Intruders (A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Book 1)

by Gary Winston Brown

  Lily smiled. “They can be a little difficult.”

  Dunn laughed. “Tell me about it! So, what do you say? You want to hang out with us for a while?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Lily replied. “I think I’d like that.”

  “So would I,” Shannon said.

  “Ditto,” Zoe added.

  “Good,” Dunn said. “Then consider yourself one of the family.”

  Shannon held out her pinky finger to Lily. Zoe did the same. “Told you we’d take care of you,” Shannon said. “Remember?”

  “Yes, you did,” Lily said. “Thank you.”

  “Sister pinky swear?” Zoe said.

  The girls locked fingers. “Sister pinky swear,” Lily replied.

  Dunn opened his phone and placed a call to Cooper. To the girls he said, “There’s a helicopter on its way to pick us up. It’ll be here shortly.”

  “Are we heading back to New York?” Shannon asked.

  “No,” her father replied. “We’ll be staying in L.A. for a few days. I have funerals to attend. Plus, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  CHAPTER 59

  A TEAM of FBI agents, assigned by Andrew Dunn before his departure for China Lake Regional Hospital, maintained a vigil over Farrow Estate throughout the night, wary that yet another attack against the family might follow the failed assassination attempts of the last few hours.

  Chris slept in a reading chair in Michael Farrow’s study. Twice in the early hours of the morning he bolted out of the chair, drew his weapon, and raced up the stairs with members of the protection detail to investigate the origin of the screams. In both instances their response led them to Emma’s room where they found her sitting up in bed, clutching her sheets, and calling out for her father. Now Jordan was sitting beside her on the bed, holding her in her arms, rocking her, consoling her frightened daughter.

  No immediate threat.

  Stand down.

  Chris stayed with Jordan as the accompanying agents returned to their posts.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Jordan said, smoothing her daughter’s hair. “Just a nightmare.”

  “Second one tonight.”

  Jordan nodded. “With probably a few more yet to come.”

  “Poor kid. How’s Aiden?”

  “Still asleep. He’s always handled stressful situations much better than his sister.”

  “Sounds like he takes after his mom.”

  Jordan smiled. “Don’t be fooled,” she replied. “Inside, I haven’t stopped screaming.”

  With her mother’s encouragement, Emma settled back into bed. Jordan tucked her blanket under her and stroked her head until she fell asleep.

  “I won’t be sleeping anytime soon,” Jordan said, slowly lifting herself off the bed, careful not to disturb the child. “The kids will need me again soon enough. I could use a coffee. Care to join me?”

  “Sure,” Chris said.

  Jordan and Chris sat in the kitchen sipping French Roast and talking. On the opposite side of the room, the window that Rigel had earlier shot out and through which he had entered the home had been sealed off with thick plastic sheets. The forensics team busily inspected sections of the damaged window frame, dusting for fingerprints. Outside, spotlights mounted on portable light stands washed the manicured backyard in harsh white light. Lost in thought, surprised by an unexpected camera flash beyond the opaque barrier, Jordan jumped in her chair and spilled her coffee on the table. An FBI photographer stepped out from behind the sealed window and snapped another picture of the scene. The second flash was followed by a third, then a fourth, a fifth.

  Chris retrieved a dish towel from the counter and wiped the table.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “A little jumpy, I guess.”

  “That’s understandable,” Chris said. “Try not to worry. There are ten agents stationed on the grounds and around the perimeter of the estate, plus another eight in the house. No one will get to your family again, Jordan. We won’t let that happen.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Jordan rubbed her temples. “I know what’s coming. A full-on assault by the media… paparazzi… relentless requests for interviews. Even the funeral service will be a circus.”

  “Can’t your father’s company and handle PR?”

  “Yes, Farrow Industries public relations will do the best they can. But there’s nothing the press likes more than to cover a tragedy. And I’m not sure if I’ll be able to hold it together at the funeral.”

  “Jordan, you’re the strong woman I’ve ever met,” Chris said. “Don’t let them take that strength from you. Show them you’ve got this. And if you need me to be there, I will.”

  “Thanks, Chris,” Jordan said. “I’ll never be able to repay you or Director Dunn for all you’ve done to help me and my family.”

  Chris smiled. “Are you kidding? Thanks to you the Director is being reunited with his daughters as we speak. I’d say that makes you pretty even.”

  Marissa DeSola entered the kitchen, telephone in hand. “Sorry to disturb you, Jordan,” she said. “A Mr. Brian Hartley is calling for you.”

  “Who?” Jordan asked, not recognizing the name.

  Marissa handed her the portable handset. “He’s with Farrow Industries. Says he needs to speak with you right away.”

  Jordan took the call. “How can I help you, Mr. Hartley?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Quest,” Hartley began. “Please accept my apologies for calling you at such an early hour. Believe me when I tell you I wish it was under better circumstances. I’m Chief Legal Counsel for Farrow Industries Worldwide. Sitting with me is Stanton Wilder, Executive Vice-President, Worldwide Commercial Business, and Tess Cole, your fathers Executive Assistant. I’m afraid we have a rather urgent request.”

  “Of course, Mr. Hartley,” Jordan replied. “What do you need?”

  “To meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I have in my hand a copy of your father’s living will and his succession plan for Farrow Industries,” Hartley explained. “An emergency meeting of Farrow’s Board of Directors convened several hours ago, immediately after we received confirmation of your father’s death. I’m very sorry to have to be so direct, but as you can appreciate there are certain decisions that must be made right now to ensure Farrow Industries global operations continue uninterrupted and its stock price remains unaffected. I hate to sound melodramatic, but as they say, time is of the essence.”

  “I understand, Mr. Hartley” Jordan replied. “How soon do you need to meet with me?”

  “Within the hour, if possible.”

  “Very well,” Jordan agreed. “Is there anything I need to do to prepare for this meeting?”

  “There is,” Hartley replied. “The cover letter to your father’s will stipulates it only be opened in your presence, or in the event you have predeceased your father, an assigned representative. Two other parties are mentioned. Your father wished to have his housekeeper, Marissa DeSola, and your godfather, Grant Carnevale, present at the reading of his will. Do you know if they are still alive?”

  “They are. Marissa and Uncle Grant are here with me now.”

  “Good. Please speak with them right away. Can I have your assurance they will join us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good,” Hartley replied. “Thank you, Mrs. Quest. We’re on our way.”

  CHAPTER 60

  ONE HOUR later, Chris Hanover received notification from agents at the front gate the Farrow Industries executives had arrived.

  Jordan welcomed her guests in the lobby. Chris introduced himself, then asked for their cooperation as Stanton Wilder, Brian Hartley, and Tess Cole were patted down, weapons-checked by members of the protection detail, and their briefcases and personal effects opened and searched. Deemed free of weapons and explosive devices, the three were cleared and granted permission to en
ter the home.

  Jordan welcomed the party into her father’s home office. Seated at a small conference table in the corner of the room, Marissa DeSola rose nervously from her chair and joined Grant Carnevale in welcoming the members of the Farrow executive team.

  “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mrs. Quest,” Brian Hartley said after introducing his colleagues. “On behalf of Farrow Industries Worldwide please accept our heartfelt condolences on the tragic loss of your loved ones.”

  “Thank you,” Jordan replied.

  “Your father was one of the most astute businessmen I’ve ever worked with,” Stanton Wilder added. Jordan had known him as her father’s colleague for many years. “Thank you, Mr. Wilder,” she replied. “My father spoke of you often. He had a great deal of respect for you and the contributions you have made to his company over the years.”

  Wilder accepted the compliment. “It was my privilege.”

  Tess Cole spoke. “I know how difficult a time this must be for you, Jordan. I’ve been in contact with Farrow’s Human Resources department. They’ve secured the services of a grief counselor who will reach out to you shortly to help you and your family through what I’m sure is a most difficult and challenging time. Funeral arrangements have been taken care of in accordance to your father’s wishes. Your parents and husband will be interred at the Farrow family plot at Forest Lawn Cemetery, in Hollywood Hills, in two days. A Celebration of Life ceremony will follow later at the Los Angeles Convention Center. We’ve been flooded with inquiries from your father’s business acquaintances. Hundreds will be attending the memorial to pay their respects to you and your family. The Mayor has requested LAPD’s assistance to control the processional traffic and escort your family to and from the funeral and the ceremony. The President will also be attending. Secret Service is working with our people as well as LAPD and the Convention Center security staff to facilitate his arrival and participation. He’s asked if he could say a few words on your father’s behalf.”

  “My family would be honored,” Jordan replied.

  Tess smiled and nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

  Brian Hartley opened his briefcase, removed several envelopes, and turned to Jordan. “May we begin?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Jordan said.

  Hartley presented the first document to Jordan and his colleagues. “This is a copy of Farrow Industries Emergency Succession Plan. Your father revised it quarterly. As Chief Legal Counsel for Farrow Industries Worldwide, I was required to meet with him to witness any changes made to the document. My signature can be found at the bottom attesting to the fact that it is in order. As Chairman of the Board, your father took his responsibilities to his stakeholders very seriously. He wanted to ensure in the event of his sudden or unexpected death that any interruptions to the operation of the company would be minimal. Unfortunately, we now find ourselves dealing with such an emergency, thus the requirement for the execution of this document.” Hartley removed three additional envelopes from his briefcase. “Michael further stipulated I meet with Marissa DeSola and Grant Carnevale, in your presence, and present them with these documents. Which we’ll deal with in just a moment. Right now, I’d like to turn the floor over to Mr. Wilder.”

  Stanton Wilder opened his copy of the succession plan. To Jordan, he said, “As a lawyer yourself, I’m sure you understand that when a businessman as successful and high-profile as your father dies suddenly there could be immediate and disastrous consequences to the company unless a seamless transition takes place immediately at the C-level of the business. With that in mind, I’m pleased to inform you that your father has stipulated that you be his successor. The Executive Committee reviewed the request. It met without objection. As of this moment, you are now Chairperson of Farrow Industries Worldwide. We simply need you to confirm that you accept the position.”

  Jordan nodded. “I do.”

  “Very good,” Wilder said. “Having you at the helm will maintain investor confidence and stock value. This document further stipulates that I immediately transition from my current role as Executive Vice President, Worldwide Commercial Business to that of Chief Executive Officer. Our governance committee has inspected our internal talent pool and selected the executives who will succeed up the ranks. The names of those individuals will be announced tomorrow. We feel comfortable that the future of Farrow Industries is in good hands, just as your father wanted it. Your duties and responsibilities as Chairperson will be light. You’ll act primarily as a figurehead for the company and liaise with Brian and myself from time to time, as well as other members of the Board, plus you’ll be required to attend all mandatory board and shareholder meetings. You’ll also have input on all matters related to the future of Farrow Industries, including our plans for worldwide expansion.”

  Wilder sat back in his chair. “I know this is a lot to take in right now, Jordan. I hope we haven’t thrown too much at you. If we have, I apologize.”

  “Not at all,” Jordan replied. “It’s comforting to know my father left his company in such capable hands.”

  “Thank you,” Wilder replied. “Please know that we’re here for you, day or night.”

  Brian Hartley spoke. “Now that we’ve concluded the business of the Board, I’d like to present these documents to Ms. DeSola and Agent Carnevale.”

  Hartley slid the envelopes across the table to Marissa and Grant. They had been respectively addressed to them by Michael Farrow. “Please open them,” the attorney said.

  Marissa and Grant read their letters.

  Marissa covered her mouth, let out a small cry. “Oh my,” she said. “Oh my!”

  Grant Carnevale laughed, then turned to Jordan. “Your old man just had to get in the last word, didn’t he?”

  Jordan smiled. “What are you talking about?” Jordan asked. “What do your letters say?”

  Marissa was speechless. Grant just smiled, continued to laugh, and shook his head.

  “Mr. Hartley?” Jordan asked.

  Hartley handed her copies of the letters her father had prepared for Marissa and Grant. “For your records, Jordan,” he said. “Clearly, your father held Ms. DeSola and Agent Carnevale in the highest regard.”

  Jordan read her father’s letter to Marissa:

  Dearest Marissa. You have been a trusted friend all of my life. To thank you for your loyalty, I have established a trust in your name in the amount of twenty million dollars as my final gift to you. Payments will be disbursed monthly. Please enjoy the rest of your days knowing how much you were appreciated and loved. Always, Michael Farrow.

  As it had for Grant, her father’s letter to her godfather made her laugh. It read:

  Grant, you old dog! For years I’ve been trying to lure you away from that damn government job of yours with the FBI and join me at Farrow Industries. Despite my best efforts, you refused. It seems you were more interested in saving the world than you were in working with your old pal, Mike. If you’re reading this letter now, it’s because the Man upstairs finally called my number. But we can’t live forever, can we pal? I can’t complain. My life’s been one hell of a ride. But I can tell you from my heart it would have been much more fun if you had been at my side to share the journey. With that in mind, I thought I’d leave you with a little parting gift; one which you would have earned anyway if you’d had the damn good sense to have taken me up on my offer back when we graduated from MIT. I’ve established a trust in your name in the amount of fifty-million dollars. Payments will be disbursed monthly. Go buy yourself an island, retire early, or do whatever you want. You deserve it. I love you, my friend. If you would, please do me one last favor. Look in on my family from time to time. With deepest respect and admiration, Mike.

  After Marissa had re-read her letter for the fifth time, she asked, “Is this real?”

  Hartley smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Your trust is part of Mr. Farrow’s Last Will and Testament. It is one-hundred percent legitimate.”

 
Carnevale stared at the letter. “Thanks, Mikey,” he said. “I love you too, buddy.”

  Jordan turned to Stanton Wilder. “I have an urgent request, Mr. Wilder. I need to visit the families of the crash victims, as soon as possible, before the funeral for my family takes place. Can you arrange transportation for me?”

  “Absolutely,” Wilder answered. “When do you wish to leave?”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “If it’s all right with you I’d like to tag along,” Hanover said. “Officially, you’re still under FBI protection.”

  “Thanks Chris,” Jordan said. “I’d appreciate that.”

  CHAPTER 61

  FOR TWO days Chris accompanied Jordan as she traveled, paying her respects to the families of Rock Dionne, flight Captain Peter Sanders, First Officer Cameron Brentworth and flight attendants Julie Todd and Gayle Konrath, all of whom perished in the horrific jet crash that claimed the lives of her parents and Keith.

  The family stood inside the Great Mausoleum at Forest Lawn Cemetery in Glendale, listening to Reverend William Harding deliver the committal service, recite prayers and readings, deliver the eulogy, and share stories of the countless acts of generosity and benevolence for which Michael and Mary Farrow had come to be known throughout their lives. He spoke of their boundless love for their grandchildren, Emma and Aiden, and how fortunate they were to be blessed with such a strong, confident and capable daughter in Jordan. The memorial was difficult for young Emma, who cried for her father throughout the brief service, her head buried in her grandmother Paula’s dress. Aiden held his own. He stood beside his grandfather, David Quest, listening to the words of the kindly old priest. Marissa DeSola and Grant Carnevale stood at Jordan’s side. Positioned throughout the cemetery, FBI agents, including Chris Hanover and Director Andrew Dunn, as well as Farrow Industries shadow security team, kept a close watch on the crowd who behind the locked gates appeared to be enjoying their brief glimpse into a private moment in the life of the famous family.