by Andrea Stein
Chapter 6
Noah stood in the corner, in his father’s house, nursing his drink. He had made it through the funeral and then the ceremony at the gravesite. And now here he was, back at the house, surrounded by people he did not know, a stranger in his home.
But she moved through the crowd as if she belonged, the right mix of sympathy and assurance. What was she doing here? What had his father been thinking? People were circling him, not sure whether to talk to him or leave him alone. He kept the scowl plastered on his face, hoping that would keep some of the insincere well-wishers away.
He followed her with his eyes until she looked his way. She glanced away, and he was satisfied. She couldn’t stand to look at him, not after what had happened. What had happened? He had wanted her, and she had said no, she couldn’t, didn’t want to be with him. Simple as that. His pride had been hurt, and he had called her a tease – a mean thing to do. She’d told him he was being a fool, being reckless. He’d ignored her. They’d both been right, hadn’t they, all those years ago?
Someone was sidling around the edges of the room, clearly trying to be inconspicuous, but just as clearly trying to get closer to him. Noah watched with interest. The man was shorter than he, probably about five-eight, with graying hair in a fringe around a bald head. Slightly portly, wearing a suit that was a little frayed, a little rundown, as if had been pulled from the back of a closet.
“Noah Randall.” The man finally made his approach.
“Do I know you?” Noah looked down, swirling his whisky in his glass. He held it more because he needed something to do with his hands than because he wanted to drink it. The newspaper reports of his proclivities for partying were vastly overestimated.
“My name is Peter Flynn. I was a friend of your father’s. From before.”
The man’s voice had a tone to it, a slight insidious quality as if what he said was a suggestion, a meaningful hint.
“From before, as in when he was alive?” Noah said.
A small smile creased the man’s face. “A sense of humor in the face of tragedy. I like that.”
“Do you?”
Peter Flynn had maneuvered around so his back was no longer to the room. His eyes swept around it, and Noah noticed that several other mourners were looking at them.
Noah waited. The other man was tense, a bit bouncy on the balls of his feet.
“I wanted to speak to you.” “You’re doing it.”
“Here is not the place. Perhaps I could call you at another time.” “You could try.” Noah had taken an instant dislike to this man, and there was no way he wanted to speak to him again.
There was a movement, and Noah saw that Sam Harris had broken away from a knot of people and was moving in their direction. Caitlyn too, less obviously, was keeping an eye on what was going on.
“I need to be going. But I just want to warn you. Be careful who you trust here. It’s a viper’s nest.”
Noah actually laughed. Almost, and then he remembered where he was. The man was ludicrous.
But Peter Flynn put a heavy hand on his arm. “I’m serious. This little firm of yours seems to be awfully accident-prone, doesn’t it? And wouldn’t you question the timing of her return if you were going to start asking questions?”
He nodded in the direction of Caitlyn, who was now openly watching them, a frown creasing her face.
“Flynn.” Sam Harris had appeared.
“I’m leaving.” Flynn said and moved away.
Noah watched him go, finally taking a healthy sip of his drink. A viper’s nest? Well, it always had been. That’s why he’d left.
“Are you okay?” Sam looked at him with concern that Noah knew wasn’t genuine. A viper’s nest indeed.
Chapter 7
Noah Randall stood looking out the window at the view from the lawyer’s office. It was of the Queensbay marina, mostly empty at this time of year. The docks, which would be bustling in the summertime with boaters of all types rolling coolers, stacking lines and tanking up, lay vacant, rocking up and down in the steady waves kicked up by a stiff breeze from the north.
“So, that’s it?” he asked.
Gary Burton nodded. “Yes. Your father left you everything. The house. The ownership stake in the Randall Group. You have it all.”
Noah swallowed before turning around.
“Just out of curiosity, how much is it worth?”
Gary pushed back a bit from his desk and steepled his fingers together before replying. Noah waited.
“That’s an interesting question.”
“What does that mean? “ Noah covered the distance to the desk in two quick strides. Gary pushed back a bit, rearing back as if Noah was going to attack him.
“Well, your father had a mortgage on the house.”
“What?” Noah said. “But he bought the house outright when I was a kid.”
“So he did. When times were good. But he’s routinely used it as collateral – it’s waterfront, you know, worth quite a bit. He’s had to raise money several times throughout the years, and he always used the house to guarantee the loan. Maxwell always paid it off, but I guess this time, he didn’t have a chance.”
“Why?” Noah asked, sitting, looking interested. All his life, his father had tried to drum in the lessons of wealth, always belittling Noah’s interest in computers and the Internet as being akin to fool’s gold.
Gary put his hands on the edge of the desk, grasping it as if for strength. “I don’t know why for certain.”
“But could you make a guess?” Noah said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Gary began, “but your father wasn’t quite the financial genius he made himself out to be. Between you and me, even though everything always looked good on paper, ever since Lucas Montgomery died, the Randall Group goes boom and bust. Somehow Maxwell always managed to pull it out of the bust, but I think his time was cut short. I believe he was using the equity from the house to cover some bad investments at the company.”
Noah leaned back. “So there’s no money, you’re telling me. After all those years, my father was, what – basically broke?”
Gary cleared his throat. “Broke is a bit of an overstatement.” Noah looked at him levelly, and the lawyer swallowed. “Okay, so yes, your father was basically broke, personally.”
“Oh, that’s rich. You know what he told me when I left for California to start TechSpace?”
Gary shook his head.
Noah laughed. “Said the Internet was a fad, good for nothing more than playing games and wasting time. Well, he was right about that. Just didn’t know people would pay good money for the chance to do that.”
Noah took a deep breath. “Okay, so if I want to keep the house, I have to pay the bank. Done. But what about the Randall Group? Is it a viable company, or do I need to go fire people?” Noah had done it before, and while he didn’t fear it, it was never a pleasant task.
Gary shook his head. “There’s enough money to keep it going for awhile. You don’t have to do anything just yet. Actually, the Randall Group appears to be on an upswing again. Given some time, everything will probably play out just right.”
“What do you mean?”
Gary Burton looked at Noah, a look that was appraising. “You father made some new hires recently. They seem to be working out well.”
“Like Caitlyn Montgomery?” Noah asked.
Gary nodded. “Yes. She’s a very sharp girl, just like her grandfather. She’s great with people – great at getting people to trust her and invest their money with her. And she seems to have a nose for picking winners. Maxwell was quite pleased with her performance, and she’s only been here a few months.”
“I see.” Noah said.
“Your father also hired Tommy Anderson – a new MBA from the city, he seems pretty good – and Sam Harr
is, his chief of operations. He’s been around awhile, solid, ready to take on more.”
“So, where does this leave me?” Noah brought himself back to the now.
“Well,” Gary said, and Noah could tell he was phrasing his words carefully, “as I said, the company can run itself. Sam Harris is the natural to take over day-to-day operations. You can be involved if you’d like, but he can run the show. Are you eager to get back to California?”
Noah shook his head in frustration. “I have some time to spare, but, no, I hadn’t planned on running the Randall Group. Not really my thing.”
He hadn’t told anyone but his father about his plans, tentative though they were, to move back East. But it hadn’t been to get involved in the Randall Group, no matter what his father thought. Noah had been a CEO, dealing with the day-to-day headaches that came with managing a bunch of people. And while he’d gotten better at numbers, his real talents were in understanding technology, how it made people’s lives better, easier. No, he didn’t want to get sucked into running a company again, especially not his father’s.
Gary nodded and said, “Well there are certain things to consider when a firm is so tied up with the owner. It sometimes doesn’t have much value to someone else. Not unless the crew there can convince people that it’s business as usual. You might need to stay involved for awhile, you know, be a stable force. Or if you would like to get involved.”
Noah just laughed. “I’ve already built my own company from the ground up. Sure, starting is always fun, but the day-to-day… that becomes a grind. That’s why I sold it. I don’t want to be tied down. I would be happy to have someone else handle the daily details.”
“I thought so. There have been some people who have expressed interest in buying it.”
“Caitlyn Montgomery?” Noah said quickly.
“Not exactly. Why do you ask?” Gary said carefully.
It was Noah’s turn to stare at the lawyer until he got an answer.
“Do you think she’s expecting something?” Gary said.
Noah sighed. “Expecting? I don’t know. How did my father get her back here? She promised never to come back after her grandfather died.”
“As far as I know, Maxwell never offered her more than a job. She was quite the catch – professionally, that is. She proved herself quite capable in London.”
“But,” Gary continued, “I was talking about Sam Harris. He’s made no small secret that he expected to get an ownership stake in the company at some point. I think if he knew that the new owner was willing to sell, he’d be willing to make an offer. I’d bet, too, he has or could get the money. I doubt Caitlyn Montgomery has the financial means right now to do the same.”
Noah stood up, feeling the need to move around and work off some of the frustration and indecision in him. “Could Sam Harris do a sale quickly? I have other things I’m involved in. I don’t really want my attention diverted from them.”
Gary nodded. “Yes, I think so. I would be happy to make the first overture.”
Noah nodded. “Do it,” he said, making the decision and feeling relief as he did so.
“Do you want me to say anything to Caitlyn? She might want to make a bid for it, too, and some competition is always good for the price.
Noah shrugged. “Your call.”
“Very well,” Gary said, straightening some papers on his desk. “Well, let’s move on to some other matters. Right now, your father’s death is being ruled an accident. A fall due to incapacity.”
“He was falling down dead drunk, wasn’t he?”
Gary nodded. “It will take some time to get back the test results, but I think that would be the case. He was supposedly quite drunk at the club, and it seemed he only drank more when he got home.” Gary paused, letting that sink in. “But in the meantime, if you want to have a company to sell, you need to go in and act like an owner. You don’t want people leaving or getting spooked. You’ll need to send out letters, take some meetings.”
“With Sam Harris as the leader?”
“Yes, for now. He can have the group there go into crisis management mode, have them call all the clients, say it’s business as usual, that Sam Harris will be stepping in as the day-to-day manager.”
“Okay.” Noah scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I can do that.”
He chuckled, and Gary looked up from the papers on his desk, his look questioning.
“You know, she’s going to be pretty steamed when she finds out.”
Chapter 8
Caitlyn sat in her office, twirling in her chair. It was a fairly small office. Maxwell had said he didn’t want to upset the team when she first came by giving her one of the bigger ones. But she’d been allowed to paint it her own choice of color, a creamy white, and she had filled it with fun art – things she had picked up in London, somewhat funky, kind of avant-garde.
In truth, her own taste was a little more conservative, but she needed to stand out and look different than the leather chairs and wood paneling most people associated with financial management firms. Nothing sent up-and-coming talent away like a place that looked straight out of the men’s lounge at a country club. In general, Caitlyn’s clients hated to be told what to do by old men in three-piece suits.
So, she’d gone deliberately in the opposite direction. And it had worked. Caitlyn tapped her fingers on the desk as she counted in her hand. Fifteen new clients in four months. Not a bad track record.
Maxwell had said good work, of course. And what else? “Keep that up, and you’ll be running the place in no time.” She was doing that now, trying to remember everything Maxwell had said to her over the past few months, from the first phone call in London to their last dinner together.
Caitlyn stood and walked over to her window. The view was okay. If you stood on tip-toe and leaned, you could catch a glimpse of Queensbay Harbor, but for the most part, you got a view of the parking lot. Clouds were piling in. It would probably rain later, slicking down the roads and pulling more of the late fall leaves off their branches.
She had thought Maxwell was promising her the firm. But now, with careful consideration of what he had actually said, she realized he’d only made vague hints – which was why she’d needed to search his private office, to see if there had been anything in writing.
She had meant to be in and out, Caitlyn thought. Why did Noah Randall have to be there at that particular moment? She hadn’t found anything, which Caitlyn thought was exactly how it was supposed to be. Maxwell wouldn’t have put anything like that in writing. Maxwell Randall was not the type to throw over his own son for anyone, not even her.
Noah had looked good. California and his life choices had agreed with him. He’d filled out his lanky frame until she couldn’t help but notice the way the shirt had stretched across his muscles. Dark hair, tan, and the smell of whisky and wood had mingled together. She closed her eyes, breathing, imagining the smell of him.
Caitlyn sighed. Noah Randall was as different from Michael St. John as night and day, but in those few moments with Noah she’d felt more – what? Longing, desire? – than she had in months.
It was only because of their history together. Their unresolved history. When someone was supposed to have been your first, and it didn’t work out, and then he shows up looking all yummy and delicious… and angry… well, a girl couldn’t help how she felt, could she?
Caitlyn shook her head and smoothed her gray skirt, straightened her blouse. There was a staff meeting in ten minutes, and since she hadn’t heard from Maxwell’s lawyer, she had a sense of where this was going. Maxwell Randall, smooth, wily and an operator, had used her to help him save his ass.
And now he was dead. Too much to drink, leaning too far out over the edge of the bluff, and now he was gone. Caitlyn should have gotten something in writing from the old bastard. A lovable one, but a bastard none the less.
; The phone rang. And rang. Caitlyn looked at it. Her assistant, Heather Malloy, was supposed to answer it, but she must not be at her desk, again.
“Caitlyn Montgomery,” she said, picking the phone up and pulling a pad towards her to jot down notes.
“Well, well, well. I finally get to speak to you in the flesh. Your grandfather always spoke so highly of you.”
Caitlyn froze. Lucas Montgomery was a ghost whose name was rarely spoken.
“Who are you?”
The voice on the other end laughed hoarsely and then coughed. Ex-smoker, Caitlyn thought.
“Peter Flynn. An old friend of your grandfather’s. It always ate me up, how it ended with him.”
Caitlyn went awash in bad memories, staring at a picture on the wall, which seemed to dissolve and distort, as if she could look through it and around it. It was a familiar sensation, the confused jumble of thoughts that always characterized her vision of that night.
“You don’t know who I am?” The voice was slightly accusing, and if Caitlyn read it correctly, slightly miffed.
“No, I am afraid I don’t.” Caitlyn said honestly, while at the same time, her mind was running through the possibilities. Blank. She was drawing a blank. Nothing – not the name, not the voice – rang a bell.
“What a pity. There are quite a few people familiar with my work.”
“Really?” Caitlyn wondered if she had been suckered into listening to a pitch for a job. She could tell him to save his breath. Despite her last name, she had no power over whom they hired.
“Listen, Mr. Flynn, I’m afraid that I can’t help you.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I can guess, and I am afraid that something like that is out of my control here at the Randall Group.”
“Perhaps. When Maxwell was alive, of course, I am sure you felt you had quite a bit of power. But now he’s gone, and things are, how shall we say, up in the air? I hear you’re going to have a big meeting soon, isn’t that so? Find out what the future has in store now that your fearless captain is gone.”