Lies of Men Page 2

  “Of course, Wade. Come on in.” I flicked a hand at the chair across from me, and he stepped forward, closing the door behind him. Not a good sign.

  As he settled his lanky frame into the chair, I felt my stomach knot. What had started as an empathetic offer to buy me out had moved into subtle undermining when I hadn’t immediately jumped on board with his plan. I had a feeling today’s visit would be more of the same.

  “Andrea, I’ll get right to the point,” he said, smoothing his tie. “The board has decided to bring in a management consultant to help us formulate our near-term strategy. It’s work that needs an outside point of view. Someone who can step back and offer an opinion in ways that insiders are unable to do. I’m sure you and Borkowski will give him whatever he needs.”

  There it was, the first step in minimizing my role. Heat rose up the back of my neck.

  “Just a minute,” I said. “Are you telling me that you and the balance of the board have made this decision and retained this consultant behind my back? It’s fascinating how often you seem to forget that not only am I a board member, but I’m also the primary shareholder.”

  I glared at Ramelli, keeping my volume low but not holding back an ounce of the outrage I was feeling.

  “Don’t overreact, Andrea. You and I have discussed this in principle.” He pushed his shoulders back into the leather, smiling at me with the confidence of a dentist about to drill, but his tone betrayed him.

  “And you’ve totally ignored my point of view. Working around me, even. We both know this is just the latest in your attempt to sideline me.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort. For this company to survive, to thrive, we need a well-developed strategy. This is simply intended as an outside voice, a third party who can provide objective industry perspective. He’ll work with you and Borkowski to develop a plan. I don’t understand why you’re being so defensive.”

  “Really?”

  For a fraction of a second, a sheepish look crossed his eyes but was quickly replaced by the practiced nonchalance of I-don’t-give-a-shit.

  “We may not have a long history,” I continued, “but you’re forgetting that my entire career has been about rooting out lies. I’ve gotten very good at sensing when I’m being played.”

  “And how should the board react to your objection to developing a strategy?”

  He looked at me with the hint of a smug smile lighting his eyes. He had me backed into a corner, exactly the way he wanted. If I refused to cooperate, the board would see me as self-serving and obstructionist even if we both knew what was going on. I matched his smugness with a smile of my own.

  “I look forward to working with him,” I said. Game on.

  3

  I was three moves into a chess match I hadn’t even known I was playing. I rubbed the back of my neck and tossed the balance of my salad into the trash. Why eat this flaccid mess when I was meeting Cai at Nico in two hours?

  The conversation with Ramelli had left me steaming and feeling manipulated. I had no doubt that this consultant was entirely Ramelli’s doing. It was a ruse to justify a coup or an attempt at making my life at Link-Media so miserable that I would be the one begging to leave. The consultant was probably one of Ramelli’s buddies hand-feeding him a desired outcome.

  The legal realities of my ownership made it impossible for the board to fire me outright, but they could make it ugly. Did I want a life that included constant animosity from the people who were supposed to be my advisors?

  It was a question I wasn’t yet prepared to answer. I’d hoped, probably still did, that it wouldn’t come to that. Ownership of Link-Media had been the last thing on my mind when Erik was killed. We’d been a few short months away from finalizing our divorce, and my thoughts had centered around cracking the sniper story well enough to prove myself as a journalist capable of being hired by someone other than my husband after the dust settled. Little did I know that the sniper story would bring about his death.

  Still married in the eyes of Illinois law, I’d inherited Erik’s business, installed Borkowski as the managing editor, and hoped that would suffice. In the eight months since, I’d had to wrestle with the overwhelming grief and guilt, my life in total upheaval, and I’d survived mainly by using work as an avoidance mechanism. But was I digging in over retaining control of Link-Media because I wanted to own this business or because selling it would be one more change I had to face?

  I turned back to my notes on the embezzlement case. Somewhere in here was an angle I could work with. Nathan Sikora, the victim’s son, and Wright’s ex-wife, Elyse, both seemed majorly pissed off. Pissed off was good. Pissed off made people talk.

  I started with Elyse. Given the couple’s social standing, I’d start with a simple Google search then go deeper using Lexis-Nexis once I had a few parameters.

  I pored over link after link outlining the couple’s philanthropic pursuits and business accomplishments.

  Elyse was highly accomplished in her own right. After completing her MBA at Northwestern, she had joined Jennus Creative as a copywriter, rising through the ranks to now hold the title of senior account executive. Her bio on the company website included references to Fortune 500 companies all over the country, describing her as focused and determined. I took that to mean hard-charging. In other words, qualities a man would be admired for and a woman suspicious of, at best. The woman I’d seen outside the courthouse wasn’t someone who took crap from anyone. So how had Gavin Wright managed to hide his antics from his wife? Was she too busy with her own life? Or was he just a pro at burying secret accounts?

  The pretrial investigation had absolved Elyse of all guilt, but like any good attorney, Gavin’s counsel might be planning to shed doubt on her clearance if it looked like he would need someone to throw under the bus. Deflection anywhere you could find it could be helpful and would explain the personal PR campaign Elyse Wright seem to be waging. This wasn’t a woman cowering in fear—this was a woman prepared to do anything to protect her reputation.

  It must be one hell of a divorce proceeding. I changed the search parameters to see if I could find any scuttlebutt on their split. Bingo. A familiar name jumped out at me from a year-old article buried in the Sun-Times archive. I reached for my phone. Elyse Wright and I shared the same divorce attorney.

  “Victor, it’s Andrea Kellner.”

  “How nice to hear from you. You’re not calling to ask for a rebate, are you? After all, we didn’t bring our business to conclusion.”

  There was a faint chuckle on the other end of the phone. Well, as much of a chuckle as Victor could give me. Humor wasn’t exactly a skill I knew him for, although I had come to appreciate his attempts.

  “Of course not.” I laughed.

  “How are you managing your new life? I’ve been following your work at Link-Media. That story about the energy drink company was quite intriguing, although it had me questioning my caffeine consumption.”

  I didn’t bother to fill him in on my current life challenges; after all, he wasn’t my shrink or my contract attorney. “That’s why I’m calling. I understand we have a mutual acquaintance—Elyse Wright.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re calling me for dirt. You of all people understand attorney-client privilege.” I could hear the exasperation in his voice. It was a rare moment for him to allow emotion to bubble to the surface.

  “No, not dirt. An introduction. Elyse has been cleared. I thought she might like to tell her side of the story. She, too, has a reputation to protect.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. I knew I was pushing Victor into uncomfortable territory. I also knew that today’s performance in Daley Plaza had probably not been Victor approved.

  “Just ask her if she’ll speak to me,” I said. “Sooner or later she’s going to want to talk to someone about this. Who better than someone who also understands what it’s like to be on the innocent end of shitty male behavior?”

  “Okay, I’ll ask, but I got
ta tell you that I think this is a bad idea. I’m only doing it because I know you’d be fair. My advice to my client will be to refuse the offer. At least until there is a final judgment.”

  I thanked him and reiterated my assurance of sensitivity. Given the complications, the Wright divorce could be in perpetual continuance. However, I was banking on Elyse Wright’s self-interest taking precedent. I didn’t see her as being comfortable in the role of silent victim.

  “You got a minute?”

  I looked up to see Brynn leaning against the doorframe, wearing her typical uniform of a striped button-down shirt and jeans. I motioned her in. As always, a large cup of strong java was welded to her hand. She took a sip and settled into the chair across from me, but her head stayed down and her eyes were focused on the top of the travel mug she gripped.

  I waited for her to speak, sensing I wasn’t going to like what came next. She’d joined me as an intern, becoming invaluable as a researcher. If there was an internet thread somewhere, she could find it.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re quitting,” I said, when the silence became unbearable.

  She looked up, her eyes scrunched. “I don’t want to but…” Her voice cracked. “It’s my mom. She lost her job two months ago, and of course that meant her health insurance went down the tubes. She’s diabetic and hasn’t been taking her insulin. She can’t afford it. I funnel money her way when I can, but it’s not enough.

  “We hoped she’d find a job with insurance right away, but the longer she’s unemployed, the sicker she gets. Now she’s basically too sick to work. Over the weekend she ended up in the hospital. Medicaid will cover some of the bill, but it’s not enough. Somehow, it’s now all on my shoulders.” The words and tears tumbled out. Blotches of red dotted her dark skin. “I love this job, but I don’t make enough to support her too. I know it’s not your problem, but you’ve been so good to me, I wanted you to know what’s going on. I’m going to have to do something, even if it’s adding a part-time job.”

  “I’m so sorry, Brynn.” My mind jumped back to my own family struggles as a young woman. I hadn’t needed to shoulder financial responsibility after my mother died, but I understood at least some of the pressure a family crisis could bring. “Can you give me a few days to see what I can do? I can’t promise anything, but you know I’ll fight to keep you here.”

  She nodded and gave me a small smile. I got to my feet and walked around the desk to give her hug. “Don’t commit to anything until you talk to me. I’ll do what I can.”

  I plopped back in my seat when she left and leaned my elbows on the desk, rubbing my temples as a headache sprung fully grown behind my eyes. Was the universe trying to tell me this buyout idea was a good option?

  4

  I watched the snowflakes shimmer in the light of the streetlamps, pondering my new dilemmas as I headed north on Michigan Avenue in a cab to meet Cai for drinks. What had started as a productive day had morphed into a new set of problems. Hardly the worst day of my life, but these complications were likely to infiltrate everything in my business world for the foreseeable future. Luckily, Victor had acquiesced, phoning me back after speaking with Elyse Wright. That was one for the plus column. Now, would she return the phone message I’d left or make me call back twenty-five times to show me who was in charge?

  Cai was waiting for me at the bar when I arrived. Her long dark hair was still clipped at the back of her head, and her navy blazer was draped over the seat beside her. She’d loosened the tie at the neck of her silk blouse, but her signature Louboutin stilettos hadn’t even slipped the backs of her heels.

  The staff plated dishes in front of her in the open kitchen, but she was oblivious, immersed in her phone. A half-finished martini sat on the counter in front of her as she deftly popped out a text, making faces at the screen as she did so.

  “Good thing that’s not video. You’re not using your poker face right now.”

  She smiled and gave me a hug. “It’s okay. My mood was properly transmitted in written form. Another idiotic brethren who is too stupid to see that his latest motion is contradictory to his case. Lucky for me, but unfortunately, I will have to inform my client that despite the weakness of the argument, it’s going to mean another continuance. It will be our fourth.” She rolled her eyes and set the phone aside.

  “So that explains the martini.” I looked at the menu, deciding on a Nebbiolo from Piemonte, while Cai held out her drink, tempting me. “I’m going to stick with wine. Michael is stopping by later and I’d prefer not to pass out before he shows up.”

  “You’ve become such a lightweight since you started seeing him,” Cai teased, removing the clip and shaking loose her hair.

  “What are you talking about? I’ve always been a lightweight. One martini leads to three, and that leads to regretting everything you did the night before.”

  We laughed, and Cai filled me in on the latest machinations of the case that was her current obsession. After graduating second in her class from the University of Chicago Law School, she had taken a position at Goodin and Wagstaffe, one of the top firms in the city and her cases were always an obsession. If she took a case, she was all in. There was no low-speed setting and her track record reflected it. Supernatural focus was one of her strengths as an attorney—or your nemesis, if you opposed her.

  “And how’s life in the media world today? I’ve been too buried in work to pay attention lately. What’s the big scoop of the moment?” Cai asked.

  “I’ve been sitting in on the Wright trial. You know, that guy who embezzled funds from his elderly client? He’s out on bond, but there are a lot of hot-headed people in that room who’d like to see that change. Screw over an old guy and people get mad.”

  “Please tell me that that lizard is going to jail.”

  The vehemence in her voice caught me off guard. “You’ve been following the trial?”

  “Hard not to. The whole city is pissed off about it.” She looked down at her drink and fidgeted with the skewer of olives before she continued. “And Wright and I overlapped at Goodin for half a minute when I first joined the firm after law school. I can’t stand the guy. Luckily, he left and went into solo practice a year or so later.”

  “And?”

  “And what? We both worked at the same firm. He’s an ass. End of story.”

  “And you look like you want to punch the guy.” Perhaps it was the case she had just taken on or the martini, but I saw anger in the set of her jaw. “Is there some history there?”

  “Stop fishing. You’re just reading my irritation with men in general. It’s always men doing stupid shit, isn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her but let it go. My phone vibrated in my bag. I pulled it out, expecting Michael to be checking in. Nope. Elyse Wright. I tapped and took the call. She agreed to meet, and we made an appointment for the next day at her—our—divorce attorney’s office, which meant she felt the need for a chaperone or maybe was just making Victor happy.

  “Thanks for the break,” I said, finishing the last of my wine. “I should probably get to my apartment before Michael does.”

  “If he blows you off, call me. I’ll have another glass waiting for you.”

  “Only if food is part of the deal.” I smiled and gave her a hug. “You might want to order prosciutto before you have another one of those.”

  I walked the four blocks back to my co-op, past the now dark designer boutiques on Oak Street, the weather helping me to shake off the effects of the glass of wine. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and snow had moved from a light dusting to the early stages of accumulation. Walter, my Ragdoll cat, mewed at me and lunged for my legs as I opened the door. I scooped him up, tossed my bag on the sofa, and gave him some love. He insisted on being my first priority. Attention first, food second. I set him down long enough to get rid of my wet coat, then opened a new can of his favorite smelly, mushy fish.

  Michael had promised to bring dinner, so the only prep I had to do
was to change into something more alluring than the courtroom work garb I had thrown on that morning.

  I’d met Michael several years ago, but I’d only known him slightly through my previous career. He was a detective with the Chicago Police Department and had worked a robbery case I’d prosecuted. We’d become reacquainted last summer after a highway sniper took out a driver in front of me on the Dan Ryan. A shooting that became the impetus for an investigation into what I eventually learned was a high-level real estate play and my first major story.

  Both single at the time, or nearly so in my case, the relationship had inched into the romantic. Inched was my preference; sprint seemed to be Michael’s. It was challenging, not just because I had gone from almost divorced to widowed in the blink of an eye but also because our careers were significant obstacles to a relationship, and we definitely hadn’t figured out the boundaries.

  Before I changed, I grabbed a Pellegrino and walked to the master bath. Boxes of Carrara marble sat stacked in the corner along with adhesive and trowels. A wet saw filled the space where a toilet would eventually be installed. Three rows of hexagon tile had been installed on the wall of the future shower. Good, my contractor had followed through on his commitment.

  The apartment was a grand old sprawling mess of a place with vintage details like herringbone floors and marble mantles. It hadn’t been updated since well before I was born and was substantially more space than one single chick needed. But I hadn’t been single when I purchased it, imagining a life vastly different from the one I lived today. Despite the impracticality, I adored it, even if I had to renovate one room at a time for the next ten years. The kitchen had been completed not long after Erik was killed, and I was now midway through the number two priority, a decent bathroom. Seeing that the installer had made a good start, I changed into jeans and a cashmere sweater I knew hugged the right curves.