The Paris Affair (20 page)
Claire hesitated outside the door to her father’s high-rise condo, fist raised at the knocker. Silly to hesitate, since the building doorman had to buzz her up.
She knocked. Firmly. And gulped. This would be one of the hardest conversations of her life, and she was not looking forward to it.
“CJ, come in,” Father said with a smile as he swept the door open.
Claire set her purse down on the hall table and walked straight down the hall toward the living room. A wall of enormous windows gave a sweeping view of the Chicago skyline. Her father had selected this side of the building instead of a lake view on purpose. He always preferred the hustle of commerce to the serenity of the water.
“Can I get you a drink? A Tom Collins, or one of those fancy martinis that Diana’s always drinking?” He walked over to the built-in mini bar and withdrew two glasses.
Father was dressed as casually as the man ever did, in creased khakis and a golf shirt. His salt and pepper hair was groomed, and a pair of supple suede moccasins served as his slippers. Claire resisted the urge to smooth her own skirt, no doubt wrinkled from the cab ride over.
“No, Father, thank you. This is actually a business call.”
“Business always goes better with a drink.” He poured an amber liquid into a matching pair of cut-crystal double old-fashioned glasses and handed one to Claire.
She could smell the alcohol. Probably one of the whiskeys he preferred. She set it down carefully on the table.
“Father. James. I’m not here as your daughter. I’m here as the CEO of Sheffield & Fox.”
He took a small sip of his own drink and raised one black eyebrow at her. “One and the same, my dear.”
“No, they’re not. And that’s exactly the problem.”
Her father sat down his own cup and motioned her toward the dove gray sofa. She sat, grateful that her knees wouldn’t be able to knock. Unlike her nerves.
Her father sat opposite her and reclined back, hooking one ankle over the opposite knee. “I hope you’re not still fretting over that mess in Paris last week. The press will die down soon enough. Now that the Air Force has declared the explosion an accident instead of terrorism, we can get back to solving the problems with the structure.”
“Well, actually...”
“If you want my advice,” her father continued. “Sack anyone still left from Lackey’s team who knew about it. That engineer, Harriet, seems to have a level head on her shoulders. She could probably take over in the interim, if you pair her with a decent faceman.”
Claire shook her head. “This isn’t about Shadow Fly, Father. I signed Lackey’s termination papers before I left Paris on Sunday. Along with one of his team leads. And the woman in accounting who signed a big check to one of the metal suppliers—without approval. I have an independent auditor already checking the rest of the books of the project. I have a feeling we’ll be letting go of a few more people before we’re through. But, it’s covered.”
James nodded his approval. “Good, good. Just what I would have done. Finally you’re beginning to live up to your reputation.”
Claire started. “My reputation?”
He smiled and swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking another taste. “Did you know that I wasn’t the one who threw your name into the ring for CEO? I wouldn’t have even thought of it, if it weren’t for a conversation I had with Chris Smythe—you know him, the director who flies in from Omaha for all our meetings.”
Claire’s mind was whirling. Her father hadn’t handpicked her for the job? She didn’t know whether to be relieved or ashamed.
“He apparently made a small fortune buying Arachnava stock at your IPO several years back, and holding it. Told me that every time he felt like selling, you’d change the company direction just slightly, and send the stock soaring again. He finally sold out after you resigned, and even with the drop in value right after you left, he set both daughters up with trust funds.”
She shook her head in amazement. “I had no idea. He never said a word.”
“No. Well. There are several of us who did pretty well during your run. And we all hoped you could breathe a little life into S&F, too. I thought I was making some headway with Shadow Fly, but my heart’s just not in the business like it used to be. I used to lead the winds of change, not get blown around by them.”
Claire bit her lower lip. “About Shadow Fly.”
James drained the last of his cup. “If you need a few names for someone to help out Harriet, let me know.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Claire said softly.
“Hmm. Great. Who’s the lucky guy? Or gal?”
Claire took a steadying breath. Here goes. “I canceled the project.”
“You what?” James leapt to his feet.
“It is outside our realm of expertise. We had already sunk too many resources, and there was no possible way to expect that we’d make money off it. Ever. I think we need to refocus—”
“Of course we sank resources into the project. Do you know what it took to re-tool the site in St. Joseph? That was refocusing our business, expanding our markets.” His face was turning a violent shade of red.
Claire stood up and laid a hand on her father’s arm. “Please, calm down for a minute.”
“Why hasn’t the board heard of this?” he sputtered.
“I’m the CEO. I don’t need board approval to curtail a program.”
James stared at Claire, and she stared back, blue eyes to blue eyes. Finally he sat back down again. “You’re right. But I still think you should have told me.”
“I am telling you. And that’s another thing I need to talk to you about.”
He raised one eyebrow at her. Claire took her time, smoothing her skirts and arranging herself on the couch before meeting that challenge.
“If I weren’t your daughter, would you think that I should be discussing the everyday operations of my company with you?”
“My company.”
“No, the stockholders’ company. And I know you’re a majority shareholder. But my responsibility is to all the stockholders, not just the one I’m related to by blood.”
James picked up his glass and stared at it, perhaps hoping it would yield more alcohol. He set it back down.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work this closely. As long as you sit on the board of directors, you will want a say in how the company is run.”
“Naturally.”
“And I won’t be treated like a puppet. I am tired of the whispers and the snickers. In order to do my job, the employees have to feel that I can handle the responsibility to make the company work. Without asking my father for permission.”
James opened his mouth and then shut it.
This was it. Claire’s hands shook slightly as she folded them in her lap, and made a conscious effort not to squirm under her father’s eyes. “One of us has to go, Father. One of us has to step down. You or me.”
He was quiet for a long time, his face unreadable as always. The perfect poker face, an ideal businessman.
She had laid it out. She loved the challenges of Sheffield & Fox, but she could still walk away. Her heart wasn’t in it, yet. Completely. Leaving Arachnava had been a thousand times harder. Leaving S&F would be almost a relief.
Almost, but not quite.
“I founded this company before you were born,” James said at last. “We started out by buying and re-selling a single airplane. For the second one, your mother insisted that we reupholster the interior to make it look nicer, and we made twice the profit. By the time your brothers and you came along, we were custom-building them.”
Claire knew the story by heart. Maybe not the bit about her mother, but about how her father had started with a small business loan and built an empire around the custom jet business.
“The last few years, the market’s been tough. Business leveled off, then tanked. Diana’s given up a lot of what I’d promised her. But we were scraping by. The Shadow Fly project was supposed to invigorate the company.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes, smoothing his temples.
Claire stood up. It was time to go. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered. She hadn’t called him that since she was a girl.
Tears pooled behind her eyes and a sob choked her throat. This was harder. To fail, so publicly. To let her father down in front of everyone. His friends, his business associates, his trophy wife.
She got three steps before she felt his hand at her shoulder, keeping her from just leaving. “CJ, wait. Look at me.”
Claire slowly raised her eyes to her father’s, ashamed to let him see them red-rimmed and full of emotion.
“I am the one who should be sorry.” His voice was low, raspy, and his dark blue eyes cloudy and gray. “I had no right to drop my problems on you.”
She sniffed. “That’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.” He squeezed both of her shoulders in his hands and held her gaze with his own. “Claire, I screwed up. Shadow Fly was a disaster from the start. I appointed Lackey and he turned out to be barely competent. And I trusted Helmut Forrester—”
She started to open her mouth to protest, but Father cut her off.
“Don’t be too hard on him. All that military and government stuff—it was a whole new arena. We didn’t take the time to prepare, or even to read the rules. He made one mistake, that’s all. It was my responsibility to catch it, and I let it slide. And brought you in to clean up my mess.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“And I know that you two have been involved. And I would be overjoyed to see that continue. Or not. I will stay out of it. I promise.”
Claire tried to swallow, but there was a lump in her throat the size of a small helicopter. “I...”
“The biggest mistake I made was not stepping aside when we hired you. Claire, your leadership is already turning this company around. You made the calls that I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t.”
Claire blinked. Did he say what she thought he just said? Her leadership? “No. It’s your company...”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “No, CJ. It’s not my company anymore. It’s yours to run. I resign. Effective immediately.”
“But what about the board? Your shares?”
“I didn’t say I was selling out,” he said with a roguish smile. “S&F is still my largest investment. And I’m trusting that you won’t squander it all for me.”
Claire’s reply was smothered as he hugged her tightly to him. She struggled for a moment, and then relented and rested her head on his chest. He still smelled like she remembered, of Old Spice with that sweet-sour hint of whiskey.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered into her hair.
“Mother, you are not fine,” Helmut gritted out from clenched teeth.
Edna hobbled through the house, using one of his father’s old canes to keep pressure off of her leg. She bent down and picked up Kelsie’s dirty dinner plate from the kitchen table and balanced it in her free hand as she made her way to the kitchen.
“Give me that.” Helmut snatched the plate out of her hands and swept past her into the kitchen, where his little sister was engrossed in a texting frenzy on her phone. “Kelsie,” he warned.
“What did I do this time?” she said, not looking up.
“Take care of your own dishes. You know she can’t resist chores.”