CHAPTER TEN
The elevator doors opened into the lobby of the huge WEBSTER, INC headquarters building in downtown Brackenridge and William Webster, along with his second-oldest son Matthew “Matty” Webster, walked off of the elevator and hurried toward the exit.
Matty was a tall man like his father, but he could barely keep up with the older man as they walked swiftly past the hundreds of executives and secretaries and other frontline workers that made up the most successful corporation in town.
Some of those frontline workers though, the ones that hung around the reception desk whenever they were on break, always had something to say whenever a Webster was in the lobby.
“I still don’t believe that white man had all them black children,” said one of the two white clerks standing at the reception desk.
The receptionist, who was black, looked at the clerk. “Why would you say something like that, MaryAnn?”
“Because it’s true. Look at his son.”
“Which one?” the receptionist asked. “They all fine.”
“The one right there,” MaryAnn said, nodding toward Matty. “He looks black.”
“Black and fine,” said the second clerk, a younger white girl, and she and the receptionist laughed.
“The daddy finer than all of them to me,” said the older clerk.
“He would be to you,” said the receptionist.
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Mr. Webster is fine for a fifty-something year old man,” said the receptionist. “You aren’t wrong about that. But Matty Webster and all his other sons got him beat. I’m sorry. They are fine!” She and the younger clerk high-fived.
“Besides,” said the receptionist, “you never believe anything anyway, MaryAnn. You didn’t believe Barack Obama had a white mother because he looked more black than white.
You don’t believe Meghan Markle is the mother of Prince Harry’s two children because they look more white than black. That’s how genes work, MaryAnn.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
“Then you’re just ignorant,” said the younger clerk. “You don’t wanna believe it.”
“I know that’s right,” said the receptionist as she and the clerk continued to look at the fine father and his super-fine son.
But when William and Matty made it out of the lobby and began walking toward the waiting limousine, it was all about business for them.
“We’re on the clock. We’re still holding our own,” said Matty as they walked toward his father’s limousine.
“Where did we land this time?” William asked.
“Forth this time.”
William was displeased. He looked at his son, who was also his CEO. “We lost a spot?”
“Only for this quarter, Pop. We’ll come roaring back.”
“We’d better,” William said as his driver opened the back passenger door for him. “Or it’s going to be your ass.” Then William looked at Matty. “Going with me?”
Matty had a disapproving fixed frown on his always-serious face. “I don’t care to go at all.”
“Don’t start, Matthew. She’s my daughter. And she’s getting married. And every one of my children will attend that wedding, you hear me? Don’t start.”
Matty nodded. “I need to tie up a few loose ends. I’ll meet you at the house.”
Then William hesitated again before getting in his limo. “Heard from Hawthorne?”
Matty shook his head. “Nope. But he doesn’t exactly keep in touch. You?”
“I spoke with him a couple days ago.”
“And?”
“I told him he’d better be here for the rehearsal and especially for the dinner tonight.”
“What did he say?”
“What do you think he said?”
Yes sir, Matty thought. Like they all said.
Then William got into his limousine.
But as his driver was closing the door and walking around to the front driver side, one of Matty’s assistants ran out of the lobby and hurried up to him. Then he whispered in his ear.
Matty looked at his assistant as if he had to have heard it wrong. Even William pressed down his window when he saw the look on his son’s face. “What is it?” he asked him.
Matty was still shocked. “It’s Mom.”
William’s heart dropped. “What about her?”
He looked at his father. “She’s been abducted. My assistant said the police just called. They want to meet us at the house.”
“Alan, take me home,” William said to his driver and his driver, now behind the steering wheel, sped away.
But William was more than anxious. He was angry. He opened the side box that contained the car phone, pressed the screen’s various icons, and made a call.
But the call went to Voice Mail. Which angered William even more.
But he left a message. “If you have anything to do with this shit, and I mean anything, you’d better tell me now!” Then he tried to calm back down. But he couldn’t. “Call me back, dammit!” he said loudly, and ended the call.
His heart was hammering. They abducted Reecie? They took his wife? It couldn’t be. They wouldn’t be that crazy. They couldn’t be that crazy!
“Go faster, man!” he yelled at his driver.
And his driver, who knew the wrath of William Webster better than most, flew.