Now, Yoko listened as Emily Li ran down a list of things—deliveries, orders, what was late, the bills that had come in. “Any messages?” Yoko asked.
Emily Li giggled. “Forty-seven messages from Mr. Harry Wong. Three messages from a man who said he used to be your husband.” Emily Li giggled at that. “There have been seven calls in total where no one speaks on the other end of the phone.”
Yoko thought her heart missed a beat. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “I’m sure they were just wrong numbers. Did the man who said he used to be my husband leave a number so I can call him?” Emily Li read off a number and Yoko copied it down.
“What should I tell Mr. Harry Wong when he makes his forty-eighth call?”
“The same thing you told him for the other forty-seven calls,” Yoko said smartly. She said good-bye and hung up. The dogs wanted to come back in so she opened the door and then carefully locked it once they were safely inside.
Yoko pondered her problem. Why would her ex-husband, who didn’t even like her, call her? Not just once but several times. Everything had been settled legally. He’d left nothing behind so he couldn’t be calling about personal possessions. Since he didn’t like her, he wasn’t calling to see how she was. She shook her head at the thought of the arranged marriage they’d both had to endure. So, why was he calling? Maybe he needed money No, Japanese men were too proud to borrow money. Especially from an ex-wife. What? Why? She thought about Harry Wong and how much she cared for him, even though she was playing, as Kathryn called it, hard to get. Harry loved her. He would never give up even if he had to make a hundred and forty-seven calls.
Yoko picked up the phone and called the number Emily Li had read off to her. “This is Yoko. My assistant said you have been trying to reach me. Why is that?”
She listened to a rapid-fire explanation in Japanese. She said, “There must be some mistake. I know of no such people. Why would you be so generous with your information? Excuse me, my information. That is unforgivable. I am very happy we are no longer married. You think only of yourself. Now these people will come to my shop and pester me. You are a…” Yoko tried to think of a name that Kathryn or the others would use to describe her ex-husband but the only thing she could come up with was dud. “ You are a dud.” Do not call me again. You have brought shame on both of us. By the way…you…you, dud, I am going to get married to a very rich, handsome man who values my honor.” When she hung up the phone, Yoko started to tremble. She ran to the living room and the secret staircase that led to the war room where Charles was. She was breathless when she galloped down the steps, the special phone still in her hand.
“Slow down, child. What is it? Yoko,” Charles said sternly, “take a deep breath and relax. Now, take another one. Tell me what happened.”
Yoko repeated the conversation she’d just had with her ex-husband. “Now they know where I am. I’m sure it was a simple matter for them to trace me. My people keep impeccable records. All they had to do was find out where my mother’s ashes are kept. There are many people, friends of my aunts, who would be only too happy to tell others of my worthy marriage and my relocation, thinking they were doing a good thing. Who knows what sort of story the people doing the investigating told them? The man I was married to”—Yoko refused to call him her husband—“said three men came to talk to him two days ago. They could be here in Washington right now.”
“Yes, Yoko, they could be in Washington right now. You aren’t in Washington, though. You’re in Virginia and safe. No one knows you are here unless you told someone. Did you? Does Harry Wong know about this farm?”
“No, Charles, I told no one, not Emily Li nor Harry. No one knows.”
Charles smiled. “I think, my dear, Mr. Michael Lyons is very worried. By four-thirty this afternoon, he is going to be even more worried. Now, go upstairs and turn on the house alarm. It’s just a precaution. Keep the dogs with you at all times. I’ll be up as soon as I finish what I’m doing. Everything is under control.”
Yoko hoped he was right.
Yoko curled up on the window seat in her room. She stared out at the snow, remembering the first time she’d seen the fluffy white miracle. As a child, that’s what she’d called snow.
Childhood. It was all so long ago. She’d lived in a world of adults who had secrets and who whispered all the time. She’d tried so hard to be good so the whispers wouldn’t be about her. The people she lived with, the ones she called aunts, were good to her. She didn’t think they loved her but then again, maybe they did. They took care of her, fed her, sometimes even telling her bedtime stories. They’d taught her how to cook and clean, how to pray, how to meditate. They taught her how to sew her own kimonos and the sacklike pants she wore during the day. She’d learned enough to make her own way in the world but when she broached the subject, the aunts had closed in and said it was time for her to marry. Time for someone else to take care of her was what they meant.
The marriage was a disaster for both of them. Still, they’d tried and it was her husband who finally made the decision to go his own way. Secretly, she’d been glad.
Often, she’d wondered what his reaction would have been if she had told him about her mother and father. Even now, she felt guilty at how she’d spied on the aunts, listened late at night when they talked of her and her mother. She’d run away but they found her and brought her back. They sat her down with a cup of hot tea and finally told her her mother’s sordid story. The aunts had cried. She cried with them and, like a brave little girl, she told them she would find the man someday and make him pay for what he’d done. The aunts had smiled and patted her head.
But, here she was. Sitting here staring out at the snow. Here in this house she was loved and respected. There were no barriers here. Only love and kindness. The people who loved and respected her were willing to help her avenge her mother.
And, she had Harry Wong in her life.
Life was going to be so very good and very soon.
Yoko gathered the light quilt around her shoulders and closed her eyes. She hoped she would dream of her beautiful mother. She drifted into sleep, her face, her whole body, serene.
Kathryn Lucas stepped out of the cab in front of the Pan Am Building in Manhattan. She leaned forward, paid the driver and gave him a generous tip. She looked like a high-powered mover and shaker in her Carolina Herrera suit, matching fedora and her Manolo Blahnik shoes. She carried an ostrich-skin briefcase. She received more than one admiring look as she made her way into the building where she signed in, and then took the elevator to the 16th floor, where Lucian Treadwell, the CEO of one of the major automakers, awaited her arrival.
Kathryn looked at the Rolex on her wrist when she stepped out of the elevator into what she later described as the swankiest reception area she’d ever seen. She sashayed over to the receptionist, who looked like a movie star, and said, “I’m Mary Clare Peabody and I have a four o’clock appointment with Mr. Treadwell. It’s now four o’clock,” Kathryn said, looking pointedly at her watch. “I’m prepared to wait exactly three minutes and then I’ll leave. Time is money, as I’m sure you know.”
The movie star–receptionist mentally catalogued the cost of Kathryn’s attire, taking in the Rolex watch, the diamond stud earrings and the diamond boulder on her left hand before she pressed a button with a long pointy nail and spoke softly. She looked up at Kathryn and said, “Mr. Treadwell’s assistant is on the way to escort you to his office.”
Kathryn looked down at her watch. She held up her index finger indicating there was one minute left on her waiting time. As the minute hand started its final sweep, she looked at the receptionist and smiled. “There are hundreds of CEOs in this city who would die to be named CEO of the Year.” She was on her way to the elevator when the movie star–receptionist ran after her, offering to escort her to the inner chambers. Kathryn let her doubt show for an instant and then followed her.
Halfway down a luxuriously carpeted hallway they met the man who was t
o escort Kathryn to Treadwell’s office. Kathryn offered up an icy glare and said, “You’re late. Don’t apologize because it won’t get you anywhere with me. Time is money. Remember that.”
The aide, the assistant, whatever he was, virtually danced a jig as he turned around and led the way farther down the hall. Kathryn hadn’t broken her long-legged stride. At the end of the hall the man literally leaped ahead of her to open the door to Treadwell’s office. He announced her in a squeaky voice.
Lucian Treadwell got up and walked around his desk, his hand outstretched. Kathryn ignored it. “Tell your secretary not to interrupt us for the next twenty minutes. I don’t like interruptions.”
Treadwell blinked. “That won’t be necessary. I cleared fifteen minutes for this interview.”
The minute the door closed, Kathryn tossed her fedora onto the leather sofa and sat down. The Herrera skirt hiked up, showing a generous, toned thigh. Then she opened her briefcase and handed a manila folder to Lucian Treadwell. “This isn’t an interview, Mr. Treadwell, this is a coming-out party. Is that your wife and children in that picture on your desk? What a lovely family. Three sons! You must be very proud. Your wife is lovely.”
Treadwell looked puzzled. “Did I misunderstand, Miss Peabody? I thought you were here to talk to me about being named CEO of the Year?”
Kathryn frowned and then shrugged. “That’s possible. The truth is we lied to you. Michael Lyons sent me. Now, open the envelope and tell me what you think. You better sit down when you open it.” Kathryn looked at her watch again, hoping Charles really did have the power to turn off the juice in this office. A second later she heard a high-pitched squeak that signaled a power surge. Two more squeaks told her he’d been successful. She yawned but never took her eyes off Lucian Treadwell.
Lucian Treadwell was a big man, well over six feet and probably weighing in at around a hundred and eighty pounds. He was wearing the requisite power suit with the requisite red tie. He was bronzed and looked fit. It was obvious he worked out. His age was 62 and he earned seven million dollars a year plus stock options. He had an impeccable reputation and was a deacon in his church.
The man’s hands trembled slightly when he opened the envelope and pawed through the pictures and the reports. His face drained of all color. “Where did you get this?” he asked in a strangled voice.
Kathryn wagged her finger. “No questions, Mr. Treadwell.” She watched as Treadwell ripped the material in front of him into shreds. “Hey, I have tons of copies. If you want another one to rip up, here’s one. Oops, that one belongs to one of your club members. You know Josh Tappen, that retired military guy? You want to rip his up, too?”
“Who are you? What do you want? How much?” Treadwell asked through clenched teeth. Now his color looked gray.
“Mister, you don’t have enough money to buy me. What do I want? I want to see your face plastered all over the newspapers, above the fold. I want your sorry ass in jail for the rest of your life. That’s what I want and that’s what I’m going to get.”
“You can’t just waltz in here and threaten me like this. I won’t stand for this. This is all some kind of mistake. I’ll have you arrested. I know the president of the United States. We dine together when we’re in each other’s cities.” The man’s voice was so desperate sounding Kathryn almost laughed out loud.
“Hey, I know the guy, too. I voted for him. Obviously that was a mistake, seeing as how he socializes with the likes of you. You know what you are, Mr. Treadwell? You are a slimy sack of poop. What’s the POTUS going to say when he finds out he dined with a pervert like you? Okay, enough chatter,” Kathryn said, standing up and plopping the fedora on her head at a rakish angle. “Gotta go now.”
“Just a goddamn minute. You can’t come in here and…and…”
“Upset your sleazy world? Is that what you were going to say? Hey, I just did it. Your wife should be opening her envelope right about now,” Kathryn lied. “I’d hire the best lawyer in the city if I were you.”
“You just ruined my goddamned life,” Treadwell roared. His face had turned a mottled red and purple.
“I ruined your life! I don’t think so! You did that all by yourself. Well, my fifteen minutes were up seven minutes ago. I’m sure you have a lot of phone calls to make. Don’t go too far, Mr. Treadwell. You’re being watched. I can see myself out.”
Outside in the hall, Kathryn thought she was going to faint. She leaned against the wall, her head down as she struggled to get her breathing back to normal. If she had one wish right now it would be to take a bath. The stink of the man was still with her as she made her way to the elevator that wasn’t running. She turned to look at the receptionist in the dimness of the windowless reception area. “Where’s the stairway?” The woman pointed to the left.
Kathryn walked down eight flights of stairs in her spike-heeled Manolo Blahnik shoes. When she got to the 8th floor, she took them off and carried them in her hands as she walked down the other eight flights of stairs.
Outside, she hailed a cab and directed the driver to JFK. Her job here was done. She called Charles and said, “I’m on my way to the airport.”
Chapter 17
Alexis Thorn, attired in Karl Lagerfeld from head to toe, entered the glass high-rise on Peachtree in Atlanta. The time was 3:55. Just enough time to sign in and take the elevator to the 22nd floor where Adam Newhouse, CEO and CFO of Ultimate Toys, a billion-dollar company and on the Fortune 500 list, hung his hat during daytime hours.
As she rode up in the elevator, Alexis let her mind drift to the dossier she’d read and memorized on the plane trip from Washington. She had seriously asked Charles if she and the others could be hypnotized after Yoko’s mission so none of them would remember anything about the horrid people they were dealing with. Charles had responded just as seriously by saying it was “doable.”
Alexis thought she was prepared but she knew she wasn’t. She’d played one scenario after the other in her mind as to how to present herself and the contents of her briefcase to Adam Newhouse. Maybe she should follow Kathryn’s advice and go straight for the jugular. Dump it all out, stare at Newhouse defiantly and wait for the fallout.
The moment Alexis stepped out of the elevator the power on the 22nd floor went off. Good old Charles. How did he do that? Why she even bothered to ask that question, she didn’t know. Charles could do anything he said he could do. Anything.
Alexis strode over to the receptionist, a grand-motherly type with rosy cheeks and wire-rimmed glasses. The perfect image for a toy company. She announced herself and the woman smiled warmly. “Oh, dear, our power seems to have gone out. It’s a good thing there are lots of windows on this side of the building. Mr. Newhouse is expecting you, Miss Davis. Go to the hall on your right and go to the end, make another right and Mr. Newhouse’s office is the second door.”
Alexis returned the smile and started off. She walked slowly, enjoying the colorful photos of different toys the company sold. And to think the sleazebag she was about to see had something to do with toys children played with.
Adam Newhouse was 59 years old, three years away from his expected retirement. In one of many interviews he’d given over the years, the man had said he started out in the company stockroom packaging toys for shipment. He’d also worked in the mailroom. “Pulled myself up by my bootstraps” was his favorite expression. While working his way up the ladder he’d somehow managed to knock up the owner’s granddaughter, to the dismay of the grandfather, but everyone had put a good face on his little indiscretion. He’d married the granddaughter, a rather homely woman, and was now the father of six children and a grandfather of three. Bootstraps my ass, Alexis thought as she rounded the final corner that would take her into Newhouse’s suite of offices.
Alexis had seen pictures of Newhouse that Atlanta Magazine and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution had run of the tycoon and she’d seen other pictures, pictures that made her sick to her stomach. She breezed into his office just as Newhou
se reached the door. He was Mister Affability himself as he smiled and extended his hand. Alexis pretended not to see it. Instead, she mumbled her name and commented on the colorful toys sitting on custom-made shelves.
The suite was lavish—custom leather furnishings, ankle-deep carpeting, entertainment center, wet bar and luscious green plants. She knew there was a bathroom, fully equipped with Jacuzzi, shower and double vanities, because Charles had told her so.
Newhouse was portly and pasty white with brown splotches all over his face and a partially bald head. Even his plump hands were liver-spotted. A short man, probably with a Napoleon complex. His voice was deep and harsh when he asked if she’d like coffee, a drink or possibly tea. Alexis declined.
“Well then, shall we get right to it? I don’t mean to rush you but I have a four-thirty inhouse meeting that I cannot be late for. I feel terrible saying that because even being nominated for CEO of the Year is incredibly flattering. I had no idea I was even in the running.”
Alexis dug around in her briefcase. “Oh, it won’t take that long. You aren’t. In the running that is. We just made that all up so I could get in here to see you. Here, this is for you, compliments of Michael Lyons.”
To his credit, Newhouse looked perplexed for all of a heartbeat. “The movie star?”
“Uh-huh. You have a lovely family, Mr. Newhouse,” Alexis said as she inclined her head to one wall that held nothing but pictures of the man’s family. Alexis watched him, her gaze sharp and intense as he made his way to his baseball-field-sized desk.
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