Sidney Sheldon - Mistress of the Game

Max said the same thing.

“Go to Dark Harbor. See your dad. It might be the last chance you get to take a vacation. Once you’re chairman, you’ll never get away.”

Reluctantly, Lexi agreed. But on one condition. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the treatment? I don’t want to raise expectations. Not until the outcome is certain.”

Max took her in his arms and kissed her.

“I promise. Now, for heaven’s sake, get out of here. Go get some rest while you still can.”

“So did you hear? Santa Claus just landed his sleigh at Grindle Point Lighthouse.”

Robbie Templeton sat in a coffee shop in Dark Harbor, across the table from his sister.

“Grindle Point? Wow.”

Lexi read Robbie’s lips, but her thoughts were miles away. Dr. Cheung had said it could take weeks for her hearing to begin to return. He also said that twenty percent of the study had no reaction to Math1.

Robbie continued. “The fat man’s planning to take over the galaxy using the lighthouse as his base.”

“Right.”

“Rudolph’s in charge of the first attack wave. After that, the whole show’s wide open. It could be Donner. Blitzen. Any one of those guys.”

“I see. Brilliant.”

Robbie reached across the table and pinched Lexi’s arm, hard.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last fifteen minutes. You haven’t taken in a single word I’ve said. I might as well go back to Paris and be done with it.”

“Sorry.”

This trip to visit their father was the first time brother and sister had spent real time together in over five years. Robbie was a huge star now, filling concert halls and stadiums all around the world. Finding a window in his schedule was like winning the lottery. But as much as Lexi delighted in his company, it was hard to keep her mind off her hearing. Or rather the lack of it. She was also itching to get back to Kruger-Brent.

How am I supposed to rest when my mind is racing?

“You think Dad would be super upset if I flew back to New York early?”

Robbie frowned. “I don’t know. I would be. What’s the rush?”

He was worried about Lexi. She’d lost a ton of weight since he’d last seen her, presumably from stress. Nothing could dim her luminous beauty, but to his brotherly eyes, she looked gaunt and more tired than he’d ever seen her.

Lexi looked at him and wondered when it was, exactly, that they’d grown so far apart. She still loved Robbie dearly. But whereas once he’d understood her, almost like a second self, now he asked her questions that made no sense to her at all.

What’s the rush?

How could she answer that? What did it even mean? Business is the rush. It’s the life in my veins. I may never hear again. But I’ll always have Kruger-Brent.

Max would have understood.

Tristram Harwood looked at the screen in front of him. With each new image, his rheumy seventy-year-old eyes widened. The speakerphone was still on.

“You see the scale of the problem, Tris?”

Kruger-Brent’s CEO said grimly: “I do. Is there any way…can this be contained?”

The voice on the speakerphone laughed.

“Contained? It’s all over the Internet! In a few hours, those pictures’ll be on Fox News and our stock’ll fall through the floor. You need to make a statement.”

Tristram Harwood hung up.

He’d spent three years “minding the store” at Kruger-Brent. Three peaceful, scandal-free years. And now, in his very last week…

“Stupid girl,” he muttered under his breath. “Stupid, stupid girl.”

Cedar Hill House had been Kate Blackwell’s dream home, an oasis of tranquillity in her turbulent life. The views were spectacular, the decor comfortable, welcoming and peaceful. The house had once held too many painful memories for Peter Templeton. But as he grew older, and his children became adults, he found himself increasingly drawn to the place. Kate had come here to escape the world. When he retired, he decided, he would do the same.

He made a few crucial changes. There was no longer a television in the house, or a phone. If one was going to escape the world, one might as well do it properly. A single, ancient desktop computer squatted on Peter’s desk, but it remained unplugged.

Robbie enjoyed the feeling of being cut off. It helped him relax. Lexi loathed it.

Thanks to Peter’s communications phobia, Lexi didn’t receive August Sandford’s e-mail till almost eight o’clock at night. She was strolling down by the water with Robbie when her BlackBerry suddenly and unexpectedly buzzed into life. It kept on buzzing.

Seventy-seven new messages.

The one from August had so many red exclamation points attached to it she opened it first.

Robbie saw the blood drain from her face.

“What? What is it?”

“I have to get back to the city. Right now. I need a plane.” Lexi was texting as she spoke, her thumbs working at lightning speed.

“It’s eight o’clock at night, sweetie. It’s too late to-”

“GET ME A PLANE!”

“All right. All right,” said Robbie. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kennedy airport was swarming with reporters.

Vultures, come to eat me alive.

“Lexi, have you seen the pictures?”

“When were they taken?”

“Will you step down from Kruger-Brent?”

“Do you have any idea who posted the images on the Net?”

Yes, I have an idea. I know who. I know why. I know when.

But none of that is going to help me.

The Kruger-Brent boardroom was built in the round. Perched like a squat, circular turret on top of the Park Avenue building, it afforded phenomenal views of Manhattan, Central Park and the East River. In its center was a round mahogany table, large enough to seat thirty people. Today, twenty chairs had been positioned around it: fifteen for the board, including Tristram Harwood. Three for Kruger-Brent’s most senior attorneys. And one each for Lexi and Max.

Nineteen of the chairs were filled. It was five o’clock in the morning.

“Where is she? After everything she’s put this company through, the least she can do is show up on time.”

Logan Marshall, the oldest serving board member, made no attempt to mask his irritation. Glancing around the table, it was clear that his colleagues echoed his sour mood. When the markets opened later this morning, they could each expect to see as much as a third of their net worth go up in smoke. There was only one person to blame.

“I’m here, I’m here. We can start.”

In a pale peach pencil skirt and cream Marc Jacobs jacket, teamed with heels so high they looked more like launching gear than footwear, Lexi had dressed to kill. August Sandford thought: She’s not giving up without a fight. But she can’t win. Not this time. He flashed her an encouraging smile, but Lexi was too psyched up to return it. She launched into her pre-prepared speech:

“First of all, I would like to apologize to all of you for putting you-putting us-in this position.”

Silence.

“Obviously our key concern this morning is our stock price. My view is that before we make any other decisions, we need to act now to limit the damage and reassure our shareholders.”

Silence.

Lexi plowed on.

“My first thought on seeing these pictures was to resign immediately.” August heard the mutterings of “hear, hear.” Mercifully, Lexi didn’t. “But we all know that sudden and unexpected management change is the last thing likely to restore investor confidence. Our stock has risen steadily for the last six months on the expectation that I would take over as chairman next month. I don’t believe that me throwing myself on my sword is going to help us.”