Chapter 28: Eviction

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.”

     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 next chapter will be posted by March 19.
  
The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event

Chapter 25: Two Camps

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 

25

                                                                      

      “Come down, Delfina. He can’t interpret away your presence.”

      “Must I be humiliated? She’ll be there.”

                       

                                                               -ii-

     Downstairs in the mansion a grand staircase spreads like a bridal veil, on whose marble steps family and friends gather for smiles and pictures, while upstairs smiles are sequestered into two camps. In the south side room, the chief executive officer Stephen Slade assembles his corps of young managers and recruited investors. In the north side chamber, the chairman Graham Slade confers with members of the board, his loyalists and his wife. Standing by the window, Delfina, the CEO’s spouse, gazes over the sloping lawn.

     Clayton Clamp felt the tension, though he was loose and ready for the task of getting closer to his target. He greeted the chairman and the claims manager, who vouched for his cover as freelance investigator, and observed waiters and other staff shuttling in and out and between the rooms. The principals were rooted to the spot, except for the director Mark Storts, the most youthful member of the board.  After watching him leave then return, Clamp approached him.

     “Is it any more lively over there?”

     “Quite a bit more,” he answered then introduced himself.  “I’ve designated myself as go-between for the chairman and the CEO, but it doesn’t seem to be appreciated.”

     “I’m glad someone’s thinking about the company.” Eyes lighting up, Storts brought his head closer. Clamp stooped to listen.

     “The father-son dispute aggravates at different levels. Employees pick sides then get into arguments that end in silent stares. They’re afraid their guy will lose and in any case would rather not worry about things they can’t control.” He paused then said, “When the baton passes, the hand off should be clean. Don’t hold on.”

     “You just revealed your bias.”

     “Stephen and I were college buddies.”

     “Then maybe you can introduce me.”

      They skirted the staircase, passing through rays of sun beneath a skylight. Storts nodded to a man outside the door who admitted them, and the difference was jarring. An excited chatter filled the room as men and some women clustered throughout, attired in business wear not particular to a wedding ritual. The crowd would at some point spill outside, Clamp thought, whereas on the other side the walls defined the occupants who were as rigid as marble chess pieces.

      Stephen Slade was by the farthest wall, standing slightly apart. Slender, polished and dressed for the occasion in rich gray suit, wide silk tie and pinned with a pale rose boutonniere, he trained his attention on Storts. “This is Clayton Clamp, a claims investigator.”

     “Claims?” He grimaced and raked him with a severe look before walking away. Storts apologized but Clamp waved it off. They watched him join a young woman who was looking out the window and were amazed when he erupted. “Snap out of it, Helen, will you!”  His face was in hers before stalking away. She daubed her eyes with a handkerchief. Few paid the outburst any attention, though for Clamp the exchange was charged with meaning. He went to her.

      She wore a dress a subtle shade of violet, and had auburn hair that fell to her shoulders with a slender braid crowning the brow. He strode a step beyond then turned to see her face, which was pale and delicate and stained by tears. “If you’re the bride then you better get changed.”

     “I’m not,” she coughed, “the bride.”

     “Then it can’t be so bad.”

      “No, not so---“

       Her eyes grew large and then were eclipsed by Slade’s back. He pushed her, hand at elbow, toward a nearby door, her legs stumbling to keep pace. Nearby, Storts wilted.

     Clamp left the room then went down the stairs and through the foyer where he spied Lola McIntyre at the champagne table. He made a mental note to add her to the list, then once outside breathed in fresh air and heard the strains of a violin quartet from one of the tents. He turned toward the mansion, which should have been cleaved in two, if reality were reflected in what is seen. The window where Helen stood was vacant, and on the other side, Delfina was gone. He pondered whether she too had cried, and whether tears can bring a mountain down. None benefit when the magnificent fall; those who don’t know have nothing to tell, those that do might be struck dumb. 

The next chapter will be posted by October 30..

 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.     

Chapter 22: Now You See

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 


 

                                                                      22

     Chairman Graham Slade sat hunched behind the desk in his home office, phone to his ear, listening to the man he engaged to infiltrate the company.

     Due to a marathon runner's physique, the spy had seemed younger than graying hair and experience should allow, though thick glasses spoke to years of parsing contractual fine print, determining intent and crafting solutions. The chairman had not warmed to his impish grin, which no doubt served to invite intimate conversation from strangers. Clayton Clamp had the requisite skills, and now was delivering the goods. He reported that the CEO had amassed a bloc of new investors, which he’d spring on the board of directors and then demand its expansion. With new allies in place, he’d pursue a unitary leadership.
     The chairman couldn’t blame a CEO for wanting what he himself had for thirty years, but could fault him for treating employees like fungible items on a spreadsheet to shuffle or fire at will. The intelligence, though, was stale.

     “I need something to derail him.” As Graham listened to the response, Rhea came through the door carrying a silver tray with coffee and toast and a red rose in a pewter vessel. “Make it concrete.”  He hung up and ran a hand over his crew cut hair, then joined her at the table beside the window that overlooked a lagoon.

     “Are we getting a new patio?”

     “Board business.”

     “Stephen?”

     “The company and CEO are board business.”

     “He’s your son.”

       He bit into the toast and sipped his coffee, gazing at his companion who looked smart in a ribbed white turtleneck sweater that contrasted with steely gray hair. She made him feel young. Her hazel eyes met his blue ones.

     “Don’t harm his future.”

     “He can float away under a golden parachute, and take his contacts and pedigree—my contribution—elsewhere. Or, he can find a dark corner and suck his thumb.”

     “If it’s hard on him, it will affect Delfina and the boys.”

     “He’ll land on his feet.”

    “We might lose them forever.” As she looked out the window on the sunny Southern California day, he searched for the right words.

     “There’s a woman fairly new to the company, his assistant who works very closely. I can guess at her game.”

      She stiffened. “Delfina complains he doesn’t spend enough time with them. I pray it’s not true.”

     “Now you see.”

     “I can’t bear them knowing.” She reached her hand across the table to touch his.

     “Tell her not to bring them to the wedding.”

     “What a shame. I remember Stephen watching you address an audience. It captured his complete attention, and made him wonder how his father, who bothers to tell him to stand up straight, could hold the attention of hundreds of people. A ceremony demonstrates the reality of being CEO.”

     He drew back his hand. She held on. “What are we going to do?”

     “He needs to be made so toxic the board has to let him go. He could be in violation of SEC rules, but that lacks punch. Sex, on the other hand, captures the imagination.”

      She pleaded. “Graham, the family.”

      “There are ways to keep things quiet, depending on what he does. His direction will suggest the remedy.”

     She released him and her eyes expanded as if to encompass their lives. “I used to be so proud, too, watching you speak and everyone together and their growing families. I don’t understand why it’s different now.”

     “We were all on the same page. Nowadays, we’re presented with a slew of options and are scattershot pursing them. Stephen’s mistake is to want it all for himself, to make himself the big man. He acts like a guy on the street big-talking his way into the confidence of others, the kind of guy who boasts about his gambling wins and hides his losses. 'Huge,' he says, but subtract his losers and I guarantee they’re much smaller.”

      “That’s not Stephen! You’re talking about someone else.”

      “Sometimes a salesman starts believing his pitch, and does anything to close the deal. He thinks he’s coming out ahead but bleeds red. In time, he'll realize the image he projects.”

      She went over to hug him from behind. “I hope you're right.”

The next chapter will be posted by July 17..

 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.     

            

Chapter 11: Pools

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 

                                                                             11

 

      Rhea Slade lay on turquoise water and gazed into the deep azure sky. In the surrounding distance, the sun burned summer grasses brown between trees that offered sacred shade. The sandstone mansion that was the Slade vacation estate blended columned porticos into the austere landscape, and the poolside luxury put her on top of the world, far from working-class Kansas whose memories lingered despite living three-quarters of a life as corporate spouse. Petite and pewter-haired in a modest one-piece bathing suit, she splashed about the water.
     “What you doing, Grandma?” shouted Gerald.
     “Cooling off,” answered his matter-of-fact brother, Malcolm.

     Paddling the air mattress around, she brought them into view.  The thirteen-year-old hung onto the rim, blond hair flat across his head, looking down after his older sibling who sank to the bottom then propelled himself upwards to breach the surface. Hovering nearby, Delfina sighed, grateful for another tragedy-averting experience. Graham sheltered under an umbrella reading the paper. The monotonous disembodied voice coming from the terrace belonged to Stephen, whose telecom link encroached on the family retreat.
     Drifting to the rim, she splashed a volley that splattered against Graham’s paper. “Ha, ha,” he deadpanned. “Ever a girl at heart.”
     “A girl!” mocked Gerald.

     “Your grandfather’s silly.”
     “She called you silly!”
     Malcolm pounced on his brother and pushed him under. Delfina cried out. When they resurfaced, she cried again on her own behalf as they blitzed her and dragged her in. Rhea paddled to center pool but to no avail; the underwater boys pursued. Water sloshed, the air mattress slipped away and they held her down. Delfina shouted without effect. Graham’s stern “Stop it now!” rescued her. Reaching for his hand, Rhea forgave the boys for not knowing how fragile a grandmother could be, and Delfina for being ineffectual, but not Stephen, who should have been there.
     Inside, the boys donned t-shirts and flip-flops while the women changed into white robes that skirted marble floors, transforming them into temple priestesses. All bore traces of water, except the men. Graham’s gray crew cut was spiky sharp and the imprint of a fine comb lined Stephen’s dark hair. They wore khaki shorts, collared shirts and loafers without socks.
     Around the table they helped themselves to sandwiches, cold pasta and lemonade. Delfina and the boys sat at one end, Rhea at the other with Graham to her right. When Stephen entered, he paused a moment before sliding into the vacant seat beside his father.
     “Stephen, I wish you’d get into the vacation spirit.”

     “You shoulda seen, Dad. We dunked mom, then grandma!”

     “THAT was not a highlight, Gerald,” said his mother. “You should know better. Both of you.”

     “You’re still breathing,” retorted Malcolm.

     “Your attitude, young man,” said Graham. “You don’t roughhouse with them like you do your friends.”
     “Different pools,” said Stephen, surprising them, “would keep the sharks apart.”

     “I’m a shark!” gloated Gerald.

     Rhea shook her head. “Separation?”

    “If you can take it, get in. Everyone should know what to expect.”

    The boys raised hands like dorsal fins, then clashed. “Not at the table, “ Delfina pleaded.
Graham whispered into his son’s ear. “You don’t hide it well, you know. Your game of ‘Keep away, it’s mine’. Quite a performance before the board. They might be intimidated, but I’m not. Devour everything in your pool, then you’ll want to jump into another. Beware bigger and meaner sharks!”

     Stephen’s eyes glazed over. Aware that the table had gone quiet, he pointed at his sons. “Respect your elders. Someday you’ll demand the same.” He grabbed a sandwich and spooned some pasta onto his plate.
     “I think,” said Rhea, “we should be happy together as one like at the wedding which is a celebration of coming together for two people and, in the larger sense, everybody. All of us, together, at Dave Forester’s.”
     “Were you counting on going?”

     “If it concerns Slade Insurance, we are,” Graham said.

     “It’ll be sales and the management team.”

     “And other interests?”

     “Possibly.”

      Delfina cleared her throat. “The Palisades mansion must be beautiful.”

      “I bet there’s a pool!”

      “Sharks!”

      Stephen set down his fork. “It’s primarily business, but as long as everyone knows what to expect.”
     Back outside, the boys splashed as their mother watched. Graham and Rhea sat beneath the umbrella and Stephen was back on the telephone. “Childhood is so simple,” she thought gazing into the gem-like water and then into the infinite sky. She closed her eyes.

                      

     

              

The next chapter will be posted by December 28. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter 10: Hands Up

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 

                                                        

                                                          10

At just past the hour, the board of directors sat around the oblong table waiting for the chairman to call the meeting to order. The CEO was not present despite their invitation, and his absence made them uneasy. Graham Slade, chairman, company founder and former CEO, had dominated for nearly thirty years when no differences separated guiding and operating principles. The board rubber-stamped his wishes and the company prospered. But when Stephen Slade became CEO, it faced a new reality –conflict-- and found trying to satisfy both like bending backwards till shoulders touched the ground then springing into forward somersaults.

Jeff Simmons, managing partner of a law firm, had boyish charm which had encouraged strangers to ruffle his hair and, later, colleagues to beam favorably. Now his hair was lacquered black but that charm still showed through. He avoided declaring the absence a slight without further evidence and tried to mollify the chairman with conversation about his grand kids.

Peter Morgan, owner of a string of banks, was the oldest member and started life with a different name. His manner suggested an Old World background, often alluded to but without details. “Past is past,” he liked to say, which was a nod to the prosperous present that afforded rich suits to clothe his expansive figure. His mane of silvery hair and self-satisfied demeanor suggested everything would work out.     

Life insurance was Joseph Parker’s business and his faith in actuarial tables the foundation of a backslapping nature: the tables delivered the hard news, allowing him to focus on the sunny side. Height and weight corresponding to recommended guidelines, he believed he’d age the prescribed 82.57 years. Only infrequently did worry fret a chevron between his brows.

Mark Storts, the newest member, was the younger Slade’s college buddy and an ally in wanting to take the company public, which he sought to underwrite. Stephen’s failure at communication concerned him, as he believed perfect information best served the marketplace.  He checked his watch and at fifteen after punched a number on his cell --voice mail. When he stood, his dark, curly hair was a statement in the room. “I’ll see what’s keeping him.”

He made his way through the C-suite hallway to executive reception, where Betsy Murray greeted him professionally then frowned at his request. “He went up this morning and hasn’t been down since.”  She pantomimed summoning the elevator: the button refused to light. She pushed the intercom button on the phone, which did light and flash until pushed again. He returned to the meeting where they listened to his report. Simmons said, “I don’t like the idea of locking it from upstairs. What if he’s injured?”

“The code requires another exit.” piped up Parker who, on considering the CEO’s age and good health, reasoned it wasn’t time. “He must have gone another way.”

“Of course, he’s okay,” said Morgan, waving a sagacious hand.

Irritation tweaked the chairman’s granite face. “Let’s get started. Mark Pointer is the company’s long-time claims manager, and I’m advised that his impending retirement is not entirely voluntary. Assertions have been made of unsatisfactory performance, and the inability of adjusters to handle the volume of claims. At the same time, his requests to expand staffing have been denied. I’ve known Mark a long time. He gets the job done, if allowed to. Slade Insurance will suffer for losing him.”

The room lapsed into silence, until Storts spoke up. “According to the numbers, Slade would be better off.”

“Numbers?” The chairman glared.

“Mister chairman, certainly the claims manager is worthy of your support, and I don’t argue against him as a person but as a kind: a high-salaried manager. Through retirement and other means we can reduce expenses and increase our profit margin.”

“Have you talked to him about Mark Pointer?”

                 “Not in particular, but he endorses the strategy.”         

 “Strategy requires vision, and I don’t see it. Mark is a leader who has nurtured many fine claims adjusters who interface with our customers and contribute to a robust company. Financial statements don’t capture the whole picture.”

“Wall Street doesn’t care about that.”

“Good reason, then, to avoid it.”

Around the table gasps and body language urged restraint.

“If you’re not in the market, you’re not anywhere. It’s just the way things are. Slade’s value will increase on the exchange, which we can maximize by getting our financials into shape.”

The chairman looked ahead at no one in particular.  “Thank you for your insight. I only wish Stephen had the grace to argue for himself. His absence, I think, supports my position that figures on a page are well and good, but don’t compel like a flesh-and-blood leader. I’m not convinced about ending Mark’s career.”

“That’s not on us. He can go someplace else!”

The chairman raised his hand. “Enough. I move that we re-issue our request to the CEO.”

“I second that,” said Simmons.

“In favor?” Hands shot up as the door opened. “The motion is carried--“

“Unanimously.” Stephen Slade stood within the door frame and watched the raised hands fall. He took a seat at the farthest end from the chairman. His dark gray suit enveloped him neatly and the satin blue of his tie reflected off a pale neck. Smooth dark hair and narrow-set eyes contrasted with the chairman’s crew cut and visionary gaze. “Here I am.”

At one end, Simmons sat to the right of the chairman who had Morgan on his left, and then Parker. Storts was on the other side between Simmons and the CEO. They waited for someone to reset the meeting. 

“Thank you for attending,” said Simmons. “We had just finished discussing Mark Pointer’s situation. The chairman expressed that he contributes necessary leadership, which would be missed and impact customer service. Director Storts pointed out that high-salaried managers inflate expenses and reduce profits. The board desires your input.”

“That’s a fair recap,” said the banker with a salute to the attorney.

“Thank you,” said the CEO.  “Mark Pointer has served Slade long and well, but salaries like his are a burden. Human Resources has identified areas of high cost where the company can seek advantage through attrition.”

“Mark Pointer doesn’t want to retire,” growled the chairman.

“At my direction, HR has presented available options to certain managers. Retirement would be their choice. If enough accept, we won’t have to take other measures.”

“If this is about expenses,” the chairman said, “I don’t see how it squares with those in other areas, such as the private elevator, the limousine and the chauffeur.” The chairman leaned forward. The CEO did not blink.

“I hope you will grant that the company is well run and profitable. Pay attention to the numbers that matter, and you will see the proof. It’s easy and tempting to grasp at the odd figure or expense and make of it something more than it is. Easy and hurtful. I am hurt at the lack of trust. I seek to make of Slade something more. The chairman founded and made a success of the company that provides for his retirement. If Slade is to grow and provide for others, changes must be made.

“Since the company’s founding, jet travel for business and pleasure became the norm, the Concorde came and went, and hijacked jets brought down the Twin Towers. Does it make sense that Slade should remain static while the world shifts?

“If I aim higher and step quicker, it’s because I want Slade to succeed. Everything I do benefits the company. See it in the results.

“The board owes me the same trust and support it gave my predecessor. Don’t fracture or snipe. Stand united. If you do, the sky’s the limit.”

 Without awaiting a response, he stood and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, having silenced them though the chairman still glowered and the directors still yearned for consensus. Once again, the meeting needed resetting.

“He did show up,” said Simmons. Parker added, “I knew he was okay.”

“A flesh-and-blood statement,” chuckled Morgan.

“Leading where?” asked the chairman.
                  Nothing remained but to schedule the next meeting and close. The board went through the motions, the while aware of the quirk in its DNA: impotence against an aggressive CEO.  

The next chapter will be posted by October 26. 
 The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter Four: Pull the Cord

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 

4

     Her heart in mouth, Rhea Slade tried spotting the plane at 10,000 feet. Grandsons, Malcolm and Gerald, shared the watch and directed barbs at their mother, Delfina, who was content watching only them.
     The sky in the high desert was windless and clear, and bright sun glinted off windows, mirrors and the outsized sunglasses dominating Rhea's face. On hearing the intermittent buzz of a single engine craft, she pointed to the pinprick holding her life, husband Graham. “There they are!”
     The sighting prompted another round of sulk. “Aw, I wanted to go,” moaned Malcolm. “Me, too,” said Gerald who, at thirteen, was two years the younger. His mother tugged at the collar of his jacket without fueling the argument. “Put on your jacket, Malcolm.”
     “Aw, mom. It’s warm!”  They were an obvious family, wearing dark blue jeans and red jackets. The sons had already sprouted taller than their mother. The elder was dark and serious, the younger, blond and carefree.  A wave of hair crested each brow, which demanded regular flicks of the head to clear the eyes.
     The family matriarch appeared elfish old beside them: petite with helmet of pewter-colored hair and dressed in stylish woolen slacks and puffy blue jacket.  Glancing at them, she bemoaned her son’s absence. Despite her pleas, Stephen wouldn’t budge. “I’ve got a company to run,” he told her. The attitude displeased her because it diminished the family and supported Graham’s belief he was running things into the ground.
     “Have you decided what to wear to the wedding?”
     The question surprised Delfina out of her thoughts. “Wedding? Oh, Dave Forester’s.” Her mouth fell open in advance of a trickle of rote words.  “It’s just business; company people, investors, his family. I'm not going.”
     “Stephen's family! We’re going, and I’d like to see you there too. Tell him.”
     Her daughter-in-law's meekness infuriated her. When Graham was CEO, she’d stood beside him at routine and not-so-routine occasions at the company: birthdays, anniversaries, commemorations, promotions and deaths, which were milestones in her love and devotion. She feared for Stephen and Delfina. Sources had informed on his time spent at the condo, the parties and the young woman too. She had hoped she would assert herself; instead she established a defensive barrier around her sons. She would have to intervene. “I’ll talk to him.”
     Gerald screamed, “They’re falling!” Rhea nearly fainted, but on observing an orderly extraction, corrected him. “Jumping, Gerald. They’re jumping.”
     Mere dots to the eye but to imagination daredevils spilling from the platform plane, free fall was the most disturbing time. At that distance, she’d no way of knowing which was her husband; presumably, the first. He had always been first.
     They’d met in New York City after the Second War. He went to Yale and she was working retail. The match was improbable but provident, and after getting past being “the poor girl from Kansas” she married into a family that had sired a line of corporate CEOs, who started in manufacturing then progressed into finance, changing as the country changed. Graham trained in family businesses before starting Slade Insurance in the 60's. Meanwhile, they had Stephen, Diana and Gerald, and lived a happy, prosperous life. In the past year, he retained the role of chairman of the board, while Stephen became the CEO.
     Today, she was angry-proud at his throwing seventy-year old bones from a plane on his birthday. Stuff happens, but daring it to was pure Graham. She clutched Malcolm and squeezed, expressing her fears till one…two…three…then four white parachutes blossomed in the sky. “Hurray!”
    They watched their languid descent, ending in landfall about a mile away. A pickup went to gather them for the reunion, sending up a dust trail. When it returned, Graham wheeled his legs over the truck bed and jumped out to stride toward them in green jump suit and boots. Lean and leathery, he had a gray crew cut over electric blue eyes. The boys surrounded and praised him as he continued his progress to Rhea who stood like an attractive magnet.
     On contact they locked into an embrace. Then she hit him with the heel of her palm on his chest, on his hip and on his thigh, testing for fatigue and releasing her anxiety. She clutched him tightly.
     "I had an insight," he said. "Up there so high, beyond the mountains are blue horizons, and farms are crazy geometric patterns, and the desert a moonscape of peaks and depressions. Spinning like a seed and carried by the wind, gravity pulls you down. Between life and being splat on the desert floor are the pull cord and the parachute. Fail to execute and you’re a goner. I can pull the company out of its free fall. I’m the parachute, the chairman of the board.”
     The unexpected burble of words delivered from on high gave her pause. “He doesn’t see that private elevators, chauffeurs and parties are distractions. He’s forgetting about the cord. I’ve got to save him.”
     She led him to their car for the drive to a restaurant for a celebratory meal. She understood that the ascendant CEO had to create things anew and develop loyalty within subordinates, but clear-cutting old-line managers wasn’t going down well, and his apparent goal of disassociating Graham from the company was an affront to him, to her and to the family. Graham was right: someone had to pull the cord.

The next chapter will be posted by February 16. Already posted. Navigate to Chapter Five.

The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.