Lost and Found (28 page)

AS SOON AS
Andee is gone, she returns to her desk and picks up the phone. She dials information and asks for the listing she wants. She waits, tapping her pen on the edge of her desk, while the operator searches for the number. It doesn't take long.

"Thank you," she says, and then hangs up and dials the number she's been given.

"Kelly Whitmore, please. This is Brigitte Bouvier calling." She reaches for a notepad while she waits.

"This is Kelly."

"Hello, Kelly, how are you?"

"Brigitte, I'm well, thank you. But I was so sorry to hear of your loss."

"Yes, it's a difficult time, as you know. How long has your father been gone now?" She taps her pen against the desk again. The pleasantries require such patience.

"Almost six months."

"Such a loss. Duke was a good man. He is missed in the valley, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, just as Gerard will be missed. What can I do for you, Brigitte?"

She clears her throat. "Kelly, I have a business deal I'd like to discuss with you. I'd like to meet at your earliest convenience. I'd prefer we speak in person. I'm happy to come to your office."

"Well, you've piqued my curiosity. How about tomorrow morning at 9:15?"

She jots the time on her notepad. "Perfect, I'll see you then. Merci, Kelly."

AT 9:00 A.M. SHE
parks her Bentley Continental outside the offices of Whitmore and Whitmore Wines. Though Kelly is young—midthirties, she'd guess—she's earned a reputation as a strong businesswoman. She was running Whitmore and Whitmore long before Duke died and is proving she'll far exceed her father's vision for the business.

The timing of this meeting is fortuitous. Duke never would have agreed to the offer she's about to make.

She reaches to the passenger seat for her Chanel Black Caviar briefcase and exits her car. She enters the building through the large etched-glass front doors and stops at the reception desk.

"Brigitte Bouvier for Kelly Whitmore." She brushes invisible lint from her suit jacket as she waits.

"Brigitte." Kelly extends her hand.

"Hello, Kelly. Nice to see you again." She notices Kelly's designer suit and the large diamond on her right hand. "You're looking well."

They exchange the usual small talk on the way to Kelly's office. But once inside, with the door closed, the tone changes.

Kelly sits behind her large glass and chrome desk, offering Brigitte a seat opposite her. Her choice is intentional, Brigitte assumes. And she respects her for it. She is young, bold, and she holds the power here. She won't let Brigitte forget it. Kelly reminds her of herself.

"You said you have a deal you'd like to discuss?"

"I do."

They dive in.

"It's come to my attention that you're holding a demand note for Azul." She sees a flicker of surprise in Kelly's eyes, but Kelly is quick to conceal it.

"How did you happen upon that information?"

"Does it matter?" There's no reason to reveal her source. That was Andee's stipulation—a wise one, of course.

"No, I don't suppose it does."

"I'd like to buy the note. I'm prepared to offer you a generous return, of course."

Kelly swivels her chair and opens the credenza behind her desk. She pulls out a file folder, turns back to Brigitte, and opens the file. "You're aware of the amount owed?"

"I am."

"What kind of return are we talking about?"

"I'll pay one hundred and fifty percent of the amount currently owed."

Kelly nods. "Are you also aware that Bill Durand says my father cancelled this note? Told him he'd tear it up?"

"I'd heard that." How foolish Durand had been, not to have that cancellation in writing and witnessed.

"But there is no record of that discussion, nor, as you can see, was the note ever destroyed. Durand is lying."

"Obviously."

Kelly leans back in her chair and eyes Brigitte. She smiles and then laughs. "I'd love to know why you want it, but I won't ask. That's your business."

"Oui . . . And I'd like your word that this transaction will remain anonymous. If you accept, I'll have my attorney contact you to take care of the details."

Kelly nods, closes the file, and stands. She reaches across her desk to shake Brigitte's hand. "Your secret is safe with me. I accept your offer."

"You'd be foolish not to." Brigitte stands and takes her hand.

"I'm no fool, Mrs. Bouvier."

"No, you've proven that. In fact"—she looks Kelly up and down—"you remind me a bit of myself."

"Thank you. I consider that a high compliment."

"As you should . . ."

They laugh together as Kelly walks her to the door.

She walks to her car, satisfaction knit into a tight smile. Soon, she will implement the next phase of her plan. Her meeting with Andee yesterday proved fruitful. She was glad to see that Andee didn't allow her personal relationship with Jason to interfere with business.

She considers again the stipulation Andee demanded. Complete anonymity. As Andee reminded her, it is in both their best interests. They each know too much. Brigitte has a flash of doubt. Did she reveal too much to Andee with her call just after Gerard's passing? Will Andee use her knowledge against her? No. That is the brilliance of Andee's plan—neither of them will reveal the details because both have too much to lose.

It's perfect. Her respect for Andee has grown over the last twenty-four hours. She lives up to her philosophy—she doesn't let anything or anyone stand in the way of her goals—not even her relationship with Jason Durand.

The only Durand she'll have to deal with now is Jenna. And this little business transaction ensures that Jenna Durand Bouvier will remain a Bouvier.

What choice will she have?

The end, as the Americans are so fond of saying, justifies the means.

Her laughter fills the interior of the Bentley as she pulls out of the parking lot.

The external actions of a person's life proceed from the inward man. When you live in your old self, you have a strong will and many desires, with ups and downs of all sorts.

JEANNE GUYON

I GUN THE
Porsche around the final curves in the road before turning off on the winding drive that leads to Azul. As I pull into a parking space, I reach for the radio and turn off the talk of KGO that filled the void in the car, and my mind, as I drove.

I called Bill last night and set this appointment, making sure it was set for a time Jason wouldn't be at the winery. All I revealed to Bill was that I had news after speaking with Kelly Whitmore's attorney.

Sorry, Bill, the news isn't good.

I could have delivered the news over the phone, but a personal visit makes me look good. Facts are facts.

I reach for my briefcase, get out of the car, and set the alarm. I take a deep breath to clear my mind. Don't overthink this, Andee. It's business. That's all. If Bill had been wiser in his business dealings, this wouldn't be happening. You're just delivering news of his consequences.

Anyway, I remind myself, I don't know what Brigitte will do with the demand note. Maybe she'll leave well enough alone. Maybe she's just bailing out a family friend.
Yeah, right.

As I walk toward the winery offices, I run through the plan one more time. There's just one risk: Brigitte. Can I trust her? No. But I have some collateral—she doesn't want her involvement known at this point either.

We'll see . . .

In any event, I don't work for Azul. I took nothing from them in return for my services. Just listened to Bill and, as far as he's concerned, made a helpful phone call to check out the situation.

I pull open the heavy oak door of the winery tasting room, take an immediate left, and follow a hallway that opens into the winery offices. Bill stands at a coffeepot in the reception area, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Andee, good to see you." He sets his cup down and reaches to shake my hand. "May I offer you a cup?"

I look at the weak brew and shake my head. "No, thanks." Has he spoken to Jason in the last thirty-six hours? Does he know . . . ? I put the thought out of my mind.

"Well, then, follow me and we'll have a seat in my office."

"Great."

We round a corner and enter Bill's office, where he motions me to a brown distressed-leather chair. He sits on the matching sofa. In front of the corner arrangement is a large cowhide-covered ottoman scattered with wine magazines. The office's decor is what I expected: warm, comfortable, relaxed. Just like Bill. Just like Jason.

I scoot forward in the large chair.
Don't get comfortable, Andee. This isn't a social call.
"Well, Bill, I'm afraid I have some potentially bad news."

"I was afraid of that." He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"I spoke with the Whitmore's attorney, as I told you on the phone, and he told me that sometime within the last week, Kelly sold your note to an anonymous investor who offered her substantially more than the value of the note."

He takes in the information, nods. "So what does that mean for Azul?"

"I don't know for sure. That's why I said it's potentially bad news. It could mean that whoever bought the note will demand payment immediately. If you can't pay, then they will ultimately force Azul into bankruptcy."

He shakes his head.

"Or maybe whoever purchased the note just wants to protect you—help you out. If Kelly made it known that she was holding such a note, then it's possible someone you know stepped forward on your behalf and wants to remain anonymous."

"Can't think who'd do something like that. But I suppose it's possible . . ."

"Time will tell."

"That it will." He leans back. He seems relaxed considering the information he's just heard. "It's all in God's hands."

God's hands? Actually, it's in Brigitte's hands.
I just nod. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, Bill."

"Andee, you did what you could and I appreciate it."

I stand to leave, making the excuse that I have another meeting to get to.

Bill stands and shakes my hand again. "Thanks again, Andee. Hope to see you soon."

Not likely.

After the meeting with Bill, I drive back to the city and go straight to the studio, where I tape several radio segments. From the studio, I head over to Silicon Valley for a meeting. After that meeting, I return calls, including one to a cable producer interested in producing the
Andee Bell Show
. Once back at my office, I make a long list of things that need my attention in the next few weeks: Web site revamp, manuscript edits, book tour, promotional events, media requests. The list goes on and on.

I prioritize and determine what I need to do myself, and what I can pass off to Cassidy. I look at the list again and add: hire a publicist and call real estate broker.

It's time I build my staff and invest in an office building.

I have a busy year ahead of me.

It has to be.

I open my e-mail. Cass has already gone through the [email protected] folder and responded to what she could. The remainder I'll deal with. Then I open my personal e-mail folder and see an e-mail from Jason.

"Well, I might as well get this over with." Sam, who's curled himself around my desk lamp, looks at me and hisses.

I open Jason's e-mail and read:

Dear Andee,

I'm concerned about you. I understand if you need some space. Know that I love you and I'm here for you when you're ready.

Jason

I don't let myself think or feel. I just act.

Dear Jason,

My intent isn't to hurt you, but I told you in the beginning that I don't have time for personal relationships and I'm not being fair to either of us. I need to remain focused on my goals and give full attention to my business endeavors.

I'm sorry. I wish you well . . .

Andee

Jason deserves more than that. But that's all I can give him.

"He'll get over it," I say to Sam. "And so will you."

With that done, I dive into work. I work through the afternoon and into the evening. I suffocate any thought or feeling that surfaces with work.

I won't let up.

I can't let up.

Remember the present moment is where we meet God.

JEANNE GUYON