by Kelli Walker
“Sorry, boss. But she’s not budging on that,” Morris said.
“Don’t worry about it. Just keep me updated as the doctor updates you on her mother’s condition. I’m going to take a look into her company medical benefits. There’s got to be something we can do for her mother.”
“Permission to speak freely?”
“What?” I asked.
“Why do all of this for a woman who doesn’t want it?”
It was a good question, and one I didn’t have an answer to. The only plausible answer I could come up with was that I wanted to help her. I felt responsible for the situation she was thrust into. Responsible for the press hounding her and her mother the way they were. And I guess a part of me felt responsible for her mother getting hurt. Maybe if she hadn’t been so cooped up in her home she wouldn’t have been there to slip and fall in the first fucking place.
“Mr. Weber?” Morris asked.
“Keep me updated,” I said.
I hung up my cell phone and slid it into my pocket. The sun was slowly lowering beyond the horizon, casting shades of oranges and purples and yellows across the sky. A beautiful ocean sunset for the city of Miami and I couldn’t even enjoy it. Life had been turned upside down, a beautiful woman had captivated my attention, and now I couldn't even get her to fucking talk with me.
“Mr. Weber?”
And shit was about to get worse.
“Come in, Ryan. Have a seat,” I said.
“So, Roman has been officially summoned,” he said as he came into the office, “but he’s dropped off the grid.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Yeah. According to his building security at Instatech, he didn’t come into work. His phone is off. The P.I. even tried to ping his cell phone and she can’t. Which means he’s taken the battery out of it.”
Just more fucking evidence to fuel the voice nagging at the back of my head. But this wasn’t over. I was on a mission to do the one and only thing I knew would get Tiffany back into my life. That would fix the shithole we’d been thrust into and give the news outlets something else to focus on.
Something real.
Something true.
I was going to prove that Tiffany’s father was innocent.
“Change of plans, Ryan. I want your private investigator to track down the names and current phone numbers of the most recent women that have quit,” I said.
“Okay. But I have to ask why,” he said.
“Because we’re going to sit down and talk with them.”
“I’m not following.”
“Yes you are. But you want me to say it out loud, so I will. Accusing the owner and CEO of a company of long-term sexual harassment of his female employees comes either two ways. Video evidence or physical testimony. We don’t have video evidence. Despite Roman’s company being a technological company, their security systems are almost ancient. I know this because the system hasn’t changed from the one I had to get used to when I was there doing my time.”
“You think Roman Edwards is behind this.”
“I think it’s the only answer that makes sense,” I said as I turned around.
“We’ll have to get those women to confess. Willingly, and on record. Which means they’ll have to know they’re being recorded.”
“And that’s fine. Because we’re going to protect them. Get their names and numbers and contact them. Tell them that you are working for me, and I’m going to be working for them. So long as they’re in my presence, they’ll be safe from anything they might think will befall them if they talk.”
“It’s a very big risk,” Ryan said.
“And it’s the only play we’ve got. So do it.”
“Yes, Mr. Weber.”
I watched him walk out of my office before I perched on the side of my desk. If I could get these women to admit what really happened, that would fix everything. The media circus. My company’s reputation. It would prove Tiffany’s father innocent of all wrongdoing and it would shut down a disgusting cycle perpetrated by a man I once respected. But with every passing day, I lost respect for Roman. And suddenly, his personality wasn’t so charming any longer. He words weren’t funny and he was no longer crass. He was a womanizing, blood-sucking leech that didn’t deserve the company he operated. That didn’t deserve the prestigious honor of being a businessman.
How could I have befriended someone like that?
I sat down at my computer and started digging through some files. I pulled up the paperwork Tiffany had filled out in order for us to process her need for medical insurance. The plan she picked. The dependents she listed to be added to that plan. The health savings account she set up and the automatic draft that would be docked every two weeks from her paycheck. My eyes scanned the document, looking for any signs that her mother had been added to the plan.
I found her mother’s name. I found a long list of medical conditions her mother battled. Then, I found the one thing that made my stomach sink.
‘Application: pending.’
All of that damn paperwork I told Tiffany to gather and submit still hadn’t been processed.
Her mother wasn’t fucking covered under the company’s insurance yet.
Slamming away from my desk, I walked over to a globe in the corner of my office. I pressed the top down and watched it flip open, revealing crystal glasses and a beautiful carafe of the finest whiskey the world had to offer. I rarely drank in my office. Usually it was for reasons of celebration. But tonight, there were different reasons. I was grieving the loss of the only real friendship I’d ever created in this world. I was overwhelmed by the complexity of what I was about to dive into. But more than that-- more than anything else-- I was coming to a deep, innate understand of myself. Of this thing with Tiffany. Of why I was willing to go to such great lengths to make sure she had what she needed.
I cared for her.
I cared for a woman I wasn’t sure could ever care for me.
Pouring myself a glass, I picked it up and leaned against the windows of my office. My heart felt heavy and my eyes were sore. Not once had I shut off the television after telling T.J. to escort Tiffany home. Not once had I taken my gaze off those news reports. Had I not been so closed off, I would’ve caught it sooner. I would’ve caught the frenzy going on outside of her home and been able to address it sooner.
And that realization piled on more guilt for her mother’s circumstance.
One drink turned to two, and soon I was lying on my couch in my office. Refusing to go home and not leaving my cell phone. For some reason, going home seemed wrong. Tiffany wasn’t at her home. She was in a hospital with her mother. Trying to figure out what her next step was. Why did I have the luxury to go home but not her? Morris had yet to call with any other updates to Tiffany’s mother and I was in no condition to drive. My mind was running away from me and the alcohol encased my empty stomach as if it was my whiskey’s only lifeline. I stared at the ceiling, my mind in a heavy haze as one simple thought raced through my mind.
I love her.
I sighed and closed my eyes as a groan fell from my lips.
Fuck.
I was in love with my secretary.
Tiffany
“Mom, you have to have this surgery.”
“We’ve already talked about this, Tiffany.”
“No, you’ve tried talking about it through your pain. But now it’s time for me to talk,” I said. “You’ve waited long enough and your back has finally given out. You need to get yourself into surgery.”
“And I have no way to pay for it,” she said.
“Well I do. I have a job, remember?”
“I have no health insurance. You’ll be saddled with thousands of dollars of debt.”
“Medicare will help with some of that, Mom. And I have a decent savings account.”
“No, that’s the money for your business. You aren’t using that to pay for-”
My mother hissed in pain as her hand fumbled around for the morp
hine drip button. Her hands were shaking and tears were rising to her eyes. It slipped off the edge of her hospital bed and I caught it in the palm of my hand. I pressed the button until the light turned red, then grabbed a wet washcloth. I dabbed at the sweat on my mother’s brow, trying to keep my own emotions at bay. Seeing her like this-- in the kind of pain she was experiencing-- was too much for me.
She couldn’t go on like this.
Even if it meant sacrificing my business to do so.
“You’re going to have this surgery,” I said.
“That isn’t your-”
“Yes, it is. I pay half of the bills and I’m the one with the job. You’re no good to anyone in the kind of pain you’re in, and you heard the doctors. There’s nowhere else to go. Your back will never heal from something like this and there’s no outpatient pain medication on the market that will keep your pain at bay any longer. You have no other choice.”
“You are not throwing your life away for me.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort,” I said. “You’re my mother. And I love you. This is happening, whether you want it to or not. We don’t have any other choice.”
“Please don’t do that, Tiffany. Don’t… don’t do-”
I watched her fight through another wave of pain. It was like a punch to my gut every time it happened. I sat down and took her hand, my eyes glancing down at the morphine button. It was still red, and she was still in pain.
The morphine wasn’t even helping her any longer.
Her Medicare coverage wouldn’t touch most of the surgery. Maybe ten percent of it, if we were lucky. I’d submitted all of the paperwork necessary to prove that I took care of my mother to the insurance company, but they had yet to get back to me on whether or not my mother was covered. So as far as I knew, this surgery would cost us thousands upon thousands of dollars. The bulk of her medical coverage would go towards her hospital stay, very little of it would touch the surgery, and then recuperation would be out of our hands. She would need an in-home nurse, and all of that would have to come out-of-pocket.
My entire savings account would have to be drained for it. And even then, I’d have to set up a monthly payment plan to pay the rest back.
Which meant I would need a job.
I sat there until the pain finally took my mother under. A tear streaked my cheek as I looked up towards the door of her room. That man was still looming out there. One of many that kept interchanging every six hours. The heavy medication was no longer working and the doctors kept talking to me about convincing my mother to do the surgery. But if I told them I was paying for it-- that I was the sole caretaker of my mother-- then the decision fell on my shoulders. I could override her wants if it was necessary.
But I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to force my mother into something she didn’t agree with.
She’d been through enough.
We’d all been through enough.
I held my mother’s hand while she slept. Even if she didn’t have the surgery, the hospital wouldn’t be able to keep us much longer. After three days in the hospital, her coverage would be used up. The bill would fall into our lap if a choice wasn’t made soon. I was lost. Floating adrift in a raging sea with a storm that tried to swallow me whole. I wished my father was with us. Alive to weigh in on this situation. He would know what to do. He would know what to tell Mom. He understood her in a way I never would, and he always had a way of making her go along with things, even when she was hesitant about them.
I needed him more than ever, and knowing he would never come broke my heart.
I looked down at my phone in my lap and saw it light up. It silently rang as Kenneth’s name scrolled across the screen. My heart slammed against my chest. I watched one of my tears fall onto the screen. The call stopped ringing and the words ‘four missed calls’ popped up instead.
Four missed phone calls.
All from Kenneth.
I looked up at my mother and watched her sleep soundly. Something flashed at the corner of my eye, and I whipped my head over to see what it was. The morphine drip button had flashed from red to green, and I slipped my hand from hers so I could press it. I shoved it as hard as I could until the button turned red, then my eyes fell back to my lap.
To the four missed calls I had from my boss.
Against my better judgment, I opened up my phone. I dialed his number and pressed the receiver to my ear, holding my breath as I did so. I knew what I had to do. I knew what I had to convince Kenneth to do. I needed a job if I was going to pay for my mother’s surgery. There was no other answer. I had to step in and override her decision, but only after I had secured a way to pay for it.
And the only way I could pay for it was to convince Kenneth to let me keep my job.
That meant I would have to suffer through the ridicule. Through the nasty letters and the nicknames and the stares as I walked through the office. I would have to endure years of mocking glances and teasing snickers every time I entered an elevator. But I’d deal with is as long as I possibly could because my mother needed me to. She needed this surgery and there was no other way out for us.
For her.
She deserved a better quality of life than this.
Kenneth
“Hello. Is this Miss Vanderbilt?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Kenneth Weber. I’m the CEO for Casual Recreation.”
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I was wondering if you would sit down with me and talk over dinner tonight.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s a private dinner, and you won’t be alone. It’ll be myself, my lawyer-- Ryan Lockhart-- and two other women. Lonna Meadow and Shonda Moyers.”
The phone call fell silent as I sat there, staring at my computer screen. I had gotten the other two women to agree to come out to dinner with us, but I knew Veronica would be the hardest. She’d only quit three months ago, so all of this was very fresh in her mind. And I could tell by her silence that she recognized the names of the other two women as well.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“All I want is to take you out to dinner,” I said. “It’s fully covered and everything will be private.”
“I don’t care who pays, Mr. Weber. How did you get my number?”
“I’m building a case against someone prominent in Instatech. I had a private investigator of mine access some of the company’s files in order to help with it. I was originally investigating a breach of contract during my time there as defunct CEO, but the case sort of… took on a life of its own.”
Another beat of silence had me nervous. I needed to talk with these women. In sexual harassment cases, one could be written off and two could be considered a possible mistake. But three women? That always caught a court’s attention. And I knew if the three of them stepped forward, so many others would to. Because I was looking at all of the payroll promotions. All of the harassment filings that had occurred over Instatech’s time as a business. Looking at all of it made me sick, but I had to get Veronica onboard.
I had to get her to trust me.
“I know you’ve probably been seeing a lot of me in the news,” I said.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?” I asked.
“The thing about that girl’s father. Your secretary, isn’t she?”
I closed my eyes and conjured the picture of Herald Graves the news had just stopped plastering all over their morning headlines.
“It is, yes.”
“He didn’t do that to those women, Mr. Weber.”
“I know he didn’t. That is why I have to talk with you,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“Please, Miss Vanderbilt. I can’t imagine the strength it takes to come forward after something like this. But innocent men are paying for these actions with their reputations and their lives. You can put a stop to this. To all of it.”
“You don’t
understand, if he finds out-”
“He won’t. My lawyer works for me. And, by association, he’ll be working for you. I’ve got the best team of lawyers on this case. I’ll get you anything you need. All I need you to do it take that first step and agree to meet all of us for dinner.”
I never thought I was going to get her to agree. But the second she said ‘yes’, I was out of my office. I raced by Ryan’s door and told him it was time to go, then I sent a team of cars out to pick up the women for dinner. I rode with Ryan and went to go set up the backroom of one of the best and most discreet restaurants in Miami. I gave the hostess pictures of the three women and told her to immediately escort them back into the dinner venue and to not say a word to anyone about it.
Then I tipped her well for her silence.
One by one, they filed in. Tired. Bags underneath their eyes. Thin. The toll this shit had taken on them was evident, and it made me seethe with anger. I looked over at Ryan and watched him place the recorder on top of the table. It needed to be in plain view. Their confessions wouldn't work if they didn't know they were being recorded.
“What’s that?” Veronica asked.
“It’s a recording device. So you don’t have to write out your confessions,” Ryan said.
“We’re being recorded?” Shonda asked.
“All we’re going to do is talk,” I said as I stood. “I’m Kenneth Weber. And this is Ryan Lockhart.”
The women were wary of shaking our hands and I didn’t press the subject. They sat down and the first course was immediately delivered to them. A basic soup and salad most people enjoyed. Waters were delivered and they began to eat, their eyes darting around the room.
“You’re safe here,” I said.
“Got nothing to do with safety,” Shonda said.
“We’re building a case against Instatech, but there’s a missing piece,” Ryan said. “We know you ladies have been harassed. We know you guys accepted promotions in exchange for your silence. We have it all documented.”
“Then why are we here?” Lonna asked.
“Ryan and I have a theory on who is really responsible for the harassments, but we can’t make a claim against a person like that without concrete proof or confessions from the women involved. And since there aren’t any surveillance video footage we can access, we figured it was best if we talked to the women personally,” I said.