The Gatekeeper's Son

by C. R. Fladmark

  “Unless Edward doesn’t come back.” Mark stood up. “Who’s in control then?”

  Walter ignored him. “If your father dies—God forbid—do you want to run this company, Robert?”

  “You can have it all, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Walter smiled. “Well, in that case—”

  “No!” I stood so fast my chair toppled backward. I turned to my dad. “This company’s not yours to give away!” Then I pointed at Walter. “And it’s not yours to take!”

  Dad stared at me and slowly put the pen down.

  I turned to the lawyers. “My father will sign the original power-of-attorney papers, but that’s all. And I want you to draw up a document giving me, under the supervision of my father, the authority to sign on his behalf.”

  The room was dead silent. Mark’s eyes were wide, but Walter looked like he was about to choke on something.

  “I thought you didn’t want this,” Dad said.

  “I changed my mind.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “It always scared me how much like my father you were. If you really want this, … just tell me what to sign and I’ll do it.”

  I nodded and turned to Mark. “I need you here to run things, both now and in the future. I can’t have you quitting on me now.” I paused. “And you’re both going to Brussels to get that money.”

  Both Mark and my dad looked surprised, but they nodded. I wished I could be sure they agreed of their own free will.

  “You’re fools!” Walter yelled. “I’m doing everything I can to keep this company afloat and you’re signing its death warrant.”

  “Nothing has changed.” I said, meeting his gaze. “It’s exactly the same as if the Chairman were here, right?” Then I leaned toward him across the table and gave him my best stare—the one Okaasan reserved for when I was really in trouble. “And incidentally, I’m not impressed by how afloat you’re keeping us.”

  “What?” Walter’s eyes widened.

  “I want you to understand this clearly. Mark is your boss, and from now on you don’t do anything without his approval.”

  Looking as if he might implode, Walter stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “How was that?” I asked Mark.

  He managed a half-smile. “He still holds the purse strings.”

  “Then we’d better do something to change that.” I turned to the three lawyers. “Fix this, and remember who you work for. As of now, this company is mine.”

  I left Dad in the conference room with Mark and the lawyers. I felt like I might throw up. I didn’t want the goddamn company, but if Walter Roacks had something to do with Bartholomew, I couldn’t just hand it over to him.

  After I made two phone calls, I headed toward Grandpa’s office, hoping to have a moment of peace, maybe sit in his big chair and absorb some of his energy—and some clue to what the hell I should do next.

  Lin was at her desk outside the Chairman’s office.

  “Hi, Lin.”

  She wiped her nose with a tissue and tossed it onto the pile in her wastebasket.

  “Hello, Junya.” She was back in her usual high heels and business suit, but her makeup couldn’t hide the state she was in.

  I pointed toward the office. “I’m going in here for a bit. Will you come, please?”

  She looked down as if examining her French manicure. “If that’s what you want.”

  I didn’t sit in his chair. Instead, I sank onto the leather sofa. Lin sat in the stiff-backed leather chair across from me, her knees clamped tight together, her hands folded on her lap. It felt odd being here with her like this, like some crazy role-reversal had occurred.

  “I’m sorry about what you’ve had to go through …” My words dropped away, meaningless, because I had no idea what she’d gone through.

  She gave me a strained smile. “I’m sorry, too. I know how much you care for him.”

  There—why hadn’t I said something like that?

  “Was there any more trouble after I left for Japan?”

  She looked up. “Like what?”

  “Where do I start? The company’s going broke, Grandpa’s bodyguards tried to kill me, and let’s not forget about Walter and Mr. Müller.”

  It took a while for her to answer. “The Chairman’s been worried about Walter, but … he’s changed.” She stared at the floor. “He doesn’t trust anyone. I think that’s why he got so upset with me that night.”

  “What did you do?”

  The eyes that met mine were less friendly than they’d been a minute ago. “It’s what you did. You opened his safe, betrayed his trust, then you destroyed him with your words.” She glared. “It’s like the fire inside him went out that night.”

  I closed my eyes, but I’d rather have closed my ears. Her words felt like a kick in the gut and my anger rose, faster than before—always coming faster now. For a moment, I wanted to hurt her, but the wave of anguish I felt from her ended that.

  “He was under so much stress that night, more than usual,” she said, her tone no longer accusing. “Something about missing accounting files—dozens of boxes had vanished. When he refused to talk to me, I went outside to get some air.” She sucked in a breath. “A while later, he came to find me.” She was struggling to speak. “He found me in Sugimoto-san’s workshop … We were only talking, but maybe we looked suspicious. Edward looked so—so betrayed.”

  “Why were you with Mr. Sugimoto?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to talk with someone familiar, you know? Someone who understands how lonely it can be when you’ve left everything you know far away.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said, but there was something bothering me, some thought trying to surface in my mind. I looked back up to find her staring at me.

  “You’re different since you got back,” she said. “The way you look, talk, even the way you move.”

  I gave her a half-smile. “It was quite the trip.” Then I stood and walked over to her. “May I see your hands?”

  She looked up at me, confused, but she held them out. I took them in mine and turned them over, examining them. They were slender and beautiful, manicured and pampered, not worn by hard physical training like Okaasan’s.

  Lin giggled, but it had a nervous edge. “Are you a palm-reader now?”

  I didn’t answer, because I couldn’t—there was so much energy flowing between us I could barely stay upright. She looked up and our eyes met. I dropped her hands.

  “I don’t know your last name,” I said.

  “Sota.”

  Her dark eyes followed me as I backed away. She was about to say something when her phone rang, startling us both. She ran to her desk and pounced on the phone. Her eyes came to rest on me as she listened to the caller. A moment later she hung up.

  “That was Mr. Barrymore. He’s assembled all the security teams, as you requested.” She cocked her head and frowned, her right index finger tapping the desktop. “What’re you up to?”

  I grinned. “I’m going to kick some ass.”

  She gave me a little smile, amused, maybe even impressed, but I couldn’t go yet. I stood in front of her desk and stared at her, feeling her energy.

  “What?” she said.

  “Are you in love with Edward?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your damn business!”

  I walked to the elevator and punched the “down” button. I winked at her as the doors slid open.

  Her eyes went wide.

  I stepped backward into the elevator, twirling a pen I’d stolen from her desk.

  “I’m sorry, Lin, but I’ve gotta know—” I flicked the pen toward her, low and hard, like a throwing star.

  She snatched it out of the air as it sailed past while her other hand reached up and pulled a long thin pin from her hair.

  “Nice catch, kunoichi.” I took in a deep breath. “Sorry. That was mean.” My voice was somber now. “I’m really happy Grandpa has someone that
loves him, especially now.” I managed a smile. “Please, go to the hospital. Protect him.”

  Her face and energy betrayed everything she was feeling. “But—”

  “Go to Edward. That’s an order.”

  The doors slid closed.

  CHAPTER

  29

  The security briefing room, nicknamed the Bunker, was in the basement of the Thompson Building. When I walked in, about five dozen tough-looking men and women faced me, some sitting, others leaning against the walls.

  I stood at the front of the room and scanned the faces. The most common expression was boredom, but I also spotted dislike and a dash of hatred.

  The room grew quiet. I let the silence take over while I took in a deep breath and tuned in to the stream.

  Mr. Barrymore sat on the edge of a table, his suit jacket pulled open, his face a professional mask of disinterested alertness.

  “This isn’t everyone,” I said.

  “These are the bodyguard and surveillance teams,” he said, pointing a pen at each cluster of people. “The regular uniformed security guards aren’t part of this unit.”

  I scanned the crowd again. “Which one of you is Johnny?” I asked, raising my voice so that it would reach the back.

  A man with graying hair stepped away from the wall. “That’d be me,” he said, his arms folded.

  I tried to feel his energy, but I couldn’t get a fix on him, not with so many people in the room.

  “It’s good to put a face to a voice,” I said. “That was a big Doberman, huh?”

  He looked startled for a millisecond. “It … I got bit by my neighbor’s dog.”

  I hopped up to sit on the table, not far from Mr. Barrymore. Unlike his, my feet didn’t reach the floor. I glanced at him and wondered what kind of support I could expect.

  “Let’s talk about last Wednesday evening.”

  There was an outbreak of murmurs, but Mr. Barrymore shut them down with a look. When it was quiet again, I turned to him.

  “Tell me what you’ve found out.”

  He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “Two of my guys—who were off duty—got into an altercation with a bunch of drunks outside a bar. Both ended up in the hospital, along with three of the drunks.” Then he looked out at his officers. “And contrary to the rumors, I didn’t fire them. Steve and Mike resigned.”

  “They weren’t on duty?”

  “No.” Mr. Barrymore didn’t look pleased at all. “None of the injured men were on duty.”

  “And how many got hurt?”

  Mr. Barrymore thought for a moment. “Ten, counting Johnny’s dog bite. One guy’s still missing. We presume he took off.”

  I nodded and tried to remain expressionless. Did he mean the man Shoko had killed?

  I realized I was staring, and the longer I did, the more uncomfortable everyone began to look.

  “Does anyone know why those men were out there?” Mr. Barrymore said.

  Silence. Then someone at the back stood up—Anthony Roacks. “I called them out.”

  “Aren’t you from accounting?” Mr. Barrymore practically choked on the word.

  Anthony scowled. “That was temporary. My uncle’s put me in charge of his personal security.”

  Mr. Barrymore laughed. “And what does Uncle Walter’s office boy know about security?”

  Anthony hesitated. A few of the guys around him made faces. “Walter asked me to bring in extra men that night.”

  “Why?” Mr. Barrymore asked.

  Anthony shrugged. “Mr. Roacks doesn’t need to explain anything to you. What matters is that when my men heard Steve and Mike were getting beat on, they moved in to help—and he”—Anthony pointed at me—“nearly killed them.”

  “So Steve and Mike were working for you?” I said.

  Anthony hesitated again. “They work for the company.”

  “And what about the rest of the guys who chased me?”

  “Why don’t you tell us?” Anthony raised his voice. “You all know what he did to your buddies!”

  A woman near the front spoke up. “I heard he had a sword.”

  There was muttering in the room.

  “That’s right,” Anthony said, sounding more confident. “He attacked them, just like he did with Steve and Mike!”

  Beside me, Mr. Barrymore cleared his throat. “I’m confused,” he said. “How did these men of yours know where James was?”

  No one answered.

  “Who else was part of Walter Roacks’s personal security team that night?”

  A group at the back, all those near Anthony, put up their hands, although they looked reluctant. They were all new guys, the ex-soldiers. I did the math, but Mr. Barrymore beat me.

  “So counting the men who ended up in the hospital, you had sixteen men out there? We don’t even put sixteen men on the Chairman!”

  “What I use my people for is none of your damn business!”

  “It is my business!” Mr. Barrymore bellowed, which caused everyone to jump. “You used my men to attack James!”

  Anthony took a deep breath. “Prove it.”

  The crowd began to break into two groups. I noticed that Johnny stayed on our side.

  “Your little stint as security chief just ended,” I said to Anthony, my fists clenched at my sides. “Now get off my property!”

  I interviewed every member of the security service, even the office staff. Those who were loyal to Grandpa—based on the energy they emitted—stayed. I fired those who weren’t. By the time I was done, Mr. Barrymore had lost over a third of his staff, including Johnny.

  Afterward, we headed up to his plush twenty-first floor office.

  “So what’s your system for testing loyalty?” he said, not looking happy. “You flip a coin?”

  I sat in his office chair—not my choice, actually. He’d chosen to sit on the sofa across the room, in front of a window. I had to squint to see his expression. I wondered if he’d done that on purpose.

  “I’m weeding out the cancer, Mr. Barrymore.” I leaned back and stared at him. “Do you have a problem with any of the decisions I made?”

  He shook his head. I felt his anger, but there was sadness there, too, and guilt. It was his responsibility to protect the Chairman, but he couldn’t. That was up to the doctors and the gods now.

  “How’d you allow this to happen?” I said.

  His head snapped up, eyes flaring. “Oh, so it’s my turn now, is it?” He stood up. “Fine. I was delinquent in my duties, and as I told the Chairman, I take full responsibility for this matter.” He shook his head. “This place has gone to hell anyhow.”

  I sighed. “Relax, OK? Please, sit down.”

  And he did. We remained quiet for a while, each of us lost in thought.

  “To tell you the truth,” he said after a while, “I’ve had my suspicions ever since those new guys arrived—little things, stuff I couldn’t put my finger on, you know? But Johnny recruited them, and I always thought he was solid. But like I told the Chairman, I just don’t have time to supervise all of them.” He stretched his arms wide. “Besides the close protection teams, surveillance teams, and the building security force, I’m also overseeing a goddamn intelligence service here. I may be the chief, but the new influx of employees—it was too much. I work sixty hours a week as it is.”

  “Why does Grandpa need an intelligence service?”

  Mr. Barrymore sighed and put his arm on the back of the sofa.

  “It’s for business,” he said after a minute. “We’ve got wiretaps, surveillance, paid sources inside companies all around the world. It’s quite sophisticated.”

  I frowned. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Only if you get caught.” He flashed a grin. “The Chairman likes to know what his competitors are up to. He learned that when he first started the business. He’d hire taxi drivers, waiters, bell hops, anyone who had access to information.”

  “What information does a taxi driver have?”

  “See?�
�� He wagged a finger at me. “That’s what everybody thinks. We talk in front of these people like they’re not there—the invisible service providers, overlooked and ignored. It was an amazing idea—still is.”

  I tried to think about what Lin and I had talked about on our taxi ride. “And all the bodyguards?”

  “That’s a different matter,” Mr. Barrymore said, his voice guarded now. “No one’s ever attacked him, never threatened him either, other than the usual hate mail and a few wacky protesters. He does need security, but three or four guys would be enough. Right now we’re kitted out like an army.”

  I leaned forward. “But why?”

  “My guess, he’s scared of something—and I think it’s Bartholomew.” Mr. Barrymore shook his head. “Who, by the way, my intelligence people can’t prove exists. And I don’t know what he keeps inside that safe.” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should ask you?”

  I put my feet up on his desk. He glared at me until I dropped them back to the floor. “You ever see Bartholomew?” I asked as I brushed the marks off the desktop.

  He nodded. “Once or twice, back in the old days. He was still part of the Committee then, came for the meetings. And his bodyguards …” He paused and stared at the wall behind me. “Those guys were something else.” I felt a chill. If what Shoko and Okaasan had told me was true, they were something else all right—something far from human.

  “What’d you think about Anthony?” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Anthony Roacks is a spoiled jerk. He’s full of bluster, but he’s got nothing to back it up except his uncle. I guess him using our guys as thugs shouldn’t surprise me.”

  His eyes met mine. There was that guilt again.

  I nodded. “At first I thought it was a kidnapping, or at least a forced ride home, but then they got so violent … I heard them say they had orders from the old man.” A short silence ensued. “Why haven’t there been any arrests?”

  “The police found empty shells, lots of blood, but there’s no witnesses—or victims. They figure it’s the start of a gang war.”

  I sat for a moment staring into space, trying to put things together. “I know Walter wasn’t happy about me being named as Grandpa’s successor … but do you really think he tried to have me killed?”