Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

After kissing her mother goodbye, she left the house. Her father caught her as she was stepping into her car. “Where are you going?” he called from the porch.

Celina felt a flash of disappointment. Who had he spoken to so quickly? “I have a few errands I need to run and then I’m going home,” she said.

“Jack Douglas will be here in another half hour,” George said. “Why don’t you come back for the meeting? You might find it interesting.”

In all the confusion, Celina had forgotten about Jack Douglas and his meeting with her father. Although the last thing she wanted to do now was attend a meeting that might take hours, a part of her wanted to see Jack again.

“Why would I find it interesting?” she asked.

“Because I’m going to offer him Eric’s job.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

Traffic in town was heavier than she anticipated and she was forty minutes late for the meeting.

After parking her car behind an old Buick she supposed belonged to Jack Douglas, she hurried into the house and went to her father’s office.

Jack Douglas was there, his back to a sunlit window, reading a file on WestTex Incorporated, the large shipping corporation based in Corpus Christi, Texas. In that brief moment before he realized she was there, Celina saw on his face a look of relaxed concentration.

To her surprise, he wasn’t wearing a suit, but tan pants and a white Polo shirt. On his face was a day’s growth of beard. She sensed in him a man who was comfortable with himself, unaware of his good looks and somebody who refused to put on airs.

She thought back to the night of the party. Although he arrived soaking wet, there had been an unmistakable, refreshing poise about him, a directress and sense of humor she admired. She remembered liking him very much.

She glanced around the room, noted that her father wasn’t there and cleared her throat. She smiled when Jack looked up. “How are you?” she asked.

Jack closed the folder and placed it on the table beside him. He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. Then he looked at her with a grin. “Drier than when we first met?”

Celina laughed and stepped into the room. As she crossed to her father’s desk, she became aware of herself. She wondered how she looked. She wondered why she cared. “I owe you an apology,” she said, sitting in her father’s leather wingback. “I meant to return for that dance, but something came up and I had to leave unexpectedly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “I left not long after you, anyway.”

“You saw me leave?”

Jack nodded. “I would have gone after you, but you seemed pretty upset. Is everything all right?”

If he had seen her in that state, she could hardly lie. “It wasn’t, but I’m fine now. Thank you for asking.”

At that moment, George entered the room. Celina looked at him and felt relieved. She didn’t want to discuss that evening with anyone.

“You’re here,” George said to Celina. “Good. Then we can get started.” He looked at Jack. “Have you told her the good news?”

“We didn’t get around to it.”

“Then we should now. Jack accepted my offer, Celina. He’ll be taking Eric’s place as our chief financial officer.”

A wave of feelings assailed her. She felt a sense of loss-not the happiness she had been anticipating. Eric was gone. He really was gone. It was as if those years with him now meant nothing. But there was another feeling and she couldn’t deny that it was a sense of relief.

She managed a smile-and knew by the change in Jack’s expression that he could sense it wasn’t genuine. She felt uncomfortable. She wondered why she came. She wondered why she still had feelings for Eric. She should hate him for what he did to her and to Leana. So, why did she miss him?

“That’s great,” she said to Jack. “Congratulations.”

Jack said nothing. He looked away from her and faced George, who was opening a file on WestTex. Celina sensed this meeting was going to pass slowly, but business was business, so she sucked it up.

They discussed the takeover of WestTex, which shipped anything from oil out of the Persian Gulf to coffee beans out of Colombia. Eighty-six percent of their business was strictly international and it was not uncommon for most of WestTex’s fleet to be in international waters at the same time.

As Jack thumbed through the file, he learned that while business at WestTex was good, it was being affected by the instability in the Middle East. He also learned that George Redman was about to pay $10 billion for a company that, according to these figures, was worth half that.

He looked at George, who was seated across from him, and found himself at a loss for words. Why would a man whose stock was at an all-time low pay twice what WestTex was worth when the company had just pulled its entire fleet from the Gulf and whose situation was worsening in the wake of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars? No wonder the press was hounding him. No wonder his stockholders were so damned nervous. The man could lose everything if he took over WestTex.

And then it occurred to him. George Redman was no fool. He obviously knew something the press and his stockholders didn’t know, something that had the power of making him millions. Jack couldn’t help a smile.

“So, what do you think?” George asked. He was sitting in his chair, legs crossed, hands clasped behind his head. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow against one side of his face, leaving the other side in shadow.

“If you weren’t George Redman, I’d say you were a fool to even consider this takeover.”

“Mind explaining why?”

“Not at all. With your stock at an embarrassing low, you’ve agreed to pay $10 billion for a company that’s worth half that.”

George shrugged. “WestTex can support itself.”

“Not if the Middle East remains in the can.”

“WestTex isn’t just about the Middle East.”

“According to these papers, more than sixty percent of its business is done in the Middle East.”

“So, we turn things around. Find other avenues. Explore other ventures.”

Jack lifted the folder from his lap. “Oil is where the money's at. And yet it says here that because of each war, WestTex and other shipping companies are pulling their tankers from the Gulf. That’s a sixty percent drop in business for WestTex. And with that kind of decline, there’s no way it can support the $10 billion you’re willing to pay for it, no matter what avenues or ventures you have in mind. The money is in oil. Period.”

George suppressed a smile. “So, why do you think I’m going through with it?”

“I think you know something the public doesn’t,” Jack said. “I think once this takeover is complete, you’re going to be the one laughing-not the press. Am I right?”

“I hope so.”

“Mind filling me in?”

“Absolutely. You’re an employee now. What is said in this room stays in this room.”

“Of course.”

George left his chair and stepped to one of the large casement windows behind him. Acres upon acres of green lawns and rolling hills stretched out as far as he could see.

“You’re perfectly right,” he said to Jack. “Under ordinary circumstances, this takeover would be the end of me and Redman International. Not only can’t WestTex support itself at the price I’ve agreed to pay for it, but after spending nearly $1.5 billion on the new building, I would never be able to afford it.” He smiled. “But, luckily, that isn’t the case.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because of my deal with Iran,” George said. “The deal no one knows about.” He turned to Celina, who was sitting beside Jack. “This is your area. Why don’t you take it from here?