Full Circle (19 page)

Adam slowed for the village and turned through the gates. He pulled past the church, parked in front of the house, and cut the motor. “Right after the diagnosis came in, the hospital sat me down and talked about what it was going to cost. Soon as they discovered I didn't have insurance, they gave me both barrels. I went home and packed my suitcases and got online and booked my ticket for Costa. And paced all night. There in the house my mother had made for me, at the cost of all her dreams. I knew that if I left her, I would never be able to live with myself. You can't imagine how trapped I felt, how . . .”

The car was silent except for the ticking clock. Adam finally said, “We have to help him, Kayla. He deserves better than to be taken down by a pirate in a suit. We've got to find a way to stop them. Once and for all.”

“How?”

“I don't know. But I know them. Inside mvp are guys just exactly like who I almost became.”

Peter Austin greeted them in the front hallway with, “This is an utterly outrageous state of affairs.”

Adam suddenly realized, “I took your car.”

“Don't be silly, young man. You were welcome to it. I'm speaking about your dismissal.” He shuffled ahead of them back toward the kitchen. His breath wheezed slightly as he said, “Joshua and I have had our differences in the past. It's only natural. But he's gone too far this time.”

Adam asked, “How many did he let go today?”

“In the end, only you. I phoned the board myself and beseeched them to halt this nonsense before it went any further.” He waited while Honor hugged first Kayla and then Adam. Adam felt the bulge of the woman's stomach, the strength of her arms, the concern in her gaze. It only hardened his resolve.

Peter went on, “There's nothing I can do about your own dismissal. Joshua has made it a personal cause.”

“It's okay.”

“It is anything
but
okay. It is most decidedly
not
okay. I take great umbrage—”

Honor said quietly, “Peter.”

He coughed heavily. “Well, really. How can you possibly expect me—”

“Peter, please. They're both exhausted and you sound like you're coming down with another cold.” She asked Kayla, “Have you had anything to eat?”

“No, but that has to wait.” She said to her father, “We have something to tell you, Daddy.”

Honor protested, “You really must leave whatever it is until tomorrow.”

“No,” Adam replied. “I'm sorry. But no.”

Kayla directed them into seats in front of the television. “It's better if you see this for yourselves. Adam said as much before he told me. And he's right.” She slipped the detective's video camera from her purse. “I don't know how to make this work.”

“Let me.” Adam squatted beside her and began fitting wires. “Okay. Turn on the television.”

Peter used the remote. Adam slipped to one side and hit Play. The screen came to life with a slight tremble of the image. Adam heard Kayla's breathing over the microphone. The tension he had felt in the taxi came flooding back. And the disorientation.

Peter exclaimed, “You went to the headquarters of Madden and Van Pater? Today?”

“Wait just a second, Daddy.”

Adam heard himself say, “Roll down the window.”

Bill Foley's face appeared in the viewfinder. He looked triumphant. Once again he told Kayla to keep well back.

Peter asked, “Who is that man with you?”

“Detective William Foley.” Adam's breath was as tight now as in the taxi. “From the security firm you referred me to.”

“They've discovered something in two days?”

“Yes. Wait.”

The detective said once more, “That's him coming out of the front doors now.”

Over the television speakers, Kayla cried aloud. A man appeared, walking down the sidewalk. The camera went fuzzy, then sharpened into vivid clarity. When the man turned toward them and grinned, Adam froze the picture.

“I don't understand,” Peter said. “Who are we looking at?”

Adam waited for Kayla to speak. But she sat, stricken and silent, her wounded gaze held by the man with the pirate's smile. “His name is Derek Steen. Otherwise known as Geoffrey Rambling.”

Honor gasped and placed both hands protectively over her unborn child.

Peter Austin wheezed, “This can't be.”

Adam glanced at Kayla seated on the television's other side. She seemed incapable of speech. “It's him all right.”

Peter Austin had gone pale as unbaked dough. He leaned forward in his seat. “Daughter, are you absolutely certain?”

Kayla released the words in one sibilant rush. “I'm sure. It's him.”

Honor said, “I don't understand.”

Adam hit the Play button. Geoffrey Rambling strode down the sidewalk toward them. Adam had not noticed at the time that Geoffrey had been with others. There were four of them. They all wore their entry badges snaked around their necks. The MVP logo was vividly clear.

Geoffrey was front and center. A woman walked to his left, hard-faced and aggressive, her dark hair chopped short as a man's. Another trader. The other two men were clearly junior in age and rank, for they kept a half pace behind the pair and laughed in sycophantic fashion at everything the traders said.

Honor said, “This is the man who robbed your project? He's here? In London?”

Geoffrey wore a topcoat and a cashmere scarf and a silk tie that glistened in the shadow light. He moved with a predator's grace. He grinned at something the woman trader said.

Adam froze the picture again. There alongside the anger and the pain came the first faint whisper of an idea.

Kayla protested, “That's enough.”

“No,” Peter said. “I need to know. Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes.”

“Beyond any doubt whatsoever? Because this is—”

Kayla pointed a trembling hand at the screen. “That is Geoffrey Rambling. Now turn it off. Please.”

Only when the television went gray did Adam realize he was sweating.

Honor asked, “Will someone please tell me why that man was at that company?”

Peter was much swifter off the mark. “He works there, doesn't he?”

Adam said, “Yes.”

“What was his name again?”

“Steen. Derek Steen.”

The television might have gone blank. But Geoffrey Rambling still filled the room. The air positively reeked from his invasion.

Peter's breathing rasped harshly in the silent room. “Geoffrey must have been sent down by the group. They knew about our plans to use the project in our new promotion.”

“A liar and a thief,” Honor said. “A charlatan.”

“A psychopath,” Kayla said. “I gave him everything. And you see how much it bothers him.”

Peter's breath came out in a fluttering sound. “This is how it feels to grow old.” His gaze was empty as the television screen. “Faced with another struggle, only this time without the will to fight.”

Honor massaged his neck. “You're not old.”

“I've been fighting them for sixteen years.” He looked at his wife. “Perhaps I should raise the white flag.”

Adam said, “No.”

The two women looked at him. Kayla's gaze held the quality of light through shattered gemstone. Honor inspected him gravely. Neither spoke.

Peter Austin continued to address his wife. “I could use this, you know. Reveal what we know about this man's actions. Threaten them with a very public revelation. Force them to offer a proper price for my team.”

“No,” Adam repeated, more forcefully this time. “You just said it yourself.
Your team.
They are
counting
on you.”

Honor shepherded them into the dining area, put the kettle on to boil, and fixed a tray for tea. Adam and Kayla were directed to make sandwiches. Adam sawed slices from a whole-grain loaf while Kayla piled on cheese and chutney and mayonnaise and lettuce. Peter sat at the dining table alone, staring out the French doors at a valley draped in winter's gray wreath. Honor planted four clay churns on the table, one each for butter and marmalade and honey and homemade duck pâté. She rolled out dough for biscuits while Adam laid a fire. The fireplace was set so the flames could be seen from the dining room table, and the kitchen area was soon filled with the comforting flavors of cedar smoke and fresh-baked bread.

Honor seated herself at the table's head and said, “Peter, dear.”

He came slowly around. “Yes?”

“The blessing.”

“You do the honors. I fear my own communications are rather feeble just now.”

Adam used the silent meal to review his idea. The longer he worked, the better it felt. There was a high risk factor, even a degree of personal danger. But a strong possible gain. For every-one. When the meal was over, he asked Peter, “Could you give me an overview of your own company's present crisis?”

Peter seemed to have been expecting such a question, for he launched straight in with, “Eleven months ago, we were approached by the British subsidiary of an Italian company. They are Europe's largest specialists in taking new pharmaceuticals and medical equipment through the testing process and bringing them to market. They obtained the rights to partner with the Radcliffe Hospital. Radcliffe is the teaching hospital for Oxford University's medical school. The Italians announced in utter confidence their subsidiary was ready to be spun off. They offered us the chance to take them to market.” Peter broke off a segment of bread and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “The deal was extremely favorable.”

Adam read the results from the chairman's features. “You overextended your company and the deal went south.”

“Not just the company. One proviso that sets us apart from other would-be financial advisers is that we
partner
with our investors. Whatever deal we put forward, we invest our own money.”

“You're in too deep personally,” Adam said.

“The project proved hopelessly complex. The company directors grew impossible to deal with. Finally we learned why.”

“They were hiding financial constraints,” Adam said. “Quasi-illegal issues. Bouncing them from the parent to the subsidiary and back again.”

Honor asked, “How did you know?”

“It had to be that or something like it,” Adam replied. He could see the strain of endless bad news in Peter Austin's features. “They drained off the profits, they switched the patents to a shell company, they stole the good, and they left you holding the bag.”

“If we back out,” Peter Austin said, “we could be driven into bankruptcy.”

“And if you stay,” Adam finished for him, “you could be party to an international fraud.”

“Our good name is our most important asset.”

“Which is why they went after you in this fashion,” Adam said.

“Who?” Honor asked. “The Italian company?”

The company chairman replied, “I fear not, my dear.”

This time it was Kayla who said, “We have to make them pay.”

chapter 20

W
hen dinner was over, Adam discovered he was staying the night. The invitation was so natural he found no space for refusal, even if he wanted, which he didn't. Honor handed him Peter's largest set of sweat clothes and sent him upstairs. The guestroom was in the alcove over the kitchen. All the family bedrooms were in the newer stone portion of the house, upstairs above Peter's study. The house was silent when Adam came back downstairs from his shower. Adam found Peter seated in the living room, staring blankly at a dying fire. “Thanks for the clothes.”

Peter gave him a mildly unfocused look. “They fit all right?”

“Fine.”

Peter motioned Adam into the chair next to his. “Has Kayla told you about her mother?”

“A little.”

“Look at Kayla and you see Amanda. The intelligence, the drive, the astonishing way she throws herself into her passions.” He stared at the fire for a time. “Amanda had lung problems all her life. Phlebitis finally took her. It was a dreadful time for Kayla. Amanda sent her to boarding school in America, mistakenly thinking it would be best for Kayla not to be around for the worst bits. Other than that, the two of them never fought. None of the standard mother-daughter struggles. They were . . .”