“Call Attorney Ryan. Tell him I said to expedite the process. If he has any questions, have him call me. I don’t want this to drag out.”
Madeline was doing what she did best: taking charge.
“Okay, Mother. I can handle making the call to our family attorney.”
“See, that’s what I told you. I take over without realizing that I’m taking over. Are you absolutely sure you want me at LTI?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning,” she said with humor, soothing Don’s soul. He thanked God in the moment, grateful to have Madeline as a mother. She was one of a kind, not to be replaced. Hopefully, one day Tamara would have the same appreciation.
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Abigail didn’t want to rush into the office. She’d linger at home for a while and go in later. Tamara’s razor-sharp honesty repeatedly sliced at Abigail. There’s always going to be one or two Mitchells ahead of you. A decade of loyalty had earned her a nice office on the executive floor, a quarter-of-a-million-dollar annual salary plus bonuses, and a corporate car allowance. Yet she had to face facts. Without the Mitchell name, her perceived value would always have a limit.
She’d spent countless nights working side by side with Joel during his early days as CEO, and actually throughout his entire three and a half years as the leader. She’d set aside the desire to have a personal life outside of DMI. Joel needed her and she’d been there for him. When he spent those months frolicking with a slew of women, she didn’t bail on him. Instead, she dug in deeper and carried more than her share of executive responsibility. Swirling thoughts moved like a tornado in her mind. The house, she couldn’t forget the house. She’d designed every inch of the place, supervised the entire construction when she and Joel were tight. The love was there—or at least she had thought it was, only to find out he had other plans.
Sitting on the bed, she closed her eyes, attempting to calm her racing emotions. The thoughts continued flooding in. She poured her devotion into Joel, and what did he do? Married a complete stranger. She held back the tears, got up, and paced the room, letting her feelings have their way. It hadn’t mattered that she was in love with him at the time. Joel was about Joel, achieving his goals, fulfilling his vision, with no regard for her. Somehow he believed that if he let her know his marriage was purely a business arrangement, Abigail would feel better. But forget about what he was thinking. What was she thinking to let him get two syllables of nonsense into her ear?
She paced, but not aimlessly. With 20/20 vision, she wasn’t stumbling over uncertainty anymore. Denial had sliced away her common sense. As much as she dreaded saying it, Don wasn’t much better. The harsh reality was difficult to escape. Tamara’s truth rang in her ears repeatedly. She could see why Joel never got around to recommending her for the board of directors, but Don was steady, supposedly more dependable. In the end, the results were the same: no Mitchell name, no extra benefits.
As soon as Tamara hit town, Don elevated her to the top spot. Abigail had slaved to achieve a spot on the board and would have appreciated the acknowledgment. But if she stayed at DMI, under the Mitchell spell, she could work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, supporting Mitchell men, women, boys, and girls, and still end up exactly where she was, at home wondering what happened. No tears. Her Mitchell ducts were empty. She was done crying and fretting. She grabbed her keys and briefcase, along with her laptop. As of this very moment, Abigail was looking out for Abigail; to heck with the others.
Twenty-five minutes later she was in her office. She took another five minutes to boot up her laptop and type out a three-line letter. She retrieved the page from her printer, quickly glanced over it for errors, and signed across the bottom. She pulled an envelope from her drawer, tucked the letter inside, and zipped to Don’s office. Kay gave the okay for her to go in.
“Good morning, Ms. Gerard,” Don said. “I stopped by your office a little while ago. I was shocked when you weren’t there. You’re usually in here by what, seven? And out by seven?”
“Not today. I decided to take time for me,” she said, walking to his desk and handing him the envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
Don extracted the letter and read it. He rapidly shifted his stare from the letter to her, back and forth, for seconds, which felt like an hour. She was prepared for his reaction.
“Is this a joke? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious,” she said, offering no further explanation. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d been operating under cloudy assumptions.
“You’re resigning?”
“I am.”
“Please sit down, clearly we have to talk.” The time to talk would have been last week, last month, last year, any time before today. She took a seat out of courtesy; she wasn’t going to change her mind. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’ve decided it’s time for me to move on. I’ve had a great run here and it’s time to venture out on my own.”
Don pushed back in his chair, letting his elbow rest on the chair’s arm and his chin rest against his fist. She perceived the distressed look choking him but could offer no help. To rescue him was to deny her freedom.
“I am absolutely speechless. This can’t be happening. You belong here. You’re as much a Mitchell as I am.”
“That’s definitely not true, and apparently never will be.”
“Wait, is this about Naledi, because you think I’m going to marry her down the line?”
She resented Don for reducing her decision to the ranting of a jealous schoolgirl. “My professional future is not contingent upon who you marry. This decision is about me, not about you, or Naledi, or Joel, or Zarah. This is about Abigail Gerard and what I want.”
Her tone must have come across harsher than she intended because Don said, “Okay, I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you.” She let the tension release. “You realize I’m shocked. You’re my wingman, without a doubt. It will be difficult getting this place on track without your help during this volatile time.” He tucked her letter back into the envelope and slid it to her. “I can’t accept your resignation. You are too valuable to this company. We owe you more than we can pay.”
Money wasn’t the issue. Respect and tangible appreciation was the bottom line. Her worth was overshadowed at DMI, completely taken for granted, had been for years. Consolation coming now was inadequate. Her mind was set. She was like a caged bird set free; there was no turning around. “I’m resigning, that’s certain.”
“Do you have another job lined up?”
“Not yet, haven’t even started looking,” she said, watching Don’s gaze sink to the floor. “Since I’m in a senior-level position, it’s only fair for me to give you three months to fill my position.” He perked up. “But rest assured, I’m leaving in three months. Please take me seriously.”
Don didn’t try to beg her to stay. Maybe he was stunned by her boldness and impulsivity. Maybe it was the shock of her setting DMI to the side in pursuit of her own dreams. She didn’t know which had him speechless. Maybe he needed time alone. Abigail got up to leave. Her compassion for him tugged at her. He was a good guy. Being caught up in the Mitchells’ perpetual drama was a burdensome cross thrust upon him at birth. Her love and respect wouldn’t vanish overnight. No need to force it. “One more thing,” she said.
“What else could there possibly be? Nothing can be any worse than this.”
His despair wasn’t concealed. She couldn’t be deterred and fall prey to a nostalgic moment. Her path was clear.
“I debated whether to tell you this or not. I realized that if it were me, I’d want to know.” Don sat up in his seat with a bewildered expression. “Tamara approached me a few days ago about taking over the company.”
“Say that again, I didn’t hear you correctly.”
“Tamara is working on a scheme that allows her, Sherry, an
d me to rally together in DMI. She didn’t call it a takeover. That’s really my term, but she wanted to pool our stock ownership in order to have a strong position in the company. ‘Having a voice’ is what she kept saying. Just so you know, I want no part of it.”
Silence took a seat and rested. Abigail left the office, allowing Don and his troubles to be alone.
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Don couldn’t move. He had to organize his thoughts, which were mangled by deceit, shock, anger, and simple sorrow. What was wrong with his father’s offspring? Each sibling born to his father had blindsided him, each time with an unimaginable element of selfishness. He tried his best to be a loyal, loving, and supportive brother. Of his siblings, Tamara had truly received the best of him. He had traveled from one end of the earth to the other on countless occasions to check on her welfare, to make sure she didn’t feel abandoned even though it was her choice to be estranged. He hadn’t ever judged Tamara or made her feel unworthy. He had a hard time digesting Abigail’s story. She had always been honest with him. He knew she was telling the truth.
He went into the hallway in search of Tamara. She had some explaining to do, and a lot of it.
“I’m sorry, did you say Banray?” Kay asked a caller as Don approached her workstation. “Tamray?” She covered the mouthpiece, signaling to Don that she would be available in a minute.
He wasn’t in a hurry. Worry had slowed him down. Standing there waiting, he kept thinking about the Lord and his purpose for Don. Each step forward seemed to be two backward. Yet he was reminded that each person who tried to overtake him was defeated. Not only did Joel lose the war, he surrendered to Don. He was certain God still had His hand in the matter; faith would be required until the dust cleared. If history was an indicator of the future, then as soon as he got past this dust storm and got into the clearing, another storm would be waiting. So, no hurry.
“Sir, are you asking for Tamara? Tamara Mitchell?” The caller must have said yes, because Kay looked relieved, as if she’d solved a major mystery. “Okay, yes, this is the correct place for Ms. Mitchell. She’s not in right now, but I’ll gladly take a message. Who’s calling?” Kay held the phone away from her ear and told Don, “He hung up.” She placed the receiver on the base. “That was weird.”
“What do you mean?” Don asked.
“I could barely understand him. His accent was so heavy, Italian, I think. Anyway, he asked for Tamara. He was very hyper. When I asked for his name, he hung up. Weird. Anyway, did you need me?”
Don leaned against the workstation. “Where is Tamara?” He wasn’t going to rage out of control in front of the staff. He’d save his response exclusively for Tamara.
“She’s working from home today.”
Don was pretty sure she had moved into an apartment but wasn’t sure where. He had more insight into her address when she was living abroad than he did having her home. “What is her address?”
Kay looked up the address in the corporate database and rattled it to Don as he scratched it onto a sticky note.
“You want me to let her know you’re on the way?”
Don responded quickly. “No, let it be my surprise.” He’d return a tiny portion of the surprise she’d given him.
The high-rise apartment building was right outside downtown, in a decent section of the near east side. Exiting off the Lodge Freeway, he combed the street slowly, reading each number. Finally he arrived at Tamara’s block and spotted the building. He went farther down the street in search of a parking space and whipped the BMW into the closest one. Don paused to say a quick prayer. The way he was feeling, barging in was bound to lead to a fruitless confrontation. He was determined not to let the predicament get out of hand. He counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty. By the time he got to fifty, he was ready to go inside.
As Don approached the building’s entrance, a group of ladies was coming out. He held the door for them as they exited and eased into the building, allowing him to bypass the security keypad. In a flash he was off the elevator and walking down the hallway looking for her apartment number. There it was, a few doors from the end. He knocked, holding back, breathing slowly and deeply. His knocks grew louder each time. Tamara finally came to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Don, open up,” he said, restrained.
He heard the first, second, and third lock. The door opened. “Come on in,” she said. “Welcome to my new place.” Don entered and closed the door. “You must have thought I was sick since I’m working from home today.”
“More like crazy,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Tamara, have you lost your mind? What in the world would make you want to undercut me and go for DMI?”
She heaved a sigh. “So dearest Abigail told you about our conversation? I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s die-hard loyal to you and Joel, and look where it’s gotten her.”
“Honestly, what is wrong with you? Haven’t I consistently supported you?” Don scratched his head. “Why are you doing this? Did Joel get to you?”
“No, why does this have to be Joel’s idea? I don’t have to rely on a man to think for me, Don. I came up with this on my own, little old me. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with the women in the company having a voice. You men have pulled the strings for so long. We deserve a chance. Abigail didn’t go for it; her loss.”
Tamara held firm, but she did feel guilty about hurting Don, the only person she trusted and who had supported her unconditionally.
“Losing two brothers to murder and suicide was bad. Fighting Joel year after year was horrible. And now you. You’re the last person I would have expected to do this to me,” Don told her.
“Stop being so melodramatic. This isn’t about you.”
“Then tell me what it is about, Tamara, because I’m not getting it.”
There was no way to escape her yearning to be in charge and to be counted. Her response wanted to rush out, crammed together, ahead of her thoughts. “I want to run my own company.”
“Go ahead, nobody’s stopping you. Do something in the art arena. That’s where your passion has been for twenty years, but leave DMI to me. Let me spend my time and energy on getting it fixed so we can all benefit in the long run.”
Art would always be a passion for her, but maneuvering in the corporate arena was in her DNA. “I’ve wasted so many years on the run. I can’t start a company from scratch at my age, not if I want to achieve a reasonable level of success.” If there was a way to grab a piece of the company without crossing Don, then she was willing to listen. “Let me go after the West Coast division. I think I can get it from Zarah. Let me take the division, move to California, and be out of your hair.” Don didn’t react. Hopefully he was becoming more receptive to her request. “Once I’m on the coast, you can have Madeline come back to help you fix the company. It’s a win for everyone.”
“Tamara, this isn’t about the division. It’s how you’re going about this, behind my back, like an enemy. I expected more from you.”
“I love you and I really do care, but I don’t need your approval, Don. I’m getting my piece of the pie and heading west.”
“You’re really going to trample on our father’s legacy? If you proceed with this, all of the Mitchell children will be at war. Is that what you want?”
“Exactly what father are you talking about? I can’t speak for you, but I didn’t have a father growing up. He was with Sherry and their child. He threw me away. If it hadn’t been for him, Andre wouldn’t have become so jaded, and Sam wouldn’t have died for me. So save the sympathy for our father. He got to enjoy his happiness at our expense. Now I have a chance at contentment, and I’m taking it!” she screamed.
“Tamara, please, I’m begging you, work with me and together we’ll figure this out.”
She pursed her lips and let her eyes do the communicating. Don must have gotten the message. He trudged to the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Some guy
called the office for you.”
Tamara tensed in an instant. Her heart was pounding hard, her blood flowing fast. “Who w-was it?” she stammered, struggling to speak.
Don turned the knob and opened the door. “He didn’t leave a name, but he had a heavy accent. Italian, I think.” Tamara buried her face in her hands. “What’s wrong with you?” Don asked. She wondered if there was time to pack up and get out. She was scattered, not sure what to do next, instantly terrified. “Tamara,” Don called out.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I called your name three times. What’s wrong with you?”
“You have to go, right now, go,” she said, anxious to get an escape route under way.
“Tamara, I’m not going. What’s the big deal? Why are you so frantic all of a sudden? Does this have something to do with the guy?”
“No, I need you to go, please. I’m in a hurry,” she said, grabbing the doorknob.
“Fine, I’ll go, so long as you tell me what’s up with this guy. You know who it is, don’t you? Is he a boyfriend?”
“Please go!” she yelled at him, feeling her temples begin to throb. “Go, go, go,” she said, swinging the door forward and backward.
“Calm down, I’m leaving.”
Don was finally gone. She knew he wasn’t satisfied with her response and she would have to deal with him later. Her focus was on a bigger problem. Two years ago, Remo had threatened to kill her if she left him. She had and he’d been chasing her ever since. She was still scared, but she was tired of running. That was for certain. It was time to face her fears. Perhaps she should get the police involved, but what proof did she have that he was a threat? There weren’t any taped messages or threatening notes, but she knew how volatile he could be. No more moving. She had to regroup, maybe get a gun. Survival was paramount and extreme measures had to be considered.
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