She looked just dumb enough to provide a way in for Monty, but smart enough to do it without leaving a paper trail.
He was sick of Candace nickel-and-diming him; it was about time he got some real money. He made a decision. He wanted more than the house and more than a few hundred thousand dollars. Candace could spare a few million—maybe even ten—and still go on with her decadent, obscene lifestyle. She wouldn’t even miss the money. Then, he would have the funds he needed to live the way he ought to. He could study architecture at an elite school, apply his knowledge, and get the recognition he deserved, at last.
To make all of that happen, he needed to connect with Jess on a personal level—on the phone, or better yet, in person.
13
Decisions
On the last Monday morning in June, Candace stepped toward a black Escalade parked in front of Rob’s Manhattan apartment. Dominic, the driver, stood outside of the vehicle, waiting to take her to LaGuardia. Her phone buzzed.
“Hey, David,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Hello, Candace. I wanted to let you know I’m forwarding two quotes from the contractors we discussed last week—”
“Are both available immediately?”
“I’ll find out.”
Dominic opened her car door and she flashed him a smile. “Still no word from Monty?” she asked David.
“No, and it’s been almost two weeks since I sent that email to him. Would you like me to follow up with a phone call?”
“No,” Candace said while settling herself in the Escalade’s backseat and putting on her seat belt. She turned to the tall driver, who had placed her Louis Vuitton valises in the back of the vehicle. “Thank you, Dominic.” She spoke into the phone again. “David, here’s what I want to do. I’ll look at the quotes you sent and I’ll call you back this afternoon. We can discuss them then. I’m scheduled to arrive in Atlanta before noon.”
“Fine.”
“Also, we can talk about a timetable. So, it’s important that you find out how soon work can begin on the house, and how long it will take to get completed. I want us to know the plan before Monty finds out this is going to happen.”
“Got it.”
Candace removed her new iPad from her bag and entered her passcode. “I’m pulling up your email right now; I can look the quotes over on the way to the airport. The other thing I need you to do is find a realtor. A good one. Someone familiar with that area of Atlanta and that market.”
“You want me to start looking now?”
“Why not? I want this thing done, David. I want it finished and sold and out of my life.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Find a rental—house or apartment, I don’t care. Something that fits their income. I mean, Helen’s income. She sent you that tax return, right?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t have to be in that area, but keep it in inside the perimeter. Or at least close to Helen’s office. Can you have Geneviève work on that?”
“Definitely. She should be able to find something. The rental market here is huge right now.”
“I want to be able to tell Monty where they can live while the work on the house is being done, and how much the rent is. Since I assume the workers will need them to be moved out. Monty and Helen can live in the place Geneviève finds for them, or they can find a place themselves.” Candace took a breath. “Finally, just in case it comes up later, which it better not: I am not gifting the family any more money, ever. That’s over.”
“Anything else?”
Candace looked out the window and down at the dirty water as the Escalade traveled east, over the Triborough Bridge. “Yes. As you know, I don’t want to put one more dime into that house than is absolutely necessary. I’ll look over the quotes you got, but I’m counting on you to negotiate with whichever one of them we choose, to bring the price down.”
“Candace, you’re going to get sticker shock when you look at them.”
“That’s fine. I know that contractors need to make a profit, too. What I’m saying is, with the housing market being what it is—the lack of new construction, renovations, whatever—and with the state of the economy in general, these guys are lucky to get any work. So, whatever their quotes are, I expect you to get them to take ten to fifteen percent off the top. Just to get my business.”
“Understood.”
“That’s all for now. I’ll call you later today.” Candace placed her iPhone in her bag and began scrolling through her email on her iPad. A signal sounded as a new message came in. It was from Helen.
Candace read the five lines twice. Helen had been laid off from her job a week and a half ago. Two days later, she and Adele had flown to Chicago to stay with Helen’s sister for a few weeks. Helen had updated her resume and begun searching for a new position, but she felt doubtful about having much success before the babies were born.
Candace sat back in her seat and shut her eyes, then let out a deep breath. Odd that Monty had kept this news to himself, but she wasn’t surprised that Helen had. It fit her personality. Given the chaos, she was probably still in shock about having been let go, and Candace couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away from Monty.
However, with Helen and Adele up in Chicago, it would probably be easier for David to get the family moved out of the house and into a rental. He would have to expedite the process. Maybe the loss of Helen’s job would be the catalyst Monty needed to go and get a job of his own. In a few short months, he’d be a father of three. It was time for him to starting acting like one, to start providing for his family. Until he did, however—or until Helen found a job—somebody would have to pay their rent.
Candace had paid the bank fourteen thousand dollars to catch up their mortgage and HELOC a couple months ago, and she trusted they hadn’t fallen behind again. However, she hadn’t signed the new note to roll the mortgage into a larger home equity loan, despite Monty’s pleas.
“Ms. Morgan?” said Dominic, interrupting Candace’s thoughts. “You said Delta, correct?”
“That’s correct, Dominic. Thank you.” Candace propped her Fendi sunglasses up on top of her head and inspected her nails, which were due for a manicure. She’d have to have Jess schedule one today or tomorrow.
She had a busy week ahead of her in Atlanta. Late last week she had visited the Manhattan sample room that Shelly’s product development team had been working with on the swimwear line. This week she would meet with Shelly, Paula, and Amanda to discuss the timeline and any remaining issues, but everything was on track for the unveiling of the new line in September. Candace also needed to meet with her direct reports to talk about long-term business development and how the new line fit in. With the end of the quarter two days away, she would meet with Courtney, the CFO, to go over financials as well.
Money. Candace’s thoughts shifted back to the plight of her brother and sister-in-law. Surely they had some savings or a 401(k) they could draw on to get through the next few months, until after Helen gave birth to twins and could get a new job. Whether they did or not, it was imperative that David find a rental immediately that was available and affordable for them to move into so the house on Arcadia could be completed. Candace sighed. If they couldn’t pay the rent, she would pay it and keep the HELOC and mortgage current until the house sold in late summer or early fall. David would just have to add those payments to the total of their debt to her.
She knew that they owed a lot more money—to the bank and to her—than what the market would bring upon the sale of the house. The place was underwater, as millions of other homes in the country were. It was a fact that most homes in Atlanta had lost significant value. Monty and Helen would not be coming out of this deal with any money. If they were to emerge from it unscathed, with no damage to their credit, Candace would have to write off a very large sum. Something
they should be grateful to her for doing, when it was all said and done.
Then, she would cut all financial ties to the family, and they would have to support themselves without her help.
The question was, how much was she willing to write off? How much would she have to write off, so that the couple could emerge from it unhurt and wouldn’t be left with a major debt to the bank after the house sold? She shook her head slightly and answered her own question. That wasn’t going to happen, because the bank wouldn’t make an unsecured loan to them. Once the house sold, the collateral would be gone. Candace wouldn’t be able to get out of this deal without writing off the entire loss on it. As for them paying her back and sharing in the loss, that wasn’t going to happen, either.
Her only other option was to walk away and force a foreclosure, but she’d already committed to sink more money into the place. So that was off the table. She’d have to price the house to sell, and pray that it would.
It bothered her to no end to lose that much money on something she never wanted to be a part of, something she felt she’d been roped into. But what bothered her even more was that, in so doing, she would be enabling her brother’s manipulation and his avoidance of working an honest job. Her father hadn’t enabled him, yet here she was doing that exact thing, or about to. Her mother had done it by regularly handing over small amounts of cash to Monty, ensuring that he never felt the punch of empty pockets. She’d also blamed his teachers for any bad grades—and his coaches for failures on the football field.
Dominic took a left and pulled up in front of the Delta curbside check-in counter at the airport. He parked, hopped out, and took care removing Candace’s elegant luggage from the back of the Escalade. Candace reapplied her lipstick, placed her personal items in her bag, and stepped out of the vehicle as Dominic held her door open. The air was heavy and warm, the sun climbing higher in the hazy sky. The humidity was high for New York, but Candace knew it wouldn’t reach the oppressive level that would blanket the city of Atlanta today. But like most people from the South, she was accustomed to it.
She walked to the counter, presented her driver’s license, and then turned to her chauffeur, putting a hundred-dollar bill in his palm. “Thank you, Dominic.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Morgan,” Dominic said with a nod and a smile. “See you next time, now.”
Candace smiled and turned back to the Delta worker as he handed back her license. An hour later, she took her seat in the first-class section of a jet bound for Atlanta. She had already perused the two job quotes David had emailed. One of the contractors identified several more items to be done (and a higher bottom line) than the other. While Candace didn’t want to pay for more any more work than was necessary, she also didn’t want a backfire situation if corners were cut.
She accepted a glass of ice water offered by the airline attendant and tried to shift her thoughts from the half-built, decaying disaster on Arcadia Lane. Worries about her other investments, real estate in particular, seeped into her mind. She had purchased her Atlanta condominium several years ago, and with the declining market it had lost almost half its value. Condos were overbuilt in the city and weren’t selling. She wasn’t interested in selling hers at the moment, but if she were, she couldn’t unless she was willing to lose a lot of money. David handled the fees and utilities for her, and those amounts added up. She didn’t spend enough time there to justify them. If she didn’t own the place, she could stay in one of Atlanta’s finest hotels during her visits and be out much less money annually.
Her Manhattan apartment was a different situation. It would fetch some money, hopefully a little more than she had paid. Her country home in France was a money pit, though. She had parted with a large sum of euros for it at the wrong time. Every few months, it required this or that repair, or a fee or tax paid to the bureaucracy, and she trusted neither French construction companies nor government officials. She didn’t spend enough time there either, but she planned to start doing so next year.
She always enjoyed going to France, and so did Rob, who loved practicing his French. She was looking forward to future trips there together and vacations exploring the countryside. The Luberon Valley was particularly beautiful, and the nearby region of Languedoc had its charms; less touristy than Provence, it was quaint and picturesque. The relaxed pace of a séjour there would be a welcome change to her high-powered life, and a reward for her hard work on the new line. In France, she didn’t feel as pushed to stay busy as she did at home.
She gazed out the window and took another sip of water. Her thoughts shifted to her other investments, most of them liquid. Many were down and had been since the crisis of 2008. Her worth as the president and CEO of SlimZ was high—and highly publicized—but it didn’t indicate her true financial picture. Her personal portfolio had run into some rather large bumps, and it wasn’t stable enough to suit her. David would continue to manage it after October—she and Rob had agreed to keep their funds separate—and she would require that her financial manager earn the high fees she paid him.
If she didn’t care about losing money, she could get rid of the whole fiasco on Arcadia Lane with the stroke of her pen. She could write a check to Memorial Bank to pay off the home equity loan, and she could pay off the first mortgage, too. She could authorize David to hire the more expensive contractor to complete the renovation in record time, and she could take the first offer she got. She could sell it for a huge loss. She could be done with it more quickly and more easily than the way she was proceeding now.
If she wanted to, she could be even more generous and give Monty and Helen half a million, say, to buy another home for cash. Some house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with decent public schools. She could pay the 35 percent gift taxes on it and then forget about it. She could pay zero attention to whether her brother ever got a job. She could believe that she’d fulfilled her promise to her father, and that Monty had no power make her feel guilty anymore. She could tell herself that she wasn’t enabling him, and hope that he’d never ask her for money again.
She could hope.
“Hi, this is Dawn Mitchell with Meridien Wealth Management. Today is Monday, June twenty-eighth. I will be out of the office today, but please leave your name and number and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thanks.” The recorded message complete, Dawn put the phone down and turned to see her sister entering the kitchen. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay,” Helen said while stretching. Adele was still upstairs. “How long have you been up?”
Dawn smiled. “I can’t sleep much past my usual time.” She had worked every day last week, meeting Helen and Adele for lunch twice. She had decided to take a long weekend and stay home today and Tuesday. “I haven’t even checked email yet, though. Guess I should.”
Helen poured a glass of skim milk and sat down at the round kitchen table. Dawn placed her coffee mug on the table, sat down, and opened her laptop. She clicked on her email and began scrolling down the inbox.
“Well, here’s a surprise,” she said. “Something from Mom.”
Helen bit her lip. “What did she say?”
“Oh my God,” said Dawn.
“What?”
Dawn sighed. “She and Rich are splitting up. Getting a divorce. After thirty years.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “She’s telling you that in an email? Did she send it to me, too?”
“No,” said Dawn, her eyes on the screen. “ ‘Tell Helen the news when you talk to her. I’ll call you both next weekend.’ ”
“It’s typical of her to ignore me,” said Helen. “Let me see that.” She scooted closer to her sister and read the cryptic message. “I wonder what happened?”
“It’s so like her not to explain. My God.” Dawn shook her head, then took a sip of her coffee. “Actually, it’s amazing they’ve stayed together this long, when you think about it.”
Ne
ither of the sisters was close to their mother, Diane. She had married their father, Tim Piper, when she was only twenty and he was twenty-four. After six years and two children, they divorced and Tim moved to Maine, leaving Diane to raise the girls. He had never been part of their lives, and when Diane married Rich Corrigan in 1980, the sisters had welcomed his presence as a step closer to stability, accepting him as a substitute father. Once Helen grew up and finished art school, Diane and Rich had moved to Southern California.
“Has it really been thirty years?” asked Helen.
“They were celebrating their twentieth when Frank and I got married. Remember? They went on that cruise?”
“Oh, yeah. She got sick?”
“Right,” said Dawn, focusing on the laptop screen. “You know, I wonder what would have happened if she and Rich had been able to have kids of their own. I remember when they were trying.”
Helen swallowed and studied her sister’s face. Dawn had had five miscarriages. To Helen’s knowledge, Diane had had two, in her thirties.
“I don’t care,” she said. “You and I never hear from her unless it’s bad news, or they need money. Or both. I’m sure she’s still pissed at us for telling her to stop asking, and mad that we told Rich how often she had.” Helen leaned back and sighed, pushing away the possible parallels between her marriage and her mother’s. “She hasn’t seen Adele since she was a baby, and she never calls.”
“Well, I’m guessing this is about money. Or she’s having a late-life crisis. As ridiculous as that sounds.”
“I know. I wonder how Rich is doing,” Helen said while reflexively placing her right hand under her top and resting it on her scarred skin. Rich was a private person and said that he didn’t believe in talking about his problems because, when it came right down to it, no one was really interested—everyone had their own. Helen felt the same way, except with Dawn. “Anyway, what a mess.”
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