Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1) (2 page)

“
I’ll
try,” I said with an outward appearance of agreeable calm. I even
managed a smile.

“
Good
girl.”

Under his
thumb. Confrontation over. Spineless, that’s what I am.

He gazed
upward, trying to recapture the thread of our initial conversation.
“Hmm, now where was I? Oh yes, we have a new client.”

“
Don’t
tell me, another of your eccentric golf buddies is getting divorced
and wants a pre-nup for wife number three?” I couldn’t help the
sarcasm.

“
What a
wit you are, Amanda,” my father replied caustically, “And
matrimonial strife is our bread and butter, in case you’ve
forgotten. Anyway, I’d like
you
to pay him a visit at his house in Sudbury. Tomorrow at
two.”

What the
fuck?

My anger boiled
over. The worm had finally had enough and she turned a little
nasty.

“
You
want
ME
to go? Well thank
you
so
much, Dad. Have you
not noticed the state of my desk lately? Eight urgent cases are
currently sitting in my tray. Does it look like I can take a half
day off for a pleasure trip to Sudbury? You do it. He’s your buddy,
not mine.”

“
He’s not
my buddy. I only met him today. And I would gladly go, you know I
always take the house calls and enjoy it, but I want you to start
to interact with our clients. It’ll be good for you.”

“
Not so
good when I’m in therapy with severe stress and
exhaustion.”

“
Oh,
don’t exaggerate. I’ve worked long hours all my life. It hasn’t put
me in an institution. You need to toughen up, my girl.”

He looked at my
tightly pinched expression and realized he’d said entirely the
wrong thing.

I seethed
inside, my anger boiling like a heated emotional maelstrom. I hurt
so badly. I wanted to slap his face hard and shout at him that I’m
so broken and ruined than I could hardly function, let alone
toughen up.

My memory
stirred. Back to a year ago. The point at which my whole life spun
off its axis. I'd been sitting at home, alone, recovering from my
tears after finally finishing with Franklin. We'd had another
terrible fight, over his jealousy of Calvin. He'd given me an
ultimatum and he'd lost the war. No one was taking my best friend
from me. And Franklin hardly set my world alight. What had I been
doing seeing him for so long? Force of habit, that was all. He was
just there.

The door bell
had sounded. A policeman and policewoman were standing at the door.
They ushered me inside and sat with me, the policewoman held my
hand—she had kind, but sad eyes.

What was she saying? Dead? Fatally injured?
My mom was gone? And my sister was in intensive
care? Critical ?

I'd been sick
with the shock. Thrown up on the floor.

I stared at my
father. How could I ever be tough after what had happened? It was
all my fault. Not that my father knew the depth of my guilt. Only
Calvin knew about that.

“
That’s
easier said than done,” I snapped, forcing my painful memories
aside and reining myself in.

His tone
softened considerably. “Look, I know you’ve got a lot on your
plate. Perhaps I’ve been a little harsh with shifting my workload
your way. I’ll take all those urgent files from you. I have a few
hours to spare today and next week to clear it.”

I ceased
seething quite so much with the prospect of him lightening my load.
In fact the sun came out very briefly in my working soul.

At least he
wasn’t completely blind to my work mountain, or my mood, even if he
was an annoying and controlling so and so.

I reassessed
his proposal to send me out of town for a few hours. I supposed it
might give me something else to think about. A new scene to survey.
I wondered if my father had done this deliberately. He never did
anything without a reason. Maybe he had more of a thoughtful
conscience than I gave him credit for? He knew what tomorrow was,
just as well as I. He’d provided a distraction for me. Something to
help me through it. My heart warmed a little that there may be a
shred of hope for us to have a real relationship somewhere down the
road.

“
Okay...”
I conceded. “What’s his name and what’s his case?”

“
Sebastian Shaw. And it’s his first will issue.”

“
Oh,
good. Not a divorce. I don’t like divorces much. They’re always
so...well, you know.”

“
What
they are is a large statistical fact of life. But Mr. Shaw’s single
and quite young, actually.”

“
Right.”
I jotted his name down on my pad. “And his address...?”

He reached into
his back pants pocket and retrieved a card. “He gave me a card.
Here you go. All you need to know is on that.” He passed it to me.
I read the little white card and fingered its expensive embossed
gold lettering.

Sebastian D.
Shaw, Esquire.

Trader of
Precious Metals & Commodity Futures

European Manor,
2 Park Drive, Sudbury...

My eyes scanned
the ZIP code and his cell phone contact details briefly.

“
Precious
metal trading and futures? Sounds interesting.”

“
He used
to do something-high flying in New York, at Goldman Sachs. But when
they scaled down their trading desk, de-risking in the wake of the
financial crisis, he left and set up his own business.”

“
And now
he wants to sort out his will, does he? Did it come to him in a
blinding flash at the tenth hole as you were standing by his side?
Or have you been putting and pitching again?”

“
How I
hate that crass term. I never pitch. I did, however, inform him he
needs to decide where his estate is going should he topple
unexpectedly into the afterlife. And that I, being a lawyer, was
able to handle such an arrangement.”

“
That’s a
definite pitch in my book,” I replied, needling him.

“
Oh, do
be quiet,” he snapped. “He has a small fortune which needs legal
direction. We're simply providing a service.”

“
A small
fortune, how large is small exactly?”

“
I don’t
know much about that. But I'm guessing it's a figure of very modest
speech. Victor, who introduced us, told me he'd amassed a small
fortune, trading the high risk metal markets. I wasn’t inclined to
ask personal questions about his finances on the course. But I did
notice he was wearing a Rolex, using the best Nike Covert's and he
left in a very expensive Jaguar F-Type.”

“
So he's
a real life Mr Goldfinger. He obviously knows his silver from his
palladium. Good for him. I’ll get the files prepped.”

“
You do
that. He also wants some real estate ownership rights transferred
to his company and a couple of other things arranged in the next
few weeks. I’ll run you through it all later on this evening, at
home. And Amanda, treat this client well. He could put a fair
amount of business your way. He’s well connected with some
influential people in Boston.”

“
Like
who, for instance?”

“
I don't
know them personally, but some big names in capital management and
fund-raising for local charity. Grace and Evelyn Jennings and
Wilbur Jones?”

I'd heard of
Wilbur Jones from my search for back up care for Abigail. He helped
to finance hospices, terminally sick childrens homes, and respite
care centers for the disabled. “Ahh, well, in that case, I’ll make
a big effort for Mr. Shaw, now I know he’s connected with good
works.”

It was the
middle of the night. I lay naked on my bed, with my eyes tightly
closed. I was reveling in my pain. Focusing deeply on it.

The deep
pounding ricocheting around my head was reaching a crescendo. I
welcomed it.

My fingertips
stroked the silk of the sheet beneath me. I took a handful and
screwed it tightly into a ball in my palm as a deep-seated wave of
pain overtook me.

I want it to
hurt, fuck, I need it.

While I was
hurting, I couldn’t think. For a few hours I had some respite from
myself.

The pain was so
intense it nauseated me. I heaved a little, tasting bile as it rose
to the back of my mouth. Its flavor was vile, harsh and strongly
acidic.

I blindly
reached out to the nightstand for my brandy bottle. Securing the
bottle neck in my sweating fingers, I unscrewed the cap and took a
large, badly aimed, and messy gulp, to wash the bad taste away. An
excess splashed around my lips and dripped down my chin, pooling
into the hollow at the base of my throat. The liquid burned its way
down to my stomach and the vapor stung the back of my nose.
Drinking was probably the worst thing I could do right now. But I
didn’t give a fuck about that, or much else.

Defiantly, I
took another overly large mouthful and finished the bottle. It
flamed through me, painfully, with raw intensity.

“
Fucking hell.
”

The empty
bottle slipped from my hand and thumped to the floor.

I felt the
warmth build inside me as yet another wave of excruciating pain
took hold of my head.

“
God,” I
groaned, in pure agony.

I wondered at
the endurance of man. How much pain could he take? The acute
stabbing behind my eyes pushed hard at my limits.

I was weak of
mind, lying defenseless and vulnerable, a victim at the mercy of my
own body.

Angel of
death, I offer myself to you. Please come and take me.

The alcohol
entered my bloodstream and the tingling pleasure of heat rushed
through my veins, soothing my brain. The surge of chemicals
competed with the pain for supremacy. I felt myself flying high and
hurting so bad, and then I was sinking fast. Swirling downward in a
furious whirlpool. Blackness started to surround me, enveloping me
in a peaceful, dark, comforting blanket.

Is this what
dying is like? Floating away into a dark abyss? Is there no tunnel
of light? No inner feeling of joy? Good.

It felt so good
to disappear into nothing. To simply evaporate from this world.

Death held no
fear for me, life was far more fearsome. Relinquishing my state of
mortality and becoming at one with the peace beyond was a pleasant
prospect.

Peace and
nothing. No thoughts. No needs. No desires. No more pain.

Death was the
purest tranquility.

I entered the
black void with a feeling of deep satisfaction.

But a final
pertinent thought passed through my mind as I faded into
unconsciousness.

Dying isn't
permitted. You haven’t suffered nearly enough yet.

I set off in my
white Honda Civic. It was a beautiful early September day, despite
the poignant sadness of the date.

I expected my
journey to take forty minutes, traffic permitting.

I turned on the
radio, quietly in the background, and relaxed as I headed out of
town on I-90, guided by my best friend on the road, my GPS. Sudbury
was accessible via a direct route on the interstate, but I liked to
listen to the instructions I was given. I found the droning,
repetitive voice soothing.

Forty-three
minutes later I rolled along Park Drive and finally reached my
destination, ten minutes early. I turned and stopped at Sebastian
Shaw’s security gate, lowering my window next to the speaker box
and pressing the button.

Something else
immediately captured my attention. The house beyond the gate. It
was a strange mixture of French chateau and Georgian architecture.
I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t particularly attractive,
more so an odd mismatch of irreconcilable styles that jarred the
eyes. I was so intent on staring, my mind so far away, that I
didn’t notice someone seemed to be speaking to me from somewhere. I
finally zoned into the “Hallo, hallo?” noise and where it was
coming from, the box adjacent to my position.

“
Hello,”
I replied in the box’s direction.

“
Can I
help you?” the man on the other end asked with a strong French
accent.

“
Miss
Preston. I have a legal appointment with Mr. Shaw at
two.”

“
Oh, Ms.
Preston? Of course. Come inside.”

The wrought
iron gates swept open before me and I edged the car inside, along
his front driveway and through the expansive, shrub filled borders.
The house was set on a hillside overlooking some incredible
scenery. Billowing treetops and fields lay in the distance
beyond.

The house may
be an eyesore but that view is sensational.

I parked next
to his Jaguar sitting proudly outside. How I loved top-quality
cars. It wasn’t flashy like a typical sports car, but it screamed
class and style. A sleek black puppy with tires wider than the
state of Texas.

Turning my
car’s engine off, I sat quietly and took a few deep breaths to calm
myself. Based on the size of this house—correction—this castle, and
his estate, Mr. Shaw was obviously very, very wealthy. A small
fortune may be an understatement. He had acres of land here. Multi
millionaire may be closer to the mark. I wished I'd taken the time
to investigate some little details about my client before I arrived
here. But I'd been so distracted and not myself yesterday. And
today was a complete write-off. My mind was in ruins. I wondered if
it was a good idea to be here on the unwelcome anniversary that I
would remember until I drew my last breath. Hopefully I’d function
on all cylinders when I got into the stride.