MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,
a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,
a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence
and the woman important to each
28
Meanwhile, Clayton Clamp had observed
what became known as “the Wedding Event,” an innocuous term with deep
significance to insiders. He tracked Stephen Slade and Bill racing up the slope
and saw the chauffeur assaulting the male and the CEO kissing the unresponsive
female. He photographed the loading into the limo and the odd seating
arrangement: two in back, one in the trunk. Another investigator captured the
sequence on video.
Concerned for the company’s reputation, Clamp lingered close by the valets, affecting an air of nonchalance. In turn, they looked to him as someone in the know and seemed to conclude that if he’s not interested, neither are they. Satisfied, he went back to the other side of the mansion where his eye cast a wide net to discern three major groups: one occupied with the bride and groom; a diffuse one seeking the next sensation; and one drawn to Chairman Graham Slade who approached trailing two wives. They huddled on the green lawn until the chairman said, “Let’s do it.”
Concerned for the company’s reputation, Clamp lingered close by the valets, affecting an air of nonchalance. In turn, they looked to him as someone in the know and seemed to conclude that if he’s not interested, neither are they. Satisfied, he went back to the other side of the mansion where his eye cast a wide net to discern three major groups: one occupied with the bride and groom; a diffuse one seeking the next sensation; and one drawn to Chairman Graham Slade who approached trailing two wives. They huddled on the green lawn until the chairman said, “Let’s do it.”
Then he gathered up the other
investigator, Jon Acres, a CPA grown tired of working behind a desk.
Vegetarian-thin and exceedingly cautious, he worried about the woman and
suggested calling the police. Clamp convinced him private intervention
was best. The valet brought the car and they climbed in.
Driving toward the estate gates, his mind
worked through lists of those involved, those who saw and those
who might tell. The CEO had his own special category. Then came the woman, the
salesman and chauffeur. Lola McIntyre, who he had spotted earlier, was a nexus
and gossip. Of other staff and managers, he expected to conference with the
chairman before interviews assessing knowledge and allegiance. Identification
of tendencies was tricky business, but private enterprise could exploit every
advantage that didn’t leave traces.
Then to his left, on the short lawn in
advance of a copse of trees, he was surprised to see Lola and two men cutting across.
They were smiling and laughing, and the man with stringy brown hair had a
bottle of champagne tucked to his side. He slowed the vehicle and gazed, unable
to place them until he recognized her buddies from the company break room. He
had not considered them before, but his list, as yet mental, had plenty of
room.
An hour later they clustered outside
the condo door: Chairman Slade, tall and grave, his wife Rhea whose short hair
shone like a pewter helmet, and mournful Delfina in toga-like dress. Clamp and
Acres stood by, the latter clasping a laptop computer. The chairman rapped on
the door, and a minute later Stephen Slade opened it. He did not express
surprise and coolly stepped aside to admit them.
“I’ve called the board to an emergency
meeting. They’re at corporate. Where’s the woman?”
Stephen gestured to the back. Delfina squeaked and Rhea pulled the taller woman into a hug. Acres went back
to confirm the statement. When he returned the chairman said, “There’s something
you need to see.” Acres opened the laptop and played the video as Stephen
leaned against the wall, acting like it had nothing to do with him. When he
closed the laptop, the assembly looked toward the CEO who stood upright with
arms crossed.
“The board has already seen the video,”
the chairman said. “It will ask for your resignation.” Stephen twitched an
acknowledgement. “While we’re next door, someone needs to take the young woman
home.”
“She lives here,” mumbled Stephen, then
said more clearly, “There’s nowhere to take her.” Delfina stifled a cry.
“Maybe not tonight, but she’s going to
have to leave, and you can’t be here. Someone should stay to make sure she’s
alright.”
Rhea spoke. “We’ll stay until you get
back.”
They left the two women sitting by the
panoramic window. Outside, night had fallen and Los Angeles became a show of
twinkling lights, some stationary, some moving and some about to go dark.
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event
