Rough Harbor (3 page)

Caitlyn went up the front steps this time, getting an eyeful of the Randall house. It was a monstrosity with a water view. Once Lydia Randall had divorced Maxwell, all restraint had fallen away. Maxwell had many passions – unfortunately, none of them matched. Colors had not mattered to the man at all, neither had the differences between marble, tile and linoleum. He lived at the whim of any decorator who sensed a commission but, typically, he lost interest in their efforts and stopped paying. Even the outside was a mess, a mix of shingles, clapboards and fieldstones, the trim two different shades of blue. Inside, modern sculpture vied with sepia-tinted photographs. It was a grand house, in its oddity, the rooms spacious, filled now with dark-suited mourners and white-coated caterers.

The desire to leave was so strong Caitlyn almost escaped before Sam took a hold of her and propelled her into the living room.

“There are some people I want you to meet,” he said and introduced her.

A group of men perked up when they heard her name. Their faces were uniformly bland, but their stances betrayed their impatience, as if they too would rather be anywhere but here.

They were sizing her up, trying to match an image with the name, and Caitlyn, fighting her discomfort, smiled to see if she could disarm them.

“It’s wonderful to have the next generation join us. We’re preparing for the future,” Sam said, his arm curving protectively around her. She resisted the urge to shake it off.

“Where were you before you joined the Randall Group?” one of them asked, his eyes slightly lecherous behind thick glasses.

“I was with Capital Trust in London.”

All of them nodded. It was a name they knew, a good name.

“Caitlyn was in client relations. She’s already doing a wonderful job here. Perhaps you saw the profile of the firm in the
Finance Daily
? It mentioned her specifically.”

They nodded, almost as a group. No, they hadn’t read the profile, but it was good to know. At least the bad news hadn’t traveled as fast here as it had in London, Caitlyn thought.

“And what are you doing now, for the firm?”

“Primarily client relations, but I was working with Maxwell on investment strategy.” She wanted them to know she was good for more than a few lunches and free tickets to the hot new show in town.

“Well, they were the best, Lucas and Max.” All of them raised their glasses in a toast, and Sam maneuvered her away.

“There are a few other people I would like you to meet, if you don’t mind. Just offer them some reassurance, remind them that you have experience, you’re looking forward to a long future with the firm.”

“What about Noah?” So far Sam hadn’t said a word about him. Noah had been acting more like a playboy than a businessman lately, and Sam was a bit old-fashioned, not quite getting technology companies and some of their sky-high valuations.

Sam looked at her and then scanned the room. Caitlyn followed his glance and saw Noah alone in a corner, his face dark, eyeing everyone with a wary expression. There was a glass in his hand, but he didn’t seem to be drinking much, just scanning the crowd.

“What about him?”

“Well, if you want to make such a big deal about me, then people will start to ask about him. After all, he’s the celebrity.”

“Noah Randall is not a member of the firm. And he’s known for spending his money, not saving it. We’ll have to let Noah answer those questions on his own, won’t we? Just tell people you don’t know what his plans are.”

Which was the truth. None of them knew how big a part Noah would play in their future. Caitlyn felt her body tighten. Her future could be in his hands; her position at the Randall Group was determined by whoever was the boss – which had been Maxwell, was now Sam, and tomorrow, who knew?

Caitlyn looked at Sam, whose face was not quite bland. She saw what he was thinking – that Noah wasn’t going to inherit the firm. In Sam’s mind, there was no way that Maxwell would make such a decision, to leave a company on whom more than a few people relied, in the hands of someone he hadn’t spoken to in ten years. No way would he pass over his faithful right-hand man for some newly minted paper billionaire, someone who had gotten lucky, at best, and was an irresponsible playboy at worst.

“I see. Thank you, Sam.” Caitlyn smiled briefly and moved away, thinking that in all of the years Sam Harris had worked for Maxwell Randall, he had failed to see the fundamental foundation of the man. For Maxwell, blood really was thicker than water.

<<>>

Caitlyn looked down at the little woman in front of her. She had to lean down and close in to hear what the woman was saying, since she refused to speak louder than a whisper.

“I remember your grandfather.”

Caitlyn smiled, preparing herself. Such a statement did not always mean what was coming next was a good thing.

“He was a good man,” she said, the implication being that Maxwell had not been.

Caitlyn figured the woman – Mrs. Smith, Sullivan, whatever – was close to eighty. She looked scattered and smelled like mothballs and lavender.

“I remember your mother, too.” Definitely not a good thing, Caitlyn thought and waited. There was no mention of her father; no one remembered him, not even Caitlyn, who dutifully sent him a card each Christmas. He was an alcoholic drifter who lived on a boat in the Caribbean. The marriage to Serena, Caitlyn’s mother, had been just enough to give Caitlyn legitimacy, which her grandfather then decided to question by having her name changed back to Montgomery.

“I wanted to speak to you, dear. Maxwell wouldn’t listen to me, said I was being daft. But you’ll listen. Addie said you would.”

Caitlyn didn’t know what the woman was talking about.

“Of course I’ll listen. What can I do for you?” A client was a client.

“There is something wrong with my account. I tried to get money, and they said it wasn’t there. But then it was. And everything was fine.”

Caitlyn smiled, not sure how she could help.

“Your bank account?”

“No, the firm account.”

“I’m sure it was nothing.” Caitlyn looked up. There was a noise, a commotion towards the other end of the long room, and she tensed.

Mrs. Smith-Sullivan looked at her. “I want to show you something.”

“Fine,” Caitlyn said. “We’ll talk later, but you must excuse me, there’s something I need to attend to.”

Caitlyn moved quickly, anger making her face tight. The crowd parted for her, sensing her.

Noah stood in the corner, in his father’s house, nursing his drink. He had made it through the funeral and then the ceremony at the gravesite. And now here he was, back at the house, surrounded by people he did not know, a stranger in his home.

But she moved through the crowd as if she belonged, the right mix of sympathy and assurance. What was she doing here? What had his father been thinking? People were circling him, not sure whether to talk to him or leave him alone. He kept the scowl plastered on his face, hoping that would keep some of the insincere well-wishers away.

He followed her with his eyes until she looked his way. She glanced away, and he was satisfied. She couldn’t stand to look at him, not after what had happened. What had happened? He had wanted her, and she had said no, she couldn’t, didn’t want to be with him. Simple as that. His pride had been hurt, and he had called her a tease – a mean thing to do. She’d told him he was being a fool, being reckless. He’d ignored her. They’d both been right, hadn’t they, all those years ago?

Someone was sidling around the edges of the room, clearly trying to be inconspicuous, but just as clearly trying to get closer to him. Noah watched with interest. The man was shorter than he, probably about five-eight, with graying hair in a fringe around a bald head. Slightly portly, wearing a suit that was a little frayed, a little rundown, as if had been pulled from the back of a closet.

“Noah Randall.” The man finally made his approach.

“Do I know you?” Noah looked down, swirling his whisky in his glass. He held it more because he needed something to do with his hands than because he wanted to drink it. The newspaper reports of his proclivities for partying were vastly overestimated.

“My name is Peter Flynn. I was a friend of your father’s. From before.”

The man’s voice had a tone to it, a slight insidious quality as if what he said was a suggestion, a meaningful hint.

“From before, as in when he was alive?” Noah said.

A small smile creased the man’s face. “A sense of humor in the face of tragedy. I like that.”

“Do you?”

Peter Flynn had maneuvered around so his back was no longer to the room. His eyes swept around it, and Noah noticed that several other mourners were looking at them.

Noah waited. The other man was tense, a bit bouncy on the balls of his feet.

“I wanted to speak to you.” “You’re doing it.”

“Here is not the place. Perhaps I could call you at another time.” “You could try.” Noah had taken an instant dislike to this man, and there was no way he wanted to speak to him again.

There was a movement, and Noah saw that Sam Harris had broken away from a knot of people and was moving in their direction. Caitlyn too, less obviously, was keeping an eye on what was going on.

“I need to be going. But I just want to warn you. Be careful who you trust here. It’s a viper’s nest.”

Noah actually laughed. Almost, and then he remembered where he was. The man was ludicrous.

But Peter Flynn put a heavy hand on his arm. “I’m serious. This little firm of yours seems to be awfully accident-prone, doesn’t it? And wouldn’t you question the timing of her return if you were going to start asking questions?”

He nodded in the direction of Caitlyn, who was now openly watching them, a frown creasing her face.

“Flynn.” Sam Harris had appeared.

“I’m leaving.” Flynn said and moved away.

Noah watched him go, finally taking a healthy sip of his drink. A viper’s nest? Well, it always had been. That’s why he’d left.

“Are you okay?” Sam looked at him with concern that Noah knew wasn’t genuine. A viper’s nest indeed.

Noah Randall stood looking out the window at the view from the lawyer’s office. It was of the Queensbay marina, mostly empty at this time of year. The docks, which would be bustling in the summertime with boaters of all types rolling coolers, stacking lines and tanking up, lay vacant, rocking up and down in the steady waves kicked up by a stiff breeze from the north.

“So, that’s it?” he asked.

Gary Burton nodded. “Yes. Your father left you everything. The house. The ownership stake in the Randall Group. You have it all.”

Noah swallowed before turning around.

“Just out of curiosity, how much is it worth?”

Gary pushed back a bit from his desk and steepled his fingers together before replying. Noah waited.

“That’s an interesting question.”

“What does that mean? “ Noah covered the distance to the desk in two quick strides. Gary pushed back a bit, rearing back as if Noah was going to attack him.

“Well, your father had a mortgage on the house.”

“What?” Noah said. “But he bought the house outright when I was a kid.”

“So he did. When times were good. But he’s routinely used it as collateral – it’s waterfront, you know, worth quite a bit. He’s had to raise money several times throughout the years, and he always used the house to guarantee the loan. Maxwell always paid it off, but I guess this time, he didn’t have a chance.”

“Why?” Noah asked, sitting, looking interested. All his life, his father had tried to drum in the lessons of wealth, always belittling Noah’s interest in computers and the Internet as being akin to fool’s gold.

Gary put his hands on the edge of the desk, grasping it as if for strength. “I don’t know why for certain.”

“But could you make a guess?” Noah said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Gary began, “but your father wasn’t quite the financial genius he made himself out to be. Between you and me, even though everything always looked good on paper, ever since Lucas Montgomery died, the Randall Group goes boom and bust. Somehow Maxwell always managed to pull it out of the bust, but I think his time was cut short. I believe he was using the equity from the house to cover some bad investments at the company.”

Noah leaned back. “So there’s no money, you’re telling me. After all those years, my father was, what – basically broke?”

Gary cleared his throat. “Broke is a bit of an overstatement.” Noah looked at him levelly, and the lawyer swallowed. “Okay, so yes, your father was basically broke, personally.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You know what he told me when I left for California to start TechSpace?”

Gary shook his head.

Noah laughed. “Said the Internet was a fad, good for nothing more than playing games and wasting time. Well, he was right about that. Just didn’t know people would pay good money for the chance to do that.”

Noah took a deep breath. “Okay, so if I want to keep the house, I have to pay the bank. Done. But what about the Randall Group? Is it a viable company, or do I need to go fire people?” Noah had done it before, and while he didn’t fear it, it was never a pleasant task.

Gary shook his head. “There’s enough money to keep it going for awhile. You don’t have to do anything just yet. Actually, the Randall Group appears to be on an upswing again. Given some time, everything will probably play out just right.”

“What do you mean?”

Gary Burton looked at Noah, a look that was appraising. “You father made some new hires recently. They seem to be working out well.”

“Like Caitlyn Montgomery?” Noah asked.

Gary nodded. “Yes. She’s a very sharp girl, just like her grandfather. She’s great with people – great at getting people to trust her and invest their money with her. And she seems to have a nose for picking winners. Maxwell was quite pleased with her performance, and she’s only been here a few months.”

“I see.” Noah said.

“Your father also hired Tommy Anderson – a new MBA from the city, he seems pretty good – and Sam Harris, his chief of operations. He’s been around awhile, solid, ready to take on more.”

“So, where does this leave me?” Noah brought himself back to the now.

“Well,” Gary said, and Noah could tell he was phrasing his words carefully, “as I said, the company can run itself. Sam Harris is the natural to take over day-to-day operations. You can be involved if you’d like, but he can run the show. Are you eager to get back to California?”

Noah shook his head in frustration. “I have some time to spare, but, no, I hadn’t planned on running the Randall Group. Not really my thing.”

He hadn’t told anyone but his father about his plans, tentative though they were, to move back East. But it hadn’t been to get involved in the Randall Group, no matter what his father thought. Noah had been a CEO, dealing with the day-to-day headaches that came with managing a bunch of people. And while he’d gotten better at numbers, his real talents were in understanding technology, how it made people’s lives better, easier. No, he didn’t want to get sucked into running a company again, especially not his father’s.

Gary nodded and said, “Well there are certain things to consider when a firm is so tied up with the owner. It sometimes doesn’t have much value to someone else. Not unless the crew there can convince people that it’s business as usual. You might need to stay involved for awhile, you know, be a stable force. Or if you would like to get involved.”

Noah just laughed. “I’ve already built my own company from the ground up. Sure, starting is always fun, but the day-to-day… that becomes a grind. That’s why I sold it. I don’t want to be tied down. I would be happy to have someone else handle the daily details.”

“I thought so. There have been some people who have expressed interest in buying it.”

“Caitlyn Montgomery?” Noah said quickly.

“Not exactly. Why do you ask?” Gary said carefully.

It was Noah’s turn to stare at the lawyer until he got an answer.

“Do you think she’s expecting something?” Gary said.

Noah sighed. “Expecting? I don’t know. How did my father get her back here? She promised never to come back after her grandfather died.”

“As far as I know, Maxwell never offered her more than a job. She was quite the catch – professionally, that is. She proved herself quite capable in London.”

“But,” Gary continued, “I was talking about Sam Harris. He’s made no small secret that he expected to get an ownership stake in the company at some point. I think if he knew that the new owner was willing to sell, he’d be willing to make an offer. I’d bet, too, he has or could get the money. I doubt Caitlyn Montgomery has the financial means right now to do the same.”

Noah stood up, feeling the need to move around and work off some of the frustration and indecision in him. “Could Sam Harris do a sale quickly? I have other things I’m involved in. I don’t really want my attention diverted from them.”

Gary nodded. “Yes, I think so. I would be happy to make the first overture.”

Noah nodded. “Do it,” he said, making the decision and feeling relief as he did so.

“Do you want me to say anything to Caitlyn? She might want to make a bid for it, too, and some competition is always good for the price.

Noah shrugged. “Your call.”

“Very well,” Gary said, straightening some papers on his desk. “Well, let’s move on to some other matters. Right now, your father’s death is being ruled an accident. A fall due to incapacity.”

“He was falling down dead drunk, wasn’t he?”

Gary nodded. “It will take some time to get back the test results, but I think that would be the case. He was supposedly quite drunk at the club, and it seemed he only drank more when he got home.” Gary paused, letting that sink in. “But in the meantime, if you want to have a company to sell, you need to go in and act like an owner. You don’t want people leaving or getting spooked. You’ll need to send out letters, take some meetings.”

“With Sam Harris as the leader?”

“Yes, for now. He can have the group there go into crisis management mode, have them call all the clients, say it’s business as usual, that Sam Harris will be stepping in as the day-to-day manager.”

“Okay.” Noah scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I can do that.”

He chuckled, and Gary looked up from the papers on his desk, his look questioning.

“You know, she’s going to be pretty steamed when she finds out.”