Godsend Ch. 02 - Return to Sender

Godsend ch. 2- Return to Sender

©2021 Ribnitin

And now for something completely different. If that upsets you, stop reading.

In many conversations, people hear what they expect to hear, rather than what the speaker actually said. If that upsets you, stop reading.

Don't bother reading this until you've read chapter 1. If you like surprises, I hope you find this one enjoyable.

* * *

Allison Anand loved the beach. She loved the sun, she loved the sand, she loved the water. She was always thrilled when the Pierce family invited her to join them for a weekend at their estate on the Gulf Coast. She and I would sit together in back of the private jet, my parents in front, various cousins, housekeepers or friends in the middle.

Allison was still a child when her parents first allowed her to travel with us; we would chatter happily about school, friends, whatever frivolity crossed our minds. As Allison and I got older our attention would turn more towards each other on the trips down. By the time we graduated high school, my mother kept a close eye on us, saying "Scott, wait until you and Allison are married."

Allison's bathing suits became more revealing as she developed more to keep hidden. They never crossed the line to impropriety. I sometimes wandered over that line as I rubbed sunscreen onto her body, applying it occasionally to areas she kept covered. "This is how I want to spend my life," she purred. "You, our children and me, lying in the sun, playing in the sand."

"How many will we have, Allie?"

"Four is a good number." She looked in every direction before turning her eyes back to me. "Kiss me."

I did. We were always at a public beach so I couldn't do much else, though her lips held the promise of more. We were supposed to spend our lives, well at least our weekends in the sun, in the sand, in the water. I would make sure that she was always well-oiled. The only thing that would burn would be our passion for each other.

I knew Allison wanted to leave our town after we got married, but she seemed to accept that I had a responsibility to take care of the business my great-grandfather had founded. It was the centerpiece of our city's economy, and needed a hands-on, dedicated owner. Allison seemed to accept it, but grudgingly.

Maybe that grudge was the reason she was so easily wooed by David Harmon. He was the only boy in high school who tried to win her away from me. I didn't think he succeeded, despite the couple of times he convinced her to go out with him. I couldn't complain when she did that, given my occasional bragging about how I was breaking the hearts of so many of our female classmates. It was a lie, but as a hormonal teenage boy I thought it sounded good. Still, Allison and I never renounced our love for each other. We never altered our plans to marry and spend our lives together.

Till my parents were killed.

Allison and I were living in separate dorms at a university a couple of hours drive from home. It was Winter Break. There were too many parties that we wanted to attend, so we declined my parents' invitation to go south with them that weekend. I'll never know whether it was poor maintenance, a sudden squall, or something else that forced their Beechcraft down into the Gulf of Mexico. The plane was never recovered, their bodies never found. The only indication of a problem was the pilot yelling "mayday, mayday" before the Beechcraft hit the water.

I went into a deep funk. Allison tried to comfort me. Our mayor tried to comfort me at the memorial service, encouraging me to be mindful of the well-being of Darcy Pierce Industries. I imagined my father speaking to me from his watery grave, encouraging me to finish my last semester of school, and then return home take over the family business. I took a week to try to settle my mind, then returned to the university.

Spring Break was horrible. I decided to go home, arrange some things about the house, and get more involved with Darcy Pierce Industries.

"Scott, my love. I can't go home now," Allison told me. "Everything there reminds me of your parents. I need to be away; I need to be distracted. I miss them too much."

I was touched by how close she felt to them. "It will be worse at school," I said. "Most everyone will be away. With so many students gone the town is practically shut down. Come home with me, Allison. Help me honor my parents' memory."

She looked downward, off to the side and spoke softly. "A group of friends are going to South Padre Island for Spring Break. I'm going to join them. It will hopefully take my mind off our tragedy."

I was stunned, and gasped for breath. "Our tragedy" was an explanation for going off to party. When I found out a few weeks later that David Harmon had been one of the South Padre Island group of friends, I was aghast. After graduation the two of them got jobs in the same city, a couple of hours flight from home. Six months later they were engaged. Within a few years Allison Anand-Harmon and David Harmon had two children together. My heart was destroyed. She was supposed to have babies with me.

I went into a serious depression. With the death of my parents my past had been taken from me. With Allison abandoning me, my dreams for the future were crushed. I knew I needed help. I didn't want to see a psychiatrist because word was sure to get around. It would hurt my credibility as an industrialist, as a pillar of the community. I called my church; Reverend Oliver had always been there for me, lending a sympathetic ear when I needed someone to unburden myself to.

The Church secretary was usually cheerful when I called. "Hi Sharon, I need to speak to the Reverend ASAP."

She paused for a few seconds, sniffling before responding. "Hold on; I'll transfer you."

"Mark White speaking."

"Oh, uh, sorry. Sharon must have transferred me to the wrong extension. I'm calling for Reverend Oliver. Could you pass me to him please?"

"Reverend Oliver is on extended leave. I'm his replacement. Who am I speaking with?"

"Scott Pierce. When is he due back?"

"Ahh, Pierce Industries. There's no date for Oliver's return."

"Is it for a few days or a few weeks?"

"I can't answer that, Mr. Pierce. I'd love to sit down with you and chat. Let's get together tomorrow for lunch."

I didn't need this. Reverend Oliver was the only person in town I was able to confide in. Allison had been on the list, but her trip to South Padre removed her. "I can't make it. I'll send a donation. Is there a phone number at which I can reach Reverend Oliver? I need to speak to him."

"Listen, Mr. Pierce... Scott. I heard you were close with him. Between you and me, I think he's gone back to Belfast. It's probably going to be for a long time. There is no way of reaching him. When would you like to get together to chat about Pierce Industries?"

I started to choke up. "I'll call you."

My parents had suddenly died. My girlfriend married another man. Now my best confidant had disappeared. I was left to deal with my depression, and I wasn't very good at it. I put all my life energy into looking after Darcy Pierce Industries, and none into looking after the well-being of Scott Pierce.

My father had taught me about Darcy Pierce Industries. I had worked in the office, on the manufacturing floor, shipping, accounting... I had a business degree, and knew the lay of the land. When I took over running the company I was fixated on dealing fairly with my customers, my staff, my suppliers. I didn't understand people, and I didn't understand how other people did business.

I assumed everyone I dealt with kept their word. If someone said they were going to do "X" I had no doubt that "X" would be done. If a customer said they would pay their debt by a certain date, I considered it money in the bank. I didn't suspect that I needed to verify the quality of the valves that we received from a supplier we'd been dealing with for over thirty years. I was sure he delivered whatever was in the specifications.

So when equipment we shipped to the government began to fail, I thought it was my fault, not my supplier's. It took about six months to discover that the valves were made with a low-grade alloy rather than the one called for in the specifications. I called the valve supplier's owner, who had been a friend of my parents.

"I'm so sorry this happened, Scott. I sold the company to an investment fund over a year ago. They paid a premium for our name and reputation. I'm shocked that they let it go downhill like that."

"Who bought it?"

"Whiterock Capital. I heard that they were bought out by a bigger fund a few months later; I don't remember the name. Do you want me to look it up?"

"Don't bother. Our attorneys will dig up whatever information they need. Good talking to you."

"Likewise, Scott. Stay strong."

I sued, but our reputation had already taken a hit that the courts couldn't restore. The supplier went into Chapter 11, and we were lucky to collect two million dollars. The damage to Pierce Industries was at least ten times that much. The damage to my self-confidence couldn't be calculated. A snowball had started rolling downhill, taking my business and my interest in life with it. Orders dropped, production slowed, staff was laid off.

Reverend White, who had taken over from my friend, lent moral support to the laid-off staff, telling them it wasn't their fault they were out of work, but rather that of incompetent management that refused to talk with him. I recalled our first conversation. He must have been offended by my insistence on talking with Reverend Oliver.

The town turned hostile. The employees I kept on became careless. My social life had gone downhill since the beginning of my depression. Now it hit bottom and kept sinking. I lost my few face-to-face friends, though I never was that close with any of them. I had Facebook friends, and not even many of those. I was startled when the algorithm suggested Allison Harmon as a friend. I sent off a message "Hi," not expecting a response.

A message did come later that evening, but not the type I was expecting. I was getting ready for bed when I heard glass breaking. I went downstairs and discovered that someone had thrown a large rock through my living-room window. I looked around outside and found obscene graffiti painted on my front door.

That flipped a switch in me. Allison had been right. This god-forsaken town was not where I wanted to spend my life. I began to develop a plan.

By the time Allison accepted my Facebook friend request several months later, I had already made a great deal of progress. The most surprising discovery I made was that Whiterock Capital, the company that bought our valve supplier, had been taken over by Vestry Capital. The defective valves happened shortly after the management of Vestry was taken over by David Harmon, Allison's husband. I didn't know if it was personal on Harmon's part, but it became personal for me.

I started "liking" some of Allison's Facebook posts. After doing that for a while I left one or two word comments, like "wow," or "very nice." I shared a few of her posts to my timeline. I left longer comments. I sent short innocuous messages. She started responding, and I started casually mentioning innocent places or events from our past. Eventually it led to Messenger discussions of not-so-innocent deeds and places. Finally it got to "It would be nice to see you again, Scott." My reply was "I miss you too."

A few weeks, a few exchanges later, she sent a message "My flight arrives at a quarter to five. Pick me up at the airport."

I felt a thrill, but was unsure whether it was expectation of seeing my one and only love, or anticipation of revenge.

Allison still must feel something for me. Why else would she have suggested that we get together for a couple of days, to remember good times of the past? Why else would she have greeted me with a scorching kiss?

Reverend White was a creature of habit, having a schedule of restaurants he dined at. On any given weekday you knew what time and where he would be having supper. I had been worried that he would greet Allison in the restaurant before she did anything wrong with me, but she quickly took the initiative to act inappropriately. That part of my plan was successful. Word quickly got back to Harmon that there was an issue with his wife.

My pretense of poverty did not go so well. Reverend White mocked me as a pauper while he sat across from me in the restaurant. Allison was horrified when I tried to negotiate the check. She seemed pissed when I asked her to move to the Bahamas with me. I realized I'd overdone things when she said "Walk me to the Holiday Inn. I'll get a room and then you'll go home." She added "I need to be alone tonight." It had been years since we had been together. I'd have to wait a little longer. I had to tone down the melodrama.

As we were walking to the hotel she said "There's something special about the feel of your cock stretching me, reaching so far in." I hadn't made love to her in years. Either our sex was really memorable, or she was setting me up after pushing me away. I couldn't risk it being the latter, and was glad I hadn't come clean about the collapse of the employee pension fund. I hinted that I stole all its money. In truth though, how was I to know Tesla would be such an enormous success? It was a bad move to short its shares. Who'd have thought that Sears, such a venerable retailer, would go under rather than recover? Reverend White had been correct: the employee pension fund had been mismanaged. Or rather it wasn't managed in the interests of the people who tossed a rock through my living room window. The fund really was quite empty.

I left Allison at the door to her hotel room and went to the bar next door to ponder my next move. Maybe I should try to bring 'the special feel of my cock' into play. I called and told her I was downstairs. That made her angry, and she demanded that I leave immediately. Her window overlooked the street, and she watched me get in my car and drive away.

I didn't want to let Allison slip through my hands again, but didn't trust her enough to open my heart. We went out for dinner to a chintzy Chinese restaurant we used to frequent. Allison had regularly complained that the food tasted like cardboard but always chose this place when I asked where she wanted to go on our high school dates.

The food was wok-fried, but the conversation was a grilling. I made up a cockamamie story about the money we would live on if she would run off with me to the Bahamas. I tried to keep her off balance by slipping into a brief but real rage and accusing her of setting me up. She then got angry when I said that her kids were too young to leave everything behind. I had checked out the reputation of the school near the Bahamas estate I had a purchase option on. It was not so great in the younger grades, very good for the higher ones. Allison threw a fit and walked out on me. I ate my almond cookie, finished the tea, chatted with the owner and left.

I didn't expect to hear from her again that evening, but I did.

"Hey, Scott."

"Hello Allison. What's up?"

"I'm sorry for running out on you earlier. We should have talked it out."

"John Yu was hurt."

"Who?"

"Yu, the guy who owns the restaurant. He remembered us from our high school days, when we were always at his place. He was surprised you left without saying hello."

"Oh. Now I feel bad. Maybe we'll go there again in a couple of days."

"Aren't you leaving tomorrow?"

"Uh, no. David wants me to do the legwork for his fund's possible acquisition of your family business. I'll be here at least a few more days."

"Can you leave your children for so long? They're young, aren't they?"

"They have a nanny... and a father. They'll do without their mother for a few days."

"You don't sound too happy."

"Yeah, well..."

She had to have called me for a reason. Did her husband piss her off, or was she on another fishing trip for information? "What can I do for you Mrs. Harmon?"

I heard her take a sharp breath. I had acted love-sick in all our previous encounters; it wasn't all acting.

"Would you like to meet? We could have a drink at the nightclub near the Holiday Inn... what's it called?"

This was the perfect opportunity to get her a little tipsy, and resume our wonderful sex. "It's the Wagon Wheel, a country and western bar. But not tonight, Allison. Today was stressful for me, what with you trying to take away my business and running out on me at the restaurant. I'm simply trying to keep myself afloat. I'll meet you for breakfast tomorrow if you have the time."

She hesitated. "Okay, that sounds nice. Are you sure about tonight?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's not pleasant to deal with your antics. I've had enough of them today. What hotel are you at?"

"Um, well I'm..."

"I'm not stupid, Allison. The Holiday Inn told me you checked out."

"Oh, well... okay, the Evergreen Hotel around the corner. I know you're not stupid, Scott; not at all stupid."

"I'll pick you up at nine in the morning. That okay?"

"Sure Scott. Thanks. See you then." She made what might have been the sound of a kiss into the phone. Maybe she's more receptive to firmness than pleading. Maybe it wasn't a kiss that I heard.

At nine-fifteen it was easy to get a table at McDonalds where we could have a somewhat private conversation. She couldn't complain about the quality of food here. She ordered her old favorite, an Egg McMuffin and coffee.

"Why did you want to meet, Allison? I guess I must be good entertainment. I suppose there was nothing on TV last night, so you called me. How long do I have before you run out on me this time?"

"I'm—"

"You ran off on me to South Padre Island after my parents were killed. Then you ran away from the life we planned together. You ran off with our dreams of a raising a family together, and brought all of it straight into the arms of David Harmon."

Allison's mouth opened, but no words came out. She tried again. "I... uh..."

"Tell me, Allison dearest: was it your idea or your dear husband's plan to destroy Darcy Pierce Industries?"

"What are you talking about?"

Was she acting, or ignorant of Vestry Capital's actions? "I think you know."

I could practically hear the gears grinding in her mind. She decided to be angry.

"How could you even think of blaming David or me for destroying your family's company? That's all on you. You heard what Reverend White said: you're unmotivated and don't have the skills to operate the company properly."

Our table was in a corner, but her voice was loud enough to disturb other customers. This was a repeat of the Chinese restaurant dinner, where she tried to muster a crowd against me. All she garnered was angry glares.

"Do you believe Reverend White because of his extensive business training, or is it the in-depth knowledge he has of Darcy Pierce Industries? Or maybe it was his background as a union apparatchik before he decided to get holy."

"Come on, Scott. He's a Minister. They have to be good judges of character. Why are you attacking me like this? I thought we were friends."

"I'm getting there. Patience."

"I don't have to stand for this." She started to rise.

"You're supposed to be looking into the business my family ran for generations. You don't want to miss vital information. Sit down."