Rachel From the Edge Pt. 02
by G. Lawrence
Chaos follows the sudden death of a billionaire
This novel is constructed on different levels. Most importantly, the experiences of individual characters. This will turn out to be a love story, just not the kind readers usually expect. But the story also examines media, fame, wealth, scandal, and complicating concepts. I find them necessary. And don't expect this novel to go in a predictable direction. We shall soon learn that nothing with Rachel is ever predictable.
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Chapter Two
14TH STREET
Rachel appeared at work Monday morning, though it wasn't a good idea. She was pale and running a fever. A long sleeve sweater covered the marks on her wrists. She'd spent so much time crying the last three days that her eyes were swollen. But she needed the job. Her mother's medical bills were coming due, and without Daniel's contributions, the cost took up most of her salary. The amount left over was barely enough for her small downtown apartment and a few necessities. She didn't even own a car.
The office was quiet when Rachel entered the double-glass 12th floor doors. She feared her co-workers would ask uncomfortable questions, but everyone kept their distance. Even Patty and Debra, who were almost friends, looked the other way. Jolly, a red-nosed lout who most thought a drunken idiot, mumbled something about the sex slave's return.
Rachel went to her private lab in the corner of the building, the room filled with computer monitors, workstations, and chalkboards. She was rarely visited. No one really knew what she did, and that's the way Daniel wanted it. Their work was proprietary, he said. Too valuable to blather about. Rachel suspected that was true, though the secrecy created tension with the staff.
There was a grocery bag on the floor containing the clothes she'd left at Canby Place. When EMTs rolled her out on a gurney. She was glad to find her purse. Rachel didn't have any money to speak of, but at least she had her keys and bus pass again.
She sat down at the main computer console, seeing phase three was nearly complete. The trial runs had been successful, providing valuable information to Marbury & Benson's clients. But a big test was coming up. If Ripper v Price was successfully resolved, Marbury & Benson would become a powerhouse in the industry. Daniel had already prepared a press release. He didn't understand Rachel's methodology, but he also didn't care. Just so long as it worked.
"Montgomery. The boss's office. Now," Jolly said from the door.
Rachel was startled. Their boss was dead. Wasn't he? Yes, he was. Someone else was in charge now. She put the analysis modes on automatic, encoded her work, and walked slowly toward the south side of the building. Large windows overlooked the yacht harbor. She found Mrs. Pamela Benson standing behind Daniel's desk, arms crossed, frowning. Oliver Mendelson sat against the wall in a padded leather chair, appearing worried. Rachel was disappointed when Oliver didn't say anything.
"There's the killer," Pamela said. "Thank you so much for joining us with your clothes on."
Rachel hadn't expected a warm welcome from Daniel's ex-wife, but she certainly hadn't foreseen such hostility. She stood quietly, not knowing what to say.
"I want your resignation on my desk by closing today," Pamela demanded.
"No, Mrs. Benson, please. I need this job," Rachel said, tearing up.
"Maybe you should have thought about that before sleeping with your employer?"
"It never affected my work."
"Well, we don't really know what your work was, do we? Unless whoring around the secretarial pool is your job?"
"Pamela, be careful," Oliver cautioned.
"I'm in project development, Mrs. Benson. Our new--"
"I don't give a flying damn what you've been doing. We're going to scrap the whole thing. Rip out the screws and throw them away. You aren't needed anymore. You never were."
Rachel fled the room, trying not to let the employees see her cry.
"Pam, this is a mistake," Oliver said. "That project--"
"It's like I said, Ollie, I want her gone. If she doesn't resign, I'll fire her. And void her benefits, too."
"Come on, the girl isn't well. You could see that. You're going to take away her health coverage?"
"I'll take away whatever's necessary to protect my family and the reputation of this firm. I'm in charge now. Things are going to be run differently."
"Let's hope we still have a firm," Oliver said.
"Billings are up. We'll do just fine," Pamela insisted.
Rachel locked her laboratory door, turned off the lights, and hid in the corner for the rest of the day, weeping her heart out. With Daniel gone and no job, there was no way she could pay for her mother's care. And now that Daniel Benson's sex slave was a national joke, there was no way she was getting another job. Not unless it involved a stripper pole.
Though she rarely used her work computer for personal business, Rachel accessed her bank accounts. There was a $629 credit card balance, which she paid off. $12,004.89 remained. She transferred the $12,000 to her mother's trust fund and kept the $4.89. Then Rachel checked to make sure her life insurance was up to date.
Toward the end of the day, another rainstorm blew in from the Pacific Ocean. Lightening streaked the sky as thunder shook the building. Most of the employees left early to avoid rush hour traffic.
"Nothing from the tramp yet?" Pamela asked, coming back from dinner at Monte Carlo's.
"No, Mrs. Benson," her executive secretary said, a stout middle-aged black woman named Keisha Lincoln.
"Have HR send up those termination papers. And check with security. Have them make sure that slut is out of the building."
Oliver entered a few minutes later, his office two floors below. Pamela was standing at the window watching the boats bobbing at their mooring in the stormy harbor. He had always thought her an attractive woman, and the years hadn't changed that. Now in her mid-fifties, trim, always finely attired, Pamela allowed a few silver streaks in her otherwise rusty-blonde hair. Her blue eyes were piercing when her dander was up.
"Chatter on the street is divided. Not encouraging, but could be worse," he said. He laid a folder on her desk. The label read Notitia.
"You know Marbury & Benson is just a hobby, don't you? Neither Danny nor I ever needed the money."
"This company was Danny's dream. He had hopes of building a powerful new industry," Oliver said.
"All we do is give law firms ammunition against their opponents. We locate finances, find weaknesses, and then let the lawyers destroy them in court. We aren't mercenaries, we just supply the weapons."
"We can be more than that. Every client doesn't need to be a rich corporation. There are polluters and abusers that new investigative techniques can bring to account."
"Am I to believe Danny ever cared about corporate abusers? A white knight riding to the rescue? Sorry, Ollie, all he ever cared about was being in the spotlight. This little tramp of his is so stunning, I'm surprised he didn't parade her around for the paparazzi. Oh, wait, he was banging a young female employee. Not the best image these days."
"You don't need to be so cruel to her," Oliver protested, taking the Notitia file back.
"I haven't even started."
"Why do you hate her so much? She's never done anything to you."
"Shouldn't it be obvious? She turned my husband's ... my ex-husband's death into a farce. Humiliated my family. Humiliated me. From now on, whenever people think of Marbury & Benson, or Benson Conglomerates, all they'll remember is his dead body lying on top of that whore. Of course I hate her."
"I think you need to calm down," Oliver urged.
"Has she left the building yet? Mrs. Lincoln! Has the slut left the building?"
Keisha appeared in the door a moment later. "Security has no record of her leaving, ma'am."
"Have them track her down. Send an armed guard if necessary. And schedule a press conference for me in the morning."
"Press conference?" Oliver asked.
"Have you seen what the bloggers are saying? Danny Benson killed during rough sex. CEO dies as depraved as he lived. Sexpot lures Benson to grisly demise."
"It's all crap," Oliver said.
"America needs to know we aren't cowering before this media storm. Or this gold-digging bitch. I have a voice, too, and tomorrow the world is going to get an earful."
"A press conference may be premature," Oliver warned.
