Rough Harbor (4 page)

Caitlyn sat in her office, twirling in her chair. It was a fairly small office. Maxwell had said he didn’t want to upset the team when she first came by giving her one of the bigger ones. But she’d been allowed to paint it her own choice of color, a creamy white, and she had filled it with fun art – things she had picked up in London, somewhat funky, kind of avant-garde.

In truth, her own taste was a little more conservative, but she needed to stand out and look different than the leather chairs and wood paneling most people associated with financial management firms. Nothing sent up-and-coming talent away like a place that looked straight out of the men’s lounge at a country club. In general, Caitlyn’s clients hated to be told what to do by old men in three-piece suits.

So, she’d gone deliberately in the opposite direction. And it had worked. Caitlyn tapped her fingers on the desk as she counted in her hand. Fifteen new clients in four months. Not a bad track record.

Maxwell had said good work, of course. And what else?
“Keep that up, and you’ll be running the place in no time.”
She was doing that now, trying to remember everything Maxwell had said to her over the past few months, from the first phone call in London to their last dinner together.

Caitlyn stood and walked over to her window. The view was okay. If you stood on tip-toe and leaned, you could catch a glimpse of Queensbay Harbor, but for the most part, you got a view of the parking lot. Clouds were piling in. It would probably rain later, slicking down the roads and pulling more of the late fall leaves off their branches.

She had thought Maxwell was promising her the firm. But now, with careful consideration of what he had actually said, she realized he’d only made vague hints – which was why she’d needed to search his private office, to see if there had been anything in writing.

She had meant to be in and out, Caitlyn thought. Why did Noah Randall have to be there at that particular moment? She hadn’t found anything, which Caitlyn thought was exactly how it was supposed to be. Maxwell wouldn’t have put anything like that in writing. Maxwell Randall was not the type to throw over his own son for anyone, not even her.

Noah had looked good. California and his life choices had agreed with him. He’d filled out his lanky frame until she couldn’t help but notice the way the shirt had stretched across his muscles. Dark hair, tan, and the smell of whisky and wood had mingled together. She closed her eyes, breathing, imagining the smell of him.

Caitlyn sighed. Noah Randall was as different from Michael St. John as night and day, but in those few moments with Noah she’d felt more – what? Longing, desire? – than she had in months.

It was only because of their history together. Their unresolved history. When someone was supposed to have been your first, and it didn’t work out, and then he shows up looking all yummy and delicious… and angry… well, a girl couldn’t help how she felt, could she?

Caitlyn shook her head and smoothed her gray skirt, straightened her blouse. There was a staff meeting in ten minutes, and since she hadn’t heard from Maxwell’s lawyer, she had a sense of where this was going. Maxwell Randall, smooth, wily and an operator, had used her to help him save his ass.

And now he was dead. Too much to drink, leaning too far out over the edge of the bluff, and now he was gone. Caitlyn should have gotten something in writing from the old bastard. A lovable one, but a bastard none the less.

The phone rang. And rang. Caitlyn looked at it. Her assistant, Heather Malloy, was supposed to answer it, but she must not be at her desk, again.

“Caitlyn Montgomery,” she said, picking the phone up and pulling a pad towards her to jot down notes.

“Well, well, well. I finally get to speak to you in the flesh. Your grandfather always spoke so highly of you.”

Caitlyn froze. Lucas Montgomery was a ghost whose name was rarely spoken.

“Who are you?”

The voice on the other end laughed hoarsely and then coughed. Ex-smoker, Caitlyn thought.

“Peter Flynn. An old friend of your grandfather’s. It always ate me up, how it ended with him.”

Caitlyn went awash in bad memories, staring at a picture on the wall, which seemed to dissolve and distort, as if she could look through it and around it. It was a familiar sensation, the confused jumble of thoughts that always characterized her vision of that night.

“You don’t know who I am?” The voice was slightly accusing, and if Caitlyn read it correctly, slightly miffed.

“No, I am afraid I don’t.” Caitlyn said honestly, while at the same time, her mind was running through the possibilities. Blank. She was drawing a blank. Nothing – not the name, not the voice – rang a bell.

“What a pity. There are quite a few people familiar with my work.”

“Really?” Caitlyn wondered if she had been suckered into listening to a pitch for a job. She could tell him to save his breath. Despite her last name, she had no power over whom they hired.

“Listen, Mr. Flynn, I’m afraid that I can’t help you.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I can guess, and I am afraid that something like that is out of my control here at the Randall Group.”

“Perhaps. When Maxwell was alive, of course, I am sure you felt you had quite a bit of power. But now he’s gone, and things are, how shall we say, up in the air? I hear you’re going to have a big meeting soon, isn’t that so? Find out what the future has in store now that your fearless captain is gone.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Caitlyn said, gritting her teeth.

“That would be a mistake,” he said quickly and with authority.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t,” she countered.

“Because I know, even if you don’t, that nothing you could have done would have stopped Lucas Montgomery from killing himself that night.” Peter Flynn delivered this extraordinary statement in a flat, emotionless voice.

Caitlyn stopped herself from hanging up the phone. The man’s words reached out across the air as her hand hovered, her mind making a decision, yet her hand unwilling to commit.

“Do I have your attention now?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Good. I have information about your grandfather’s death.”

“What kind of information?” Caitlyn asked, too quickly, then willed herself not to betray her eagerness.

“Not so fast. I don’t give information away for free.”

Of course, everything came with a price.

“I don’t think what you could tell me would be any worse than what I already know,” Caitlyn said.

Flynn chuckled, and Caitlyn felt the icy fingers of fear tickle her neck. She looked up and saw her door was open but no one was paying the least bit of attention to her.

“Not necessarily worse. But wouldn’t you like to know the truth, the why?”

“I know the why,” Caitlyn said. Everyone knew the why.

“There are two sides to every story. I have a good story, better than the one you already know.”

“How can I be sure?”

“There’s no one left to tell you, is there? All the old cronies are gone. Maxwell gone. He’s not there to protect you now. Ever wonder why he was such a nice old man to you? You were just about the only one he was nice to. Especially as he started to go off the deep end,” Peter Flynn said.

“What do you want?” Caitlyn said, growing impatient again, even while knowing it was the truth.

“A fair exchange, little Miss Montgomery. I want some information from you, and in return, I’ll tell you something that might put that uneasy conscience of yours to rest.”

“Who said I had one?”

“I would, if the night my grandfather killed himself was the one night I chose to break curfew. I would think that ‘if only’ must go through your head on a pretty regular basis.”

“I’m hanging up now.” Caitlyn could hear his laughter as she put the phone down, slamming it forcefully on its cradle, willing it to be silent. She looked up and around her small office.

Wasn’t this what she was looking for, by coming back home? An answer to the why? She knew the what. Everyone knew the story. Lucas Montgomery, founder of the Montgomery-Randall Group, investment advisor to the genteel rich, had driven his Lincoln Town Car, not his beloved Mercedes coupe, down to a deserted beach one evening towards the end of the summer. He had shot himself with a gun, no one knowing where he had gotten it, and left a note, saying, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to. Do what you can.”

And then the stories came out, hushed up, but out there nonetheless. Unaccounted transactions at the firm, money missing, all of her grandfather’s shares going directly to Maxwell. Almost single-handedly, Maxwell had saved the firm, using her grandfather’s death to win sympathy and forestall mass client defections. With help from a few friends, everything had been saved. The Montgomery-Randall Group carried on, a disaster forestalled by a sacrifice. The fact that her grandfather had had cancer, inoperable and terminal, was no consolation. He’d spared himself a messy death and left the crap for others to clean up.

Caitlyn sighed. She could not imagine anything worse than what she already knew.

Caitlyn entered the conference room. It was a large space; still, it was filled to bursting with every employee of the firm. The Randall Group was on the top floor of a five-story building. Nothing like the glass and steel tower she had worked at in London.

Inside the room, Caitlyn could feel the nervousness rolling off of people. It was in their eyes, and in the sweaty armpits of Bob Harper from the mail room. Faces reflected in the sheen of the conference room table’s shiny surface were worried, ghostly almost. They were all wondering what would become of them.

There was a slight swirl of air as heads turned towards the door. Two men entered, and Caitlyn felt her heart sink, even though she had prepared herself for this. Maxwell the Bastard had struck again. She felt a burn in her throat and just maybe the pricking of a hot angry tear before she got a hold of herself.

Maxwell had used her, she thought, as Sam Harris began to speak. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual tan. In the summer months, he spent most of his spare time on his boat or hanging out at the yacht club. By October, Caitlyn suspected he had a little help from the bottle.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce you to someone. Many of us here have worked at the Randall Group for years. It’s always felt like a family firm, Maxwell like a benevolent uncle guiding the ship.”

Caitlyn felt the anger rising in her. Benevolent, her ass. Cheating, deceitful user was more like it.

Sam straightened his tie before continuing. As usual, he wore a suit, gray with pinstripes and a striped tie, this one alternating navy and red. Caitlyn had seldom seen him wear anything but, not even a subdued paisley. He eschewed French cuff shirts and cuff links and wore a simple watch with a leather band. He even drove a nice, practical car. Sam Harris had been the man to rein in Maxwell’s wilder tendencies, but he did little to inspire anyone to greatness.

“It was a terrible tragedy that Maxwell Randall was taken from us so soon.”

Caitlyn scanned the room. The faces had changed from scared and nervous to puzzled. Most were trying to get a better glimpse of the man who stood behind Sam, just out of view – all except for Tommy Anderson. He caught her looking at him and grinned.

She gave a half-smile. Tommy Anderson was a financial analyst, always running numbers, evaluating deals. He had dark hair, blue eyes, and an MBA from a top business school. He had joined the firm almost a year before Caitlyn came, and he and Sam were good buddies. Suddenly, Caitlyn had a very bad feeling about this.

“In order for our ship to weather these stormy seas in the next few months, we need to present a clear and united front to our customers and the investment community. So while ownership of the Randall Group has passed to Maxwell’s son, Noah Randall, I will be stepping in as the CEO, with Tommy Anderson as my vice president for the foreseeable future.”

There were a few murmurs around the conference room, and someone started clapping. Soon enough, everyone joined in, including Caitlyn, giving some half-hearted slaps of her hands together. So this was how it was going to be.

“Excuse me, excuse me.” Sam Harris raised his arms and called for quiet.

“As I said, I would like to introduce to someone. Noah, why don’t you come forward?”

Sam Harris moved out of the way, and Noah stepped forward. Caitlyn looked up and caught his eye. She stared at him for a moment, holding his dark eyes with her own. He had to look away.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he began. Caitlyn tuned him out, focusing on the small seething little bit of rage within her. The Randall Group was supposed to be hers. Not Noah Randall’s, the prodigal son, and certainly not Sam Harris’s and Tommy Anderson’s. It was supposed to have been her legacy and now, once again, it was slipping through her fingers.

“Can we talk?”

Caitlyn looked up and saw Noah in her doorframe.

“I guess I don’t have much choice. You’re the boss.” Caitlyn flipped over some papers on her desk, not looking at Noah. “Unless you came here to fire me. In which case, just so you know, my contract calls for a rather generous severance payment.”

“Caitlyn,” Noah said with a laugh. He stepped in through the door and closed it, but not before he caught a glimpse of the very interested look on the face of her assistant, Heather Something.

“I don’t want to fire you. From all reports, you’re the one who’s keeping the firm from going belly up.”

Caitlyn stopped what she was doing and looked at him. He was wearing a blazer, in a casual tweed pattern, and a light blue shirt with jeans and brown shoes. He didn’t look like a banker, and that wasn’t what he intended. He was a computer guy, and came from a place where a clean t-shirt meant you were dressed up.

“Who told you that?” she asked.

“Gary Burton, that’s who.” Noah sat down and placed his hands on the clear surface of her desk. Caitlyn’s office was modern to the extreme, including a clear, glass-topped desk supported on simple metal rods.

Caitlyn nodded. “It’s nice to know I have some admirers.”

“Which is why you’re probably wondering why Sam Harris is acting CEO.”

Caitlyn waited.

Noah smiled. Caitlyn, when she wanted, could appear as patient as the Sphinx. She had been a skilled chess player and an even better poker player, simply because she could bluff better than anyone he knew. It hadn’t been her poker face. It had been her ability to turn her charm on, thereby making every rational thought fly out of your head.

“You were saying?” she asked.

Noah started. He’d been looking at her, searching her face, getting lost in her eyes again.

“Sam Harris is the obvious choice for now. Everyone would expect it. You’re new. Young. We don’t want anyone to get spooked.” Noah finished, knowing how lame it all sounded.

“Funny. I thought youth was a good thing these days. And last I checked, you’re only two years older than I am.”

Noah said nothing, and she rushed on, “So, I’m just supposed to play nice, go along like nothing has happened?” Caitlyn shook her head. “Maxwell is dead. He was your father. Don’t you feel anything?”

Noah looked up, fighting to keep the hurt off of his face. She’d always known how to cut him to the quick.

“Of course I feel something. You’re right, he was my father. And we’ve barely talked over the last ten years. I always thought there would be more time. That somehow, someday, I would just make him see. See me, who I became. See me as a success.”

Noah dropped his head down into his hands and was silent.

She got up and walked around her desk. Without thinking, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. He breathed her in, the heady, flowery scent of her hair, and the spicier, warm smell that must have been her perfume.

Finally, he looked up at her, their faces close again.

“Caitlyn,” he started to say, but she pulled away, so there was good foot or two of space between them. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to make sure they knew where they were supposed to be.

“I have work to do. You should go. I am sure you have some place to be.”

He looked at her for a long moment, putting a question in his eyes, until finally Caitlyn broke and dropped her gaze.

“I’ll go for now, Caitlyn. But we’re not done talking. There are some things I need to tell you.”

She just opened the door for him. He brushed past her on his way out, deliberately letting his shoulder touch hers. She felt it, too – the small thrill of electricity. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in the quick hiss of her breath and the way she quickly jumped back, giving him a wide berth.

“I look forward to working with you, Miss Montgomery,” he said as he stepped out in the hall. Heads of assistants and secretaries swiveled towards him.

Caitlyn smiled. Two could play this game. “As do I, Mr. Randall.”