“I’m working till six-thirty and then can help you out.” Luanne stood, gathered her papers. “I need to get back to the office.”
“Great. I’m staying at the Versailles. We can work there.”
Holding her portfolio, Luanne opened the door. “Fine. Just do me a favor and have takeout ready to eat.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 7
Jerusalem
Terry spent several days working with Shira in the afternoon and reuniting with Gabe in the evening. Their flight to New York was leaving in the morning and they’d agreed to a romantic dinner at the Mamilla Hotel’s rooftop restaurant.
Gabe was waiting for her at the apartment, as excited as a child with a new toy.
The twelfth-floor city center unit was on loan from the government. With sweeping views of the Old City, the smart apartment had been designed to sense the needs of its occupants. Terry had stayed there before and was once again navigating a love-hate relationship with the technology.
Gabe said, “You won’t believe this, but I spilled a glass of Merlot and a moment later a robo-mop came by to clean it up. And let’s not forget the shower. Oh. My. God.”
Terry laughed, happy her fiancé was enjoying the perks of her side gig. At least that’s how she referred to it. If the situation had been reversed, she would not have liked being kept in the dark about her partner’s vocation. To his credit, Gabe never pressed her on what Yosef Kahn wanted her to do.
Gabe said, “Are you sure you don’t mind that I won’t be in New York with you? If we’re heading back to the States, I really need to see my parents in Austin.”
“Of course, motek. I’ll miss you, but this way we will both meet our obligations and hopefully have time for fun when we’re done.”
Terry quickly changed into a blue shift dress and black pumps, and together they walked to the Mamilla Hotel, situated a short distance from Jaffa Gate. The sun had just set, leaving a kaleidoscope of color in its wake. The hotel’s rooftop was elegantly appointed. Overflowing pots of fragrant gardenias separated the glass top tables and plush lime green sofas.
They dined on mushroom risotto and roasted sweetbreads with an artichoke confit. The meal ended with a heavenly chocolate fondant topped with chamomile honey ice cream.
Gabe wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, exhaled. “I’ll never eat again.”
“Don’t tell your mother that.”
“Speaking of my mother, she asked when the wedding is. So . . . when’s our wedding?”
Terry laughed. “What do you think about next summer?”
Gabe made a face. “That’s way too long from now. How about the spring?”
“Hmm, the spring is beautiful here.”
Gabe’s brow shot up. “Oh. You want to get married here in Israel?”
“I just assumed . . .”
“No, that’s fine. As long as my family and friends can get out here. Looks like we have some decisions to make. No rush. We’ve got nothing but time.” Gabe extended his palm in invitation.
Terry took her beloved’s hand in hers, thoughts of her upcoming mission filling her mind. I hope to heaven you’re right.
***
Los Angeles
“Where the hell are you, Steadman?” Matthews shouted into the phone. He was his usual convivial self.
Here we go. “Actually, I’m in Los Angeles.”
“What?! What are you doing out there?”
“Family emergency.”
“What family? You don’t have any family in California. You only have a grandmother and she’s in Florida.”
Rookie mistake, Jonny, he scolded himself.
“That’s true, sir.” He hated calling him sir, but it came with the job now. Doug insisted on it. If the others heard Jon referring to his boss as Doug, Matthews, or a-hole, for that matter, it would undermine his authority. One thing Matthews would never tolerate.
Jon said, “With so little family, some close friends have become family and I needed to come out here for a few days.”
“And didn’t bother telling me or anyone else for that matter.”
“Sorry sir, everything happened so fast.”
“Are you up to something Steadman?” Matthews asked.
“No sir. What could I possibly be up to?”
“With you, it could be any number of harebrained things. Get your ass back here by the end of the week or you won’t have a job to come back to.”
***
The knock on the door came to the beat of Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits.
Jon opened the door allowing Luanne inside. She’d changed her clothes and was now wearing jeans ripped at the knees, funky glasses, toting a leather messenger bag. Her hair was wet and curly.
“Didn’t bother dressing up then, huh?” Jon asked.
She shrugged. “Is this a date?”
“No.”
“Then who cares? I’m clean and ready to work.” She put the bag down on the table next to the bed. “Smells like dinner time to me.”
“There’s miso soup and sushi. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She took a set of chopsticks and not bothering to sit, scarfed down one of the sushi rolls.
“Hungry?”
“Always.”
He watched her finish a bowl of soup and then pull a bag of cookies from her bag.
Munching, she said, “Remember to always end on a sweet.”
She took a water bottle from the minibar and drank it without coming up for air.
“That’ll be four dollars,” Jon said.
“Your treat.”
“How generous of me.
She sat down in the chair beside the room desk, pulled out her laptop. “Got a girlfriend?”
“You always so blunt?”
“We’re in a hotel room together eating spectacular Japanese cuisine. It’s a fair question.”
She had a point. “The answer is, not really.”
“Not really, huh? Sounds magical,” Luanne said.
“Just forget it.”
“Okay, sorry. Tell me. I’m curious now.”
“Great girl, great guy, poor timing.”
“I’m assuming you’re the great guy.”
“That’s right.” He gave her a toothy grin.
She laughed. “Humility is not in your top ten qualities.” Then adds, “I noticed you walk funny. What’s that about?”
“Subtlety is not in your top ten qualities. Never ending questions.”
“I’m a reporter for God’s sake. What did you expect?” Luanne retorted.
Sitting on the bed, Jon opened his laptop. “Let’s get started on the first conspiracy theory.”
Luanne got her game face on, ready to work, fully aware that he never answered her question.
***
Two hours and four mini vodkas later, they were on data overload.
Jon, now leaning against the headboard with his Mac propped up, said, “Jeez, I need a break. Who knew there were so many paranoid people out there?”
Luanne lay prone across the bed, propped on her forearms. She lifted her glasses, rubbed at her eyes. “I know. But don’t you think there’s an odd pattern forming?”
“Maybe. I see it too. The few sane-sounding posts seem to have a common theme.”
“So now what?”
Jon pulled a plastic yellow ball out of his backpack and threw it at her, hitting her in the shoulder.
“Hey, what the hell is this?”
“It’s a stress ball. Squish it and it will calm you down.”
Luanne snatched the ball, tossed it back to Jon. “If I were any calmer, I’d be comatose.”
Jon laughed. “You have a point.” He stood, stretching. “Let’s go for a walk around the block. Get our blood flowing.”
Luanne groaned. “Can’t I just stay here and fall into a blissful sleep?”
“Not yet. We still have too much work to do before I have to get back to New York.”
“Ball b
uster.”
Jon offered his hand, which she took. Jon pulled her off the bed. “Up and out.”
“Aye aye sir,” Luanne saluted.
They grabbed their jackets and headed out the door.
***
Jon and Luanne’s walk around the block turned into a stop at the corner all-night cafe. Copious amounts of caffeine and sugar insured a night of no sleep. Jon learned a great deal about his collaborator in that time, finding himself surprisingly entertained. She had a certain openness, no airs about her. She’d been a track star in high school, clearly evident in her athletic build. A connoisseur of coffee. Or in her words, a coffee snob. It took her a full minute to order the brew sitting before her. He also learned she’d been on the frontlines of legalizing cannabis in California. Perhaps explaining her ever-present hunger.
When they got back to his room, Jon said, “We still have a few posts left. How about we divide and conquer?”
“Fine, I’ll take the next three and you read the final three.”
They both got back to it.
“Here, take a look at this,” Luanne said pointing at the screen.
Jon bent over her shoulder to look at the post. Her hair smelled of fresh strawberries.
He read to himself.
After fifteen years as a research assistant at a top hi-tech firm, where everyone loved her, my wife was let go and replaced by a woman ten years older(!) than her. Her health insurance just lapsed, but thankfully my coverage kicked in. Just in the nick of time ‘cuz yesterday she was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer and will need long-term expensive treatment. It’s like the company knew what was coming and canned her. If I wasn’t scared of being sued, I’d splatter their names all over the internet.
Jon checked the time on his laptop. It was nearly two a.m. His battery was almost dead. He looked over at Luanne, seated on his bed, her shirt scrunched up revealing her pale, toned stomach. Jon shook his head trying to clear his thoughts from the path they were leading him down. Thoughts of Mel came rushing in.
He moved his eyes back to his screen. “You tired?”
Engrossed in whatever she was reading, she mumbled, “That would be a yes.”
They both yawned in unison.
“You can stay over if you want,” Jon offered.
She lifted a brow.
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s too late to drive home and we’ll want to get back to this in the morning.”
She sat up eyeing him, assessing, “Great. I’m cool if you are.”
He got up to move a pillow to the floor.
She angled to take the pillow from him. “You’re not sleeping there. I have no problem sharing the bed if you don’t.”
Without another word she slipped the shirt over her head, pulled off her pants, standing there for a moment in her purple lace underthings, then got under the covers, turning away from him. “Thanks.”
When Jon finally closed his mouth, he managed to say, “You’re welcome.”
Despite the fury of carnal thoughts running through his mind, Jon eventually fell asleep and dreamt of Ashleigh, his one-time fiancée, dressed in a purple lace wedding gown. She looked happy and kept coming closer for a kiss, but somehow their lips never seemed to meet.
Chapter 8
Los Angeles
Peter Cromwell held his head in his hands. How are we going to get out of this? Last quarter’s numbers were abysmal. If they didn’t meet their expected sales for the upcoming quarter, the company wouldn’t recover. He didn’t know what he would say at next week’s board meeting. As CEO of last year’s Forbes Most Promising Online Startup, the buck stopped with him. The IPO had been a huge success but then began to plateau. Now he feared it would tank. They called it overly aggressive growth.
He couldn’t put his finger on the cause. Had they expanded their workforce too fast? He’d been in more dire financial situations before but never with so much riding on his success or failure. He’d crunched the numbers countless times. Pamela, his CFO, made recommendations but none were to his liking. He expected her any minute.
Susan, his secretary, appeared at the door. “Pamela is here for your ten o’clock.”
“Thanks. Show her in.”
Pamela was a prim woman of brilliant mind and poor social graces.
“Good morning, Pamela. I hope you’ve brought me good news.”
“We’ve been through this before, Peter,” she said abruptly. “Unless you’re willing to make real cuts we risk losing all our past gains and then some.”
“I know, I know. I just can’t find any place to slash.”
“No matter what, it will be hard, but you need to think long term. I still think benefits are the place to go.”
“If we do that we’ll lose our best talent. You said to think long term. If we don’t have top people, the business will tank anyway. How about that hiring freeze?”
“Still in effect. It’s helped marginally, but it’s not enough. What about reducing or eliminating our compensation packages?” Pamela asked.
“Same problem as slashing benefits. We should be focusing on increasing streams of revenue.”
Pamela shook her head. “That’s all well and good but as you know, new initiatives take time to impact the bottom line. By then the point will be moot.” She placed a folder on his desk.
“I’ve prepared this report for you to review. You’ll need to pick one or more of the listed areas to cut, and I mean significantly, if we are going to stay afloat. I suggest you change your mindset, or everyone will be out of a job this time next year.”
Without further comment, Pamela stood, straightened her suit jacket, and retreated from the office, leaving Peter once again holding his head in his hands.
***
For your eyes only. The email was sent to his personal address, one only his close friends and family knew and were careful not to divulge. Peter opened the mail and was stunned to see his company’s prospectus. The one that had not yet been sent to the board members, and certainly not to the public.
He looked closer at the sender. [email protected]. The prospectus of course was meant to capture his immediate attention. He read on.
Dear Mr. Cromwell,
While we have never met in person, I am a huge fan of your business acumen. You’ve managed to turn several startups into huge successes. It has come to my attention that you are now struggling far more than your previous ventures. This is where I come in —the cavalry, so to speak. I have taken it upon myself to review your prospectus and have found a solution that will not only keep your fledgling business afloat but solvent for at least the next twelve months while you develop and launch your new marketing strategies. As you can assess by the contents of this correspondence, our methods are not conventional. However, I can guarantee success and offer a full refund if you are not perfectly satisfied with the results.
If you wish to learn more, please contact me at this email. Wishing you a successful afternoon.
William Sherman
The name was vaguely familiar. His search engine told him why. William Sherman was a notable general during the Civil War serving valiantly in the U.S. cavalry.
***
Peter knew better than to speak to anyone about the email. Pamela included. He needed first to see what the man was suggesting and if it was above board. He wasn’t foolish enough to allow a scam artist to con him even at his most vulnerable. Especially at his most vulnerable. He had to be careful. Hundreds of jobs were on the line. Including his own.
Using a secure network, Peter replied to the email requesting a face-to-face meeting to learn more, while also expressing his discontent with the sender for gaining access to his company’s confidential documents. He would need to get his IT guys up here for an explanation.
Within seconds he received a reply. Sherman was not available for in-person consultations. All agreements would be done virtually or not at all. Shady business.
Under any other circumstances, Peter
would have never given the email the time of day other than to track down the IP and threaten a lawsuit for privacy infringement. But he was in no position to do that. He needed a quick fix at this point, and he would be remiss if he didn’t at least find out what this person had to say.
What can you offer? he typed.
Sherman sent a link to a chat software allowing them to communicate more efficiently. For all Peter knew, Sherman was a sixteen-year-old girl living in Minneapolis.
Hello, Mr. Cromwell, I’m pleased you’re choosing to move forward.
Why don’t you tell me your strategy and we can go from there?
Of course, but before we proceed, I will need to insist on you signing a non-disclosure agreement.
An NDA? For what purpose?
As one businessman to another you undoubtedly understand my need to protect my information from potential poachers. You’ll see it is a standard agreement. No ruses. If you choose to decline our services, there’s no concern on either of our parts.
Peter looked it over and satisfied, signed it, fully aware of the irony.
Very good. Please download a video I have designed for prospective clients. It will explain the main premise and if you are interested, we can go from there.
A video popped up on his screen and he clicked play. It was exceedingly professional, produced with state-of-the-art animation and graphics. Clearly the man was well-funded. A notion corroborated by claims of helping over thirty mid-level businesses around the world with financial solvency.
As the seven-minute presentation played, Peter began to realize what was involved and his pulse quickened. This can’t be right.
Is this for real? he typed.
Most certainly. Our methods have salvaged billions for our clients allowing them to get back on their feet and thrive.
Peter’s insides were in turmoil.
What’s your fee? Peter couldn’t help but think he was making a deal with the devil.
Sherman told him, taking Peter aback.
It may sound high, but that’s it, no hidden fees. All technical and processing costs are included and I will only make money if you are successful. So only I bear the risk.
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 4