Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You Have to Pay the Cost, to be the Boss
T he sounds of Memphis Bleek’s, ‘Is That Your Chick,’ featuring Missy Elliott, played from Roman’s phone while news of several dead bodies found in an abandoned funeral home poured from his television. He’d planned to be out of the house a few minutes ago to speak to his supervisor, but something struck his attention that sidetracked him. Something that could not wait.
Roman took a deep breath, then opened the email sent from his father as he exhaled through his mouth. He turned the television off and allowed the music to continue to play, only pausing to take a much-needed taste of his coffee, housed in a stainless-steel tumbler to his right. He glanced at the time on his Rolex as he waited for his computer to finish booting up. It was almost time to leave for the office and start the workday, but when the email subject line signified a pressing matter, he had to sit down on his couch and take a look.
After a few more sips of coffee, he carefully read the message. Line by line. Word for word. Be the tree. Placing the laptop inside his briefcase, he got to his feet, turned off the television and headed out the door. He drove to work in silence. No coveted indie rock music to lead the way. Only the sound of his coffee sloshing about every now and again when he hit a curve too fast along the bend of a street.
Once he arrived at his destination, he said his customary hellos as he passed people he knew. Typically, he was smiling and full of energy. Today, the show and effort proved almost unbearable. He entered his office and softly closed the door behind him. He set everything down neatly on his desk. In fact, he was meticulous. His favorite pens were in their gold and white container. Not a speck of dust to be seen. His trashcan was empty, with a new liner. The blinds were partially opened, allowing in horizontal streams of light. He ran his finger along the edge of his leather office chair and sighed.
He wanted to memorize this place in his mind. Etch it in his heart forever. He inhaled the clean air and smiled. He wasn’t certain he’d ever get to stand there, this way, again. It always smells so good in my office. I’ll always remember this scent. He had two air filters in there, a citrus diffuser, along with a few large plants that were well taken care of by the cleaning staff. His phone started chiming as emails and work-related text messages began to flow through. Typically, he’d check a few right then before the Monday morning meeting, but instead, he picked up his phone and called his boss. Their weekly morning call was customary.
“Good morning, Mr. Wilde!” Eric Dearborn remarked with glee in his tone. “How was your weekend?”
“Well, sir, it was indeed a thing of beauty.” Roman smoothed out his shirt as he began to pace his office, admiring his vaulted ceilings and the expensive artwork that hung on the walls, as if seeing them for the first, and perhaps, last time.
“And what made it so beautiful? Your Christmas bonus, right?”
“I was thinking of something else, but thank you. That was beautiful, too. The Christmas bonus was generous and—”
“Generous my ass, Roman. You earned every damn penny. We’re lucky to have ya!”
Roman took a deep breath… inside, he was crumbling. Falling to pieces.
“Eric, well, thank you for that. I—”
“A second ago, you said something was a thing of beauty, but apparently it wasn’t your bonus as I just joked with you about. What was it?”
“I proposed to my girlfriend. She said yes.” He mustered a smile as his heart beat damn near out of his chest. A time of celebration had a big, dark cloud over it.
“Roman, that is wonderful news! I only got to meet her in passing at the Christmas party. Genny, correct?”
“Genesis, but some folks call her Genny or Gen.”
“Yes, that’s right. Genesis. You two seemed completely smitten with one another. Congratulations! I would love to take you and your lady love to lunch soon. My treat.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s mighty nice of you. Uh, Eric, I know you’re busy, but would you mind if I come to your office and have a quick chat with you?”
“Well Roman, I have a meeting soon, but later today I could—”
“I know you’ve got the Thurman meeting scheduled this morning, but it doesn’t start until thirty minutes from now. That meeting is just a recap of what was discussed last Wednesday, so no preparation is needed. I’d never request a meeting at such short notice unless it was crucial.” There was a pause on the other end.
“…You sound concerned. That’s not like you.” Eric sighed. “What is this about, Roman?”
“I’d rather have a face-to-face conversation.”
“Come. I’ll let Marigold know you’re on your way.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”
Roman disconnected the call. He stood there, his palms growing so sweaty they could fill a cup. His face flushed with an ungodly heat, and his feet seemed to be made of lead. He reached for his chain necklace and gave it a little tug. Then, he turned on his heels, exited his office, shoulders back, head high, and walked with purpose through the gallery to Dearborn’s office. The big dawg.
Roman cleared his throat, warming up and hoping to not vomit before he flashed his badge, gaining entrance to the corridor that led to the head man in charge.
“Good mornin’, Marigold,” he greeted with a wave. “Nice to see you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Wilde.” The young lady who sat behind a large gray desk, donning strawberry blond hair with thick bangs and bright green eyes, always blushed when he looked her way.
Roman stood like some soldier, facing his boss’s entryway. There, before him, were large, looming cherrywood double doors with intricate carvings of sword yielding warriors, gnashing lions, and the like. Combat. Survival of the fittest. The smell of rich coffee filled the area, as well as the faint hint of expensive cologne. He wasted no more time and bit the bullet. When he rapped on the door with his ringed hand and saw the screen on the side of the door flash. Click. It was open.
As soon as he entered, the all too familiar eyes of a huge wild boar greeted him. The thing hung over a mantel, menacing, sad, and courageous all at once. Roman abhorred it. Grotesque. Overkill, in every sense of the word. It lacked class, humor, and beauty. He hated all mounted hunted game, especially since he’d grown up seeing it all over Grandpa’s dwelling.
“Roman, please… have a seat,” Eric stated, shaking him from his deliberations.
Roman sat down in the large wine leather seat then smoothed his tie. Eric sat behind his computer, one of three, while soft classical music played. His office was the size of a luxury apartment, featuring a small area with a refrigerator containing fancy imported treats, a wine chiller, a sizable television screen that hung high on one wall, double fireplaces, and his own private restroom with a seat warmer. Roman knew of such a feature because it was often brought up during office jokes.
The two men were quiet for a few moments, with Vivaldi’s Violin Concerto in E major, RV 269 ‘Spring’—I. Allegro’ playing in the background.
Roman looked around the room once more, noting the framed military awards.
Fellow jarhead. Oorah… Be the tree…
“Eric, I, uh, I appreciate you speaking with me on such short notice. I’ll get right down to it.” He glanced behind the man, noting framed photos of Eric, his wife, and grandchildren. “I’ve contacted my attorney. He knows about this discussion ahead of time.”
The man shifted in his seat; his brows furrowed. Eric was a tall, thin man with huge shoulders. Moving around in furniture made him at times look awkward. Now, even more so. He seemed uncomfortable with this conversation, too.
“Your attorney?” Eric probed as he leaned back in his seat, his thin lips flattening against his tanned face. “Why would you need an attorney, Roman?” The tone dripped with, ‘What have you gone and done, motherfucker?’ Words left unsaid.
“To protect myself, you and this company. I am laying my cards down. Almost literally.” He smirked. “You’ve treated me as an equal and with respect. You’ve invited me to several of your family functions over the years, and I felt welcomed not only into this business, but into your family. I owe you… I owe you the truth.”
Eric’s eyes didn’t leave his as he grabbed a small crystal trinket of some sort from his desk and rolled it along his palm. The man then gave a loud sigh.
“I’m a guy who loves his job as much, if not more , than you do. I would bet on that. Every day I wake up, Eric, I walk into this place feeling like I hit the jackpot. I’d almost do this for free.” He cleared his throat while Eric kept rolling that clear bauble over and over in his big hand. “That doesn’t absolve me, though, of what happened, and what I am personally responsible for due to a past mistake. You see, I am bein’ blackmailed, Eric. Asked to compromise this company, my fellow colleagues, and indirectly tarnish your name. I am being told that if I don’t give private information to this particular person, for his own company to benefit, that he will tell you who he believes I really am, hence, ruining my career and reputation.”
“You’re being extorted?”
“ Attempted extortion, yes.”
Smetana’s, ‘Vltava (The Moldau)’ started to play. The music seemed to be getting louder. Mocking him.
Eric’s jaw tightened. He placed the crystal ornament back down, then clasped his hands atop his knees. Two sharp gray eyes pierced him as the music drifted all around them, flitting about and touching their ears like some malevolent fairy.
“I’m going to ask you a question. Answer with a simple yes or no, Roman. Have you done any thing illegal while working here, internship included, in which you provided confidential company intel, or client information that could blemish this corporation’s status and/or public image due to your actions?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Very good. Now, who is attempting to force you to conduct illicit practices against this company and me ?” If it wasn’t clear before, it was now. This shit was personal to Eric.
“It’s my grandfather.”
Eric cocked his head to the right and looked at him like a dog observing a cat dressed in a three-piece suit, riding a tricycle down a busy road.
“How strange, and definitely unfortunate.” Eric grunted. The man’s thick Southern dialect was much like his own. They both controlled it while speaking to clients from all over the world, only allowing it to flow loosely in non-business circles, or in private. When feeling rather silly, amused, or pissed the fuck off, that rule was out the window. The accent got heavy like torrential rain. Eric sounded like a true cowboy now. He was on the saddle. Roman could relate. “What’s his name?”
“My grandfather’s name is Cyrus Wilde. Owner of Wilde Enterprises.”
Eric leaned farther back in his seat and stroked his silky silver goatee. A glint of familiarity cleared his eyes. Roman wanted to ask if he knew of the demon being discussed, if that horrid person rang a memory bell, but perhaps that would open doors of dialogue that were better left closed.
“How did this happen?”
The question Eric posed was simple enough, but at the same time complicated as hell. Did Roman need to start with when he was born, and explain the strange familial dynamics of an ostracized son and dysfunctional upbringing that almost caused him to turn into a psychopath? Or did he start with the most recent incident that let him know without a shadow of a doubt that it was time to tell on himself, so help him God?
“I’m going to explain this to you as succinctly as possible. What happened is,” he paused, looking down at his shoes, trying to find the right words, “…my grandfather wishes for me to work for him and has wanted that for many years. I have refused. He has recently discovered that I participated in some unsavory activities many years ago and is holding it over my head. He obtained this information not from me directly, but unlawfully, by orchestrating a break-in at my home. That’s beside the point though and doesn’t refute what I did. I am focused on taking responsibility for my part in this.”
He rubbed his hands together and mustered the courage to continue. “One silver lining, Eric, is that my misconduct can’t be criminally prosecuted. It occurred in my early twenties, and the statute of limitations has come and gone, but the stigma of such a thing will live—”
“Forever.”
“Yes.” Something Roman rarely felt began to consume him. Nibble at him like some starving rat gobbling down spoiled eggs and stinking rancid cheese.
Shame.
“Did your attorney grant you permission to discuss this situation with me, even the possibly felonious elements?”
“Yes.”
Eric snatched his landline phone from his desk and dialed out.
“Marigold. Please let the others know I am not able to attend the meeting this morning. Offer my apologies to the committee via an email, but don’t cancel it. They can continue without me.”
“Yes, Mr. Dearborn. Is there someone else you wish to send, in your place?”
“Pierre Neilson will already be in attendance. He can pick up the slack. Just let him know in advance that I won’t be present, but he and I can meet later in the day to debrief.”
“I certainly will. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, in fact there is. Hold all of my calls and appointments for the next two hours. No one is to get through unless it’s my wife, or an emergency.”
“I will make sure of it.”
“Thank you.” He quickly ended the call.
The music played and played, and Eric did nothing more but glare at him, creating an unpleasant silence. His ominous scowl certainly summed up his mood, filling the room like hot lava bumbling from an erupting volcano that had slumbered a few thousand lifetimes. A war of emotions raged within Roman as the two men went from jovial banter earlier that morning, to this . Sharp, murky panic swept through him as flashes of the life he’d worked so hard to build cracked and snapped at the seams beneath the weight of his grandfather’s power.
Boundless difficult college courses, killer exams, constantly having to prove himself worthy in spite of not coming from an academic family or an honorable household. He worked endlessly, painting a smile on his face for an internship that about broke him in half—being constantly sent off to fetch lunches and coffee for fun by insecure men who wanted to put him in his place, or shame him for growing up without the finer things in life. He was disrespected often and had to bite his tongue and tuck his fist, no matter how tempting to stoop to an adversary’s level and rip them to shreds.
This is the part where I am told to resign. It’s articulated that Goldman Sachs’ attorney will be in contact with me, in what? Five seconds? This is the part where HR has an emergency meeting and people are whispering, trying to figure out what the hell is going on as meeting after meeting gets canceled to address what I’ve done, and where I’m going. This is the part I knew was coming, but I have to do the right thing, in spite of it. I have to tell the truth.
Greed is holding onto a facade of myself. Squandering an opportunity to deliver the truth, all to protect a false image of myself when the real me is good enough. Fucked up, flawed, black sheep and all. Greed is taking the whole damn company down with me, simply because my back is against the wall. Greed would be selling my property, my cars, withdrawing my money, grabbing Genesis and runnin’ away to some undisclosed, out-of-the-way location where she’d live an opulent life, but never be able to see her family again—all on account of me. No… the greed stops here. I’m not like him. I’ve got to take my power back. Confess my sins and stand here and take the thunder and the lightning. Like the tree…
The boss took a sharp breath.
“Roman, I am going to ask you to throw away your fucking bullshit artistry, that conman charisma that you throw around like confetti and be real with me! Man to fucking man! Tell me the gotdamn truth!” Eric slammed his fist against his desk. “Don’t try to mind fuck me like you do so many others. I have seen you at work. You’ve mind fucked so many people that it’s a surprise that their brains didn’t start popping out babies! I know what you’re capable of. You make atheists wanna suddenly be a nun or join the priesthood. You’ve got the heart of a top salesman, the brain of a mathematician, and the looks of a runway model, and like me, you’re a damn veteran. You use these attributes to gain control over others. Today, right now, it stops. No bullshit!” The man waved his hands frantically about.
“Got it. No bullshit.”
“I need to wrap my hands around this. In order to do that, I have to know the extent of what I’m dealing with. I want you tell me exactly what the hell you did that has your own grandfather believing is so valuable, that I would fire your ass, and you’d end up dishonored and in a world of hurt and trouble. Get straight to the motherfucking point like an arrow. Three…two…one… Go!”
“You got it,” He raised his hands in surrender. “Eric, in a time of desperation, I concocted a plan to bamboozle a prominent Vegas casino out of millions of dollars. I didn’t steal it, per se, but I did engage in nefarious and unscrupulous practices in order to obtain the winnings.”
“That’s a fancy fuckin’ way of you saying you did some flimflam shit, like switching card decks, finger work, countin’ cards or something, to the tune of a million-dollar windfall.”
“Three million.”
“This money… the winnings… what did you do with it?”
“I took that money and started a new life. College, then graduate school for finance. Paid off debts, helped my family, paid back loans for others, helped a friend start a business, and bought some unnecessary shit, too.” He shrugged. “I won’t lie—some of it went to cars, boats, golf equipment, real estate, high-priced alcohol, and other shit, but Eric, I worked my ass off with the majority of it and helped others. I know what you’re thinking. I’m no saint. Hell, I have a reputation of bein’ some genius here at work, but amongst my close friends, I’m just a slick-mouthed, wealthy playboy who likes to play head games, with trust issues.” He tsked. “I know what people think of me, and I know that I’m gossiped about behind my back, too.
“People always gossip about people who don’t tell their business. I keep my private life to myself. On purpose. And this is one of the reasons why. The fewer people understood me, the better my secrets would be kept. Not just this, but everything that I don’t want others to know—from the time I cried about some girl who ghosted me in the eighth grade, all the way up to this . My grandfather stole a journal of mine that detailed my life, basically, Eric.” His boss barely blinked as he spoke to him, from the heart. “That money was to help me, myself and I, mainly. I had gotten excused from the Marines over some shit that wasn’t my fault, and I was too prideful to ask for help… and even if I did ask for help, nobody was equipped in my life to give it to me. Most of the people in my family were one check away from bein’ homeless, Eric. They couldn’t help me, and I wasn’t about to be no damn burden to my mama, or anyone else.
“Pride and consideration both made me do what I did, as strange as that sounds. I regret what I did, but I don’t regret trying to find a solution to my issue so I could afford an education and housing. I am still a greedy man, but not for money. I’m greedy for accountability and the truth. True accountability and honesty, and for love. I finally met a woman who can love me the way I need to be loved, and I refuse to allow her to be affected by this shit that I’ve stirred. Telling the truth was the only option, so she could be free . I’m greedy for success, Eric. Success that I earned fair and square. And now, I’m greedy enough to believe that you won’t hate me after this, but I know that’s not gonna happen. That’s just a magic trick in my head. A fantasy. I’m the black sheep of this company now. I accept that. The poor country boy with the drunk and drugged out father, who was finally given a chance to be great, but come to find out, he’s an impostor. I was wearing a mask. I’m sorry to bring this shame to you.”
He hung his head. Hot, angry tears brimmed in his eyes.
But Eric did something at that moment that he didn’t expect. He told him, “Roman, look at me.”
Roman slowly looked up, meeting his gaze.
He steepled his fingers and smiled. A genuine, wide smile, as if he’d been told the best news ever.
“I hired you, Roman, because of your grit, grind, resourcefulness, and hunger for the game. I hired you after your internship here. You were fresh out of college. I watched you work. And work hard. I was told about you… I observed how your colleagues responded to your energy, and your talents. The jealousy was thick. How could someone like you, that came from nothin’, work circles around them?! You were crushing your competition, one by one! And the crazy part? You did it with a killer smile. You remained down to earth, but I knew deep down, you understood that you were special. Different. I had not seen a drive like yours in any one, in a long time.
“You have surpassed many others vocationally because of your willingness to go above and beyond for your clients, Roman. To ensure that they feel safe working with us, and that you provide service that they can’t get elsewhere. You’re consistent and steadfast. Particularly likable. A gentleman and a flirt down to your bones. You are a shark. You understand money and this business, down to the core. Notwithstanding that, you’re right. You earned it. You earned your corner office. The office that Stacey Lane vacated after her retirement, and everyone was chomping at the bit to receive.” He pointed towards his closed door.
“You have clients who rely on you and trust your advice almost over God’s word. What you did way back when, without me knowing the explicit details, is undoubtedly deplorable, and would have cost you working here and in any other financial institution worth their salt had the information been privy at the time of hiring, yet still, you’ve been with us for over a decade, man…” Eric sucked his teeth, closed his eyes, then shook his head. “You have proven yourself time and time again without fault. Through deaths in your family, illness and all, you’ve stepped up to the plate and delivered.
“Loyalty to companies nowadays is seldom rewarded, but I’m old school. Generation X. We ate rusty nails, swallowed them, then asked for more.” A delicate kindness gleamed in his eyes. “Nobody coddled us like the new guys being hired now. There was no tiptoeing around the truth.” Eric shrugged. “You’re not from my generation, but you act like it. You’re tough. You fool people because of your appearance, but the man you are is a real hard-nosed, ruthless, hard-workin’ son of a bitch. And I enjoy that about you. The truth is, Roman, we all have a past.” He threw up his hands.
“Unfortunately, yours almost crosses the line in our world, but the case can be made that it’s still like comparing apples to oranges. My father was a highly respected criminal attorney, so you’ll have to excuse me as I dissect this monumental information, using a bit of his brain, God rest his soul, and mine too, to figure this out.”
Eric grunted as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a flask. He screwed off the cap and tilted it to his mouth, swallowing hard. “This is unbecoming, and I’m not a morning drinker, but you made me one today.” Roman nodded, offering a wilted smile. “If I am to be completely honest and tell the truth, I, uh… I can’t afford to lose you. Not a talent like yours. I also don’t take blackmail and extortion attempts lightly. This can’t and won’t be tolerated.”
Roman blinked back astonished tears, while his heart sang with delight.
“Eric, I assure you, I swear, I’m not the same person who walked into that casino all of those years ago and did this. That’s why I came to you today. I’d rather face the consequences and get fired than allow anyone here, or affiliated with me, you or the company to go down with the battleship. I did this on my own , so I was prepared to face the music on my own, too. It was only fair.”
“Roman, I don’t believe you’re the same person that committed the acts you speak of, and according to you, legally, there is no leg for the casino to stand on, but that will need to be confirmed ASAP. Regardless, we need to figure this out, because it doesn’t end with you. This could snowball if word got out that we hired someone who stole millions from a casino, found out about it, and still allowed him to remain in his position within the company.”
“Yes, I know… About that, I’m not in a position to ask for any favors, barter, or request a damn thing from you, but I have an idea, Eric. One that would get me off the hook regarding this information ever coming out, protect this company from future threats of this nature from the same petitioner, and also protect me from further trouble from my grandfather regarding an egregious contract that he believes is virtuously binding. Would you like to hear my plan?”
Eric gave him a quizzical look.
“Yes.”
The next twenty minutes were spent with Roman going into great detail about what he believed needed to happen, and how they both could go on with their professional lives if certain steps were taken. Bigger, badder, and better. Business as usual.
“Get your attorney on the line immediately. Put him or her on speaker.”
Roman snatched his phone out of his suit jacket and dialed.
“Good morning. Thank you for callin’ Lyles Attorney at law. This is Jenny. How can I help you?”
“Hey, good mornin’, Jenny. This is Roman Wilde. Is August there? I have an emergency and need to talk to him now, if possible.”
“I will be arranging a meeting with Harris & Harris today, too. Expect to be in attendance. You are to not say ONE WORD regarding this discussion that we’ve had this morning to any one. Do you understand me, Roman?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. You’ve got a strategy. I’ve got the resources. Let’s get to work…”