Children of Dynasty

by Christine Carroll

  Mariah gestured toward the counter where a loaf of whole grain bread sat beside the toaster.

  John sat and pulled the teacup she’d poured for him closer. It rattled against the saucer. “So, I’m still living with the diet police.” He sipped and flashed a look of irritation that was a lot like his old self. “This heart healthy tea tastes like a boiled dishrag.”

  She drank some. “It’s not so bad.”

  John shoved the cup away. “Did you mean what I heard you tell Rory last night? That Davis would resort to murder to get at me?”

  In the daylight, she was less certain. “I don’t know how I’d ever prove it.”

  He sighed. “I want to think you’re mistaken.”

  Mariah shoved back from the table. “Believe it or not, for Rory’s — for all our sakes — I want nothing more than to be wrong.”

  Two hours later, the stormy morning threw back her windowed reflection from the darkened canyon of Market Street. Her pale hair was pulled starkly back from her face, a tailored navy suit severe on her small frame.

  Her father sat in his accustomed place for the first time since his illness. With a trembling hand, he reached for a Styrofoam cup of black coffee.

  Mariah resisted the impulse to go and steady his hand with hers.

  “No creamer, no fat,” he groused.

  She forced a smile, remembering Dr. Hanover’s verdict that if he could complain he was getting better.

  He leaned toward her with a more serious expression. “The other thing I overheard last night was something about Davis having a stooge in the company.”

  “Rory reports his father bragged on it to him yesterday.” She braced herself for a fight. “My money’s on Arnold.”

  John shook his head. “After working with him, being friends with him, I find that hard to believe.”

  “Then you tell me who the spy is. Did you tell Arnold that Rory was leaving DCI?”

  Her father looked miserable. “I did tell him. I hoped it would soften him toward you if he knew there would be no more conflict of interest.”

  “Did you talk to anybody else at the company last night or this morning?” She hated hammering at him, but they needed to know who had betrayed them.

  John set down his cup unsteadily. “Only Arnold.”

  “What if he’s lying about software being the cause of the late payments? He’s the one who suggested the entire company would have to be sold yesterday.”

  “He’s probably correct, from a business standpoint,” John argued.

  “Why don’t you ask him whom he has in mind for a buyer? If he says Davis Campbell, would you change your mind about him?”

  “If I confront Arnold, he will no doubt suggest it is Davis’s son feeding you false information.”

  The silence would have been absolute but for the distant rumble of thunder. She remembered cowering beneath her bed covers as a child, believing that thunder was the devil rolling empty barrels down the stairs of hell.

  She’d been ready to trust Rory again with her heart, with her very life … “Is that what you think?”

  “I said Arnold would say that.” John made an impatient gesture. “We’ve got an accident that might not be an accident, a banker and a senator in Campbell’s pocket, reports of a spy in-house. I have no idea what to believe, but I know one thing.” His voice firmed “I cannot see this company taken away from us.”

  Thunder rolled louder down Market Street as he reached for the telephone. “We have to raise the money and pay off the loans.” He waited while a number rang. “Hello, Takei. I was wondering if I might expect an offer from you on any of our properties.”

  Mariah watched her father’s face fall as the head of Golden Builders explained politely that he was overextended.

  For the next few hours, she listened while John called all the major developers. A man in Oakland offered to “take a property off their hands” for less than half what Grant had just paid for it. When John told him that would not service the debt, he said he was sorry, but he was committed to other things. Another owner mentioned she’d like three small properties for around forty million. John gave her a verbal acceptance, for the price was fair, their contract people to get together in the morning.

  By one o’clock, he had phoned L.A., Seattle and Vegas. It sounded as if they could raise around a hundred million. The foreclosed loans were twice that.

  Going back to the window, Mariah searched the dark day.

  At two-ten p.m., Rory opened the door to Davis’s office and went in. He’d been careful this time that the richly decorated Oriental domain had no visitors.

  Mariah had unsettled him with her accusation that Davis had committed what was at the least manslaughter, but during the night, he’d weighed her words. Much as he wanted to believe it was impossible, he was no longer certain of anything.

  Davis raised his dark head from studying his computer screen. “I thought you were leaving DCI.”

  Though it ate at his pride to stay, he reminded himself it was for Mariah. “I decided I’d better have something set up before I go.”

  He passed his father’s lacquered desk and his pant leg brushed a folder off the corner onto the floor. Bending to retrieve the well-worn manila, he found a sheaf of photos with yellowed edges spilled out onto the carpet.

  A look at the one on top, and he nearly dropped it again. She was beautiful, slim and elegant, and smiling so boldly at her photographer that Rory wished he could join Catharine on the rock-strewn beach. Davis must have taken the pictures with his old Yashica, down the coast at Monterey. The tide was out, leaving the crystalline granite bare, the tidal pools drained to a few feet of the clearest water. Orange starfish and dark green sea cucumbers lay among piles of purple mussel shells. Sea anemones feathered their glassy tentacles and the kelp lay limp, waiting for deeper water that would allow it to float free like a woman’s long hair. The camera had captured Catharine’s silvery tresses, whipped into sensuous disarray, and her golden eyes beckoned endlessly. Rory wanted to know her.

  He raised his eyes and found Davis watching him. Slowly he got to his feet with the photos and folder in his hand.

  “You curious about that?” Davis shoved to his feet. “About why I despise John Grant? Look at the rest.”

  The envelope beneath the photos was lavender, clearly a woman’s stationary. Impossibly, it seemed to still bear a faint perfume.

  Davis,

  There will never be a good time for what I have to say. I have fallen in love, so deeply and perhaps foolishly that I can barely believe the earth is the same planet I inhabited before. There is no help, and all I can tell you is that I am sorry it could not have been you.

  John and I were married last week.

  Please do not blame him. He tried to be a valiant friend to you. If only there were some way, that I could do this without hurting you, a solution where I could live out separate lives as two women, one for each of you.

  Catharine.

  Rory flipped through the rest of the well-thumbed photos. “I understand how painful it must have been to lose her, but …”

  “I didn’t lose just her. Catharine could have been the love of my life, but it was my best friend’s betrayal …” Davis’s voice choked. “John and I were friends all through Stanford, roommates, drinking buddies …” He raised a fist. “God, how we dreamed of being the best building team in the state, hell, in the world.”

  As he saw a suspicious sheen in his father’s eyes, Rory felt a sting in his own.

  Davis turned away and walked over to load a tape into his office VCR. “Have a look at this.” His voice was back under tight control.

  For a moment, Rory thought he was going to have to watch his “On The Spot” appearance, complete with scathing commentary about how he was no better than John Grant for taking up with his daughter. With relief, he saw it was merely a clip from the local TV news.

  A young Chinese newswoman spoke energetically into her microphone. “This morning
, Field Incorporated, the Seattle-based company who built the Grant Plaza construction hoist, has categorically denied that any mechanical weakness or flaw on the part of their equipment contributed to the accident. Rather, they have pointed the finger at Grant, claiming that unsafe installation or usage must be to blame.”

  Rory stood straight and watched without expression.

  When the video ended, Davis turned off the TV. “That’s not all. My source at Grant tells me John is in his office right now, calling everybody he can think of to sell properties.”

  Rory was surprised that John had gone in, but the clock was running out on the loans.

  Davis opened the door of his adjoining private bath and went in. Through the open door, Rory saw him wash his hands, straighten his expensive silk tie, and smooth back his wings of sleek hair. “John’s not having any luck, so we’re going over there now.”

  The idea of walking into Grant Development with his father made Rory’s stomach ache. “You don’t need me.”

  Davis’s toilet complete, he grabbed his cell phone off the desk. “We’re going to buy out Grant. I thought you’d like to see this.”

  There was no way Rory would join in humiliating John and Mariah. He imagined the disbelief and horror on her face and knew he couldn’t be a part of it. He had to refuse or phone ahead and warn her.

  “I’ll get my jacket,” he agreed.

  As soon as he escaped, he hurried down the hall. His own cell phone was in his office, so he went around a corner and down thirty feet to a closed door. He went in, shoved the door shut behind him, and headed for the desk.

  The Grant operator was ringing Mariah when the door opened. Swift footsteps crossed the carpet and Davis depressed the button. “I’m not letting you call your girlfriend and warn her. This is going to be a surprise.”

  Rory straightened. “Get away from the phone,” he said evenly.

  Davis studied him with eyes of obsidian, while he wondered if his father’s obsession with Catharine, rekindled by Mariah’s appearance in the city, had truly sent him over the edge.

  Nonetheless, Rory stood his ground and redialed. While the phone rang, he watched his father as though waiting for a lion to spring.

  With Grant Development once more on the line, he said, “I’m sorry, I was holding for Mariah Grant and got cut off.”

  The receptionist, the young girl whose voice he recognized from the day he’d gone to Grant came back at him. “I checked and she’s in a meeting. They’ve given orders not to be disturbed.”

  “This is urgent. Couldn’t you …?” He was talking to a dial tone.

  “She’ll know soon enough,” Davis said.

  Rory replaced the receiver, tensed for an explosion.

  Instead, Davis smiled. “Let’s get over there.” It seemed Rory’s failure to get through to Mariah had him pleased.

  Refuse, or go? Walk into Grant like his father’s lackey, or stay here while God knew what went on? There was no good decision. All he knew was he couldn’t stay behind and wonder what was happening. When they got there, he’d try to speak to Mariah alone. Failing that, he’d find a way to let her know he wasn’t behind this.

  Rory looked toward the window where the building with Grant’s office was usually visible. Today, it was obscured by black rain streaming down the darkened glass.

  Mariah sat at the conference table with her father and a handful of the other Grant managers. He looked exhausted, but had insisted on having his first meeting in weeks before he went home to his recliner.

  April Perry pointed out that the morning’s press release from the elevator company would have a negative effect on their already reduced ability to sell properties. Head Counsel Ed Snowden reported that Field’s denial of responsibility was merely spin, and not relevant when a lawsuit was either settled or tried before a jury.

  “Andrew Green’s widow has filed suit asking for twenty million dollars.” Ed spoke in his usual laconic manner, but he twisted his silver Cross pen up and down with restless energy.

  “And put those adorable fatherless babies on television,” April added dryly, referring to another recent “On The Spot” feature.

  Tom Barrett sat stolid and silent. He looked terrible with huge bags beneath his eyes, but despite the crushing blow his son’s loss must be, he’d never mentioned filing suit.

  Mariah looked around the room, wondering if Davis’s spy was present. Her eyes lingered on Arnold Benton. Though she hoped she was wrong about Rory’s father engaging in a criminal act, she could not sit by without at least trying to find out.

  “April,” she said. “I wonder of you could have the PI look into any potential connection between Davis Campbell and the welder Zaragoza …”

  Arnold snorted. “There she goes again, coming up with things that can’t make a difference in our predicament. If you can’t pull together enough money to pay the loans, the only logical thing is to try and sell the entire company to Campbell …”

  “What did I tell you this morning?” Mariah said to her father.

  John skewered Arnold with a sharp look. “That’s enough.”

  She leaned forward, hoping Arnold would further give himself away. Pleading the case for a Campbell buyout was a start.

  Tom Barrett shifted in his chair. “Maybe he’s right. If First California would accept a merger agreement between Grant and DCI …”

  Mariah stared at Tom. “You can’t be serious.”

  Arnold tried again, flushing to the roots of his hair. “He’s right, and so am I. Just because you don’t like the man is no reason not to see what has to be done. Campbell is the only one with both the means and the desire.”

  Mariah’s father shot her a despairing glance, drew a long breath, and turned to Arnold. “It has come to my attention that Davis Campbell has someone working for him inside our company.”

  Arnold leaped up as if the chair were spring-loaded.

  “This spy,” Mariah elaborated, “tipped Campbell about the late loan payments.”

  “You know Walker must have done that.”

  She went on as though he had not spoken. “In fact, this man — and I have it on good authority that it is a man — could have arranged for the loans to be late. Do you have any idea who might have done that?”

  “No!” Arnold shouted. “I’ve told you over and over we were changing software. It was a mistake and you keep blaming me.” He was so agitated Mariah almost believed him.

  Turning to John, Arnold pointed at her. “How does she know what Davis Campbell is up to? More nighttime secrets passing from his son to your daughter?” To Mariah, “How do you know he’s telling the truth? Why are you so sure he’s not poured from the same mold as his father?”

  Though her father had warned her this would be his response, her hand went to her throat.

  “I’m not selling to Campbell,” John told Arnold. “You can assure him of that.”

  He spread his hands. “I hardly know the man. Whatever you’re talking about, it wasn’t me.” He gave Mariah a look of pure hatred. “You’re behind this. You’ve never liked me and you’ve turned your father against me.”

  It was a convincing performance, but she still believed that if anyone in Grant had turned traitor, it was Arnold. “The other night Dad told you Rory was leaving DCI. You were the only one who could have passed that to Davis yesterday.”

  “Me and the six or seven people I told in the company over coffee before eight in the morning. Rory Campbell leaving DCI is big news.” He turned on John, his spine erect. “I’ve never been anything but loyal, but I won’t be accused of lacking integrity. As of today, sir, you have my resignation.”

  The conference door opened to admit John’s secretary. When Arnold shoved past her, her composure frayed, her usually porcelain cheeks pink. With a confused glance over her shoulder, she turned her attention back to John. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Grant.”

  “I gave orders we were not to be.”

  “I’m sorry,” s
he repeated, “but Davis Campbell is here to see you, and I thought …”

  Mariah imagined Davis pushing past reception, intimidating staff all the way down the executive floor, since the managers were all in the conference room.

  “Don’t see him, Dad,” she advised, forgetting her vow to call him by name at the office. A confrontation could put him back in the hospital.

  John sent a sharp glance at the door Arnold had walked out, and Mariah thought he must also wonder how Davis knew he was at work.

  “There’s no sense putting this off.” With his hands on the table edge, John supported himself on the heavy mahogany and got up.

  “No, Dad.”

  “Bring Campbell to my office,” he ordered.

  Davis strode into John’s domain like a conquering general.

  Mariah and John posed as if for a family portrait, he in his high-backed leather chair, and she with her hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t business-like, but she had the feeling it was about to get personal.

  When she saw Rory, it got damned personal. Only last night, he’d told her he was on her side, bringing information about a spy in Grant. Yet, as soon as she accused his father, Rory stood with him.

  Davis moved, catlike, and stopped before the desk. Physically beautiful, with slashing dark brows, straight blade of nose, and lips as full as a youth’s, he was the perfect picture of a man who had lost his humanity. He didn’t reach to shake hands.

  John did not rise.

  Though watching the two rivals, Mariah saw from the corner of her eye that Rory gestured to attract her attention. Her own hands trembled with rage that he’d come; she lowered them out of sight behind John’s chair back.

  “Mariah,” Rory said quietly.

  She met his intent gaze. He jerked his head to the side, indicating for her to come to him. Though her heart was thudding at the troubled expression on his face, she stayed where she was with her father.

  John looked at up at Davis. “Remember how we used to plan for the day we’d be in business together?” His voice was mild and non-threatening, the last thing Mariah would have expected.