Insecure (21 page)

He needed to sell Buster's house and she'd be okay with that. He needed to talk to Jay, just for a minute, a minute of his time for the next few years of his and Dillon's.

He remembered her name was Jacinta not Lucinda, and he was Antonio, and he wasn't waiting any longer for her to call him, because as soon as he could get the cling film off his head, borrow some money and buy a new phone, he was going to call her and ask if he could come over and swim with her in the bath.

The first thing Malcolm did was call out to Alison. “Get security up here.” He didn't otherwise blink. If Jacinta had harboured any illusion he'd engage in a mature and professional discussion, aimed at uncovering their mutual benefit, she'd have been knocked on her butt.

She still rocked on her Valentinos. “You're going to throw me out?” She didn't see that coming.

“I'm going to have you escorted off the premises.”

“Christ,
Dad
,” she spat the word, a vain attempt to splatter him with vitriol, “you didn't even do that to Bryan or that guy in finance who was issuing fake credit cards.”

Malcolm exhaled with great pomp. “You resigned. Or did I not hear you say the words, ‘I quit,' while you stamped your little feet like a spoilt child because you didn't get your own way.”

She'd said the words. “Good morning, Malcolm. I quit.” Not a whole lot to misinterpret there. But maybe amputating her arm would've been less shocking.

Standing in his office, saying it, made the decision real. She'd expected it to feel empowering and a bunch of other management-speak and clichés Bryan would've laughed at, starting with a
weight lifted from her shoulders
and cascading on down to
up yours
. But it felt like she'd taken a run at a brick wall as a joke and forgotten to pull up short; like she'd fatally wounded her identity in a head-on collision with an immoveable object she'd secretly thought would step aside or flex with the blow.

There was no flexibility in Malcolm. What she saw in him was as close to glee as he'd ever been. When he'd had Bryan removed, he'd been furious. He'd made the walls tremble with his shouting. His footsteps had been aggressive for months afterwards. It was another shock to realise how little he cared about her that he couldn't be bothered to fake anger about losing his COO.

“What did you expect? A cheer squad to encourage you on your way out? You've resigned. It's effective immediately. You are no longer an employee. You can no longer be on the premises.” Malcolm raised his voice. “Alison.”

“Security is on their way, Malcolm. There's an incident in Tower B,” she informed from outside.

Jacinta put her palms on Malcolm's desk, closed her eyes and laughed. It rose up from deep in her belly and burst forth in great gulps of sound, gushes of air. Malcolm was a loathsome person, a true corporate psychopath, with no empathy, no basic decency and she'd finally gown up enough to accept there was no way to be him and retain her own humanity, and it was fine, good, outstanding to be free of him.

Her laugher spilled all over Malcolm and he didn't like it, too raw, too real, too human. He curled his lip in distaste and pushed back in his chair and stood. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

She looked up, biting her lip to stop the flow of rude and joyous noise coming out of her. “I've only just found them.”

“You have disappointed me greatly, Jacinta. I brought you up to be different to your mother. Stronger, more rational, less highly strung.”

In spite of thinking there was nothing Malcolm could say that'd hurt anymore, she flinched. “Do not bring my mother into this. Do not.”

“I thought you were more like me. But with all this lamenting about morals and civic responsibility, I see I was wrong. You have her artistic temperament after all. It will do you no good. It cannot provide a useful living, or a contribution of any value in the real world. If you must have aesthetic stimulation, read a good biography,” he shook his head, and threw up a hand; that anyone should need alternative outlets was incomprehensible to him, “or go for a walk outside with the trees.”

She took a slow breath and tried to still the thrum of anger that beat at her temples. “I've often wondered how you sleep at night.”

“I never have difficulty sleeping because I have no use for ambiguity and even less for the kind of nanny state namby-pamby you were advocating over this bomber person.”

If she lost her temper, she'd prove Malcolm's point, and she was done proving anything to him. “His name was Roger Kincaid. He killed himself yesterday. He was a customer several times over, and we did to him what you did to my mother.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You honestly expect me to have sympathy for a murderer?”

“No, for an ordinary man who was pushed to the point where he lost his mind and for an event which may have been preventable.”

Malcolm made a sound of loathing, it gurgled in his throat like sewer water. “I think you've quite finished here.”

She was only turning on the tap. “This bank took Roger's livelihood and his home without any consideration. You took my mother's confidence and then you forced her to do things she was frightened of.”

He sniffed a sharp breath, his eyes flicking towards the door. “You will leave my office now. Alison.”

“She gave up the things she loved for you; her art, her writing, her music. I always thought she was less of a person because she was beautiful. But now I see you made her less, you reduced her to something decorative you could control. She never would've skied that mountain but for you pushing her to. This bank has a responsibility to provide a duty of care for our customers. You had a responsibility to love and care for my mother. You fail on both counts.”

“Get. Out.”

“With more pleasure than you can possibly imagine. You have no idea how grateful I am to you for this gift of clear sight. “

“Alison.”

Alison appeared in the doorway with a startled expression and two uniformed guards. Malcolm sat and opened a folder. He issued his instructions without looking up.

“Escort Ms Wentworth to her desk. She's to take nothing but personal items with her, which excludes the car. See that she is off the premises within the next thirty minutes and has vacated the company apartment with only personal possessions no later than forty-eight hours from now.”

This was the last time she'd see Malcolm, other than in the pages of the business press or the occasional television appearance. That thought made her feel nothing. Not sadness, not relief. It spoke to a void in her heart where emptiness flourished.

“You were never a parent to me. You paid for my food and shelter, my clothing and education. You made me useful according to your view of the world. You were never a father. You were always a bank.”

He looked up with irritation on his face, as if to say are you still here?

“And I am your worst risk, your biggest default, because I will use everything you've taught me to live a life that proves you wrong.”

“Thirty minutes. Forty-eight hours. The terms of your contract are clear. By resigning you leave with salary owing. All other bonuses and entitlements are forfeited.”

She might as well not have spoken, not have issued that empty threat. You couldn't threaten someone who didn't care. She looked down on him. She'd seen him sit like this; dismissive, imperial, hundreds of times. Only this time, his clenched fists were different. It was enough. He no longer mattered. If her legs would carry her, she was more than ready to leave. She turned and nodded to the guards.

“Jacinta.”

She didn't give him the courtesy of slowing her steps, to falter might be to crumble.

“If you try anything stupid, you will not find another financial institution in this country to employ you. You cannot hurt this company and I will ensure that.”

She couldn't help but hear what he meant. He would poison her reputation within the industry and sue her to keep the bank from harm if she threatened him.

“Ms Wentworth, are you all right?” The older of the two guards got her attention. She knew his face, but not his name. He peered at her with genuine concern.

“I'm fine. Shall we?”

They fell in beside her. “Very sorry to have to do this, Ms Wentworth.”

She nodded to Alison who mouthed, “I'm so sorry.”

She said, “All in a day's work,” and meant it to soothe Alison and the two men. All she wanted now was to get out of the building into untainted air she could breathe.

In the doorway to her office, Mel was on her feet, white-faced. The news was already out, less than five minutes and a two hundred metre corridor later.

“It's all right, Mel. This is the best thing.”

“Can I come with you?”

She hugged Mel quickly. “I'm not going to a new job yet. I'm not sure where I'll end up.”

“Em called. There is a press release being drafted. They're saying you're taking time off to peruse private passions. Is that true?”

She smiled. “True enough,” given how long it would take to get a new job, and a face-saver for the bank.

“If there's anything I can do.”

“I'll let you know.” She turned to the two guards. “I get the deal. I want five minutes to make a call and I'll be ready to go.”

“I'm sorry, Ms Wentworth. We can't allow you to do that.”

She almost let it go. After all, she'd let it go for a week. “You can't allow me one phone call?”

The older guard shook his head. “It's procedure.”

“And it's one phone call. Given that I'm about to relinquish my office, my equipment, my car and my home,”
her life
, “one phone call seems a small thing to ask.”

“It's—”

“Go ahead, Jac.”

Tom stood in the doorway. Come to gloat.

“Are you sure you should be consorting with me?”

“You're not angry with me and I have no reason to be anything but saddened to see you go.”

“I am angry with you. You could've backed me.”

He looked at the immaculate nails of one hand folded towards his palm. “I don't back losing propositions.”

She sighed. That was the reason she'd given up any idea of converting Tom to her cause. “Of course you don't.”

“Make your call, Jac. These gentleman will go back to their workplace and I'll take you home.”

“Mr Wentworth—”

Tom looked at the guard. “I'm sure I don't need to repeat myself.”

The guard scrunched his mouth in consternation. “No, Mr Wentworth.” He signalled to his partner and they left.

“Oh thank God,” said Mel, she slumped at her desk; then, eyes flitting between them, said, “This is really happening.”

“Go home for the day, Melanie,” said Tom.

The unflappable Mel was close to tears. “Get out of here.” Jacinta gave a quick laugh. “I am.” She looked at Tom. “Five minutes,” stepped into her office for the last time and closed the door.

She spent one full minute with her back against it, trying to still the sick swings of adrenaline in her chest. The worst was over, she had no reason to feel like she might choke to death on her own anxiety, and in any case, no time to feel overwhelmed. She had a lot to do, starting with the call she'd wanted to make minutes after he'd left her apartment.

She went to her desk and opened the staff directory. She typed Lauder and up came Mace's details. Before better sense got a hold of her she dialled the number. It rang and rang, then clicked through to message bank; not the usual apology for not being available, the cheerful exhortation to leave a message, just Mace's deep voice and abrupt words. “If you want me leave a message.”

She wanted him and in the worst way: unfairly, with bad timing and ill grace. The time to call him was earlier, not now when her life was so unsettled. She'd hit on him when she was angry and looking for a way to expiate the hurt. She'd spent the next weekend irrationally annoyed with him, but she wanted him now with a longing that made her hand shake as she put the receiver down. This was better. If she saw him now, in the state she was in, she was only using him again and he deserved more than that.

He'd never know she'd called.

She took her books, a fancy pen set, a crystal paperweight. Not much to show for her career at Wentworth. Tom drove her home in her car. She appreciated his rescue. Being formally marched out under guard was an ignominious end, an obvious power play from a man who could afford to be generous, but didn't understand the value of the sentiment.

They didn't speak. What was there to say? Tom's career would go on, hers was over, if only for the time it took to get a new job, and they had almost nothing in common outside Wentworth and Malcolm.

He pulled up outside the apartment. “When you're ready to let me help you, I'll be there.”

“Don't you worry, he'll chew you up as well.”

Tom looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. “Bryan has a voodoo doll. I'm assuming it will eventually do its job.”

“I'm serious.”

“He can't live forever.”

She pressed her lips together hard. “You think I should've tried to wait him out. Wait you out.”

He shook his head. “I think you should live your life, little sister, and quit worrying about what anyone else thinks.”

She got out and watched him pull away. In time maybe she'd feel like contacting him, for now, he was part of the world she'd been rejected by and had abandoned right back.

There was a note from Jay under her door. He'd gone to the US, a sudden trip to deal with some investment gone bad. She could call him, but it would be better to have any kind of order in her life before she did, somewhere new to live at least.

She went inside. On the kitchen counter she'd left her accounts. Most of her savings had gone to the marathon victims' fund. That was another reason not to call Jay, he'd insist on refunding them; in covering her contribution himself.