Dancing With Devils Ch 03 04

Chapter 3

One

David sat across his large desk from Kendall, fingers steepled. It was the best office in the firm and was made up of two floors. The bottom floor where all his business was conducted connected to an upper floor by a private elevator. Kendall had never been to the second floor of the office, nor had anyone she knew at the firm. It was David's personal and private space. There were rumors that there was a full three bedroom apartment up there and David often slept at the office, particularly during the divorce years. David had been married and divorced three times and after number one, the rumor was he wanted a personal and private sanctuary should the need ever arise again.

David said, "So what did that prick want?" David was referring to Jacob and his request to privately meet with Kendall.

Kendall blushed at the profanity. David rarely cursed or used vulgarity to express himself. When he did, the impact was powerful. Kendall sighed and said, "He wanted to know if he could trust me. He told me something personal to see if I would spill the beans."

David considered her and said, "Are you going to tell me what it was?"

She considered him and he stared at her through his wire framed glasses. He did not demand that she tell him, merely asked if she was going to. This was a tenuous question. If she refused, was she jeopardizing her partnership? If she did not, was she jeopardizing her ethics? Did David value ethics? Did she? There was alot underpinning the question.

Finally she decided on a political answer. She said, "As the pursuit leader, I have to have the autonomy to have private conversations with my client, don't you agree?"

David considered her for a long moment, drumming his fingers on his expensive desk. Finally he smiled and said, "You are such a fucking lawyer." That made her smile and David laugh. Then he asked, "So how do you plan to put the shit back in the horse? Or are you ready to let this one go?"

Kendall said, "I don't quit David. You know that. And I'm not about to give up because an entitled rich kid from New York showed up instead of Daddy."

David laughed and said, "Really? And you think you can turn this shit show around? I think Willard might be playing all of us. I've known the man for thirty years and he can be an asshole when he wants to be. Remember Kendall this isn't about your ego, this is about money. I will let you make the call, but a good partner knows when to walk away from a deal you can't win."

Kendall thought about it. Jacob's words came back to her, You know he has no intention of hiring your firm. I tell you that to set your expectations. It was something like that. Should she walk away? Was that what David was telling her? Was this a lost cause? Was she really doing what was best for the firm? What about her career? She considered and finally said, "I'm not ready to walk away. Jacob called me last night at home and wants to meet this week to discuss terms."

David's eyes went wide in surprise for a second and then turned flat again. He said, "That's pretty interesting. He has a reputation for being a bit of an introvert and somewhat reclusive. And he wants to meet, in person?"

Kendall nodded and said, "His Executive Assistant, that Mindy woman, emailed me the logistics late last night. I haven't confirmed with her yet because I wanted to talk to you first. He says he can meet me in New York Thursday night."

David looked at her for a long moment and finally said, "Okay Kendall. You run this as you see fit. You own this pursuit. I won't ask you anymore questions, but you keep me in the loop on anything that might affect this firm. Willard has been into some pretty high risk deals over the past forty years and I don't want to be blindsided. And be wary of Jacob. I don't trust that entitled little fucker. He was born with a silver spoon up his asshole, but that doesn't make him stupid. He could be playing us as well. He has at least a little bit of Willard in him."

Kendall smiled. She had not seen David have such a visceral response to a client before. He really didn't like Willard and by extension Jacob. She smiled and said, "I can take care of myself David."

He nodded and said, "Good hunting then. Call me when you close the deal or we can talk on Monday."

Kendall stood, knowing what it was to be dismissed. David was not so subtly telling her to close the deal or come back for another year as an associate lawyer instead of a partner. She left with the ball of anxiety in her stomach, but if she was honest some excitement too. This was the highest of stakes in her professional field and her client would be one of the most challenging. There was a rush in the risk of it all, even if she didn't admit that. And part of her was looking forward to seeing Jacob again. There was something about the man that drew her in. He was a mystery but one she would unravel. Her research associate had been in half the night turning over every digital footprint the man had left since birth. By noon she would have a report that Sherlock Holmes would be impressed with.

Two

Jacob walked down the hallway of the most private area of the family estate. In prior years it had been known as "Willard's West Wing" or just "The West Wing", a self proclaimed name given to the seven rooms on the west end of the estate, a play on words of the White House area where the president resided. Willard considered the President an extension of his power and a tool to be wielded when necessary. He donated heavily to both political parties for the privilege of access and influence. To him the donations were just another tax the government imposed, but one that could buy favor.

The wing was added to the estate in the 1990s as Willard's gift to himself, when Willard had taken over a major competitor and added another billion to his net worth in a proxy fight. Another, less charitable nickname, was given to the area by the staff. To them it was Dante's Den, a particularly brutal area of Hell, where Willard ruled with an iron fist. He once fired a porter who had placed a butter knife with water spots on Willard's table.

Today the seven large rooms had been converted to a medical facility to care for Willard in his final days.

Jacob walked down the hallway to the inner sanctum of his father's legacy. In the ante room a nurse and executive assistant sat at oversized desks. The nurse was there to monitor Willard's health and the assistant to manage whatever business crisis might come up. Willard was not about to stop working over a little thing like impending death.

Jacob smiled at the nurse and asked, "How's he doing today?"

The nurse looked up, sympathy on her face and said, "About the same. He slept four hours last night, but the cancer is progressing. He's awake now if you would like to see him."

Jacob nodded and pushed past her and into the large room, once an office, now equipped with a hospital bed, and all manner of beeping equipment that monitored and fed pain killers into Willard. Willard was in the bed, propped up by three pillows, a large three ring binder of paper on his lap. He was in pajamas, not his usual ten thousand dollar suit and he looked thin, pale, and sick. He had lost forty pounds and Jacob thought he might be able to pick up his father with one arm. Jacob felt a pang of pity for the man and tried to push it out of his heart. Willard had not been an easy man to have as a father, but still, he was the only father Jacob would ever have.

The room was light and airy but smelled of disease, underlying disinfectant, an unpleasant smell of urine that the disinfectant didn't quite cover up, and the smell of imminent death. That was harder to pin down, but it was real as anyone that has visited a terminally ill patient can tell you.

Willard looked up and put on a weak smile, and said, "Jacob, my only son. I see you came to see me before I died. I suppose I should thank you."

Jacob nodded, glanced around. In the room were three other people. The first was a sixty year old woman named Gerald Brown who went by Gerry to those that knew her. She had been Willard's personal secretary for nearly twenty years. Jacob suspected the old bat was in love with Willard, although he could not understand why. The other was Jamal Davis, Willard's personal attorney, and the third was a doctor in a white lab coat. Jacob didn't know the doctor. He said to Willard, "Hi Dad. I hear you are feeling better today?"

Willard waved an arm and said, "Better than what?"

Jacob shrugged and sat down next to his father. Willard said, "Okay my son is here. All of you get out for a few minutes."

The doctor and Gerry Brown moved toward the door. Jamal stood like a sentry at the window overlooking the perfectly manicured grounds. Jacob glanced at him and Willard said, "Jamal give us a minute."

Jamal looked inconvenienced but nodded and without a word to Jacob left, following the other two.

Jacob sat in the chair next to his father's bed and said, "How are you really doing dad?"

Willard grimaced and said, "Cancer is bullshit. Your mother was lucky to go the way she did. Here one minute; gone the next. Waiting to die is no way to live."

Jacob winced at the mention of his mother. He was not so sure she was the lucky one. She had been struck by a car in the prime of her life that shattered her legs, pelvis, and cracked open her skull when she hit the sidewalk. He said, "Are you in any pain?"

Willard shook his head, "No. But I'm so stoned out on morphine I can't think either. It's a hell of a thing." He paused and said, "So have you considered what we talked about. I'm afraid we don't have much time to decide things. You are my only son and heir and I want my legacy to stay with my name."

Jacob nodded. He knew that his father was more interested in Mitchell Industries staying with the name Mitchell than his own confidence in his son. Even in death he was protective of his one true life's passion. Jacob said, "Yes. I will take the CEO job."

Willard nodded and said, "I knew you would. I do have one small stipulation."

Jacob thought, Small stipulation. There were always strings with him, even when he's about to die. He wants to pull strings from Heaven. Then Jacob suppressed a smile. Heaven was grossly optimistic for Willard Mitchell.

Jacob said, "Stipulation? What is it?"

Willard sighed and said, "You keep Jamal on as General Counsel and as a member of the board."

Jacob sat forward, ready to protest, but Willard raised his hands and said, "I know you two don't always see eye to eye, but he's been with me from the beginning. He won't be around forever. You keep him on as GC and the job is yours. He deserves that much. And you will need a good attorney and advisor. He can do things that you cannot as CEO." Jacob wondered what Jamal may have done that Willard could not. But part of him suspected. Jamal was more than an attorney. He was also a fixer of problems. He wondered how far Jamal might go to fix some of the problems Willard had faced as a billionaire.

Jacob also considered the demand that was veiled as a request. It was out of character for his father. Something was wrong here. Willard Mitchell didn't give people things because they deserved them. He didn't ever give anyone anything; he felt it was best to earn the things you wanted; and if not earn them, take them. The word deserved or give, didn't enter Willard's vocabulary.

Jacob said, "Why not just pay him out then. Give him a few million dollars and let him retire. Surely you paid him well enough over the years."

Willard nodded and then said, "This is not negotiable Jacob. It's a take it or leave it situation. You get the top job but Jamal comes with it. You may find value in him in time. Being a CEO is not always easy and you will need someone that knows the business and you can trust. That's the way it's got to be. Understand?"

Now this felt more like Willard. No discussion; no negotiation, just my way or the highway. Jacob asked, "What's he got on you Dad?"

Willard didn't say anything for a moment and finally said, "Nothing. He has been my longest most loyal employee and friend. Now I'm tired and need to go to sleep." Willard handed Jacob a document, his last will and testament, that would anoint him as heir and CEO of the Mitchell fortune. Ironically it was less thick than the contract Kendall had presented him with earlier. Then, Willard closed his eyes, dismissing his son and employee for the last time.

Jacob sat with his father for ten minutes thinking about his life, Jamal, Mindy and the Mindy's before her, his mother, and his future. An hour and a half later as Jacob was eating a sandwich in the kitchen, he, without fan fare or even his knowledge, became the leader of Mitchell Industries as Willard took his last breath in an empty room.

Three

Jamal Davis was 58, bald, six foot two inches tall, fit for his age, and as ruthless a man as Willard. In some ways he was more ruthless.

He sat in his office in his own wing of the estate, not a place given to him, but one he usurped in the early days with Willard when seventy hour work weeks were common and Willard demanded his chief attorney be ever present for advice. Jamal had begun to stay over at the compound during the hostile take over that made Willard's fortune and established him as a tycoon. At first it was just during the work week, Monday to Thursday, but Jamal was never married and had no where else to go, so ended up staying over one weekend, then another. After six months he was living in the compound as the bull dozers began working on Willard's pet project that would become The West Wing.

He considered the Mitchell family, of which he was not a part of, but who he understood better than anyone. Willard had hired him out of law school when Willard was rich, but not yet a billionaire. The two were unlikely friends at the beginning, sharing a beer from time to time as young ambitious men in New York City. More than once they had spent a long night down on Broadway near Times Square sampling the sins of humanity available there. It was there that Willard first discovered Jamal's proclivities for men.

They were in a nightclub, Willard springing for a VIP table, and bottle service after closing a particularly difficult negotiation earlier that day. After some cocaine and ecstasy Willard found a 19 year old dancer named Tiffany to entertain him and Jamal had ended up alone with a twenty year old black man in one of the back rooms where anything you could afford was available. The boy he was with was chocolate skin, thick lips and a well proportioned cock. Willard had found Jamal in the back room, satiated, the boy whimpering, naked on the floor, white lines of semen striping his dark skin.

Willard laughed and said, "Jesus Jamal, how many times did you fuck that boy?" Then with a laugh, "Come on we got to get the fuck out of here. It's almost time to go to work."

Willard spoke to Jamal about it the next morning.

He said, "Last night was fun, but you can't be doing that faggot shit in public. I am going to be rich enough to matter some day and I don't want to be in the Wall Street Journal because my lawyer got his dick sucked in a club by a teen age boy. Keep that shit on the down low. Better yet find yourself some nice pussy. No one cares if you fuck 19 year old pussy. You do like pussy don't you?"

Jamal nodded and said, "Of course I do. Last night was just the coke man." Then, "Just a one time thing."

Willard nodded and said, "Good. Let's get some pussy tomorrow night then. I know a guy that runs some high end whores out of Long Island. I'll get you the two for one special. They will fuck that gay shit out of you."

Jamal shrugged indifferently and while offended, thought Willard had a point. There was a saying in Washington about politicians. You never want to be caught with a dead girl or a live boy. He decided he would give up his desires for men.

He lasted almost a month before he took a business trip to California where no one knew who Jamal Davis was. Jamal did like women too. The gender of his partners was much less important than what they would let him do to them. Jamal liked hurting his lovers during the sex and nothing turned him on more than hearing them scream or whimper or cry as thrust into them. He was a sadist and enjoyed extracting the sounds of pain from his lovers. He would never date a man or want to be seen with one. But sexually, once in awhile he felt the hunger burn in himself. There was nothing better than when a young man begged him to stop, whimpering like his little bitch. The thought of it aroused Jamal and his masturbatory fantasies often were filled with torture and pain.

He spent most of the 1980s and 1990s outwardly straight, but once a month or so took a business trip to fulfill his needs, out of sight of anyone who might know him. Willard knew this of course because Willard was not stupid and kept a close eye on his inner circle.

Willard didn't mind because it was something he could use if he ever needed leverage on the man.

Willard didn't care about who was straight or who was gay; he had no particular feeling about race or even gender. Willard used none of that to categorize or stereotype the people in his orbit. No Willard was not a racist, a homophobe, or a misogynist. He treated everyone with equal indifference, and as pawns to the accumulation of wealth and the power that came with it. Willard cared only about power and influence and money. Sex, gender, race, love, and hatred were all just tools that could be used and bent to serve Willard's purpose. Willard honed his skills with the fanaticism of a zealot. A zealot who worshiped only money and power.

By the early 1980s Willard was on his way to wealth and met his wife, Cassidy, who went by Cass, during a chance meeting at an art exhibit at The Met. Cass was a counter balance to Willard and the only person Willard ever loved. She was kind in a way Willard wasn't, but she, like Willard, knew what she wanted out of life. A billionaire husband was on her list. She had a ferocious heart, but also had the capacity for empathy and compassion. Jamal was never sure if she truly loved Willard, but Willard loved her.

The two married quickly, and in the late 1980s, Jacob came along. Jamal remembered that like it was yesterday. Fucking Jacob. The boy had been a pain in the ass from the moment he was conceived. But Jamal had weathered that storm, and now the little son of a bitch was going to become CEO and his boss. At least on paper. In practice Jamal had his own agenda and plans for Mitchell Industries. He had thirty five years of experience working inside the machine that Willard Mitchell had built.

But Jacob would become the chief executive. That did not bode well for Jamal. Fortunately Jamal had made contingency plans should Willard ever decide he was no longer useful or valuable. Jamal understood managing risk, being prepared, and seeing opportunity in adversity. He also had the balls to act when others would not. If they only knew some of the things he had done for Willard Mitchell and himself. He smiled a cold smile as he sat thinking about it.

Jamal stood, the anger of Jacob becoming his new boss, making him seethe. He went to the bar in his office, poured two fingers of bourbon in a crystal glass, and threw back the drink in a single swallow. He set the glass on the bar, feeling the burn of the alcohol in his guts. He thought about Jacob. He had watched the boy grow up. Jacob was not ready to be an executive. It was that simple. The boy lacked the basic ruthlessness for it. At least that was Jamal's opinion. Jamal, however, was ready and a long while ago Willard had agreed. But Jamal was not a Mitchell. He was an employee. That too was made clear. Jamal had broached the subject of taking over as CEO when it became clear that Willard would not survive his cancer. No matter how close he and Willard were as friends, Jacob was still his son and heir.