scattered in a flurry of bright white across the desk and
the floor by the window. Stacie caught her breath with a rasping cough as he slid his hand onto her throat and rested it there at the ready, twitchy and heavy. She did her best to brace herself, breathing hard, trying to get as much oxygen as she could just in case.

  He laughed, then kissed her roughly and bit her lip. ‘Here’s the reason I wanted you to wear the choker, sweetheart; it’s an exquisite cover-up for bruises.’

  ‘You think I don’t remember?’ The venom in her voice felt almost as strangling as the necklace had been. ‘An expensive necklace isn’t nearly enough to cover the damage you leave.’ It wasn’t that she didn’t expect the slap. It was just such an insult to her body, and her body hadn’t tolerated such insults in a long time. It felt as though he’d broken her neck with the harsh snap-back of the impact, and she tasted blood where she’d bitten the inside of her mouth. She blinked hard, her eyes now watering from the sting. She straightened her shoulders and faced him.

  He kissed her again, this time almost tenderly, and he very gently ran his hand over the red mark on her cheek. ‘Darling, you know you shouldn’t provoke me. Back in New York, the first time we were together, I had only Zoe to use as leverage against you, and her death left me with no other choice but to … use force. But things change, Stacie sweetheart, things change. Now you have so many friends, so many people you care about. Now I have all kinds of leverage. I’ll hardly have to lay a hand on you when Harris Walker is never more than a phone call away.’ His soft laugh was humorless and cold. He kissed her as though they were simply two lovers having a bit of pillow talk. His hand even strayed to stroke her breast. ‘I’m delighted, really. Look how badly you suffered for poor Ingrid Watson, and I barely had a chance to play with her. Then, when Hearn was stupid enough to get himself blown up in Harris Walker’s place, honestly, I don’t know what was the most moving – how you ran straight to plead for Walker’s life or how you suffered such guilt over Hearn’s misfortune.’