Family Issues Ch. 11

"Vote against it."

Helen sighed. "I'm one out of seven, plus I will be going against the board of directors' wishes."

"Doesn't William have the final say? He really values your opinion."

"He's apathetic, and I don't think he'll go against the board. We had a huge fight about it on Thursday. I said things that I shouldn't have."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. We've never done that before. I'm too ashamed to approach William right now, plus I still don't really know what's going on."

"Then pull your weight on the other directors and vice presidents."

"I used to have a say. But four directors decided to quit this year, and I don't have the same influence with the new bunch. I tried talking with Alan Mason—he's our new CFO. He said he's too green to make a decision and that he'll vote with the majority. Spineless idiot."

"Baby," He rubbed her cheek. "I'm not trying to suck the wind out of your sails, but you're not exactly Nelson Mandela when it comes to negotiations and influencing people. Maybe try a different approach with the guy?"

"A waste of time. He's a total tool. Anyone who's been working with him says the man is not fit to be an accountant for a piggy bank, never mind a CFO for a company with a market value of seven billion dollars."

"If he's so incompetent, then why the hell did you hire him in the first place?"

"The board kept shooting down every nominee William offered. Alan Mason was the only one they somehow accepted, and the company desperately needed a new CFO."

"The board of directors shot down your nominees?"

"It's part of their job to approve applicants for any major position."

"You mean the board that has Suzan Owens sitting on it? The lady you said was a legit businesswoman, but I know she's somehow connected to organized crime?"

Helen rose up on her haunches. "Jesus, Kev."

"Huh?"

She jumped out of bed. "I think you're onto something big here."

–-

Life seemed orderly in suburbia; there was none of the city chaos. Grass grew to even length in each yard, the same boring car models sat in the garages, and it appeared as if the same people lived in the small houses. Helen felt like a detective in a black and white movie as she surveyed the yard from the street corner. Richardson and Williams' former CFO trimmed the yew bushes of her live fence. Helen regretted not calling first, but then again, if something foul was afoot, Sarah Flores Dragoumis might have refused to talk.

Helen checked with a board member with whom she was more or less in good relations. Suzan Owens' name kept coming up regarding the new CFO and other hiring decisions. She was behind shooting down every nominee William had offered.

Helen was pondering her options for approaching her former colleague when the elder woman noticed her and waved enthusiastically. So much for detective discretion.

"Oh my God, Helen, what are you doing here?" Sarah was a slightly heavy bulldog of a woman in her early sixties. She'd been with William since the founding of the company until she resigned unexpectedly a few months ago.

"I was just passing by, and I thought as long as I'm here I might drop by and say hi."

"Come in, come on in, dear. What a delightful surprise. So nice of you, Helen—you should have called, and I would have made us dinner."

Helen could never tell if Sarah's enthusiasm was genuine or entirely faked. As colleagues, they were never close, but Helen always admired Sarah's uncompromising professionalism and hoped that the former CFO felt something similar towards her.

The house's interior was clean, tidy, and freshly painted. The walls and cabinets were brimming with brightly colored ornaments Sarah had brought with her from her travels to the Far East.

"A special set for a special guest." The elder woman brought honey-cakes and tea to the table in a silver tea set, engraved with eastern dragons.

Helen felt special for a moment, then she looked around. The house's tidiness was the lonely kind of tidiness, and Helen, who lived alone, could recognize it for what it was. Tidiness that is the result of no one being there to make a mess. The former CFO lost her husband years ago to cancer, and she had a single son who lived upstate.

"Lots of saints." Helen felt she should comment on the unique décor. The kitchen's walls were decorated by glum-looking, bearded, medieval men wearing robes and holding scriptures and crosses.

"My husband and I belonged to the Greek Orthodox Church. Do you like them?"

"Isn't the Greek Orthodox Church the one that claims futanari have no eternal soul?"

"Claimed. Past tense. The church renounced it twenty years ago. They now even accept futanari women as members."

"Good to know." Helen took a sip of tea.

"Well, can't say that I blame you for the cynicism."

Helen forced a smile. Her mother had been murdered by religious fanatics, and her only crime was marching in a gay rights parade in Phoenix. Helen wasn't too fond of any religious institutions.

"But times are changing, Helen. I work these days as an accountant for the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America. There is still a long way to go, but I can sincerely attest that we are changing."

"I thought you quit Richardson and Williams to work for another real estate firm. I mean you were—"

"I offer my services as an accountant for the church for free, Helen. I don't work these days. I've retired."

"Oh."

"This isn't really a courtesy visit, is it, dear?"

Helen coughed to mask her embarrassment and to buy time to think of something to say. Sarah had a sharp mind and a sharp tongue. Her sweet grandmotherly act was misleading.

"Did William send you?"

Helen shook her head.

"Why now?"

"Things are happening... You resigned unexpectedly a few months ago. In itself, that's not so odd, but in a short period our operations officer, HR manager, and the legal team manager chose to leave, along with several other high-ranking employees. William was certain at the time that someone was headhunting his people. It didn't make sense because the market was crap. Still is. I, I...this morning it occurred to me that we might have overlooked something."

"Ask the question, Helen."

"Why did you really leave Richardson and Williams?"

The elder lady sighed and refilled her cup with tea. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

"What?"

Sarah took the tray to the sink and returned with a framed photograph she'd taken off the wall. It showed three people smiling in front of a church. "That's my husband and me, and that's our son, Nicholas."

"He's very handsome."

"Too handsome for his own good." Sarah's smile was sad. "Not the best son a mother could wish for. He remembers to call his mom maybe twice a year and usually when he's asking for money. But he is my son. My only son and I haven't lost hope that he will bring me a grandchild one of these days, amen."

Helen smiled.

"Five months ago, he was arrested in Mexico."

"Why?"

The old woman sighed. "I can't tell you what he did."

"You don't know?"

"It's hard enough admitting to myself what he did, Helen. Don't make me say it out loud."

Helen nodded because she thought this might be the appropriate gesture, then blushed because she thought it was stupid to nod. Helen wasn't half as terrible with people as she thought she was, but she was always overthinking and second-guessing herself. It made for awkward moments.

"Maybe we spoiled him too much. I don't know why he chose this path." Sarah caressed the photograph. "I was desperate. I hired the best attorney, but he said the least my son could expect was twelve years in a Mexican prison. Then someone approached me and offered me a way out."

"Someone? That someone by sweet chance wouldn't be Suzan Owens?"

Sarah looked genuinely surprised. "Suzan? From the board of directors Suzan? No."

"Then who?"

"We only met once in person. A tall lady, a futanari. She called herself Brigitte." Sarah shrugged. "But you can never know with this kind of people; it was probably not her real name. She said that they could make sure that all the testimonies and evidence the Mexican police had against my son would go missing. That he could be out of the Mexican prison in a week. All I had to do was..."

"Resign? You're saying someone blackmailed you to quit?"

"He's my only son, Helen. These people, whoever they were, kept their side of the bargain."

"And Richardson and Williams hired a dummy in your stead. Except, he's not really an idiot. He's these people's lackey. Someone has been replacing Richardson and Williams' top management. All is left to find out is who and to what end."

Sarah sighed.

"You know, don't you?"

"I have my suspicions. Anything out of the ordinary in the office lately?"

"I'm not sure if it's even related." Helen took a bite of the cake. It was terrible. She thought of Kevin's cake that waited for her back home. "I've found a lot of bogus receipts for big data analysis reports that we've never received. The retailer is a business intelligence company called ElasticDatica"

"Did you ever check if ElasticDatica is even a real company?"

"What do you mean like a...like a straw company?" Helen said.

Sarah nodded.

"Why would Marianne order an analysis report from a straw company...?" Helen stared at Sarah for a few seconds. Then she remembered her conversation with Kevin this morning, and something clicked. She slapped her forehead. "I thought that Suzan was trying to buy us or trying to use us to support a failed investment. But I was thinking like a businesswoman. It's so much simpler."

Sarah nodded again.

"It's, it's a heist. It's a fucking heist. Jesus, I was thinking along the lines of a hostile takeover. Kevin was right. They're not businessmen, they're gangsters. It all makes perfect sense now."

"They're not into investing, they're into stealing."

"Exactly! How do you steal a seven-billion-dollar company? You can't charge through the door with guns blazing." Her heart was racing both with the elation of the discovery but also because it jarred her fear of changes. "You place your own people in key positions like the board of directors or the CFO, and you invest the company's money in bullshit companies, paying for fake work." Helen slapped her forehead again then jumped to her feet and started pacing the room. "Jesus, Destiny Mall, it's not a Ponzi scheme. It's not even a real thing—no wonder the city council didn't even approve the development plan. I bet there is no plan. It's a robbery. We're never going to see a dime of that investment. They're robbing us blind! 740 million dollars. Oh my God, Sarah, this is huge! We've got to go to the police."

"We?"

"With your testimony, we can stop them."

The former CFO rose and placed the photo back in its place on the wall. "Brigitte told me that if I even dreamt of going to the police, they would make sure I never see my son again."

"What are you saying?"

"If you go to the police, I'll deny we even talked. He's my only son, Helen."

"But..."

"Helen, these people are powerful and ruthless. They're very good at what they do. I'm pretty sure my son's arrest was no coincidence. They arranged it somehow. You can't fight them; they'll find a way to get to you. Maybe not directly but through someone you hold dear."

Helen immediately thought of Kevin. She was willing to shoot anyone who might harbor a thought of hurting him. She didn't care if it was the entire Colombian drug cartel. Then her eyes became round. "Jesus, they already did. Diana."

"Your little sister?"

"They have her under their thumb."

Sarah nodded, and Helen felt the oxygen leaving her body. She sat down. "Jesus Christ. What should I do?"

"You can quit."

"What?"

"You're young. You have an excellent rep. Any real estate company would hire you."

"Bail out of the sinking ship?"

"You can't fight these people, Helen."

"And leave William, just like that?" Helen's smartphone chimed for an incoming message.

"I can't tell you what to do. Whatever you choose, please be careful."

On her way home Helen weighed her options. Jumping ship wasn't one of them. She didn't live in a third world country; she lived in the USA. Gangsters didn't own the law enforcement institutions, and no criminal would be able to just dance in and steal her company now that she knew what was happening. No way.

She remembered she had a message waiting and checked her phone. The message came from an unknown number.

"Hi, babe, it's me. I've got free time tomorrow after the lecture. I've booked us a room at the Comfort Inn near Lincoln Park, the one next to the university. I'll be waiting in room Number 53 at 2:30 p.m. See you there. Love, Kevin."

Kevin must have gotten his hands on a new phone. He was keeping true to his promise to try and meet her as much as he could. Her heart soared again. Then she remembered the CEO meeting at four thirty. Sadly it would be a quickie, but she'd make it one they'd remember.

She texted, "You can bet your sweet li'l thang that I'll be there." She then texted four red hearts just to make it less sleazy.

–-

Sunday night, the club was jumping, and Kevin's heart danced along with the electrical beat. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so happy. He was in love with a beautiful, smart, and successful woman, and for the first time in his life, that love was reciprocal. Helen was crazy about him. The burden he'd carried for two years, supporting his father, was suddenly off his shoulders. He was still going to help his dad get back onto his feet, but there was no longer a sword hanging above his neck.

He skipped up the stairs, two at a time on his way to Diana's office. He breathed in deeply the stuffy, smoky air of the club, and it tasted like freedom.

A blond guy in an ugly black suit who looked like he'd just taken a shower collided with Kevin on his way down. They both fell backward, but Kevin was the first to get up and apologize. He offered the young man his hand. To his surprise, the guy rose stiffly, ignoring the offered help and gave Kevin a hostile scan.

"You're Kevin," he said. For some reason, his tone sounded accusing.

"The one and only," Kevin smiled and offered his hand. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking. We've met?"

"No." The man ignored the offered hand again and stiffly went down the stairs. Kevin stared at his back for a second and then shrugged. "Wow," he said to a tiny brunette with a slick ponytail who watched the whole incident from the upper landing. "Some people should be required by law to carry a vodka flask at all times so they can offer a sip to the poor sods who need to deal with them."

She laughed. "Yeah. A major douche. That's the FB-fucking-l for ya."

"For real?"

"Ya."

"FBI? What's he doing in here?"

"The boss. Well, she's doing him, but you get what I mean."

"More than you care to know." Kevin rubbed his own ass.

"You're Calvin, the new bartender?"

"I'm Kevin, the old boyfriend. The boss' future ex."

Her mouth twisted to a big O. "I'm... Shit! I didn't mean—"

"That's okay." He checked her nametag. "Janine. We have an open relationship, Diana and I. She can fuck whomever she wants, and I can fuck off as far as she's concerned...well, as long as I don't look at other women, that is."

"Oh."

"Where is my delicate princess? In her office?"

"I wouldn't go there." She tried to block his way.

"I wonder why." He quickly sidestepped her and opened the door to Diana's office. His girlfriend was slouched on her manager's chair, her skirt was up, and her legs were spread on the chair's arms. Ethan kneeled between her thighs and was slurping happily on her butthole.

"Hi, honey." Kevin beamed.

Diana didn't even have the decency to look guilty. Ethan heard the door slam and immediately got up and wiped his mouth.

"What are you doing here, babe?" she said.

"I got myself thinking. I told Helen, 'three weeks.'"

"I thought I told you, you're not allowed to call Helen anymore?"

"I thought we abolished slavery in the nineteenth century?"

"Look, baby," she straightened her skirt. "Don't—"

"Didn't she just fuck an FBI agent, Ethan? Just saying, she's been around. You better get your ass to a clinic and get yourself tested for like, well, everything, man. Anyway, I asked myself, who am I kidding? No way I can come up with so much money in three weeks, so why wait?"

"Wait for what?"

"So, without further ado, Princess Di..." Kevin bowed theatrically. "Roses are red violets are blue, I am single again, and so are you."

"What the fuck?"

"Eenie meanie miny mo, you ain't nothing but a hoe, you can bite me just so you know, eenie meanie miny mo."

"Watch it!"

"I left the keys on the bookshelf near the bed. Have a nice...fuck that, you're a terrible person. Can't think of a single nice thing to say."

"You're leaving me?"

"Welcome to Dumpsville, Diana. Population, you."

"Deluded much, Kev?"

"Knock, knock. Who's there? Single. Single who? Single you."

"You forget something, baby butt."

"Don't bother to use my dad's promissory note. Helen will pay it if you plan on using it to get back at me, which I know you do, since you're a failure as a human being."

Diana snarled like an enraged Tyrannosaurus Rex and was on him in a second. She was shocked when her stomach met the flat sole of his shoe, and her cute ass met with the floor half a second later.

"Not tonight, baby." He shook his head. "Not tonight."

She was on her feet in a flash. Diana was a head taller and much stronger. Kevin had speed, the Krav Maga skills Helen had practiced with him, life had taught him how to take a beating, and he had seven months of pent-up abuse at the hands of this woman.

Two minutes later she had a swollen lip, and she was on her aching ass, again, breathing hard and snarling. Kevin was still on his feet. He had a swollen eye, but he was smiling.

"God, that felt good, Diana. He rubbed his lip where she'd once punched his teeth out. How does it feel when the shoe is on the other foot that goes into your ass?"

"Are you just going to stand there?" she screamed at Ethan.

Her assistant raised his hands. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's not over, Kev. It's only over when I say it is."

"Seek therapy, babe." He flipped her and Ethan the bird and took off into the night.

Mike was waiting for him outside the club, leaning against his ancient rusty Ford. The trunk was open to accommodate all of Kevin's stuff they'd both dragged earlier from Diana's apartment. Kevin's entire life could fit inside the back of a Ford.

Mike was in the process flexing his skills on a couple of Dominican hotties who waited in the line to the club. He was doing pretty well, by the look of it, with his easy-going confidence.

"So, I'm not saying that the moon landing is a conspiracy." Mike rolled a J as if he were Bob Marley's son. "But Armstrong lied about the drugs and the Tour de France, so who can say that he didn't lie about the first step on the moon too? Woah, Kev." He whistled when he saw Kevin's swollen, half-closed eye. "The bitch didn't take it so well?"

Kevin jumped over the door and into the front seat. He wasn't showing off to the giggling girls; the Ford's door had been jammed since Mike bought the car. "Freedom!" he growled.

"Sorry ladies, gotta go. My homie here just gave his main chick the 'let's just be friends' talk. As you can see, he's devastated."

Kevin stood up on the seat and spread his arms, fists pointing up to the sky.

"F-r-e-e-d-o-m!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You don't look like Mel Gibson with your arms spread like that. More like what's his face from Titanic, which has a way better ending than Braveheart, by the way, because once the Titanic went under, the girl said she loves him, and he figured he's better off drowning."