“Is there anything I should know before I come to your defense?”
“Of course not. Everything is on the up-and-up. Let’s not forget, Wes did buy my company for you. So, start throwing your weight around before Della does.”
She had been so wrapped up in her own feelings and fears, she hadn’t thought of going into Wes’s office and taking over on a temporary basis. “I’ll think about it. I’ll call you later today.”
Slowly, she laid the receiver in its cradle, then sat on the edge of the bed for the longest time, picturing herself sitting in Wes’s chair, calling in the VP’s, asking for reports on everything. Of course, she merely wanted to update Wes if he should come out of his coma. Business had always been his top priority.
Everything made sense to her now.
She bolted from the bed, made up her face, dressed, dabbed on some La Fleurs perfume, checked herself from top to bottom, approved of what she saw and her expensive scent, then called for her car.
The officers of Gates International were used to her parading around the corporate offices. God knew, she had hosted enough business parties and meetings in her home. They must think of her as an extension of her husband. Her excitement grew. She pictured herself on the cover of Time or Newsweek magazine, in all her radiant glory.
* * *
Iris warned Della the Ice Queen was on her way in, “to make sure the company’s running smoothly, just in case Wes regains consciousness and wants a report,” she said. “The dutiful wife,” Iris added with a laugh.
She was sure Phillip had called Carrie about the letter. She was protecting her fair-haired-boy. Well, no matter what Carrie’s demands, she had no intention of backing off. She had her marching orders, not only from Wes, but from Steven. This was her war, to be waged in her own way.
Carrie whizzed past her open door. Five seconds later, Carrie’s heavy-handed dose of perfume infiltrated Della’s office, nearly bowling her over. Wes’s door had no sooner closed than her intercom buzzer screamed into action. The roundup had begun. Within seconds, she heard the other VPs’s doors opening and closing down the hall. She followed suit, empty-handed. At this time, she had no report to give.
Carrie sat behind Wes’s uncluttered desk, erect with an undeniable dignity of bearing. She appeared quite comfortable in his chair. “Bitch,” Della cursed under her breath. No one was fond of the lady sitting there in her elegant yellow suit and brown accessories. Fitting, though, yellow for coward, and brown for crap.
Joe Lasky, Mike Martinez and Della took their usual places around the conference table. Carrie went directly to Wes’s seat at the end.
“I’ve come in today,” she announced in an authoritative tone, “to see how things are going. I know you’re all concerned about Wes. The prognosis isn’t good, but there’s always a chance.” Her voice wavered. “When,” she said with emphasis, “he awakens, I want to be ready to tell him how the company is doing under your fine leadership.” Her gaze darted between Joe and Mike. She avoided her. “You know business will be his first concern.”
Della wanted to puke. This woman, who had caused Wes nothing but grief for the past few years, had thrown him out of his house. Now, she was acting like the sainted wife.
Carrie continued, “I’d like each of you to prepare a short report for me today with current figures on your companies. I’d also like an overview of any problems you might be having.”
Then, she looked at Della.
Without a single word, the three VP’s rose and started for the door. Mike and Joe looked as offended as Della felt. If she believed for one moment Carrie was truly there for Wes, she’d have given the woman everything she wanted without a moment’s hesitation.
“Della, please stay. I’d like to discuss a problem with you.”
Alone, Carrie went to the couch, patted the space next to her. A silver tea service was on the coffee table for the meeting, the one Wes used for special occasions, but the meeting ended so abruptly, she hadn’t had time to offer refreshments. “May I pour?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t do tea.”
Holding her cup proudly, Carrie said, “I understand you’re having a little problem with Phillip?” Her tone couldn’t have been more condescending.
“Only if he doesn’t respond to my request.” Della provided no further information. She knew better.
“Why don’t you hold off on the audit until Wes returns? I, too, have some concerns about your requests.”
She rose. “I expect his report on my desk by tomorrow. If he doesn’t comply, I’ll pursue other avenues. There are recording artists who deserve to know where their money is, and how it’s being invested. I’ve made a promise I intend to keep.”
Carrie followed her lead, rose, and brushed the creases from her expensive linen skirt. “Must I order you to stop the audit?”
“Are you assuming Wes’s responsibilities temporarily?”
“I am.”
“Unless the board orders me to stop, I’m going on.”
Carrie’s mouth fell open. She picked up the phone and called Iris. “I want a board meeting scheduled immediately.”
With her heart pounding like a riveter’s hammer, Della strode out of the office.
Twenty-four hours later, with the exception of Carrie, everyone expected at the impromptu board meeting had assembled. Carrie had obviously gotten to Phillip, Della noted, because his report, which was due on her desk this morning, hadn’t arrived. Carrie was on a witch hunt. If the board gave her full authority to run the company, Della might as well start packing.
McKinley had compiled a raft of information on Rick. Already, he had nearly enough to put the guy away for a good, long time. If the board supported her today, she’d nail Phillip at the same time. She knew he was a crook. Henshaw and Associates needed a new president, maybe even a name change to really clean away the stench.
The door opened and Carrie stood silhouetted by the bright office lights behind her. Steven was there, too. She took Wes’s seat at the head of the table. Steven sat next to her, across from Della. Della nodded and looked at Carrie.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I called this meeting to update you on Wes’s condition, and to clear up a few matters I’m concerned about during his absence.”
The body of amicable men and women who made up the board of directors fell silent, listening intently to the articulate Carrie Gates. As she talked about her husband, Della saw the compassion on the faces of the board members. She was winning them over. Then, her tone changed as she broached the business, as if her mind had changed gears.
“I’ve asked the vice presidents to provide me with full reports on their activities, so I might be prepared to give Wes a report should he regain consciousness.” Her voice softened. “I don’t have to tell you how keen he is about his company.”
Everyone nodded, smiled sympathetically at the tortured wife.
“I’ve asked Della Garland to cease her audit of Henshaw and Associates until Wes’s return.” Her tone deepened. “And she refused me. Said she was continuing her audit as if Wes were here.”
Harry Willett, the senior board member, leaned forward. “Mrs. Gates, we sympathize with you, and agree the staff should provide you with reports for Wes, but we cannot ask them to change their duties while Wes is incapacitated. His illness is unfortunate, but we must carry on in his absence. Phillip Henshaw does report to Della.”
Carrie’s back went up. “As the major shareholder in this company–or, my husband’s company–I do think I have the right to come in and act on his behalf.”
Willett clasped his hands together. “I suppose Wes didn’t have time to tell you he sold off large blocks of shares in recent months. He’s no longer the majority shareholder. I believe it was his intention to step down as president and become chairman of the board.”
Steven looked at his mother, then over to Della. His expression told her he was as surprised as Carrie. “When did all this happen?”
“I don’t have the exact dates. We only learned of this recently ourselves.” Willett turned to his fellow board members. “Those in favor of continuing business as usual, say aye.” They all responded with “aye.”
“It’s the board’s intention to move in the same direction Wes intended for the company. As senior vice president, Joe Lasky will be acting president until Wes returns. If Wes doesn’t come back, a new president will be elected.”
A hush fell over the room. With a heavy heart, Della realized this was only a momentary reprieve. Carrie never gave up anything easily.
Carrie rose. “I guess under these unfortunate circumstances, I have no further business here. I’ll be in touch with our stockbroker to verify all this. I know Wes said he was selling shares, but I certainly wasn’t aware he was giving away his majority.”
Steven took Carrie’s elbow and escorted her from the room. He slipped back in and came to Della. “I’ll call you. Dinner this evening?”
She was overwhelmed with all the news, but the thought of seeing Steven alone sounded more wonderful than anything imaginable, even if she had no other choice but to be sisterly. Christ, what a mess.
* * *
All the way home from the board meeting, Carrie’s blood pressure rose. She felt light-headed, downright dizzy; her vision doubled. In her state of rage, it was a miracle she arrived home safely. How dare Wes sell off large blocks of shares and not tell her? He hadn’t even told Steven. Though she’d asked Wes to get rid of the business, surprising her like this was reprehensible, as if he’d slapped her in the face. For one fleeting moment, she wished him dead. Then she cooled. Her fear of a future without him crushed her anger.
She dashed into Wes’s study, which she had now made her own, called Phillip and told him the news. “I can’t believe this is happening. There’s nothing I can do for you. You’ll have to provide Della with those reports.”
“She’ll crucify me,” Phillip muttered.
“How? You haven’t done anything illegal.”
“But I have.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Phillip! You promised me you hadn’t done anything I needed to worry about.”
“I thought you had more clout. I’m screwed! When Della gets her hands on this stuff, she’ll have me put away for longer than I care to think about.”
While Phillip ranted, Carrie poured herself a stiff drink, slipping out of her duster and removing her hat. “I’ll think things through, Phillip, and call you later. I’ll find a way.”
25
Steven had just arrived at Della’s when his beeper went off, breaching the silence between them.
“It’s the hospital,” he said.
Della nodded to the phone.
Steven paled.
Something bad was coming down.
A moment later, he hung up the phone, his shoulders slumped, his head down. “Dad’s dying.” His voice had a tremor; his eyes misted. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand, dragging her down the stairs to his car. He burned rubber making an illegal U-turn, which put them on course to Cedars.
Though she had been preparing herself for this moment since Wes’s heart attack, she wasn’t ready. She glanced over at Steven. His tears were replaced with a stoic expression. What wheeled through his mind?
“I’m so sorry, Steven. I thought he’d make it.”
He pounded the steering wheel. “I didn’t. I thought I was prepared. No way, no how can you get yourself together for something like this.” The pain he suffered shone in his dark eyes. She wished she weren’t his sister. Since the DNA results hadn’t come back yet, she lingered in no-man’s land.
They parked in the hospital tower, exited the car, looped arms and strode to intensive care without a word. The nurse promptly admitted them into the unit. Carrie waited outside Wes’s room, crying against Doctor Gold’s chest.
Wes had died.
A bitter emptiness centered itself in Della’s stomach.
She and Steven made their way through the open, sterile unit to Carrie and the doctor. Carrie peeked at her over the doctor’s arm, then to Steven. “Get her out of here.”
Della stopped short, pulled her arm free from Steven’s grip, and turned to leave. Her heart was breaking, and this woman didn’t give a damn. All Carrie thought about was herself.
Steven took Della’s hand and pulled her back. “You belong here as much as any of us do.” He glowered at his mother.
“He’s gone,” Doctor Gold said in a raspy voice. Della saw discernible signs of a battle lost in the doctor’s eyes. “Just a few moments ago,” he murmured. “He never regained consciousness.”
Carrie ignored Della, latched onto Steven and cried hard in his arms. Her body shook. Feeling helpless, his gaze fixed on Della, he shrugged. Tears spilled from his lower lids.
Della, somehow able to control her emotions, glanced into Wes’s room, clenched her fists to control the trembling. A sheet covered his still body. The tubes had been disconnected and the monitors were off. Two uniformed male aides passed her and slid Wes’s body onto a gurney. They moved him out of the room–she supposed to the morgue. She whispered to herself, “Good-bye, my friend.” The word “Dad” lodged in her throat. She turned and left the unit, leaving Steven and Carrie to grieve.
Outside, in the cool night air, she hailed a cab and headed home to mourn by herself. Carrie needed Steven tonight; she needed Lillian. But she had ruined any chance at that. She’d have to play this one out by herself. Her anger at Wes’s duplicity overshadowed her loss.
Bogged down in her reverie, the thriving city passed her by. The cab swung in and out of traffic. Drawing in a deep, weary breath, she decided she’d dug herself into this hole and, by God, she’d dig herself out.
The day following Wes’s death, the entire corporate office shut down. Della’s phone never stopped ringing. All the callers were mortified there would be no funeral or memorial service. Everyone in the company wanted to pay tribute to the man they loved and respected. “It’s the way he wanted it,” Della explained. No fuss after he was gone, he had said. His ashes were to be strewn over the ocean. However, he did stipulate that he was amenable to anyone wanting to pull together a party and do a high-spirited roast. Iris had gone into seclusion. She’d been Wes’s right arm for two decades. There was no consoling her. Almost everyone who knew Wes had placed bets he’d walk away from this alive. But even the great Wesley Gates had limited control over his destiny.
Della sat at the kitchen window, gazing down at colorful Japanese oak and maple leaves being blown about by a forceful autumn wind, when the phone rang. Reluctantly, after taking so many calls, she answered.
“Hi, Della,” Steven said in a low, controlled voice. “How you holding up?”
“I’m doing okay. You?”
“Could be better. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know. Me, neither. I want to go back to work, but I feel guilty. Sitting around here, taking calls from everyone, puts me on edge. I feel so helpless. When I think of Wes, I know that’s where he’d be if he were in my shoes.”
“Go back to work. That’s exactly what he’d want. You’re better off there than you are at home.” He paused, expelled a long breath. “I’m leaving for New York right after the will reading, which will be this week. You’re expected to attend.”
“You think your mother will allow me there?”
“She has no choice. We’re meeting in John Witt’s office. I spoke with him this morning. He says you’re mentioned in the will. You’ll get an official notice.”
“Steven, please come over. I really need a shoulder right now.”
“I wish I could, but I’m swamped. Mom has me going through a bunch of Dad’s stuff. She’s clinging to me like a desperate child. She’s afraid to be alone.”
“I understand.” After saying good-bye, she hung up the phone and returned her gaze to the falling leaves outside. Steven had already adjusted to their new relationship. He was right, she must ret
urn to work. Pronto.
In her bedroom, she thumbed through her now-burgeoning wardrobe for the appropriate dark clothes to wear in public. Having never been in mourning before–at least, not for someone who had died–she set aside several suitable coordinates.
Arnie, her perpetual friend, still occupying his crevice between her pillows, stared up at her with his glassy-eyed comforting gaze. She stretched out on the bed, took him in her arms and held onto him for dear life. “Here we go again, old buddy,” she whispered in his fuzzy brown ear. “You’re always here for me when I need you.” She stroked the teddy bear as if he were alive and responding to her emotional needs. “Why did Wes lie? We could have shared so much, had we all been honest. Even Carrie might have come around, if she’d known about us sooner.”
Della wanted Lillian–she needed Lillian. She picked up the receiver on the night stand beside her bed, held it for a moment, then thought better of her idea and laid it back down. The timing wasn’t right. Of course, Lillian knew Wes died. She watched CNN–his death made headlines.
On Wednesday, when the offices reopened, Della sat at her desk, weary, depressed, uncertain of her future, but ready to grease the wheels she had in motion. Gordon McKinley had called and told her he had to move now, if she wanted Rick arrested. Her pact with Phillip Henshaw had expired. She had to take him on.
She would mourn in private. Publicly, she’d continue with her work, like everyone else in the company. Once this Henshaw audit concluded she’d start thinking about what to do with her life. Everything depended on the outcome of her DNA test, Wes’s will, and, of course, the board of directors.
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