Jeff didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, Ryan heard what sounded like staccato tapping on a keyboard.
“Done.” Jeff smacked the keyboard a final time.
“What do you mean ‘done’? What did you do?”
“Told ’em,” Jeff replied. “You’re right to believe Todd’s not telling you the truth, but I know where Todd and the Seattle boys keep the real information. Projections and market reports, memos and email that tell the full story; everything they keep to themselves.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew. Sean does,” Jeff said. “Anyway, that’s not an issue now.”
“What did you do?”
Jeff chuckled, a deep and rumbling sound that carried through the phone lines. “I changed the privacy settings. I made all the docs public and sent a company-wide email with the links.”
“But… that’s proprietary information. Todd could sue you for sharing it.”
“He’s got bigger fish to fry now,” Jeff countered. “Look—Todd and the others had you dancing like a marionette, using the loyalty you feel toward your employees to get you to do whatever they want. I just ended the secrecy, that’s all. Leveled the playing field you might call it.”
“Jeff—”
But Jeff cut him off. “Look. You hired smart people. They know the business. Now they have a clear picture of the competition. And forget offering them a guaranteed payoff. Anyone who works in start-ups sure as heck knows there ain’t any such thing.”
“You might be right…” Ryan admitted.
“’Course I am.” Ryan heard the creak of a chair as Jeff shifted. “You’d see it yourself if you weren’t so overloaded.”
It felt as if the weight on Ryan’s shoulders began to lift—not all of it and not completely, but at least he could breathe.
“You gotta be ready for the blowback, ’cause it’s gonna happen, mark my words. Specially with Sean.”
“I heard he just put fifty grand down on a Tesla,” Ryan said.
“Yeah. What a jerk.” Jeff chuckled. “Maybe don’t tell him what we did. Let him read the email, along with everyone else.”
Then, Ryan did what he hadn’t done in years: turned off his phone and went back to sleep.
Everything else could wait.
That night, Ryan slept through dinner.
He woke the next morning later than usual, surprised to find a lightness that had been missing for months. When Jeff decided to make key documents public, he’d given every employee a clear picture of the amount of work ahead of them, and let them decide whether they wanted to stay with the company or not. Even more than that, Jeff’s abrupt departure from the company he helped start had put things in perspective for Ryan, reminding him what was important.
Leaving his cell phone on the charger, Ryan headed for the shower. No doubt there were dozens of urgent texts and emails waiting for him after what Jeff had done, but they could wait. When he was finished, he stepped into the fog of a steamy bathroom, the basics of a plan in his mind. He would take Stacy to that restaurant she liked, while Kaye watched the kids. They’d talk.
He wandered downstairs and entered an empty kitchen. A note was taped to the coffee maker, a mug nearby.
Took the kids to the farmers’ market with Mom. Back after lunch.
Stacy had prepared the machine so that all he had to do was flick the switch, so he did. Impulsively, he decided to take the morning off. When his coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and went outside to watch the day unfold.
“Let’s use the front door,” Stacy suggested to her mother. They’d brought back quite a haul from the farmers’ market. “The door is already open, and it’ll be faster than going around to the back.”
“I think you’re right,” Kaye replied as she walked the path through the front yard. She slowed and pointed to a trio of hydrangeas, which appeared to be staked and freshly mulched. “Did you do that?”
Stacy shook her head. “That looks like Brad’s work to me. Looks like he went to the big nursery.”
“Hmm.” Her mother continued on her way and Stacy followed.
In the kitchen, they were met with a scattering of breakfast dishes and an empty coffee pot. Stacy set the bags on the table before collecting the dishes and taking them to the sink.
Her mother eyed the stack of dishes. “I keep telling your father we need a dishwasher. It’s too much work to hand-wash after every meal.” She removed a basket of strawberries from the refrigerator and put them on a tray.
“I dunno.” Stacy filled the sink with warm sudsy water. “It’s kind of nice.” As she started her work, she noticed a pastry box from Mueller’s had been left on the counter, a pair of her mother’s “good” coffee cups beside it. “Are you expecting company?”
“Yes, a little later today,” her mother replied, as she slid the vegetables into the refrigerator drawer. “I have a project I’m working on.”
Her mother didn’t seem eager to explain, so Stacy returned to her task, reaching for the sponge and letting her mind wander. Although her answer to Billy’s request for help hadn’t changed, she couldn’t seem to let it go. If what he said was true—and Billy was many things, but he wasn’t a liar—then the book Revere expected to publish was still little more than an outline. A Winter to Remember was hefty, more than five hundred pages, and Revere would expect the second book to be comparable. Even if Billy worked every hour of every day between now and the end of summer, she couldn’t see him finishing in time. No one could.
The sound of the doorbell startled her, mostly because it was unusual for anyone in Dewberry Beach to use the front door. This was a come-around-the-back neighborhood and as the summer progressed, most visitors stopped knocking altogether.
“He’s early.” Kaye glanced toward the front of the house.
“Who is?”
“Can you get the door please? I’m not quite finished here.”
“Sure.” Stacy stacked the dish she’d washed on the drainboard and made her way to the front door, drying her hands on her shorts as she walked.
She opened the door and rolled her eyes.
Billy Jacob stood in the doorway, grinning. “Stacy Bennett, how nice to see you again.” His linen blazer, wrinkled Oxford shirt, and tailored shorts made him look very much like a young Mark Twain.
“What are you doing here?” Stacy eyed his battered leather work bag and his scuffed sneakers. “I’m sorry, Billy, but my answer hasn’t changed.”
“Oh, I’m not here for you.” Billy looked past her and into the house.
“Mr. Jacob! Thank you for coming.” Kaye came to the door.
Billy’s gaze flickered back to Stacy, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then he turned his attention to her mother. “I’m happy to help.”
“Mr. Jacob, this is my daughter Stacy,” Kaye said. “Stacy, Mr. Jacob has agreed to help us plan a library fundraiser. And—” She turned to him for verification. “He might be coming to my book club next week?”
He nodded. “Happy to.”
Stacy addressed her mother as Billy entered the house. “Mom, I didn’t know you’d joined a book club.”
“Your father and I both did. Well, that’s not actually true,” Kaye corrected. “I’m starting one and I’m trying to get your father to come to meetings. But the main thing is the fundraiser. Billy’s endorsement will mean quite a lot for us and we appreciate his time.”
“How generous of him,” Stacy said in a tone her mother clearly missed.
“It really is,” Kaye said, as she guided Billy to the living room. “Now, if you’ll just come through here, there are several places we can work. Unless you’d like to sit outside on the deck. You tell me which seems most comfortable to you.”
After they left, Stacy went to find her father. Surely he didn’t know about this book club idea? She found him in his den but not in his recliner, reading the newspaper or listening to the ball game as she’d expected. Instead, he stood b
ehind his desk, gathering papers and slipping them into a leather folder. And he was dressed in work clothes, which Stacy found strange.
She knocked on the doorframe, then leaned in when he glanced up. “You going somewhere, Dad?”
“Nowhere important.” He fastened the clasp and tucked the folder under his arm. “Just to get a bite to eat at the club. I’m meeting a few people over there.”
Stacy eyed the folder. “Does Mom know?”
“I believe she’s occupied with a guest at the moment.” He moved toward the door, then stopped. “I would appreciate it if you told your mother that I’ve gone for a walk.” Chase’s expression flickered. “So she doesn’t worry.”
“Sure, Dad.” Stacy moved aside to let him pass. “Call me if you want a ride back.”
After her father slipped out, Stacy wandered upstairs to check on the kids. They’d been surprisingly quiet, which could be either very good or disastrous. She peeked into their room and saw them coloring in the new art pads Kaye had brought back from the farmers’ market. No sense in disturbing them.
Downstairs, she found Billy and her mother by the front door.
“I’m sorry, Kaye, but I don’t have time for coffee and pastries after all. I should get back—this is a working vacation for me. I’m sure you understand.” He caught Stacy’s attention and smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Stacy.”
She watched Billy leave without so much as a backward glance. Impulsively, she rushed into the kitchen for her cell phone, then yelled to her mother. “The kids are upstairs playing in their rooms, Mom. I’ll be right back and I have my cell if you need me.”
She caught sight of him a block later.
“Billy!” she called out.
He turned and waited for her to catch up. She expected a comment about how slow she walked now, but his face was solemn, his expression unreadable.
“Why are you still in town, Billy?” Stacy asked as she fell into step beside him. “It can’t be because you’re interested in the library fundraiser. You didn’t even know about it when we spoke the other day.”
“Maybe I needed a vacation?” Billy lifted his shoulder. “All this fresh sea air and sunshine is good for the muse, don’t you think?”
“Enough.” Stacy stopped and turned to him. “You came to my house, Billy. That’s creepy. Is this some sort of weird stalker thing? Because if it is, it ends now. I told you I’m not helping and that’s the end of it.”
To her surprise, Billy sobered immediately. His expression was one she’d rarely seen on his face: earnestness. She’d expected more resistance, more drama. “You’re right, Stacy, and I’m sorry. I met your mother by chance at the cheese shop and we got chatting. It was her idea for me to come to your house, not mine, although it did seem like a really good opportunity to get your attention one last time.”
“Why do you need to get my attention? My answer was final.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t tell you the truth when we spoke the other day.” Billy pressed his lips together, frowning. “Really, things are much worse than I let on. Would you just listen—please—to the whole truth? If you decide not to help after that, I’ll accept your decision and be on my way.”
“I’ll listen, but I don’t have long. I have to get back to watch the kids.” She led him to a small garden beside a tiny white church. The garden was in full bloom, with tall sunflowers reaching for the sun and slender vines of deep blue clematis woven around the slats of the white picket fence that edged the property. There was a bench, and they sat for a moment in silence, listening to the hum of fat honeybees as they gathered nectar.
Billy reached to pluck a blade of grass from the lawn. “A Winter to Remember was written in a week.” Flecks of green floated to the ground as he shredded it between his fingers. “There had been a massive snowstorm in New York that year, and the city was shut down for days and days. My roommates at the time were out of town so there was no one to talk to and the whole experience was very unnerving. Electricity and cable were out, so I had nothing to do.” He glanced at her. “You may not know this, but I suffer panic attacks. I started to feel the walls closing in on me and I got desperate. I began to make up a story about a traveling bard. When the sun set that first day, the city was completely dark, not a single light anywhere. I honestly thought I was going to die.” He drew a ragged breath as he reached for another blade of grass. “Of course, there was nowhere to go; everything was shut tight. But needs must, so I got a pen and paper and told myself a story. By the time I was finished, a week had passed almost unnoticed. The power company had restored the lights and the streets were returning to normal.”
“I never knew that,” Stacy said. “I never knew that’s how you wrote your book.”
“I never told anyone.” Billy dropped the last shred of grass into the breeze and clasped his hands together. “Who would take a novel seriously if they knew it had been written in a week?”
“It’s a brilliant story, Billy. Doesn’t matter how long it took to write.”
Billy turned his attention to a bumblebee crossing the head of a sunflower. “The difference between now and then is that I want to continue the story, but I can’t. It won’t come out.” He pressed his palm together as he swallowed. “I even enrolled in one of those fancy writing retreats last spring. You know, where they put you in a cabin and bring you food?” He snorted. “Nothing.”
“Does Emmerson know any of this?” Stacy asked gently.
“No.”
“Could you tell him? Maybe he’d understand.”
Billy shook his head. “When I got home from the retreat, there was a registered letter waiting for me, from Revere. It said they planned to release me from my contract, effective September fifth of this year.”
“That’s why you said Labor Day?”
“I thought if I showed them a few pages—something—I might get more time.”
“Do you have the letter with you?”
Billy nodded. “Back in my room.”
“Take a picture of it and text it to me. I used to share an office with Emmerson, back when we were both junior editors. Maybe I can talk to him for you.”
“I knew you’d help.”
“I only agreed to talk to him. I don’t know how he’ll respond.”
“I understand.”
“And you can’t come to my house anymore, Billy. That’s weird.”
“What about the fundraiser? And your mother’s book club?”
She shot him a look.
“Right. I’ll reschedule.”
Eighteen
It started as a simple morning walk to clear his head, but Ryan ended up staying out for most of the day.
After a while, he found himself at the inlet bridge and stayed to watch the fishing trawlers start their day. He bought a bag of fried clams and ate them sitting on the jetty, staring at the waves breaking against the seawall. It occurred to him, not for the first time, how idyllic this little beach town was, and he understood why Stacy and her family loved their summers here. On his way back home, he stopped at Applegate’s to buy new crab nets for the kids, and a pair of sunglasses for Stacy because she was always losing hers.
He sent a quick text telling Stacy where he was so she wouldn’t worry, but otherwise kept his phone on silent.
The house was empty when he arrived mid-afternoon. Notes tacked to the refrigerator put everyone out until dinnertime: Kaye had taken the kids to see a friend’s art studio, Chase was at the club, Stacy was out for a walk, and Brad had gone to work on Mrs. Ivey’s friend’s garden.
It was time to make his decision. He opened his laptop and wrote a formal email. He made sure it was time and date-stamped it, then sent it on to Todd. He immediately forwarded a copy of the email he’d just sent to his attorney in Morristown.
Then he waited.
It didn’t take long before his phone and his inbox filled with messages, all marked urgent. Ryan counted fifteen voicemails from Sean, eleven texts from Todd, and eve
n one from someone he supposed was Todd’s boss. They’d taken his company and fired his employees, and Ryan couldn’t imagine any message or text that would explain it.
He sorted through the messages, deleting the message from Todd’s boss without reading it. The man had never contacted him before, and Ryan had no interest in what he had to say now. Todd was a weasel, always had been. On that principle alone, Ryan deleted all of Todd’s messages too. Next was voicemail from Sean. Ryan hesitated. They’d been a team, the three of them, best friends. That counted for something, even now.
Ryan crossed the bedroom to open the window and pushed aside the lace curtains to allow the breeze in. The air from outside would make the room hotter, but he liked the smell of the ocean, so he let it be. He pulled a chair to the window and settled in, then he tapped Sean’s number.
Sean answered on the first ring, screeching into the phone, which seemed a bit excessive. “Ryan, where have you been? Did you see the documents Jeff made public last night? Everyone here is livid. That stuff was proprietary.”
“Good afternoon to you too, Sean,” Ryan said as he gazed out the window. The sky had darkened a bit and the oak leaves in the tree out front rustled in the breeze. Another coastal thunderstorm was brewing.
“Are you listening to me?”
“No, sorry. I wasn’t. What did you say?”
“I said: we can save this. The partners are in Boston now, taking pitches from other companies. Not optimal to talk to them now, but Todd’s with them and he can make them listen. He needs you to address the tech side. The algorithm is yours, so you know it best.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“What?” Sean hissed.
“I agreed with you. You’re right: the algorithm is mine.”
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 20