A.K.A. Page 18

  I nod.

  “Does she golf?”

  “Never, as far as I know.”

  “She’s braver than I am.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Best female golfer at the club.”

  “Wow.”

  He smiles what I now know is his fake and only smile. “I’m leaving for Washington this morning.”

  I raise my own brow to this news. “Must be an important bill.”

  He laughs. It’s as phony as his smile. “I can’t let Senator Langley show me up. Now can I?”

  My father passed on, or as he put it, “declined the honor” to become the Republican Vice President nominee last year. “I must put my family first,” he said with teary eyes in front of fifty or so cameras and reporters. “The son I was never told about…,” he said and paused as if too choked up for words. Then he wiped his eyes and said, “I’m so grateful he found me. God has given me a second chance to be a father, and I must take it.”

  It was a clever political move to make after the trial. To claim his long-lost son when sympathy and polls were high. Those in Georgia and in Washington, who were once ready to ask him to step down, are now chanting his name, saying he must run for president in two years. He hasn’t declared his intentions either way. This has made a young, popular Senator Richard Langley, who has presidential aspirations of his own, very nervous.

  We made a deal, my father and me. I was to deliver justice and revenge in return for millions and the opportunity to run an international company—something I felt at the time I wanted. Something I thought would lessen the sting and the financial burden of two miserably failed start-ups. Something I keep telling myself was and is my birthright.

  My mother told me that my father had been killed in an auto accident before my birth. I was always curious about him, wanted to know everything about him. One day I asked her if I looked like him. The next day she showed me photos of him.

  When I was fourteen, I showed the photos to a friend. She told me she’d seen the same pictures in a frame her mother had bought and never got around to using. I never told my mother that I’d discovered her lie. She was a kind person, and I knew her deception was done out of love.

  After her death, I went through her things. When I was emptying out her dresser, I discovered a large envelope taped to the bottom of one of the drawers. The faded color and inch of dust told me it had been taped there decades before.

  Inside the large envelope were three smaller ones. I opened the first envelope and found photos of me as a baby and a piece of paper with the typed words, T. Caldwell, Savannah, Georgia. In the second envelope, I found a piece of paper with a number written on it. In the third envelope was a photo of my mother with a group of people. On the back of the photo was a note in her handwriting, Mr. Caldwell and friends at Caldwell International’s anniversary dinner.

  I had no idea what any of it meant. I put the envelopes in a box with her other things and forgot about them until years later. I was living in Chicago and had turned on the network news one winter night to check on national events and the next day’s local forecast. A reporter was interviewing a Senator Terrance Caldwell. They were talking about the seventy-year anniversary of Caldwell International. The name sounded familiar, but I didn’t know why.

  The senator was showing the reporter around the home offices of Caldwell International in Savannah, Georgia. The camera panned the room they were in and stopped on what looked like framed photos of past and possibly current employees. The camera paused briefly on one particular photo as the senator continued to speak. There was something about the photo. I was positive I’d seen it before.

  I stopped the live stream, rewound it, and paused it on the photo. Then I went into my bedroom and opened my closet. I got down the box of my mother’s things from the top shelf and opened it. I went through her belongings, found the photo, and returned to the living room. I put the photo up next to the one on the screen. It was the same photo.

  From there it was like putting together a puzzle; one piece leads to the next, and to the next… until it’s complete.

  I did some digging and found out that my mother, Nancy, had been Terrance Caldwell’s secretary before he became a senator. After he left for DC, she’d been promoted to management. Months later she left her position without giving notice, and nobody knew why or where she’d gone.

  I contacted the senator at his Savannah office and spoke with his personal assistant. She told me the senator would be reluctant to speak or meet with me. She said, “You must understand why.” I did understand. He was a senior senator and a very wealthy man. But I wasn’t a threat. I just wanted to know if he had information about my mother or my father.

  After that conversation with his PA, I thought about letting it go, but something kept pushing me to continue. Weeks later, I called his office in Washington and spoke to a different PA. She forwarded my information, and he called me and agreed to meet with me.

  I met him in a bar not far from his Washington office. I showed him the picture that was with my mother’s things. He told me my mother was his secretary for many years and their relationship developed into a personal one. They fell in love and wanted to marry. He said he was going to ask his wife, Mary, for a divorce, and then he and my mother were going to move to DC and start a new life. Then without explanation, my mother disappeared. He tried for months to find her, he said, but gave up, thinking she must have not loved him after all.

  I believed him, or maybe I just wanted to believe him. I think I was overwhelmed. I didn’t look anything like him, but he believed that there was a chance I was his son. A DNA test proved him right.

  We met as often as we could in Washington and Chicago. My father had flaws, this was clear to me, but I liked him and we enjoyed each other’s company.

  He showered me with gifts, money, and promises of a future at Caldwell International. I felt as if I was a kid in a candy store, and he was the man who made the candy, owned the factory, and was giving me the keys to said factory.

  But the keys came with a catch; there’s always a catch. I had to do this one simple thing; I was to deliver justice and revenge.

  I became CEO of Caldwell International six months after the trial, just as he promised. My position was everything I had hoped it to be and more. I ran hundreds of Caldwell hotels. Hotels known for their luxury, prime locations, and stellar customer service. So why am I not happy? Why does the grand mahogany desk I sit behind Monday through Friday feel like a trap? Why do the wallpapered walls that surround me every night feel like a cage? And why do I feel penniless, when I have millions in my bank account?

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Until I get the job done.”

  “What job?”

  “Three months. Maybe longer,” he replies, dismissing my second question.

  “That’s a long time. Will Mary be joining you?”

  He folds his paper. “Mary hasn’t been to Washington in years.”

  This surprises me. Mary is the perfect senator’s wife. Always going to brunches and dinners. Volunteering for dozens of causes and charities, speaking at engagements on her husband’s behalf. On second thought, she’s too busy to go to Washington.

  “Will Hodges be joining you?”

  “Yes, son he will.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He downs the last of his bloody mary and pours another. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  “Hodges. Who is he, exactly?”

  “I think you know.”

  “I don’t think I do.”

  “He’s a man I trust with my life. That’s all you need to know.”

  Okay, then.

  “I’ve been getting great feedback from the office. Seems as if you’re fitting in.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I’d say I’m being tolerated.”

  He swallows a bite of his toast. “Someone giving you trouble?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

/>   “If anyone gives you a hard time, son, let me know. You are my blood, a Caldwell, regardless of your name. Maybe you should reconsider changing it.”

  “If what you said is true, why should it matter?”

  He doesn’t reply for several seconds, as if thinking or gathering his thoughts. “Has Mary said or asked you questions about what’s going on at the office, or anything for that matter.”

  “No. Why would she? Frankly, where would she find the time?”

  “Yes, she is busy with her clubs and charities. If she does, son, you’d let me know, right?”

  “It’s not as if Mary and I are friends. We hardly speak to one another. But if she should ask, sure I’ll let you know.”

  He smiles. “You’re a good son, Drake. Your continued loyalty will be rewarded.”

  I don’t know what to say to this, so I say nothing, only nod.

  “How’s Suzette?”

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  “He asks because he can’t wait to be a grandfather,” Mary says, joining us.

  He sets down his paper and smiles his phony smile. “Good morning, my dear,” he says as she kisses him on the cheek.

  Mary pours some coffee and sits next to him.

  “How was your swim?” I ask.

  Mary swims fourteen laps every morning. Yes, I’ve watched and counted. After her swim, she gets out of the pool and… I’m not sure. She stands statuesque, looking toward the woods that surround the estate. She’s a conundrum to say the least.

  She half smiles my way. “Fine, thank you.”

  “Suzette says she’s joining you today,” I say, with a smile. It’s an attempt to make a dent in what seems to be her impenetrable armor.

  Mary seems to dislike everyone besides Lucky and her driver, James. But I don’t even consider myself among the disliked; it’s more than clear she hates me. I don’t blame her. I’m the result of her husband’s infidelity—the bastard son of the woman my father was once in love with, a woman he’d planned to divorce her over.

  “When do you leave?” she asks her husband.

  “Within the hour.”

  “What about Friday? You do plan to fly home?”

  He tilts his head in obvious confusion. “Friday?”

  She frowns. “Terrance, you promised Lewis and the entire planning committee you’d come to the next meeting.”

  “I can’t, dear. I’m needed in Washington. Drake’s the one they need to talk to, anyway.”

  “I am?”

  “You know how they feel about outsiders,” Mary says.

  I don’t know if she intended her words as a slap, but they feel like one.

  “Drake is the CEO of Caldwell. He should be allowed to take my place on the planning committee, and all the damn committees for that matter.”

  Mary sighs heavily in defeat. But I know this woman is rarely defeated, if ever.

  “Besides, he knows more about building than anybody on the committee.”

  “I’m sure he has his hands full,” Mary replies.

  “I’m sure he can set aside a few hours of his time for you and the committee.”

  Mary looks my way. “Drake, it seems you are to replace Terrance on the Savannah Planning Committee and all damn committees.”

  “Um. Okay.”

  The weasel walks in.

  “Hodges, are you taking my husband away again?”

  Hodges smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile. Hell, it’s the first time I’ve seen him express any emotion.

  “I’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Caldwell.”

  “You always do.”

  “I’ll meet you at the hanger, Hodges.”

  Hodges seems taken aback by my father’s declaration. “Are you sure, sir? I don’t think—”

  “Yes, Hodges. I’m more than sure. I need to run an errand in town before we leave.”

  Hodges’s shoulders relax slightly, but his continued disapproval is clear.

  “Oh my gosh,” Mary exclaims. “I almost forgot the starts.”

  “Starts?” Dad questions.

  “The plant starts I have for Mimi Carlson.”

  He frowns. “Why can’t you ship them?”

  “They’re too fragile.”

  “I’m sure Hodges has better things to do than deliver plant starts to Mimi Carlson.”

  Mary frowns.

  “I told Mrs. Caldwell I’d deliver them,” Hodges says.

  “Whatever.”

  “They’re in the greenhouse, Hodges. In a box to the right of the door.”

  He nods and leaves.

  Mary’s stiff posture relaxes a bit.

  Dad stands. “Walk me to the door, son.”

  I place my napkin on my empty plate and stand. “Sure.”

  Mary watches us closely as we walk out of the room.

  We walk down the long hallway and through the foyer. He stops to pick up his luggage that sits to the right of the oversized double front doors.

  I open the doors for him.

  “Keep an eye on her for me, son.”

  “Who? Mary?”

  He smiles. “At the meeting.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He chuckles as he walks to his car. He hands his bag to his driver, Max, and Max hands him the keys to his Alfa Romeo. Then he says something to Max. Max nods and looks my way.

  What the…?

  Then he gets into his car, and I wave as I watch it pull around the circular drive and make its way down the tree-lined brick road.

  Max nods my way and gets into my father’s limo.

  “Motherfucker.”

  I jump.

  Mary giggles. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I…” Before I can say more, Hodges comes from the direction of the greenhouse with a medium-sized box in hand. The trunk of the limo pops up, and he puts the box into it.

  Mary walks past me and joins him. She says something to him, and he nods my way.

  What the hell?

  They continue to talk for a couple of minutes. Then the weasel closes the trunk.

  Mary nods as he gets into the back of the limo.

  We both watch as it makes its way down the drive. When it disappears from sight, she turns and winks my way.

  What the…?

  She walks through the front doors. “Follow me, Drake,” she says as she waves me to follow.

  I shut the doors and follow her to her office. She opens the double doors and light streams out like a beacon. I squint as I follow her in. She points to a chair that sits to the right of her desk.

  I sit.

  “You think you know everything, my dear, but you don’t,” she tells me while going through papers on her desk.

  “I don’t think I know—”

  She frowns my way. Bringing my words to a halt.

  Feeling like a chastened five-year-old, I look away and take in the room. I’ve never been in her office. Its feminine colors and elegant yet functional furniture is quintessential Mary. I can’t help but notice its location. It’s positioned directly across from her beloved pool. I know it’s no coincidence.

  “Nice view.”

  She half smiles as she continues to go through her papers.

  “Can I help?”

  She ignores me, and I wonder if she’s misinterpreted me; thinking I’m being smart or impudent. I’m about to apologies when I notice a silver-framed picture of a young man sitting on the corner of her desk. I lean forward, pick it up, and look it over. It’s a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, sitting on the ledge of the pool.

  “My son,” Mary tells me.

  I look up. “Your son?”

  She takes it from me and looks it over. The expression on her face can only be interpreted as unbearable grief. She returns it to the exact spot. “From my first marriage.”

  “Sorry… I didn’t know.”

  “He was killed in a hunting accident.”

  “Once again, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?�
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  “Why am I sorry?”

  She nods.

  “I just… It must be hard.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “I… I don’t, not really.”

  She hands me a file.

  I take it and open it.

  “Notes from the last few meetings. The clock tower.”

  “The clock tower?”

  “That’s their latest project.”

  I nod.

  “Look it over. I’ll call your new PA. What’s her name?”

  “Cindy.”

  “Yes, that’s right. There’s just so many of them I can’t keep up.”

  “Keep up?”

  “I’ll call Cindy. She’ll put it on your schedule officially. Then Lewis will call and change that time.”

  “What?”

  “That’s just Lewis.”

  “Um. I…”

  “It’s just for a record, my dear. Just in case. We must cross all our t’s and dot our i’s, right?”

  “Um, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry, Drake. I’ll have everything lined up like ducks soon.”

  “Okay. I think.”

  “Don’t think too long on it.”

  “I—okay.”

  “What did you want to ask me?”

  “How did…?”

  She lifts a brow as she sits in her office chair. She rolls it back and crosses her long, slender legs at the ankles.

  Mary is a beautiful woman. I don’t get my father. This woman is one you hang on to with everything you have. Just like…

  “Go ahead and ask, my dear, but I won’t guarantee you an answer.”

  “Fair enough. Why did you ask Suzette to join you today?”

  Her lovely laughter fills the room. It’s the first time she hasn’t faked it, and this makes me smile.

  She wipes her happy tears away with the back of her hand. “There might still be hope for you, Drake.”

  “Hope?”

  “Time will tell, my dear.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Whatever you want it to mean.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “I invited Suzette because she’s rather dull. I hoped to introduce her to some not-so-dull people.”

  Now it’s my laughter that fills the room.

  “Too blunt.”

  I wipe my eyes. “Hell no. I wish more people would tell the truth, say what they really mean or want.”