“Let’s table the discussion about Harmonious Energy and the West Coast division. What can you tell me about the Southern division?” Don asked.
Joel winced. The topic was expected but not welcome. “I told you Uncle Frank is the one you need to see about the division. I’m not involved and can’t offer any details.”
“Come on, Joel, you must know how that sounds,” Abigail said, finally opening her mouth. He was beginning to wonder why Abigail and Tamara had come. Don was doing all the talking.
“Like I said, if you want information about the Southern division, Uncle Frank is your man.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell us?” Don said, clearly agitated.
“You got it.”
Don slammed his portfolio shut. “Let’s go,” he told the ladies. “This was a waste of time.”
If tension hadn’t been so prevalent, he would have chuckled thinking about Madeline. She would have never sat in his office and remained as calm as the three sitting in front of him. She probably would have lunged over the table, grabbed him by the throat, and demanded answers. He wouldn’t have told her what she wanted to know but the image was electrifying. There was an undeniable charge that came with battling the alpha lioness. She wasn’t at the meeting, but he was certain they’d cross paths again and secretly looked forward to it.
The three were ready to leave. Joel stopped Abigail at the front door, breaking her away from the pack. “Abigail, do you have some time? I’d like to speak with you.” Don and Tamara stopped too. “Privately.”
She wriggled from his psychological grip. Her gaze danced from Don to Joel, back to Don. “I can’t stay. I rode over with Don, and I don’t have my car.”
“I’ll make sure you get a ride back.”
“I don’t think so. My schedule is packed today, and I just don’t see squeezing another meeting in.”
Joel could have pushed but opted not to. He understood, although her rejection sliced at him. He recalled the time when there wasn’t another commitment on earth that would have kept her from rushing to his side. Her support had been constant. Realizing she was no longer his Abigail felt surreal, a fact he hadn’t fully digested or anticipated. He opened the door and leaned against it. “I will see the three of you around,” he said, not having much more to offer.
Joel continued leaning against the open door. He wasn’t lingering there to extend sweet good-byes to his sister, brother, and close friend. Relations were strained before they arrived with no sizable change after they left.
“Did your family go already?” Zarah emerged from the kitchen and asked. “I was looking forward to chatting with your sister. I’ve not met her before today.” Join the club, Joel thought. Zarah had as much knowledge about Tamara as he did. She was a wild card in the Mitchell game. He’d have to figure out her agenda. Certainly she had one. Why else would she be in Detroit? She hadn’t lived in town for ten or twenty years.
“We finished our business sooner than we expected.” He didn’t need to elaborate on the details. She wasn’t a businesswoman.
“Will they return soon?”
“Doubt it,” he said, easing the door shut, leaving the two of them standing in the foyer.
“How would you like to spend the day?”
He couldn’t truthfully tell her where he wanted to be. She wouldn’t understand his insatiable hunger for Chicago, and not just the city, although it was a cool place to be. His favorite five-letter word, Sheba, was the source of his hunger. He had stayed away; it wasn’t easy, but he had. One day at a time was the most he could promise.
“Let’s go for a ride,” she said.
Fine with him. A break was going to be refreshing and allow him to clear the cobwebs lurking in his takeover plan. His edge hadn’t dissipated. His naysayers would soon be marveling at his miraculous comeback. He ushered Zarah toward the garage. He was intent on keeping her happy. His return to glory hinged on her, a fact she wasn’t aware of. Best to keep her unaware.
chapter
27
Don careened the BMW 7 series down I-94 going from Joel’s home in the southwest suburbs to the office downtown. “Come on!” he yelled, zipping the car around a driver who must have been going forty miles an hour or less.
Abigail sat in the front seat. “This is why you should use the company driver instead of taking your own car.”
“You know me. I’m not into the prestigious perks. There’s no reason I can’t drive my own car. I have a license. Come on!” he yelled again, encountering another slow driver.
“You’re not usually this riled. Joel got to you, didn’t he?” Abigail asked.
“Maybe I did let him get to me. I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. He ticked me off too. I can’t believe how much he’s changed. I don’t recognize him.”
There was no denying Don’s frustration. Joel wasn’t to be trusted. What had made him think Joel had changed? The five minutes of weakness Joel exhibited a few weeks ago, when he resigned, were a distant memory. Abigail might have seen his behavior as a recent change. Don saw the behavior as Joel’s norm.
“We have to figure out how to recoup the West Coast division,” Abigail said.
“The reality is that we might not be able to get the division from Joel,” Don said.
“I thought you said it belongs to his wife,” Tamara said, chiming in from the backseat.
“Joel is calling the shots in their house, make no mistake about it. If we get the division, Joel will be the one making the final decision, not Zarah.”
“Is it worth talking to her directly?” Tamara asked.
“How? Joel is like a watchdog over her.”
“But it sounds like she has the power, not him,” Tamara commented.
“Don’t count on it.”
Don drove with newfound calm, purging his anger, refusing to let frustration take root. He’d worked too hard to forgive Joel, his father, and God. One day lined with undesirable results wasn’t strong enough to push him out of the space of grace he’d carved. Joel was a handful, but God had a big hand. Don had to trudge along. To think he had dreamed of assuming leadership in his father’s company nearly four years ago. Now that he had it, the role didn’t feel much like a dream.
“Then we have to be prepared to move DMI forward without the West Coast,” Abigail said.
“It’s not ideal, but you’re right. We only need to recover one division to stabilize our income base. We might have to focus on recovering the Southern division alone, but Joel was awfully vague about the details.”
“Your uncle holds the key.”
“He might be easier to deal with than Joel,” Don said.
“Maybe, but you know we’ll need Madeline to deal with your uncle,” Abigail said, and then erupted in laughter.
Don had spent the last two days being overly sensitive to conversations about his mother, respecting Tamara’s insecurities. There were going to be times when he didn’t feel like completely burying his mother. Laughing about her antics with Abigail was good.
“We certainly have our work cut out for us,” Don said, rolling into the parking lot. “I’ll have to call Naledi and tell her I’m going to be here longer than expected, unless I can work out a way to get Mother here for a temporary stretch.” Don let his gaze search out Tamara in the rear-view mirror for a favorable response. He needed her to make room in Detroit for Madeline; even a short while would work. She returned the gaze and then looked in the other direction. That was his answer. Car parked, he turned off the engine. “Go on up. I’ll catch up with you both when I get upstairs.”
Abigail and Tamara got out. He longed for a safe haven from the fray. He called Naledi. She calmed his stormy seas. “I am glad you answered the phone,” he said without hesitating when she got on the line.
“Your timing is spot-on. I have a bit of good news.” Don was eager to hear something good. His soul was calming. “The proposal for our expansion in London has been accepted at the fu
ll value.”
“You’re kidding.” Don was amazed at how Naledi had assumed responsibility for the deal and had taken it to completion without requiring his hands-on input. She was a true partner.
“We’re very elated here,” she said with the French twist in her accent dominating. “Can you return straightaway to complete the sign-offs?”
Don was grieved, unprepared to answer. He couldn’t let LTI flop while scrambling to restore DMI. The debacle earlier with Joel was disappointing and a setback. Naledi needed him and he was going to have to say no—or should he? How many times was he going to let his family put a chokehold on his personal path to success?
chapter
28
Yesterday’s fiasco with Joel had passed. Don was on to step number two in the DMI recovery plan. He had to link a chain of calls to get his uncle’s telephone number. Uncle Frank had been a regular visitor to their home during Don’s childhood. He used to be the chief financial officer in the company when Dave Mitchell was in charge; he had the role from the beginning. Dave Mitchell had relied heavily on his brother, trusted him with full financial responsibility. Don dialed the phone resting on the sofa in his condo.
“Uncle Frank, it’s your nephew Don.”
“The good son. Hello there, Nephew. I haven’t spoken to you since your father’s funeral. What’s going on?”
“I’m calling about DMI business.”
“I don’t have any business with DMI.”
“If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to meet in person,” Don said.
“About what?”
“I don’t need more than a half hour.”
“Well now, Nephew, my time isn’t free.”
Don hated having to rely on his uncle for information. Joel had created a situation that left him no choice. “Let’s meet and then we can talk about your fee.”
“Normally I agree to terms up front, but since you’re my brother’s son, I’m going to give you a pass, for the first half hour. The clock will be ticking after that.”
“Fair enough, Uncle. Where do you want to meet? I’m at my condo downtown.”
“Oh, I try to stay out of the downtown area, too busy. I prefer discretion with my meetings.”
“Name the spot.”
“Meet me at the Westin, near the airport.”
Uncle Frank lived in the northeastern suburbs, the opposite direction from the airport and close to forty miles away.
“You want to meet way out there?” Don asked.
“That’s the spot. It’s my personal office for initial negotiations. Depending on where this leads, we may have to move to one of my other offices.”
Don wondered how Joel had sunk to the depths of needing Uncle Frank’s help. The ball of deception was going to take time to unravel. With Uncle Frank involved, there would be money required too. Money Don had, but time was in short supply. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Ten fifteen, don’t be late. I charge by the minute.”
Don got his keys off the kitchen countertop, pausing to reflect. He understood his challenges with Joel. They were wedged into a family that didn’t want to be related. Frank and Dave were born to the same parents. Yet they had little in common. Father and Uncle Frank tolerated each other longer than most would have, longer than most could have.
Don shut the door, locking it from the outside, still thinking about his uncle and father. His dad had to cut ties when Uncle Frank started robbing clients by overcharging them and then siphoning the extra money into his private account. In spite of his brother’s repeated betrayals, Dad wasn’t the one to fire him. He let Joel do it.
Don stepped into the elevator, clinging to his remaining shred of forgiveness for Joel, and prayed he could maintain the kind of grace his father had. He had seen his father as weak, letting people take advantage. Sitting in the seat of maturity, the landscape looked different. Forgiving he could do. Forgetting the sting of betrayal, hurt, and animosity was a larger undertaking, but it was required for him to continue progressing. Don exited the elevator, picking up his pace. Uncle Frank wasn’t joking about the per-minute charge. Don intended to pay the minimum amount for information that should have freely been provided by Uncle Frank and Joel.
A forty-minute ride along I-94 deposited Don at the Westin hotel. He crept along, looking for a glimpse of Uncle Frank. Not finding him outside, Don parked and went inside with ten minutes to spare. Uncle Frank walked in precisely at ten fifteen. Don hadn’t had any personal run-ins with his uncle. They locked hands, pulled in for the manly shake-bump, held for a split second, and released.
“So you’re back from big old Africa, bush man.”
Don used to love his uncle’s sense of humor. Had his character not become so questionable, Uncle Frank would have been a decent guy to befriend. “What can I say, South Africa has been very, very good to me . . .” he said, trailing off with a chuckle. Uncle Frank joined in.
“Let’s grab a seat in the bar area. They have my special seat in the rear corner, nice and quiet.”
“Why the bar area?”
“Best place at ten o’clock in the morning on a weekday. Anybody with a job is at work. Anybody without a job in the city doesn’t have gas money for this long ride, and anybody else here this early in the morning has a drinking problem. We don’t have to worry about those poor slobs. Their attention will be on that line of bottles,” he said, drawing a line in the air that pointed toward the bar. “They won’t know we’re here,” he said, laughing a little and tapping his hand across the small table. “Enough with the small talk, let’s get to business. A half hour will click by quickly,” Uncle Frank said, snapping his fingers.
The clandestine meeting humbled Don. The notion of running DMI without scandal constantly pranced in his thoughts. What was he thinking? Out with it, and he could get out of there before anyone caught him carousing with the fired executive. “What can you tell me about the Southern division?”
Uncle Frank rubbed his fingers along his chin, resting his elbow on the other folded arm. The waiter approached and Uncle Frank waved him off. “What can I tell you about the Southern division,” Uncle Frank responded.
Don prepared for a long, meaningless conversation, replicating the one he’d had with Joel yesterday. “Joel sold the division to somebody. He sent me to you, because he’s not talking.”
“I don’t know why he sent you to me. Joel was the CEO. He ought to have the information you want,” Uncle Frank said as he toyed with the drink coasters situated in the center of the table.
“Between the two of you, somebody knows something. Just give me a name. I can go from there.”
“Nephew, you’re a pretty decent guy. I’ve never had any trouble with you. That other brother of yours is another story. But you, you’re all right. I like you. So let me give you this little piece of advice for free, no charge,” he said, swiping his hands in the air like an umpire calling a base runner safe. It was difficult for Don to see a single aspect of his father in Uncle Frank. “Your brother found himself in a jam. He needed money, lots of it.” Uncle Frank leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “I introduced him to some people in the lending business, people you may want to avoid. That’s what I know,” he said, leaning back.
“Are you going to give me a name?”
“Nope, I’m not. I like you, Nephew, but I don’t like you that much. As a consultant, my customers pay dearly for discretion, and that’s what I give them,” he said, leaning in again. “Take my advice and move on without the Southern division unless you’re interested in paying twice the value. I doubt if they would let you in the door for less.”
“You’re crazy. I’m not paying twice the value for any division,” Don said, getting worked up.
Uncle Frank raised and lowered his hand for Don to keep the volume down. “You’re getting mad at the wrong person. I’m not the one who set this train in motion. You can thank Dave’s baby boy for his business acumen,” he said, chuckling to the po
int of taunting. He kept laughing, pausing to say, “Ironic, isn’t it? Joel fired me for questionable decisions and turns out he’s no different than I am.” He resumed chuckling. “I guess the streak runs in the family.” Don was beyond pleasantries. Anger, humility, and sheer shock meshed, leaving him in awe. “Of course if you want to disregard my advice and go ahead with this Southern division business, then I can offer my consulting services, for a one percent fee of course.” Don remained speechless. Uncle Frank pulled a calculator from his pocket and a set of reading glasses from his top inside jacket pocket. “Since the original sale was close to three hundred million . . .” Don wanted to bellow, What? That was ludicrous. It was a struggle, but Don contained his outrage. Uncle Frank was correct. Don’s anger had to be directed at Joel. Uncle Frank punched keys on the calculator. “Double the price and you’re at six hundred million. Take one percent and you’re looking at my fee of . . . ,” he said, and held the calculator for Don to read. “Actually, I didn’t need a calculator for that.”
“No way, I’m not paying you six million. I’m not paying them six hundred million for a division either. The company’s worth far less than a billion with two divisions gone. And until I get rid of Harmonious Energy we’re bleeding clients and value. No way am I paying that kind of money. Who are these investors anyway?”
Uncle Frank plucked off his reading glasses, slowly returned them to his pocket, and casually said, “Let’s just say these investors and the devil are tight.”
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