“Certainly, Elizabeth,” he replied, fighting for time and aware that both of them knew it. “But how did you find out about this Barrett thing? I didn’t even realize you knew the man until—”
“I was your very private secretary for... how many years? Do you think I’m so simple-minded I wouldn’t have made a few contacts along the way? People who could keep me informed of what's really happening here? This is my inheritance, as you've always been so fond of reminding me when I didn’t obey you. And what a bloody awful mess you made with Barrett, Father. He has fingers in pies that are worth a million times more than that little Tascalypt outfit. Patents worth billions, and I was within an inch of getting them, before your goons took a hand.”
“I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but I didn't—”
“Speaking of which, I suggest you withdraw that odious Gerald Coolidge from his southeast Asia posting and put him someplace suitable to his talents. Have you got a sewage disposal company handy? That man would have been the first...and I want you to be totally clear about this, Father...the very first to have raped me. He wanted to, and he was shaping up to do it. Or did you order that, as well?”
“No! I swear! All I wanted was to get you back here so we could—”
“Talk? Well, we are talking, aren’t we? And you didn’t even have to ask. But, in your words, I want Gerry Coolidge’s balls for bookends, and I expect you to get them for me. Is that perfectly clear, Father? I want his head on a plate. I want him rotting in some pestilent third-world jail, assuming you can’t have him maimed for life.”
“It will be done, Elizabeth. You have my promise.” Cornwall could feel himself shrinking into his executive chair, while his daughter, now suddenly a weirdly familiar stranger, stood four-square in front of his desk and looked at him, daggers shooting from her eyes.
“I think it’s time you got the 'dragon' in here so we can make a start on this paperwork, don't you?” that daughter asked, her voice silk-smooth, her attitude carved from the finest steel.
Miss Dragonian never so much as raised an eyebrow as she took down Cornwall’s instructions, nor did she flinch at Bess’s instructions about where to transfer the relevant information about the Tascalypt shares. She did, in a polite, professional manner, ask for a repeat of the banking and trading details, and the number-specific information Bess provided as to where all this information should go. But not once did she seek to catch her long-time employer’s gaze.
“You can stay here and run things, Father,” Bess said, after Miss Dragonian had departed to key the details into her computer. “You can even indulge yourself with your newest merger, the one you're trying to set up with that 'British chap.' But get this straight, Father. I am not a part of that deal, nor will I be. I am not your corporate whore.”
“Really, Elizabeth, you never were.”
“Then I'd truly appreciate you explaining Paul Bradley to me. >From the very beginning to the very end. And don’t bother lying about it, because I know enough to catch you out if you do.”
“Explain? What do you mean, explain? He was your husband, Elizabeth, and the father of your... I'm sorry... your child.”
“A girl, Father. Did you know that? A girl, not the boy you and Paul could have groomed to take your chair the way I’ve done. Without much grooming at all, thank you. Remember Paul? My husband, whom you pushed and prodded and pried at until he couldn’t take any more. My husband, whom you and that slime-ball Gerald Coolidge maneuvered into a situation where he shot himself rather than admit he’d been done like a dinner.” The Australianism caught her by surprise, and Bess had to pause and think before she continued.
“My husband, whom I loved.” And it all started to come apart with that lie. She had thought she loved Paul, but by comparison to the way she felt about Geoff, it hadn’t been love at all. Hadn’t been anything, really, except a reaction to a show of affection. And even that affection had been tinged by her father’s poison.
Cornwall hadn’t gotten where he was without a sense for vulnerability. He caught a whiff of it here with his daughter, and leapt to the scent like a man half his age. “Elizabeth, I swear to God I didn’t know about the baby’s sex,” he said with a salesman’s surge of false emotion. “And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I mean...”
“You mean that you would have disposed of Paul anyway,” she said, rocking back and forth on her stiletto heels and wondering what in God’s name had possessed some idiot designer to even imagine such a concept as stiletto hells. Surely a man had designed them.
Suddenly, the ludicrousness of it all threatened, and she shook her head, afraid that jet-lag and emotion would overcome her before this was done.
“Now really, Elizabeth,” Cornwall said, his voice full of mock indignation. “I admit that certain steps were taken to make sure Paul didn’t exceed his position, nor go beyond his limited capabilities, but—”
“Don't you lie to me, Father! Don't you ever, ever, even try to lie to me!”
The shouts escaped before Bess could clamp her mouth shut, the emotions surging inside her too strong for total control. She took several deep breaths. “You set Paul up, you did it deliberately, and you were glad when he died. You know it and I know it. And you've always tried to use me as a corporate whore, a business bargaining chip. Please don’t bother trying to lie your way out that one either, because it won’t wash.
“Now, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to visualize these headlines. 'Tycoon’s Daughter Nearly Raped in Takeover Bid - Daughter Says Father Ordered It.' Visualize it well, because if you don’t start playing this game by my rules, you’re going to be reading those very words, or worse words, maybe even something about Paul Bradley, whereupon your empire will come crashing down like a house of cards.
“And remember, Father, I'm an author. The publishing business might be in merger hell, or merger heaven, but how much of an advance payment do you think they could scrape up for a tell-all book about the great Dover Warren Cornwall, written by his daughter? We're talking extortion, illegal stock transfers, possibly even murder. I could put my book on the Internet, charge for every download, and there'd be millions of them, Father, because I'd use the money from my company stocks to rent billboards on Times Square and Sunset Boulevard and buy a full-page ad in every newspaper and magazine. Hell, I'd even buy a spot for this year's Superbowl. How about my book as a TV movie-of-the-week? Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes. But Elizabeth, you’re also making far too much out of”
“A father who drove my husband into killing his unborn child? Are you going to tell me you didn’t know that Paul beat me so badly before he shot himself that I lost your granddaughter because of it? And you weren’t there in Tasmania when Gerry’s heavies came this close to raping me.” She spread her thumb and first finger apart, noting with surprise and satisfaction that her hand was steady, not shaking. “You weren’t there, but it was your conniving and your orders that took it that close, and you’re going to pay for it one way or another.”
“Elizabeth...”
“And while we’re talking about payment, Father, I want you to call the dragon back in here and order a retirement package put together for Tom Rossiter. A very generous package, if you please, one with enough cash involved so that he'll never have to worry about money again. Three million would do it, I think.”
“No, Elizabeth.”
“Headlines, Father. Keep thinking about those headlines and my tell-all book. The article is written and ready to go, so you can forget about trying to silence me. If anything happens to me, the balloon goes up and you go with it. I’m not your daughter for nothing. I know how to use extortion and blackmail as well as you do. Don’t you ever forget that. Now, do you get the dragon in here or do I? And let's make it five million, while you're at it.”
This time, when Miss Dragonian entered the office, she looked at Bess with new respect and somehow managed to ignore Cornwall wi
thout actually seeming to do so. Only she and Bess were acutely aware of the change in attitude, the undeniable deference to his daughter. And while Bess hated the role she was playing so beautifully, she couldn't stop now.
“I want everything hand-delivered to my hotel before the day is out, Miss Dragonian, complete with proof of deposit to Tom Rossiter’s account. You handle the company's banking details, I presume?”
The affirmative reply came from Miss Dragonian. Cornwall slumped in his huge office chair, visibly faded as he fought to keep his daughter from doing what he had always wanted her to do. Her stubborn strength was proving more than he could handle, especially when she seemed so willing and able to stifle his every maneuver.
Bess ignored his stuttered statements as she dealt with Miss Dragonian, but she kept an eye on him, unsure whether he really was as unstable as Tom Rossiter had said. Although he showed no obvious sign of madness, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.
In the end, it proved a fruitless exercise. He might be as mad as the proverbial Hatter, but the spectacle of his daughter seizing power in such a brilliant and blatant fashion had him so stupefied, he clearly didn’t know what to do next.
“I expect you’re going to try some counter-punch the instant I’m out of the door,” Bess said to the shrunken figure, once Miss Dragonian had again left the office. “But I warn you, Father... don’t! I know where all the bodies are buried, and I’ve covered myself every possible way there is. If anything…anything…happens to me, or to Tom Rossiter, or to anyone I’m associated with or care about, you’ll be dying in jail. Or the gutter. Or both, for all I care.”
She took immense delight in staring her father down as she let silence fill the room. She took even more delight in the way Dover Warren Cornwall seemed to have shrunk, seemed incapable of even appearing to fill the executive chair he sat in. She tried to feel pity, but had none. During her flights back from Australia and across the breadth of the United States, she'd found herself remembering how her father had dominated her mother’s life, dominated his daughter's life. He had been a control freak of the worst possible kind, manic with his own power and totally uncaring about anyone, including his own family.
Now, any effort to feel compassion emerged only as contempt. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was something she knew would wane with time, and perhaps with enough time, would disappear entirely.
“I won't see you again,” she said. “Which is just as well. Because if I do, it will be because I’ve had to come back here to whip you into line. Not a pretty thing to think about, is it Father? But just because I’m not here every day, please don’t get complacent. I’ll be watching the way our conglomerate is operating, and if it turns out I have to destroy it completely to stop you from doing something reprehensible, I’ll do that without a second thought. Believe me, Father. Either I’m going to inherit a company that's a tribute to proper business style and ethics, or I’m going to sift through the ashes without a single tear.”
She stared coldly at the silent, shrunken figure across the desk from her, then turned away and marched to the door. She had her fingers on the handle before the coup de grace sprang to mind, unbidden but so perfect she couldn’t resist.
“And make damned good and sure you keep your filthy corporate fingers off Geoffrey Barrett,” she said, turning as she spoke so that she could see the effect of her words. “I’m carrying the next generation of the Cornwall dynasty. Barrett is the father. He doesn’t know because I haven’t decided yet if he ever will, but one thing I have decided, Father. You will never, ever, have the chance to kill this grandchild because you will never, ever see this grandchild.”
She faced the door again. “Have a good day,” she called over her shoulder, and fled, her stiletto heels clacking.
The monstrosity of the lie struck her before she had reached street level, while she was still inside her father’s corporate headquarters. Had she gone too far? No. Her so-called pregnancy was merely one more link in the safety chain, one more thing to help keep her secure, along with everyone she cared about.
Back at her hotel, Bess sorted out the paperwork she’d brought with her, hooked up her laptop to the computer link in the room, and within minutes had all the information Mouse would need flashing through cyber-space. He had the capacity to rework the Tascalypt stock transfers, returning them to Geoff without a paper trail, or with one so convoluted it would take a dozen accountants a dozen years to sort it out. How Geoff might go about dealing with the company from there, she neither knew nor cared. Her part was done.
She then prepared the envelope in which Tom Rossiter's retirement package could be sent to Tasmania, in care of Ida’s security firm. The thought of Tom’s face when he saw the financial aspects of the package gave Bess her first genuine smile of the day. Her growing certainty of a long-lasting relationship between Ida and the burly ex-cop brought another, this one even broader, and she was ready to roll when the courier delivered the paperwork.
Ten minutes later she was en route to the airport, Rossiter's package in the mail, Mouse in control of all other details, and herself with a plane to catch.
Soon she'd be back in Colorado, rebuilding her life for the second time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I swear to God, Rocky, if you had anything to do with this, I’ll cut off Tom Rossiter’s private parts and feed them to you for lunch.”
Ida bit back the riposte that came to mind. Now was not the time for subtle, or even unsubtle, humor. “Geoffrey darling, I don’t know any more than you do,” she said. “But I’ve got my people working on it, and we should start getting some answers pretty soon.”
“Pretty soon? How about right now? What if she’s been kidnapped again?”
Geoff paced the floor of his office like a caged predator, and Ida kept moving to stay out of his path. Anger and frustration were combined with outright fear in his every word, every gesture. His voice was ragged with emotion, and he looked like a man on the brink of collapse.
“Will you stop that bloody pacing?” she finally said, having stepped aside for the dozenth time. “You’re driving me bonkers! Are you absolutely positive Bess didn’t leave you a message?”
“Of course I’m positive. Where would she leave it that I haven’t looked? There’s nothing in her room, nothing in the kitchen, nothing here. Bloody hell, Rocky, even you can see that.”
“Wonderful as I am, Geoffrey darling, I'm not omnipotent. For instance, did you check your computer?”
“Of course I did. I'm not a total...” His voice drifted into vagueness as he sat down and began hammering at the keyboard, his lean fingers flying. Up came the current draft of “The Flower of Ballarat.” He perused the pages quickly, then grunted with annoyance. “See? Nothing. Bloody nothing!”
Ida sighed, struggling to keep the impatience out of her own voice. “Are you certain she didn’t have any other files going? It shouldn’t be too hard to check. You wiped the computer clean just the other day.”
Geoff gave no indication of having heard, but his fingers began to fly over the keys again, bringing up menus and sub-menus and lists of file names. “What the hell?” He clicked on something called “Kate's Confession,” opened the file, and silently began to read.
Ida stepped forward and read over his shoulder.
“What's this all about?” Geoff pushed away his chair, almost taking off Ida’s foot in the process. “The whole thing is out of context, and she's not making any sense. The scene is fine, a bit black, but who the hell is Paul Yeldarb? And why does she keep switching from Kate to Bess? There's even two or three Eliz...”
Abruptly, Geoff re-swiveled his chair into position and scrolled back to the hero's first line of dialogue.
Having already recognized the pattern, Ida crossed her arms and hugged her chest, instinctively shielding herself against Geoff's imminent reaction.
“Bloody hell,” he said, reaching the end again. “This is written as if she... as if Bess had actually expe
rienced... no!”
Ida pounced. “Would it matter if she had?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
“A pretty simple one to answer, I would have thought.”
But his gaze was on the screen again, and Ida could see signs of strain in his clenched jaw and flaring nostrils.
“Yeldarb,” he said. “That's Bradley spelled backward.”
When he finally turned to face her, Geoff wore an expression of such utter sadness, she thought for a moment he was about to burst into tears.
“It's true, isn’t it?” he said in a voice so ragged she could hardly make out the words. “Oh, Bess, you poor child. And what have I done but add to it?” His hand closed in a fist that slammed the desktop so hard the entire computer jumped.
“Instead of abusing your own sensibilities, or your desk, it might make a bit more sense if you tried to fix things.” Ida kept her own voice carefully calm.
“Fix things? After the way I’ve treated her, she’d be perfectly justified if she wanted my balls for bookends. “
“Yes, darling, most girls have that sort of justification at one time or another, and for some strange reason it’s always because of a man they love. I do suppose it has crossed your mind that Bess might be in love with you. Or did you think she crawled into bed with you because you were in the right place at the right time?”
He raised one hand, and Ida backpedaled, fairly certain she’d gone too far, wondering if he'd actually hit her. But he lowered his hand as quickly as it had been raised, then simply sat there, staring at his palm as if it belonged to someone else.
“Settle, boy,” she said, putting every ounce of authority she could manage into those two words. Geoff didn’t move, just looked at her, and his eyes were burning ice. “No, darling, Bess didn’t tell me anything, not even one teensy detail. However, despite the occasional lapse, I'm not stupid. May I say without fear of being turned to salt by your damn eyes, that your logic was stupid? I assume by now you've come to the conclusion that Bess never deceived you and didn't knew about your association with her father. Because, if you don't bloody well believe that, I'm out of here!”
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