Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions (5 page)

“If I might ask, Ms. Monahan, what is it you do in Toronto?” she asked me.

“Do? You know what I do. I work with Cleve Johnston. At the law firm.”

“Yes. I know that. But are you a securities lawyer, or a tax lawyer, or a corporate lawyer? I wasn’t sure since Mr. Johnston hadn’t had time to fill us in on his new partners.”

I was dumbfounded.

“Uh. I work in the securities and corporate field. But I’m not a lawyer Carrie. I’m a secretary. Like you. A legal secretary, but a secretary just the same. In my last job I had the high and mighty title of Corporate Securities Paralegal. But I was just a glorified secretary.”

As I was telling her this her eyes got a little wider and a slight smile showed at the corners of her mouth. I waited for the inevitable bitchy response.

“I’m glad to know that,” she said genuinely. “And I hope I can stay around and help you out here.” She mischievously wrinkled her nose and I knew her offer was genuine.

“Thanks Carrie.” I knew I had a comrade in arms. “Are all of the directors in the boardroom?”

She nodded.

“Then show me how to sneak out of here without running into any of them.”

Tommy’s driver, the same one who had picked me up at the airport, drove me to The New York Palace Hotel and whisked me through the reception up to the 54th floor. He assured me he had already checked in for me and that my suite was ready. I was feeling a little like a movie star.

He left me with his card and told me to page him, at any time, if I needed his services. The name on the card read “Lou Cardenello”.

“Thank you, Lou,” I told him. He handed me the key to my room and silently walked back down the hall. I closed the heavy door and turned around to survey the room. Or rooms. The suite was huge. And luxurious.

I threw my suitcase on the bed and proceeded to unpack. My clothes seemed seedy and worn in this room, and I wished I had taken the time to pull out some of my good outfits. Okay. One good outfit. I called the valet service from the phone beside the bed and asked how soon I could get clothes dry-cleaned.

“Immediately, Ms. Monahan. Within the hour. Just put everything in a bag you’ll find in your closet on the floor by your door, and I’ll send a bellman to pick them up right away.”

Now that was service.

I stuffed everything I had brought with me except a clean pair of panties and sweat socks into the laundry bag and tossed it out to the front door. Then I grabbed the thick, terry cloth robe hanging in the closet, and locked myself in the bathroom for some privacy and a long, hot soak.

The bathroom was the size of a small gymnasium and the sunken bathtub could hold a family of six. While I waited for the tub to fill, I found a well stocked bar hidden in a mahogany armoire.
In the bathroom.
The height of decadence. I filled one of the large crystal glasses with Diet Coke and slid into the tub.

I dozed off for a few minutes and the electronic ringing of the telephone woke me. The buzzing sound irritated me and I thrashed around in the water for a moment, trying to get my bearings and came perilously close to going under. I made a mental note to wear a lifejacket in the tub next time I took a bath.

The phone was conveniently located on the wall beside the tub and I grabbed at it to make the buzzing stop. I had been asleep longer than I thought because the water in the tub was cool.

“Hello.” I started shivering.

“Kate?”
Shit. It was Cleve. My hiding was over.

“Oh. Hi. Cleve.”

“Kate. You shouldn’t have disappeared on us like that.”

“I didn’t disappear. Tommy’s secretary knew where I was. I had to get out for a while.”

“Okay, okay. Listen. I’ve a few things to say to you. First, my condolences. I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was.”

I cut him off before he became too maudlin.

“That’s okay Cleve.” I looked around the bathroom to see if I could manage to get out of the tub and grab a towel and still hang on to the phone. The receiver cord was very short so I continued to shiver.

“Secondly, Kate. As much as this whole situation is a shock to you, we have to move swiftly on a few business issues. That’s where we need your full attention and co-operation. I’ve kept the members of the board here in town and I’d like to call a special meeting of the directors tonight. With your consent of course.”

A special meeting of the directors. That term was very familiar to me but it had never before given me such an eerie feeling. Special meetings are those called on an urgent basis, when there isn’t time to give as much notice of the meeting as is required in the company’s by-laws. In those circumstances, I’m generally running around like crazy, typing up waivers for the directors to sign, consenting to the business to be transacted the meeting, etc., etc. This time though, I wouldn’t have to prepare any of the documents for the meeting. Usually, before special meetings of directors, I’d run around like a meshugana getting everyone settled. Looking after grown men. I guess this time someone else would look after the documents and
I’d
sit in on the meeting. And they wanted my consent.

“Sure. What time is it now?”

“Five thirty.”

“Fine. Call the meeting for nine o’clock. In the meantime, I’d like to meet with Tommy’s personal lawyer and have him describe to me the terms of the will. How it relates to my inheritance of the shares. I want to know exactly where I stand before I go in that meeting.”

“Uhm. I’ll try and get in touch with him.”

“Cleve. I’m
not
going in that meeting without knowing where I stand. You either find that lawyer or you can send all of the directors home.” I wanted to finish off with: Do I make myself clear? That was one of my mother’s favourite expressions, but this man had been my boss earlier in the day.

“You’re right. I’ll call you back, Kate.”

I quickly pulled myself out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me. My clothes had all been returned to my suite and were hanging in the closet in plastic wrap. They had even ironed my sweatpants. I could learn to love this.

chapter seven

While I waited for Cleve to call me back, I telephoned my parents to break the news about Tommy. They were upset, especially my mother who had adored him. I deliberately neglected to tell them about the will.

Then I called Jay and told him I was in New York.

“What a surprise!” he said excitedly. “Can we do something tonight?”

“No. Sorry.” I stalled.

“Oh. No problem. Are you working?”

“Not exactly. Well kind of. At Phoenix Technologies.”

“Oh yeah,” he said slowly. “Your ex-husband’s company.” A slight tone of jealousy came through when he said ex-husband. That miffed me a little.

“No longer ex-husband, Jay. He died.”

“Oh. Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry Kate.”

“Thanks. That’s why I’m here. In New York.”

“What happened?”

“He was shot.”

“Shit. Only in New York. Should I come over?”

“No, it’s okay. There’s some sort of special directors meeting tonight, which I’m involved in.” Another grand understatement. “I don’t know what time it’ll be over. Maybe I’ll call you later?”

“Of course. For sure. Anything.”

“Great. I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

“Kate.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry about Tommy. I love you.”

“Bye Jay.”

God, we were great conversationalists. We were just out of practice, I told myself. The red light on the phone was blinking, and I stared at it. Another fucking voice mail system. The card beside the phone told me how to access my messages and I dialed a series of numbers just to hear a click. The caller hadn’t bothered to leave a message. So I sat huddled on the bed waiting for the phone to ring.

The room was dark and it matched my mood. The situation I found myself in was overwhelming. I was supposedly now the major shareholder of a high technology, publicly-traded company. The responsibility was going to be tremendous. Eleven hundred employees. Probably several hundred shareholders. Offices in several cities. Products and services that I knew absolutely dick-all about. To say nothing of the Beatles’ collection and the exotic fish. And what the hell was I going to do with
golf clubs
?

Lou, the driver, pulled the car up to a steel-encased skyscraper on Fifth Avenue where I could see Cleve waiting for me at the front entrance. I had the back door of the car open before Lou could get to it and he looked a little put out as I got out of the car.

“I’ll wait,” he told me. “But I can’t park here so please call my pager when you’re ready to leave.”

“It’s okay. We can get a cab.”

“I
don’t
think so, ma’am. This is my job.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” I was going to have to get used to dealing with this one.

Cleve signed us in at the security desk in the large, cavernous lobby and quickly led me to the elevator bank marked for floors 52 through 70. We were both silent as the elevator started and I sneaked a glance at Cleve’s profile. There were visible lines around the corners of his eyes and the laugh lines which were normally so noticeable around his mouth had disappeared.

“Tired?” I asked him.

“Exhausted,” he said without looking at me.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your loss.” He turned to face me and suddenly he looked like a little boy in a giant’s body.

“I know you and Tommy were close. More than just client and attorney.”

He nodded his head. “You’re right. It had gone past the attorney-client relationship in the last couple of years. We golfed. You know.”

The elevator doors opened and we entered directly into a darkened reception area. Cleve led me past several groups of arm chairs and sofas and through a set of large, double doors into the offices beyond. He obviously knew where he was going and he flicked the light switch on in a small, glass-enclosed meeting room. He plunked his briefcase down on the table and immediately picked up the phone and dialed a three-digit number.

“We’re here,” was all he said before he hung up the phone.

“Know your way around, don’t you?”

“Remember? I used to work here. Not that I spent much time in the New York office,” he explained. And then it hit me. We were in the New York office of Scapelli’s. When Cleve had called me at the hotel to tell me that he had arranged for us to meet with Tommy’s personal lawyer, he didn’t mention what firm he was with. But it made sense. Most clients keep all of their work within the same law firm. The name Dennis Hillary wasn’t familiar to me but he had probably not been with the firm when I was an employee years ago in the Toronto office.

I took a seat and waited. When Mr. Hillary entered the meeting room I wasn’t surprised to see a man who looked like the proverbial bookworm. Guys who did wills and estates were not the most exciting types, and Dennis certainly fit the bill. He was small, not that I held that against him, although with three inch heels on I’d probably tower over him at the cotillion. Long strands of damp hair were brushed over his bald head, from one ear to the other. Little bug eyes stared at me through thick, frameless glasses, and when I stood up to shake his hand, he wouldn’t look directly at me. His hand was damp and the shake was lifeless. He didn’t let me down either, when he started to speak and his stutter was easily discernible.

The man immediately went up several notches in my esteem, because I knew that no worthy law firm would have such a nerd on staff, unless he was absolutely brilliant. Dennis settled himself at the table and messed with the bellows file of materials in front of him. He glanced at Cleve several times and it was obvious that Cleve’s presence made him nervous.

He cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke.

“Miss Monahan. First of all, let me express my deepest condolences.” He was looking at the tabletop as he said this. I looked over at Cleve with a little grin on my face and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Thank you Mr. Hillary.”

He balled up his fist which he placed in front of his mouth and coughed, clearing his throat.

“As Mr. Johnston has told you, I had the job of preparing Mr. Connaught’s last will and testament.” He finally looked up at me. “Which I have right here.” He proudly flourished a thick document.

I would hope so, I thought.

“Before I proceed with the reading, might I ask if you would like Mr. Johnston,” he coughed again behind his hand, “to uhm, leave, uhm, wait for us outside?”

There were little beads of sweat clearly visible on his forehead and under his lower lip. The man needed to calm down.

“No that won’t be necessary. But maybe Mr. Johnston could round up some cold drinks for us?” I looked over at Cleve and gave him a look, which he clearly didn’t understand, but he lumbered out of his chair and left the room.

“Mr. Hillary. I need Mr. Johnston to be here. He’s Phoenix Technologies’ corporate lawyer. He obviously makes you nervous, but please, calm down.”

Dennis gave a high-pitched squeal, and his face broke out in a wide grin.

“No. No, no, no. Mr. Johnston and I are colleagues. It’s
you
I’m a little nervous of. People around here still speak of you, and even before Mr. Connaught named you in his will, I knew of you. We have several partners here in New York who started in the Toronto office. Some of them as law students. They still quiver at the mention of your name.”

I guffawed. “You’re putting me on, Dennis.”

He shook his head. “Oh no, Miss. Your reputation has certainly preceded you. I understand you used to run quite a tight ship there in Toronto. May I tell you one of my favourite stories, one that gets repeated most years at the firm party?”

Jesus. The man was looney-tunes.

“Sure,” I agreed, glancing at the door, hoping for my knight with the Cokes to return swiftly.

“Several years after you had left Scapelli’s,” he started, “you returned to the law firm one night with your current boss. Scapelli’s was acting for the company you worked for, doing, uhm, an acquisition, I believe.”