Letters From The Ledge (20 page)

"A little less than a month."

"It’s really important that you finish."

"I know that. I’m not stupid."

"I didn’t say you were. I’m just trying to determine what your plans are."

"I used to have a great plan, but I ran into a snag.”

“Face first?”

“Something like that.”

Nate sighed. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that. Are you in trouble with the law?”

“Nope. Apparently it’s all nice and legal now. I ran into a little trouble with my birth certificate when I applied for my passport."

Brendan just stared straight ahead, delivering his lines in a flat, monotone voice that Nate recognized all too well and he started to get nervous. "What kind of trouble?"

Brendan met his eyes, but his face was still expressionless. "Things weren’t exactly what they seemed."

"With your birth certificate?"

Brendan sat shaking his head. "Do you really even want to hear this?"

"Yeah. I really do."

Brendan sucked in a slow, shallow breath. "Apparently I was adopted–which explains a whole lot, let me tell you!"

"I’m afraid you’re going to have to back up a bit."

"When my mother wouldn’t give me my birth certificate, I went looking for it. What I found instead was a bunch of adoption papers and my original birth certificate, listing the name of my birth mother and the bastard rapist that did it to her as ‘John Doe’. She found me reading the papers and eventually told me the story.” Brendan took a sip of coffee and shifted his position gingerly. “It was all very touching. My birth mother was fourteen years old. She never even held me. Gave me up sight unseen."

Nate sat motionless.

"I should have never confronted him, drunk as he was. I know better. But it was the first time I’d seen him since I found out and I just couldn’t stand it."

Nate’s eyes got wide. “Are we talking about Frank here?”

Brendan nodded. “Surprised?”

“Not entirely. So, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened."

"I knew enough to wear the hat and the glasses, didn’t I?"

"Yeah.” Nate rubbed at his temples. “And what’s wrong with your side?"

"Gucci loafer to the ribs."

Nate’s right hand immediately clenched into a tight fist. He was starting to have a fair amount of difficulty keeping his anger in check. "Does it hurt to breathe?"

"Like a mother. But I wrapped them and that feels a little better. Just don’t make me laugh."

"Self medication doesn’t hurt either, does it?"

"A little of mom’s, a little of my own. Whatever it takes."

Nate blinked a few times, trying to digest the information as it came tumbling out. His hatred for Frank wrapped around his heart and squeezed it into unrecognizable shapes. If this was what he was capable of–

Brendan looked down at Nate’s fist, still balled up at his side. “So, you’re a fighter?”

“What?”

Brendan nodded again at Nate’s hand. “You react the same way every time you get upset. Like you’re ready to swing.”

Nate swallowed with a short nod. “I’ve been in my share of fights.”

"You seem to know an awful lot about fighting and bars and drugs. What, you used to party when you were my age?"

"If I said yes would that make a difference to you?"

"I don’t know. Why don’t you just answer the question?"

Nate sighed. "Listen Brendan, I know what it’s like to grow up with money, and I fully understand the outside not matching the inside in people. I know how it feels to get torn up by your old man, and I know what it’s like to try to deaden the pain in whatever way you can. We all have our methods."

"What were yours?"

Nate looked back at the kid and his heart about ripped open. He might need rehab at some point down the line, but at the moment what he needed most was to know that he wasn’t alone–that someone else had walked through the fire and not been consumed. "Booze, cocaine, weed, women, fast cars, seedy bars, fight clubs…do you want me to keep going?"

"Fight clubs?"

"Pain can be its own reward at times."

Brendan rubbed at his shirtsleeves. "Is there more to the list?"

Nate wiped a hand across his face. "Not unless we start doing shots."

"Fair enough."

"The point is, we’re not so different, you and I."

Brendan leaned forward and looked Nate in the eye. "Listen, I know I may not look like much right now–all beat up like this.” He pointed to the meager portfolio. “But I can do this. I know I can. All I’m asking for is a shot."

Nate turned his attention back toward the folder. "These are good Brendan. Really good, but I can’t guarantee you anything. My best advice is to go to college and get a degree in graphic design. Otherwise kids with half your talent and a few extra letters behind their names are going to take every job you'll ever really want."

"I don’t know that I’m going to have that option."

"Don’t be ridiculous. There are other ways to pay for school."

"I have a little money saved, but living in Manhattan is crazy expensive. I’d have to work
and
go to school.”

"It is hard, but it’s not impossible. Normal people do it every day."

“I’m not some stupid, spoiled rich kid. I’ve seen the streets. I understand what I’m up against. I just need something part time maybe, so that I can work and go to school part time.”

“What about Europe?”

“Right now I’m trying to figure out what my options are.”

Nate found it hard to believe that Frank would refuse to pay for anything but business school, but then he obviously knew little about the situation. Heck, he wanted to take the kid home with him and beat the tar out of Frank–give him a taste of his own medicine. It took guts to walk away from a penthouse apartment and a guaranteed Ivy League education. "Do you really think he’s going to disown you for not going to Wharton?”

"He will after I’m done with him."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just forget it."

Nate let it slide. They’d covered a lot of ground so far and he didn’t want to push farther than Brendan was willing to give. "Let me see your camera."

"Why?"

"Because I’d like to see what kind of equipment you’re working with?"

"Oh. Sorry." Brendan handed over the camera.

"This is really nice. Did you buy it?"

"No. It was a gift–for my birthday."

"So they do support your interests–at least a little, right? I mean, they bought the Macs, the programs, the camera–"

"They buy me whatever I want to shut me up and keep me happy, ok? Is that what you want to hear?"

Nate tapped his foot on the ground, trying to gauge his chances. "This may be a stupid question, but–have you ever tried to talk to your dad about your interest in photography?"

"Of course I have."

"And did it end as badly as the birth certificate episode?"

"No." Brendan’s expression was flat again, lifeless.

"Why not?"

"Because he was sober during that particular conversation."

"So he’s only rotten when he’s drunk?"

Brendan glared at him. "He only uses his
fists
when he’s drunk."

"Right." Nate puffed out his cheeks and blew all his air out. It made things really sticky, having this kind of information. He was messing with the camera, and he hit the menu button that lit up the LCD screen with the last picture taken. It was the one of Brendan’s ribs. Nate just about came out of his seat. “Holy shit! Brendan, you can’t be serious? You have to see a doctor!”

“And tell them what, exactly? That one of the most powerful men in Manhattan beats his kid?”

“Tell them you got in a fight. Tell them you got jumped in an alley. It wouldn’t exactly be a stretch. Happens all the time.”

Brendan shook his head.

“Doesn’t your mom notice?"

“Sometimes. But she’s gotten pretty good at looking the other way.”

“God, Brendan. I don’t know what to say.”

He just sat there. Brendan apparently didn’t know what to say either.

"Does she know though? That it’s him, I mean."

Brendan looked away from Nate’s face. "It’s only every couple of months now, and only if I get in his way. She knew when I was little and threatened to leave him over it. After one particularly bad ‘fall’ I had down the stairs, he promised that it would never happen again and it didn’t–until I hit about thirteen or fourteen, when hormones and attitude took over for the instinct to save my own ass.”

Nate wanted to get up and pace, but he stayed put because he needed to hear the whole story–or at least, as much of it as Brendan was willing to tell. His right fist was clamped so tight that he began to lose feeling all the way up his arm.

“I used to disappear a lot afterwards. I had a pretty smart mouth so it wasn’t much of a stretch for him to convince her I was getting into fights. After all, it was partially true. Besides, by now he’s forgotten all about last night."

"What makes you say that?"

"He never remembers what he does when he’s drunk. It’s his very own little system of denial. He’d swear on my mother’s life that he’s never touched me–and aside from the beatings, he’d be right."

"And what would your mother say?"

"She’d say ‘give me a Seven and Seven’ and plead the fifth."

"You’re hilarious, you know that?"

"I wish it was funny.” Brendan looked at the folder. “Do you mind if I go grab some more coffee?"

"No. Go ahead."

Nate was still studying Brendan’s projects when he got back.

“So, what do you think? Did I get it right?"

"How much time did you spend on these?"

"Couple hours, why?"

"Couple of
hours
? Seriously Brendan–the tutorials alone should have taken six hours or more. Add in practice time and then fooling with your own pictures. Are you sure you’re remembering correctly?"

"I wasn’t high when I did this. I swear it. I’m telling you, I pick this stuff up real easy. The tutorials made a lot of sense, but I’ve been working with these programs myself quite a bit. Don’t forget–I’ve got two top of the line Macs."

"Well, I’m glad you like Apple products. They’re all we use in our office."

"I know."

Nate looked up. "You do?"

"I was there once, remember?"

"Of course.” Nate smiled. "How much do you know about HTML?"

"You mean can I write code?"

"Yeah."

Brendan’s mouth curled up at the edges and he nodded his head side to side. "I know my way around a web page."

"Really…self taught or school?"

"I don’t have many friends."

Nate looked him over. “Hell if I can figure out why.” Nate clamped one hand gently on Brendan’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Brendan.”

Brendan’s eyes suddenly began to tear.

“I’ve got a designer–Jeremy–he only works on Saturdays because of his school schedule. If you want to come by the office around nine I’ll see if he’s got some time to show you a few things, maybe give you a basic project to work on. Let’s just take it one day at a time, ok?”

Brendan swallowed and just nodded.

“I’m not offering you a job. I want you to graduate. I want to see if we can’t figure out a way to get you through college. But in the mean time, we can try and bring your knowledge base to the next level. Fair enough?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Brendan dropped his hand but didn’t make a move to leave. “You can’t…tell him you know all this. Not that he’d believe you. He’d deny everything. He’d deny me if it served his purposes, and that’s why it doesn’t matter anymore."

Nate nodded his understanding. "So, what are you going to do next?"

"I have a plan."

"That’s what I’m afraid of." Nate sat back again. "It doesn’t involve homicide, does it?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Brendan looked at the folder. “You mind if I take those with me? I’d like to keep working on them.”

“Yeah. No problem. Go ahead.”

Brendan paused at the door. The two of them exchanged a knowing look, and then Brendan was gone. Nate let go of his fist and tried to get the blood to come back into his hand. He needed to walk. He needed to let something out. His morning schedule was fairly light, so he went back home to change and headed to the gym.

"I can fight!"

"I know. I know you can fight. But it’s our wits that make us men."

-
Braveheart

Frank was late. Paige sat running her hand over the file folder, tapping her heeled shoe against one of the stumps of his massive oak desk. His lack of attention to those details he deemed less important was rooted deep in the underlying cause of the embezzlement scandal. They were exactly the kind of details she was hoping to discuss with him–if he ever saw fit to join her for their appointment.

Finally she got up and started wandering around his office. In the midst of a bookcase filled with awards and achievement plaques sat a small picture of Frank’s family. It was one of those obligatory photographer’s poses where everyone dresses up nice and tries to look happy. Paige recognized Ginny from their first meeting at the Carlton, but something about the boy struck a chord in her heart. He looked nothing like either of them. It was strange to her that Nate seemed to know Brendan better than his own father did, and yet they’d only interacted a handful of times.

Frank cleared his throat behind her. "Something funny, Ms. Hadley?"

"No. Nothing at all." Thoughts of Brendan looking out over the ledge of their cushy Madison Avenue apartment building gave her vertigo so she decided to sit down.

"Are you alright?"

"Never better." Paige opened the file folder as Frank sat in the overstuffed leather chair across from her. "I’m ready to conclude our business and I–”

“
You’re
ready to conclude our business?”

“If you’ll let me explain, I’m here to give you a full report on what I’ve found in each of the offices, along with the actions I’ve taken and a list of recommendations for increased security and compliance from here on out. Your people shouldn’t have any trouble following this."

"Are you going somewhere?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. Nate and I are flying to Barbados on Thursday. We’ll be gone less than a week, but I’m essentially done with the work you’ve assigned to our firm, so I thought I’d just let some of your people stitch together the last few minor details that are left."

The raise in his eyebrows signaled a significant challenge. She gave him a curious look, but he waved at her. "Go on."

"Well, to be honest you don’t need to be paying our prices for this bit of the workload. Your people are more than capable."

"What if I don’t want my people to be working on it?"

"Excuse me?"

"It seems to me like you’re trying to skip out on the end of the job."

"It’s not skipping out, Frank. If you were any other customer I’d be telling you the same thing."

"I'm not just any customer."

"We typically bow out at this point in an effort to teach people to fish. Our goal isn't to prove that you can't live without us. It's to make sure you can keep going on your own. We'll still be available for consult."

"Au contraire. You said yourself you'll be in Barbados."

"Our entire firm is not going to Barbados."

"No, but the one person who has personally re-designed my system and understands all of its inner workings is. If you ask me, that shows a lack of integrity."

"So, it would show more integrity to milk you for all you’re worth rather than do a competent job and then hand it back over as soon as possible?"

"I asked for a start to finish job. If I wanted my people to handle it I’d have let them do it in the first place. You’re going to have to postpone your little pre-honeymoon vacation."

"What?"

"You heard me, Ms. Hadley. If you think we’ll be done here in a couple of weeks, why you didn’t plan your trip then?"

"I wasn’t the one who planned it."

"Well, I’m sure Nate will understand."

Paige sat back against the chair. "You can’t be serious. The job is
done
, Frank. I have a stack of reports here for you. I have done my job with excellence and I was looking forward to a nice, civil conclusion to our business together. Do you really want to do this?"

"Do you?" He stared at her with the hardened look of a powerful man used to getting exactly what he wanted. "I can certainly give Kevin a call, but I’m pretty sure the last time I talked to him, he said you’d do whatever it took, no questions asked. Perhaps we need to revisit the ground rules.’’

Paige shook her head. No reiteration of the ground rules would be necessary. She’d heard Kevin loud and clear the last time they spoke.

"What I’m talking about is efficiency here Frank. It makes no sense to pay me to do the rest of this. Between the two continents, you have a great team working for you. If someone gets stuck there’s plenty of backup."

"I don’t want backup." Frank leaned forward and almost came out of his big leather chair as he leaned across his desk. "I want you to finish the job you started."

"So, it’s all about control, is it? You control it all and then you’re happy. That’s what feeds you, isn’t it Frank–some sick and twisted little version of your own universe where you get to be the king. Is that it?"

Frank’s eyes narrowed and Paige suddenly realized she had pushed him too far. "If I were you, Ms. Hadley, I would be very careful about the next thing you say."

She was fuming. It was all she could do to sit there and take what he was dishing out. It was one of those career-breaking moments and she was beginning to wonder if Nate was right. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. She just wanted out–out of his office, out of that building, and if at all possible, out of the country.

"You really don’t get it, do you?"

"Apparently not, Frank. Why don’t you enlighten me?"

"I’m going to give you a little piece of free advice sweetheart, so listen up and maybe it’ll save your pretty little ass a lot of trouble down the line. Perhaps you haven’t noticed a few of the more important details here, but this business is about doing your time and paying your dues."

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I've got that much figured out."

"Are you sure about that? Because most people who are hungry to make a name for themselves don't have to be asked to go above and beyond, so the only thing I can figure is, you really don't care about your future." He fingered a picture on his desk. "Which is a shame, if you ask me, because I happen to think you're brilliant."

Paige sat on her hands to keep them from slapping his face. She took deep, deliberate breaths and tried to slow the rhythm of her heart.

"See? You keep getting offended and I keep getting disappointed. It's unfortunate, really. So let me ask you this. What happens when my buddy Bill calls me up and asks me to lunch? He proceeds to tell me all about the difficulties his poor company is having with their financial end and says ‘Hey Frank–your company runs so well. Who does your books?’ Then I get to tell him all about who I like and who I don’t like; who’s been good to me and who’s dealt me a raw deal; who’s easy to work with and who is a royal-pain-in-the-ass." He let those last words draw out so slowly his target was unmistakable.

"Bill then has lunch with Steve, who has lunch with Randy and pretty soon Kevin’s company can’t land a job to save their lives, so they go under and poor Paige loses her job, then finds it surprisingly difficult to get another one."

"Ah, yes. The infamous ‘boys club’. So you’re black listing me?"

"I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just telling you how the world turns."

"Your world, Frank."

"Yes, it is."

Paige digested the information and let it roll around in her brain. The very fact that he felt compelled to explain things in such detail was degrading, at best. He seemed to delight in treating her, and everyone else, like pawns to be moved according to his strategy. She glanced over at the picture of Frank’s son. She’d have definitely jumped by now.

"Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to do this for you and you’re going to black list me anyway?"

Frank sat back with unmistakable evil in his smile. He seemed to delight in watching her squirm. "Come now. There’s no need for all this nastiness. Why don’t we just go get some dinner and we can discuss it further?" The words came slithering out of his mouth and she shivered inadvertently. "You know, it is possible to settle things in a more–" He searched the air for the word. “–Gentlemanly manner. I know my business means a lot to Kevin, and I don’t want to disappoint him. Do you?”

Bile gathered up in the back of her throat as the all too familiar fear began to build, sending her body into full fight-or-flight mode. She might as well have been right back in that alley kicking and screaming for her life, being threatened with a knife at her neck. Several things became sickening clear in that moment.

Corporate rape was no different from the other–just a little less tangibly violent. She could feel her mind starting to tear away from the edges of reality as the room began to shrink. She closed her eyes and fought back, trying desperately to remember some of the strategies the psychiatrist had given her to deal with her episodes. If Frank watched her check out completely it really would be the end of her career.

Hatred eclipsed fear. Her breath stilled and she looked at Frank with a calculated, pinpoint stare meant to shoot straight into his heart. She’d decided a long time ago that she would rather die than go through that again. "This isn’t about Kevin and you know it. How ‘bout we leave him out of this?"

Frank shook his head. "He hired you. You work for him. You represent him and his company. Like it or not, he’s attached. Truth be known, I think we both kept hoping you’d pony up and do the right thing."

"What haven’t I done right Frank? Tell me, please."

"This isn’t about your qualifications. Your Curriculum Vitae is outstanding. It’s the
way
you do what you do. You fight and balk every step of the way, and to be honest, it’s tiresome. Men in my position have enough stress. We don’t have time to baby-sit spoiled prima donnas."

Paige huffed out a short, incredulous breath and shook her head silently. Unbelievable.

"You work as if you’re being chased by bad guys all the time, so you put on a tough girl face just so they’ll leave you alone. Now, I don’t know who’s hurt you in the past and frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. What I’m telling you is that it’s affecting your work and you don’t even see it. You’re so busy defending yourself that you can’t see what a pain in the ass you are to work with. You’re high-risk Paige, not to mention high-maintenance."

Thoroughly beaten, her self-confidence ravaged, she sat silently in a fog of confusion. Part of her mind knew that what he was saying was true, but her heart couldn’t make it right–couldn’t react at anything but a gut level to the spears being tossed her way. She sat there, shrinking ever so slowly, becoming a part of the very fabric of the chair.

"The higher up you go in this business the more you’ll realize it’s a genteel sort of sport. We’ve chosen to rise above guns and knives and physical violence. We all understand the rules and we play the game…differently. It’s more about connections, Paige, and the sooner you learn that the better off you’ll be."

The gauntlet had been thrown and she saw it lying in the middle of the desk, spanning the space between them. It was choosing time, and her choices had been narrowed down to two–three if you counted career suicide. "What, you just want to throw down right here on the desk?"

Frank appeared appropriately shocked and appalled by her choice of phrase. "My dear, I was merely suggesting you allow me to take you to dinner so that we could discuss our options. Don’t make this into more than it is."

"Right."

His face seemed to morph momentarily into the head of a snake. She had to blink hard a couple of times before it came back into focus. She stood up and shook his hand. "I’m sure Nate and I can reschedule our trip. I will personally see to it that this job is finished with every “i” dotted and every “t” crossed.”

“Thank you.”

Paige left Frank’s office on shaking legs. The throngs of people crowding the streets blurred into a dark mass as her feet carried her home without the benefit of her mind’s recognition. When her cell phone rang she didn’t pick it up. When a text came in she ignored the red flashing light. She was sitting on the couch, staring into the dark when she heard Nate’s key turn in the door.

__________

Nate flipped on the light and then jumped back when he saw Paige sitting there on the couch. Her cell phone sat untouched, still flashing on the table.

"I’ve been trying to call you. What’s wrong?" When she didn’t respond he took a good look at her. Her knees were drawn up and she was rocking her head back and forth, holding herself.

"Paige? Are you ok?"

When he sat down, she didn’t move; didn’t acknowledge his presence in the least. When he touched her arm she drew back. He started to panic.

"Paige, what happened? Talk to me or I’m calling the police."

She slowly turned her head and looked at him. "Don’t."

"Don’t talk to you or don’t call the police?"

Her eyes suddenly broke free and tears spilled out with a vengeance. "Please just hold me." When he opened his arms, she fell completely into his embrace, crying quietly at first but unable to hold back the wracking sobs that quickly followed. She moaned with a weeping that conveyed some sort of matching physical pain. He wanted to scream at her for more information.

Instead he rocked her in his arms, stroking her hair and pushing back against the memories that stood mocking him on the threshold of control. The night of the rape she had never cried. She just entered that same catatonic state and drew deep inside herself, disappearing into the underbrush. Tracking was useless. She was the only one who knew the way and she never left breadcrumbs.

Now it seemed like all of that latent pain was being poured out in one fell swoop. The part he hated most was the feeling of utter helplessness. He wanted to scream, but finally settled on tears of his own–as if he could stop them. They ran silently down his cheeks and into her hair and the relief he felt was almost palpable. His fists were relaxed, his breathing relatively steady. No wonder chicks didn’t pick fights.