Underwater (17 page)

She entered and approached the nearest chair. “Good morning, Peter.”

“Good morning. Close the door, please.”

Helen turned, shut the door, and turned back to her boss, hesitating.

“Thanks, Helen. Sit down. How are you feeling?”

She dropped to a seat. “Much better, thanks.”

“What was the matter? Flu?”

“No. Well, not really sure. Exhaustion, I guess. I just needed some rest. But I’m back to normal now.”

“Terrific. You have a toddler, right? All those germs. I’m sure he keeps you busy.”

“She. Yes, she does. But she’s fine, too.”

Peter smiled and glanced over at his computer screen, pausing. “Well, the reason I needed to see you this morning was to discuss some changes happening here at Vreden.”

Helen nodded, her lips in a tight line, her eyes fixed on Peter.

Peter cleared his throat and looked right at Helen. “As you probably know, some reorganization has been going on over the last few months.”

“Well, I’ve heard some rumors—”

“Which were just that—rumors. I don’t know how they get started, but they seem to have a life of their own.” He offered a weak smile. “In any case, let’s talk about reality. Which is that the company is downsizing.”

Helen sucked in a breath, bracing herself.

“Which means,” continued Peter, “that certain positions are being eliminated.” He picked up a pen on his desk and clicked it on and off, looking at it. Then he exhaled and turned his eyes back to Helen’s.

“I’m sorry, Helen. You’ve done great work here—”

“Wait. Are you saying I’m being laid off? Fired?” Helen said, her voice trembling.

“I’ll give you a great recommendation. You’re on LinkedIn, right? You’ll get something right away, I’m sure. You can leave anytime today, but you’ll be paid through the thirtieth.”

In shock, Helen stood as her eyes welled up with tears. She was having trouble breathing. Could this be happening? What if Peter knew she was pregnant with twins? She fought the urge to blurt it out, then spoke calmly.

“Peter, my situation—”

“I know you’re under a lot of stress. So is everybody. But Vreden is under stress, too. The real estate crash has affected our business, I’m sure you’re aware. We just don’t have the luxury right now of keeping nonessential employees. Not until things turn around.” Peter put the pen back on his desk and started to rise, signaling that the meeting was over.

This is it. You have to tell him.
“You don’t understand. I’m not able—”

“Sure you are. Look, the decision’s been made—my paperwork is in. Don’t worry, though. You’re very talented. You’ll have a job by July first, I just know you will. Go ahead and stay at your desk today if you want. You’ll be locked out of the network, but get on the job sites later and get the word out. Then shoot me an email and tell me what you need from me.” He walked to the door and opened it, smiling.

Helen’s legs began shaking as she somehow made her way to the door. She stopped and looked at Peter right in the eyes. Would it change anything if he knew? Should she beg?

“Chin up, Helen. I’m confident that you’ll be fine.” He stood aside, looking down and waiting for her to leave. She stepped out and walked back to her desk, sat down, covered her face in her hands, and cried.

On Sunday morning, Monty dropped Helen and Adele off at the Lindbergh MARTA station, where they could catch a train to the airport.

Even though there was no traffic, he wasn’t about to drive them all the way down there, several miles south of the city. The train would take them straight to the terminal, and in about an hour, they’d be on a plane bound for Chicago. Helen’s sister, Dawn, had insisted on flying her and Adele up for a visit, now that Helen had been canned from her job and had nothing else to do.

Monty pulled over to the curb in the “Kiss and Ride” lane and watched distractedly as Helen struggled with her suitcase and took their daughter’s hand.

“Bye, Daddy!” called Adele.

“Bye-bye, sweetie!” Monty said, then blew his daughter a kiss. Helen shut the car door and began rolling her bag toward the ticket machine, Adele at her side.

He let out a deep breath as he guided the car out of the lot, happy to be free of them, for a while, anyway. Helen hadn’t told him about being fired on Friday morning until that evening, when she and Adele got home at the usual time. Evidently she’d stayed at the office, on the phone with her sister, devising a plan to go stay with Dawn and her dimwitted husband Frank for the next two weeks.

Monty was looking forward to the time alone, and to spending more time with Rachel. He’d stay over at the condo the whole time Helen was away. Staying at the house was just too depressing, and the condo was more comfortable, to say the least. He would head over there later today—Rachel would be waiting for him—but this morning, he needed to go to the house and finish some research.

He’d started it on Friday, just after he looked at Chip’s Facebook page. He spent an hour guessing Chip’s password and finally cracked it, kicking himself for ignoring the obvious: Chip’s real name, Chester, plus the number 1—Sonny was a junior. Then he logged on and saw that Chip had recently friended Candace’s assistant, Jess Copeland. He checked out her page. The chick had just turned twenty-five and had gotten tons of Facebook birthday wishes. She had long dark hair, was gorgeous, and was in a relationship with Chip’s nephew—a fact that Monty assumed Candace didn’t know. Why would she? Candace didn’t care about
anyone
other than herself, or
any
thing
other than her company. It was her whole world.

A world he was getting ready to shake up.

On Friday afternoon, while Helen was still at work, not working, he found out everything he could about Jess. It wasn’t that difficult. She was on Twitter and her tweets were public. She had gone to the University of Georgia and was probably ecstatic to have a job at SlimZ, even if it was as Candace’s bitch. It had to be an incredibly stressful job, no matter what kind of bullshit she had to do. Who could put up with Candace all day, every day? She’d probably gone through a dozen other assistants before this girl came along.

Jess had been with Candace for a few years, though. Long enough to have learned a lot about the workings of the company, but also long enough to be relaxed about what she knew. To be a little sloppy, like a lot of people her age were—at least, while the boss was away. She probably knew a ton about what was going on over there and had access to a myriad of confidential information. Information that the CEO trusted her not to share.

She looked just dumb enough to provide a way in for Monty, but smart enough to do it without leaving a paper trail.

He was sick of Candace nickel-and-diming him; it was about time he got some real money. He made a decision. He wanted more than the house and more than a few hundred thousand dollars. Candace could spare a few million—maybe even ten—and still go on with her decadent, obscene lifestyle. She wouldn’t even miss the money. Then, he would have the funds he needed to live the way he ought to. He could study architecture at an elite school, apply his knowledge, and get the recognition he deserved, at last.

To make all of that happen, he needed to connect with Jess on a personal level—on the phone, or better yet, in person.

13

Decisions

O
n the last Monday morning in June, Candace stepped toward a black Escalade parked in front of Rob’s Manhattan apartment. Dominic, the driver, stood outside of the vehicle, waiting to take her to LaGuardia. Her phone buzzed.

“Hey, David,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Hello, Candace. I wanted to let you know I’m forwarding two quotes from the contractors we discussed last week—”

“Are both available immediately?”

“I’ll find out.”

Dominic opened her car door and she flashed him a smile. “Still no word from Monty?” she asked David.

“No, and it’s been almost two weeks since I sent that email to him. Would you like me to follow up with a phone call?”

“No,” Candace said while settling herself in the Escalade’s backseat and putting on her seat belt. She turned to the tall driver, who had placed her Louis Vuitton valises in the back of the vehicle. “Thank you, Dominic.” She spoke into the phone again. “David, here’s what I want to do. I’ll look at the quotes you sent and I’ll call you back this afternoon. We can discuss them then. I’m scheduled to arrive in Atlanta before noon.”

“Fine.”

“Also, we can talk about a timetable. So, it’s important that you find out how soon work can begin on the house, and how long it will take to get completed. I want us to know the plan before Monty finds out this is going to happen.”

“Got it.”

Candace removed her new iPad from her bag and entered her passcode. “I’m pulling up your email right now; I can look the quotes over on the way to the airport. The other thing I need you to do is find a realtor. A good one. Someone familiar with that area of Atlanta and that market.”

“You want me to start looking now?”

“Why not? I want this thing done, David. I want it finished and sold and out of my life.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Find a rental—house or apartment, I don’t care. Something that fits their income. I mean, Helen’s income. She sent you that tax return, right?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t have to be in that area, but keep it in inside the perimeter. Or at least close to Helen’s office. Can you have Geneviève work on that?”

“Definitely. She should be able to find something. The rental market here is huge right now.”

“I want to be able to tell Monty where they can live while the work on the house is being done, and how much the rent is. Since I assume the workers will need them to be moved out. Monty and Helen can live in the place Geneviève finds for them, or they can find a place themselves.” Candace took a breath. “Finally, just in case it comes up later, which it better not: I am not gifting the family any more money, ever. That’s over.”

“Anything else?”

Candace looked out the window and down at the dirty water as the Escalade traveled east, over the Triborough Bridge. “Yes. As you know, I don’t want to put one more dime into that house than is absolutely necessary. I’ll look over the quotes you got, but I’m counting on you to negotiate with whichever one of them we choose, to bring the price down.”

“Candace, you’re going to get sticker shock when you look at them.”

“That’s fine. I know that contractors need to make a profit, too. What I’m saying is, with the housing market being what it is—the lack of new construction, renovations, whatever—and with the state of the economy in general, these guys are lucky to get
any
work. So, whatever their quotes are, I expect you to get them to take ten to fifteen percent off the top. Just to get my business.”

“Understood.”

“That’s all for now. I’ll call you later today.” Candace placed her iPhone in her bag and began scrolling through her email on her iPad. A signal sounded as a new message came in. It was from Helen.

Candace read the five lines twice. Helen had been laid off from her job a week and a half ago. Two days later, she and Adele had flown to Chicago to stay with Helen’s sister for a few weeks. Helen had updated her resume and begun searching for a new position, but she felt doubtful about having much success before the babies were born.

Candace sat back in her seat and shut her eyes, then let out a deep breath. Odd that Monty had kept this news to himself, but she wasn’t surprised that Helen had. It fit her personality. Given the chaos, she was probably still in shock about having been let go, and Candace couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away from Monty.

However, with Helen and Adele up in Chicago, it would probably be easier for David to get the family moved out of the house and into a rental. He would have to expedite the process. Maybe the loss of Helen’s job would be the catalyst Monty needed to go and get a job of his own. In a few short months, he’d be a father of three. It was time for him to starting acting like one, to start providing for his family. Until he did, however—or until Helen found a job—somebody would have to pay their rent.

Candace had paid the bank fourteen thousand dollars to catch up their mortgage and HELOC a couple months ago, and she trusted they hadn’t fallen behind again. However, she hadn’t signed the new note to roll the mortgage into a larger home equity loan, despite Monty’s pleas.

“Ms. Morgan?” said Dominic, interrupting Candace’s thoughts. “You said Delta, correct?”

“That’s correct, Dominic. Thank you.” Candace propped her Fendi sunglasses up on top of her head and inspected her nails, which were due for a manicure. She’d have to have Jess schedule one today or tomorrow.

She had a busy week ahead of her in Atlanta. Late last week she had visited the Manhattan sample room that Shelly’s product development team had been working with on the swimwear line. This week she would meet with Shelly, Paula, and Amanda to discuss the timeline and any remaining issues, but everything was on track for the unveiling of the new line in September. Candace also needed to meet with her direct reports to talk about long-term business development and how the new line fit in. With the end of the quarter two days away, she would meet with Courtney, the CFO, to go over financials as well.

Money.
Candace’s thoughts shifted back to the plight of her brother and sister-in-law. Surely they had some savings or a 401(k) they could draw on to get through the next few months, until after Helen gave birth to twins and could get a new job. Whether they did or not, it was imperative that David find a rental immediately that was available and affordable for them to move into so the house on Arcadia could be completed. Candace sighed. If they couldn’t pay the rent, she would pay it and keep the HELOC and mortgage current until the house sold in late summer or early fall. David would just have to add those payments to the total of their debt to her.

She knew that they owed a lot more money—to the bank and to her—than what the market would bring upon the sale of the house. The place was underwater, as millions of other homes in the country were. It was a fact that most homes in Atlanta had lost significant value. Monty and Helen would not be coming out of this deal with any money. If they were to emerge from it unscathed, with no damage to their credit, Candace would have to write off a very large sum. Something they should be grateful to her for doing, when it was all said and done.

Then, she would cut all financial ties to the family, and they would have to support themselves without her help.

The question was, how much was she willing to write off? How much would she
have
to write off, so that the couple could emerge from it unhurt and wouldn’t be left with a major debt to the bank after the house sold? She shook her head slightly and answered her own question. That wasn’t going to happen, because the bank wouldn’t make an unsecured loan to them. Once the house sold, the collateral would be gone. Candace wouldn’t be able to get out of this deal without writing off the entire loss on it. As for them paying her back and sharing in the loss, that wasn’t going to happen, either.

Her only other option was to walk away and force a foreclosure, but she’d already committed to sink more money into the place. So that was off the table. She’d have to price the house to sell, and pray that it would.

It bothered her to no end to lose that much money on something she never wanted to be a part of, something she felt she’d been roped into. But what bothered her even more was that, in so doing, she would be enabling her brother’s manipulation and his avoidance of working an honest job. Her father hadn’t enabled him, yet here she was doing that exact thing, or about to. Her mother had done it by regularly handing over small amounts of cash to Monty, ensuring that he never felt the punch of empty pockets. She’d also blamed his teachers for any bad grades—and his coaches for failures on the football field.

Dominic took a left and pulled up in front of the Delta curbside check-in counter at the airport. He parked, hopped out, and took care removing Candace’s elegant luggage from the back of the Escalade. Candace reapplied her lipstick, placed her personal items in her bag, and stepped out of the vehicle as Dominic held her door open. The air was heavy and warm, the sun climbing higher in the hazy sky. The humidity was high for New York, but Candace knew it wouldn’t reach the oppressive level that would blanket the city of Atlanta today. But like most people from the South, she was accustomed to it.

She walked to the counter, presented her driver’s license, and then turned to her chauffeur, putting a hundred-dollar bill in his palm. “Thank you, Dominic.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Morgan,” Dominic said with a nod and a smile. “See you next time, now.”

Candace smiled and turned back to the Delta worker as he handed back her license. An hour later, she took her seat in the first-class section of a jet bound for Atlanta. She had already perused the two job quotes David had emailed. One of the contractors identified several more items to be done (and a higher bottom line) than the other. While Candace didn’t want to pay for more any more work than was necessary, she also didn’t want a backfire situation if corners were cut.

She accepted a glass of ice water offered by the airline attendant and tried to shift her thoughts from the half-built, decaying disaster on Arcadia Lane. Worries about her other investments, real estate in particular, seeped into her mind. She had purchased her Atlanta condominium several years ago, and with the declining market it had lost almost half its value. Condos were overbuilt in the city and weren’t selling. She wasn’t interested in selling hers at the moment, but if she were, she couldn’t unless she was willing to lose a lot of money. David handled the fees and utilities for her, and those amounts added up. She didn’t spend enough time there to justify them. If she didn’t own the place, she could stay in one of Atlanta’s finest hotels during her visits and be out much less money annually.

Her Manhattan apartment was a different situation. It would fetch some money, hopefully a little more than she had paid. Her country home in France was a money pit, though. She had parted with a large sum of euros for it at the wrong time. Every few months, it required this or that repair, or a fee or tax paid to the bureaucracy, and she trusted neither French construction companies nor government officials. She didn’t spend enough time there either, but she planned to start doing so next year.

She always enjoyed going to France, and so did Rob, who loved practicing his French. She was looking forward to future trips there together and vacations exploring the countryside. The Luberon Valley was particularly beautiful, and the nearby region of Languedoc had its charms; less touristy than Provence, it was quaint and picturesque. The relaxed pace of a
séjour
there would be a welcome change to her high-powered life, and a reward for her hard work on the new line. In France, she didn’t feel as pushed to stay busy as she did at home.

She gazed out the window and took another sip of water. Her thoughts shifted to her other investments, most of them liquid. Many were down and had been since the crisis of 2008. Her worth as the president and CEO of SlimZ was high—and highly publicized—but it didn’t indicate her true financial picture. Her personal portfolio had run into some rather large bumps, and it wasn’t stable enough to suit her. David would continue to manage it after October—she and Rob had agreed to keep their funds separate—and she would require that her financial manager earn the high fees she paid him.

If she didn’t care about losing money, she could get rid of the whole fiasco on Arcadia Lane with the stroke of her pen. She could write a check to Memorial Bank to pay off the home equity loan, and she could pay off the first mortgage, too. She could authorize David to hire the more expensive contractor to complete the renovation in record time, and she could take the first offer she got. She could sell it for a huge loss. She could be done with it more quickly and more easily than the way she was proceeding now.

If she wanted to, she could be even
more
generous and give Monty and Helen half a million, say, to buy another home for cash. Some house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with decent public schools. She could pay the 35 percent gift taxes on it and then forget about it. She could pay zero attention to whether her brother ever got a job. She could believe that she’d fulfilled her promise to her father, and that Monty had no power make her feel guilty anymore. She could tell herself that she
wasn’t
enabling him, and hope that he’d never ask her for money again.

She could hope.