Her love for Steven hadn’t been a complete waste; he was the one man who hadn’t pulled her down. Some day, she might be lucky enough to meet a man with Steven’s qualities, a man she trusted and loved because she wanted to be with him, not because she needed to be with him. She understood the difference now.
Sarah announced Kadi’s arrival. The little rock star, who only used a single name, entered Della’s office dressed in a scruffy blouse and jeans, similar to what she wore the last time they met. Her flamboyant, curly tangle of hair framed her face.
“Thanks for coming in, Kadi.”
The girl sat in front of Della’s desk, kicked off her sandals, checked out the office. “Nice digs! You must be doing all right, girl. Top gun, eh?”
“For the moment.”
“Sorry to hear about Mr. Gates. He was a swell man. I didn’t know him very well, but he did right by me, especially when he asked me to play at some of his gigs. He knew how to throw a party, that man did.”
Della crossed her office to the window, stared out, gathering her strength. The overcast sky matched her spirits. She spotted a black Mercedes in the lot below that looked exactly like Wes’s. Everywhere she turned, reminders weakened her resolve to go on with her job. She was forever thinking of Wes and Steven. They had deserted her, left her alone to duke things out by herself. So, what the hell else was new?
Shaking off her negative thoughts, she turned around. “I need your help, Kadi.”
“I’d do anything for you.”
The girl’s trust was evident from her eager expression. “I haven’t recovered your investment information yet, but I will. The company is responsible for any losses you might have suffered. You have my word on it.” She paused, organizing her thoughts to keep from being accusatory or putting Kadi off, but she needed the girl’s help if she was to put Rick away. Without a preamble, she blurted, “This’ll probably sound banal, but I don’t know how else to put it. Would you be a part of a sting operation?”
“That sounds boffo.” Kadi’s youthful face lit up and she drew herself to attention. “What kind of sting?”
“A drug sting.”
Kadi licked her lips nervously. “I don’t do drugs. I’m clean. Kadi nodded, looked down as if ashamed.
“If you’ll help us,” Della went on, “there’ll be no legal repercussions of any kind, I promise.”
With a shrug of resignation, Kadi said, “What can I do?”
Della walked back to her desk, and sat on the corner next to Kadi. “I want to bring Rick Courtney down.”
Kadi recoiled and squinted.
“We know that Phillip supplied many of you with drugs. All from Rick. Right?”
“Yeah. Rick delivered the crap to me personally when I was on the road.”
“Would you contact him again, one more time? And buy from him?”
“He knows I’ve quit.”
“Anyone who quits can start again, right?” Kadi’s sheepish grin tugged at her heart.
“Right, I have many times. But this time I’m out of it.” Kadi bolted up. “Can they still send me to jail?”
“No. We’ll make sure you get immunity before we do anything. We’ve got to catch him in the act. You know the drill.”
Kadi reached out to Della. “I’m in. Courtney’s a scuzbag. He deserves whatever he gets.”
The plan was a go. Following a few phone calls, everything fell into place. Kadi called Della later in the afternoon and told her she’d made contact with Rick. A large quantity of cocaine was scheduled for delivery that night–the most she’d ever bought at one time. Rick hadn’t flinched at the amount, and he would deliver it to Kadi’s home.
The winds had intensified, stripping the cottonwood trees of their last vestige of summer, and freshening the chilly night air. Della sat huddled in the front seat of Gordon McKinley’s unobtrusive gray minivan, the windows down, ready to see a dream come true. His van, neatly concealed behind a hedge near the front of Kadi’s wooded Laurel Canyon home, provided a bird’s eye view of the front door. Four policemen hidden inside the house awaited the exchange. They wanted a bigger fish than Rick, but he’d carefully blocked those avenues. They had no choice but to take what was at hand.
Rick’s midnight blue Carrera pulled into the driveway, stopped directly in front of the stairs leading to the front door. Della’s heart thumped, watching him sit in his car for the longest time smoking a joint, surveying the property. He deserved what was coming down.
Go, Rick, she urged him in her mind. What if he backed out and left, after all she’d been through for this moment? She would die.
But he didn’t disappoint her. Leisurely, he slid out of his car, squashed the roach he’d been smoking under the sole of his boot, glanced around, then sauntered up the wooden steps to the front door. He looked slick as always, in his razor-sharp pressed khakis, button-down shirt and handcrafted leather boots.
Kadi opened the door. A flood of light lit up the darkness. She took Rick’s hand, greeted him as if this were a regular occurrence, and pulled him inside.
Della waited, nervous as a hen over chicks, checking her watch, glancing at Gordon who strained to see through tightly-knit branches of the bushes concealing them. Rick had been in the house for half an hour. Kadi must have offered him a drink, made small talk. What the hell, Della didn’t know what went on at these events. She could only guess. Then, suddenly, the door flew open, more bright light slashed through the night, and Rick tumbled out in front of two police officers, handcuffed and fuming. An unmarked car from the other side of the house pulled up in front, beside Rick’s Carrera.
Della grabbed the door handle.
Gordon reached for her arm. “Not now.”
“Why not? This is my moment. I’ve waited five years for this.” She opened the door and took off running to the car Rick they were shoving Rick into.
He looked up, his eyes ablaze with fury. “You bitch! I should have known.”
She stepped back, trying desperately to fine the glory she’d expected to feel after bringing him down. There was none. She simply felt sorry for him. Maybe she’d saved some unsuspecting kids’s lives. Unfortunately, there were too many Ricks out there. Emotionally drained, she walked back to McKinley’s van.
Della walked into John Witt’s conference room, and took the only available seat in the back. All the chairs around the table had been taken. Carrie and Steven sat at the end next to the attorney. Iris was there, as was Jon Clarin, Mike Martinez, and Joe Lasky.
Steven rose, never taking his gaze from hers, whispered to a few, then he shuffled chairs around, moved people, making room for her. His response brought tears to her eyes. He walked over and took her hand, picked up her chair with the other, and dragged it to the table next to him. Carrie glowered the whole time, but said nothing.
The attorney began speaking once everyone had settled. The tension in the room was palpable.
“Good morning,” he said in a deep, steady voice that inspired confidence. “This is a sad day for all of us.”
Carrie sniffled, wiped her tears with a handkerchief. Della felt totally out of place, not knowing whether she was here as an employee or a family member.
“Wes has left a large amount of money to various charities, which I won’t read at this time. I’ll get right to the portion I know you’re all interested in.” He scanned the room, looking into each person’s eyes. “Mike Martinez and Joe Lasky, he’s bequeathed you one million dollars each.”
They glanced at each other, holding their joy in check.
“Iris Hartman will receive the Malibu house she’s occupied for the past nine years and five million dollars after taxes, which will be paid by the estate.”
Iris, whose head was bowed, didn’t look up or show any emotion.
“To Jon Clarin, he’s bequeathed one million dollars.” John Witt added, “Wes considered you a loyal, caring friend.”
Jon dabbed his eyes. Knowing Jon as Della did, she thought the money was as
welcome as it was unexpected.
“Carrie Gates will receive fifty percent of his entire financial estate and all personal effects, including the Holmby Hills house, the Palm Springs house, cars, all furnishings, jewelry and other personal items.”
Carrie jerked. By the look of her, she wasn’t happy, but was too proud to say anything in front of this sorrowful gathering. Della wished she were a mouse in here after the formal reading ended and Carrie lit into John Witt, probably wanting to contest Wes’s will. Legally, she’d only be entitled to half of Wes’s estate under any circumstances.
John continued. “To his son, Steven, twenty-five percent of Wes’s financial estate, and to his daughter, Della Garland, the remaining twenty-five percent.”
A gasp shattered the silence. This was the first time Joe or Mike heard that Della was Wes’s daughter. She wondered what was going through their minds.
Carrie freaked. “I’ll contest! There’s no proof Della Garland is Wes’s daughter.”
John Witt glared at Carrie, surprised. “Yes, there is. When Wes promoted Della to vice president, she was required to take a physical examination for life insurance. Wes asked the doctor for a paternal DNA test.” Before Carrie had a chance to say anything, John said, “Della Garland is Wes Gates’s daughter. Wes left explicit instructions that no one was to contest this will, or a codicil will be carried out that might jeopardize their own inheritance.” Of course, everyone knew nothing could come between Carrie and her fifty percent.
Della glanced over to Steven who remained stoic. The disappointment of learning she was his half-sister had registered. She was Wes’s daughter after all, and Steven was her half-brother. A stab of guilt pierced her heart.
Steven rose. “Is that it?” he said to the lawyer.
“Except for minor things, yes. My accounting people will be in touch with each of you.”
Steven motioned Della to follow him out of the office. In the reception area, he took her in his arms. “I’m sorry, honey. Deep down, I hoped this wasn’t true. Dad loved you. He wanted to take care of you. Give us both a little time apart. We can look at this objectively, then maybe we can be a real family.”
Her head against his chest, she swallowed hard, biting back the tears. “I’ll never be able to be a sister to you. I love you too much.” She looked up at him and in a mocking tone added, “I think I’ll leave the business, take the money and run. I’ll never have to work again. Might as well take advantage of being a Gates.”
Steven gently shook her. “It’s the shock you’re feeling. You have to work. It’s in your blood. You’re Dad’s heir to his business. Don’t let him down. Not now–not after you’ve been through so much to prove yourself. You going to let my mother win?”
“She can have the whole damn thing, for all I care.”
“What about Henshaw?”
“Screw him. He’s a crook. Has been for years. Too bad for his clients.” She pulled away from Steven, moved a few feet to get her bearings.
“You’re just going to let Kadi and the rest of them sink in his mire? Doesn’t sound like the Della I know and love.”
“When are you leaving?”
“First part of the week. Sure would like to see you wrap up this audit and take care of those people who are counting on you.”
“Steven, I know what you’re doing. Can it! I’ll do what I want.” As she walked further away from him, his beautiful high forehead, deep-set dark eyes, slightly crooked nose, and full, soft lips were burned into her memory forever. The next time she saw him, sometime in the distant future, she’d feel completely differently about him. She didn’t know if that was possible, but she had to try.
When Monday morning rolled around, Della had made up her mind. She was going to fight for what Wes and she believed in. The cards would fall where they may, for all she cared. What did she have to lose? After fuming over her self-respect for so many years, she wasn’t about to let everything she had worked for slip away.
In her office, Barry Sands, the chief auditor of her team, brought his report with the little information his group had extracted from the miasmic offices of Henshaw and Associates. “I believe Phillip has taken money from a few of the most profitable groups, invested hundreds of thousands of dollars under his own name, and only given the artist a small percentage.”
“I need proof,” Della demanded.
She picked up the phone and called Phillip. “Because of all the confusion,” she said to him, “I’m extending my deadline another twenty-four hours.”
“Thanks,” he snarled, “but you can take your deadline and shove it.”
“I’ll press charges.”
“You go right ahead, my dear. But I have someone on my side I don’t think you’re gonna want to mess with.”
He slammed the phone down.
She frowned at Barry. “Something bad is coming down here.”
26
Since Wes’s death a week ago, all Carrie wanted to do was sleep and make the world go away. Her life without her husband was intolerable, and having the daughter of a prostitute in the family was incomprehensible. The thought of Wes engaging in sex with a woman like Lillian Garland put red blotches on Carrie’s skin. “Why, Wes?” she cried out, anguished. At the time, their marriage was new, filled with romance. He was no teenager with a perpetual hard-on. Wes must have been suffering temporary insanity when he took up with that woman.
The thought of her friends knowing what Wes had done sent shivers down her spine. She rolled onto her stomach and pounded the pillow. “Damn you, Wes! You not only left me with all this mess, you tore up our company by dragging that woman into the family.”
She laid still, her face in the pillow, and listened to the deafening silence. Slowly, she turned over, eased herself into a sitting position, and rubbed her swollen eyes.
Calmed, she ran her fingers through her matted hair. She would do whatever it took to keep this scandal buried. Being a widow was bad enough without everyone talking behind her back about Wes cheating on her, then having an illegitimate child who ended up with a quarter of his estate. And he had cleverly set up his will so Carrie couldn’t even contest it.
So much for a photo of her on the covers of Time and Newsweek as the new head of Gates International. Wes had seen to that. Now, she had to decide whether she wanted to sell her shares, or sit back and mollify her anger by creating trouble for everyone involved. She owned enough shares to make more than ripples at board meetings. With Steven’s proxy and those of a few friends, she could even make changes.
A knock came at the door. “Yes?” Her tone was irritable.
In her starched uniform, Mildred entered cautiously. “Mr. Henshaw is on the phone. I told him you didn’t want to be disturbed. He’s insisting he talk to you. Said it was a matter of life or death.”
“Oh, that idiot. I’ll never understand why I’ve spent so much time protecting him.”
Mildred frowned. “He’s upset. What should I tell him?”
“I’ll talk to him.” When Mildred left, Carrie picked up the phone. “Couldn’t this wait, Phillip? You know I’m in mourning. I’m not in the mood to discuss business.”
“Well, get in the mood.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, it is. Your daughter called me this morning–”
“She’s not my daughter.”
“Did I misread the newspaper story?”
“Just forget it. What’s so damned urgent you couldn’t wait?”
“Della has threatened to file charges against me if I don’t produce copies of all my investments. They caught up with Rick Courtney. He’s in jail. If he sings, I’m up a shit creek without a paddle.”
“I told you, Phillip, I didn’t want anything to do with any of this. I’m out of the picture.”
“No, you’re not. I want to see you, either in my office or at your place, today.”
“Is that an order?”
“If you want to keep your pretty little ass out of
this mess, yes.”
“First a threat, now an order. What next?” Anger surged through her.
“I’ll come to your place if you like.”
“No. I’ll come to your office.” She needed to get out of this damned bed, take a shower, shampoo, doll herself up and get into the sunshine before she went berserk. “This had better be good, Phillip.”
“Oh, it is. You’ll love it.”
The clock on the night stand said ten a.m. “I can be there in two hours. You’d better not be involving me in any of your shady business deals. You might just end up taking your lumps.”
“We both will, my dear. I’ll be waiting.”
Dressed in black from head to toe, large sunglasses covering her puffy eyes, and filled with anger, Carrie arrived at Henshaw and Associates in four hours.
Carrie sauntered in, sat in front of his desk and said, “Well?”
“No kissey-kissey?”
“Why am I here, Phillip?”
He walked over and shut the office door.
“This must be serious,” she said, more concerned than before.
“I said it was. I wouldn’t drag you out of your mourning bed for bullshit, now, would I?” He reached down, unlocked a drawer in his desk, pulled out a small envelope and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she said.
“Open it.” He leaned back in his leather chair and rocked, a swindler-like grin on his aging face.
Without taking her gaze from his, she sliced the flap of the envelope with a red manicured nail, pulled out a black and white photo, and studied it briefly. “So? Where’d you get this picture of Steven?”
Phillip lit a cigar, blew a cloud of smoke in the air. “It’s not Steven.”
“Of course it is. And why are you smoking in my presence? You know I can’t stand the smell of those things.”
He drew in another mouth full of smoke and blew perfect, annoying smoke rings in her direction.
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