Rachel From the Edge Pt. 02

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 02

by G. Lawrence

Chaos follows the sudden death of a billionaire

This novel is constructed on different levels. Most importantly, the experiences of individual characters. This will turn out to be a love story, just not the kind readers usually expect. But the story also examines media, fame, wealth, scandal, and complicating concepts. I find them necessary. And don't expect this novel to go in a predictable direction. We shall soon learn that nothing with Rachel is ever predictable.

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

14TH STREET

Rachel appeared at work Monday morning, though it wasn't a good idea. She was pale and running a fever. A long sleeve sweater covered the marks on her wrists. She'd spent so much time crying the last three days that her eyes were swollen. But she needed the job. Her mother's medical bills were coming due, and without Daniel's contributions, the cost took up most of her salary. The amount left over was barely enough for her small downtown apartment and a few necessities. She didn't even own a car.

The office was quiet when Rachel entered the double-glass 12th floor doors. She feared her co-workers would ask uncomfortable questions, but everyone kept their distance. Even Patty and Debra, who were almost friends, looked the other way. Jolly, a red-nosed lout who most thought a drunken idiot, mumbled something about the sex slave's return.

Rachel went to her private lab in the corner of the building, the room filled with computer monitors, workstations, and chalkboards. She was rarely visited. No one really knew what she did, and that's the way Daniel wanted it. Their work was proprietary, he said. Too valuable to blather about. Rachel suspected that was true, though the secrecy created tension with the staff.

There was a grocery bag on the floor containing the clothes she'd left at Canby Place. When EMTs rolled her out on a gurney. She was glad to find her purse. Rachel didn't have any money to speak of, but at least she had her keys and bus pass again.

She sat down at the main computer console, seeing phase three was nearly complete. The trial runs had been successful, providing valuable information to Marbury & Benson's clients. But a big test was coming up. If Ripper v Price was successfully resolved, Marbury & Benson would become a powerhouse in the industry. Daniel had already prepared a press release. He didn't understand Rachel's methodology, but he also didn't care. Just so long as it worked.

"Montgomery. The boss's office. Now," Jolly said from the door.

Rachel was startled. Their boss was dead. Wasn't he? Yes, he was. Someone else was in charge now. She put the analysis modes on automatic, encoded her work, and walked slowly toward the south side of the building. Large windows overlooked the yacht harbor. She found Mrs. Pamela Benson standing behind Daniel's desk, arms crossed, frowning. Oliver Mendelson sat against the wall in a padded leather chair, appearing worried. Rachel was disappointed when Oliver didn't say anything.

"There's the killer," Pamela said. "Thank you so much for joining us with your clothes on."

Rachel hadn't expected a warm welcome from Daniel's ex-wife, but she certainly hadn't foreseen such hostility. She stood quietly, not knowing what to say.

"I want your resignation on my desk by closing today," Pamela demanded.

"No, Mrs. Benson, please. I need this job," Rachel said, tearing up.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before sleeping with your employer?"

"It never affected my work."

"Well, we don't really know what your work was, do we? Unless whoring around the secretarial pool is your job?"

"Pamela, be careful," Oliver cautioned.

"I'm in project development, Mrs. Benson. Our new--"

"I don't give a flying damn what you've been doing. We're going to scrap the whole thing. Rip out the screws and throw them away. You aren't needed anymore. You never were."

Rachel fled the room, trying not to let the employees see her cry.

"Pam, this is a mistake," Oliver said. "That project--"

"It's like I said, Ollie, I want her gone. If she doesn't resign, I'll fire her. And void her benefits, too."

"Come on, the girl isn't well. You could see that. You're going to take away her health coverage?"

"I'll take away whatever's necessary to protect my family and the reputation of this firm. I'm in charge now. Things are going to be run differently."

"Let's hope we still have a firm," Oliver said.

"Billings are up. We'll do just fine," Pamela insisted.

Rachel locked her laboratory door, turned off the lights, and hid in the corner for the rest of the day, weeping her heart out. With Daniel gone and no job, there was no way she could pay for her mother's care. And now that Daniel Benson's sex slave was a national joke, there was no way she was getting another job. Not unless it involved a stripper pole.

Though she rarely used her work computer for personal business, Rachel accessed her bank accounts. There was a $629 credit card balance, which she paid off. $12,004.89 remained. She transferred the $12,000 to her mother's trust fund and kept the $4.89. Then Rachel checked to make sure her life insurance was up to date.

Toward the end of the day, another rainstorm blew in from the Pacific Ocean. Lightening streaked the sky as thunder shook the building. Most of the employees left early to avoid rush hour traffic.

"Nothing from the tramp yet?" Pamela asked, coming back from dinner at Monte Carlo's.

"No, Mrs. Benson," her executive secretary said, a stout middle-aged black woman named Keisha Lincoln.

"Have HR send up those termination papers. And check with security. Have them make sure that slut is out of the building."

Oliver entered a few minutes later, his office two floors below. Pamela was standing at the window watching the boats bobbing at their mooring in the stormy harbor. He had always thought her an attractive woman, and the years hadn't changed that. Now in her mid-fifties, trim, always finely attired, Pamela allowed a few silver streaks in her otherwise rusty-blonde hair. Her blue eyes were piercing when her dander was up.

"Chatter on the street is divided. Not encouraging, but could be worse," he said. He laid a folder on her desk. The label read Notitia.

"You know Marbury & Benson is just a hobby, don't you? Neither Danny nor I ever needed the money."

"This company was Danny's dream. He had hopes of building a powerful new industry," Oliver said.

"All we do is give law firms ammunition against their opponents. We locate finances, find weaknesses, and then let the lawyers destroy them in court. We aren't mercenaries, we just supply the weapons."

"We can be more than that. Every client doesn't need to be a rich corporation. There are polluters and abusers that new investigative techniques can bring to account."

"Am I to believe Danny ever cared about corporate abusers? A white knight riding to the rescue? Sorry, Ollie, all he ever cared about was being in the spotlight. This little tramp of his is so stunning, I'm surprised he didn't parade her around for the paparazzi. Oh, wait, he was banging a young female employee. Not the best image these days."

"You don't need to be so cruel to her," Oliver protested, taking the Notitia file back.

"I haven't even started."

"Why do you hate her so much? She's never done anything to you."

"Shouldn't it be obvious? She turned my husband's ... my ex-husband's death into a farce. Humiliated my family. Humiliated me. From now on, whenever people think of Marbury & Benson, or Benson Conglomerates, all they'll remember is his dead body lying on top of that whore. Of course I hate her."

"I think you need to calm down," Oliver urged.

"Has she left the building yet? Mrs. Lincoln! Has the slut left the building?"

Keisha appeared in the door a moment later. "Security has no record of her leaving, ma'am."

"Have them track her down. Send an armed guard if necessary. And schedule a press conference for me in the morning."

"Press conference?" Oliver asked.

"Have you seen what the bloggers are saying? Danny Benson killed during rough sex. CEO dies as depraved as he lived. Sexpot lures Benson to grisly demise."

"It's all crap," Oliver said.

"America needs to know we aren't cowering before this media storm. Or this gold-digging bitch. I have a voice, too, and tomorrow the world is going to get an earful."

"A press conference may be premature," Oliver warned.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I'm saying you need to look at the bigger picture."

"I've seen all the pictures I need to. Haven't you?"

"I wish you would listen," Oliver pleaded.

"And I wish you'd stop wasting my time."

"I have something to do," Oliver said, abruptly leaving the room.

Pamela became curious, for Oliver was rarely so brusque. The offices were deserted. She followed him to a computer lab in the far corner, screened off by opaque glass walls, and found him standing in the door.

"This isn't good," Oliver said.

"Is this her cave?" Pamela asked.

"She uses that blanket and pillow while sleeping on the floor."

"With who?" Pamela said. Oliver ignored her.

"Her purse is here. Keys. Wallet. The jacket Danny gave her."

"Returning the fruits of her crimes?"

"Or maybe something else."

Oliver went to the intercom. "Mrs. Lincoln, what have you got?"

"Nothing, sir. Security reviewed the cameras. No evidence she left the premises. They did find the door to the roof had been opened. Mr. Kelly is going to check on it when the rain stops."

"Yeah, that will really help," Oliver said, rushing off.

"Hey? Where are you going?" Pamela asked.

"You are so stupid. If I wasn't still Danny's lawyer, I'd explain this to you, but that's not my call."

Oliver ran for the elevators. Pamela couldn't remember him running anywhere except on a tennis court. She hurried to keep up, going to the roof above the 14th floor. The security door was ajar.

"It's raining out there," Pamela said, backing away from the cold wind.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Oliver said, pulling his coat tighter.

He started toward the front of the building, and then realized that was wrong. Not the way she'd do it. Too public. The harbor side of the building was just as busy. It would be the east side. Nothing but trash bins and a parking lot down there.

Oliver found Rachel sitting on the edge of the roof dressed in a gray business suit. She was soaked to the skin. Shivering. He approached cautiously.

"This isn't the answer, Rachel. It's not what Daniel would have wanted."

"I'm not going to jump, Ollie. I don't think," Rachel said.

"It's cold. You're not well. Sitting out here isn't good for you."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"Dying of pneumonia isn't a matter of perspective," Oliver disagreed.

"It's all perspective," Rachel replied. She looked down the fourteen stories with longing. Only a few lights lit the empty parking lot, most of it hidden in shadows. Oliver saw she'd been crying. It looked like she hadn't been eating. Or sleeping. But she looked engaged, not in one of her hazes.

"I'd feel better if you'd come inside," Oliver said, reaching out to her. She pulled back instead.

A strong wind blew up from the marina, accompanied by heavier rain. Rachel tried to brace herself, almost losing her balance. Lightning flashed, allowing Oliver a quick view of the promising young researcher he'd recruited three years before. She had been small, but agile. An athlete. This didn't seem like the same woman.

"I'm okay," Rachel said, the wet hair hugging her face.

"That's not true," Oliver replied.

"It's as true as it needs to be."

There was a movement from behind the air conditioning vents. Pamela was skulking in the darkness. Rachel saw her.

"You don't need to push me, Mrs. Benson. I can do it myself," Rachel said.

"You've embarrassed my family enough. You're not jumping off this roof and making the scandal worse," Pamela said, steadily creeping toward her.

"Pam, for God's sake, stop," Oliver said, also moving forward.

Rachel looked back and forth between them, starting to panic. Lightening lit the rooftop again, causing her to lean back, now dangerously close to the edge. Pamela was near enough to see her expression. The young woman wasn't desperate, or distraught. Rather, she seemed sad. Exhausted.

When thunder rolled through, the building rumbled. Rachel clutched at the slippery bricks, trying not to fall. Oliver grabbed her wrist, dragging her to firmer footing. As the rain intensified, Oliver started to draw Rachel inside. Pamela got in the way.

"The next time you get fired, try leaving through the front door like everyone else," Pamela said. Rachel had had enough, suddenly stripping off her gray business suit. First it was the vest, then the skirt, and finally the blouse.

"I believe these belong to the company," Rachel said, flinging the wet garments in Pamela's face. "Daniel bought them when he caught me shopping at Goodwill."

All she had left was her bra and underwear. Walmart, not Saks Fifth Avenue. Pamela said nothing, staring at the angry half-naked woman being battered by the rain.

"Do you want these, too?" Rachel said, starting to take off her bra. Oliver stopped her, his face turning red. Rachel reached into Oliver's pocket and took out his wallet.

"Severance pay," she said, holding up a $20 bill. She handed the wallet back, and suddenly she was gone. Oliver looked in the stairwell only to see damp footprints.

"Quite the drama queen, isn't she?" Pamela said. "I bet you could have gotten a lot more for those twenty bucks."

* * * * * *

Pamela was in her walnut-paneled office, beset by stacks of reports, when Oliver entered with still more documents.

"This is ridiculous," Pamela said. "He hasn't been dead a week and this place is already out of control."

"Danny had a natural way of making things work," Oliver said.

"If you call benign neglect a business model. He never was a good student, always preferring football to homework. And his groupies."

"I remember a certain captain of the tennis team he liked," Oliver said with a wink.

"Yes, I fell under his spell, too. I was under his spell for thirty years, but at least I got three wonderful children out of it."

"What are your plans? If you let M & B fold, the smart money will see it as a sign of weakness. It could affect Benson Conglomerates. Even your Marbury holdings might take a hit, which won't make Aunt Hattie happy."

"I know, I know. I've spoken with some of the family members. We need to keep up appearances for now."

"Do you want to sell? M & B still has market value."

"That would be rash. What is Notitia? Why the big budget?"

"It's a project Miss Montgomery was working on. Danny felt it showed potential."

"Potential? Or was the scheming twat embezzling research money?"

"Pammy, please. You need to watch your language."

"You're my boyfriend, Ollie. Not my father."

"This is still a professional environment."

"Fine. Is it possible that Miss Montgomery has been embezzling research money?"

"No. She had no say over spending. That was all Danny."

"The harlot was up to something. Three of our clients paid big bonuses for some sort of hocus pocus that won their cases. Good money, no explanations."

"That's the way Danny wanted it. Everything hush, hush."

"Well, that doesn't work for me. Get the staff together so they can explain this."

"They can't. Only Miss Montgomery understood the program."

"We'll dump it and write off the loss. We won't be seeing that bitch again."

"I don't know if that's true," Oliver said, taking a seat next to the cluttered desk. "Are you ready to brace yourself?"

"Why? What's going on?"

"I have Daniel's will. It was drawn up last year."

"So how much did he squander? Did he leave anything for our kids?"

Oliver took the will from an envelope. It was notary stamped.

"Daniel Jefferson Benson, being of sound mind and body, gave Canby Place, nine-hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and his half of Marbury & Benson to his beloved girlfriend, Rachel Montgomery."

"The hell you say?" Pamela shouted, grabbing the document. "Can you burn it?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Besides, the bulk of Daniel's assets still go to the kids. Benson Conglomerates. Alabama Air. Royal Dynamics. Daniel's share of the L. A. Rams."

"She's not getting away with this. Not for a damn minute. I'm going to rip her a new one every way from Sunday. Keisha! Do you have Montgomery's address?"

"It's on 14th Street, Mrs. Benson," Keisha said, rushing in with a sticky note.

"Let's go," Pamela said, grabbing her coat.

"Go where?" Oliver asked.

"To shut this whore down once and for all."

The chauffeured limo had trouble finding parking on the cramped downtown street. Pamela and Oliver got out while Sam circled the block. The three-story stucco apartment building needed paint. The homeless population had tents on the sidewalk.

"Goddamn piece of shit neighborhood," Pamela said. "Good for her that Danny never saw how his trailer trash sex toy really lives."

"Not his usual style," Oliver agreed, resisting the foul odors.

They barged through the rundown building's security gate where an old lady was struggling with groceries. Dressed in expensive business suits, no one suspected them of being gang members. Pamela pounded on door #203.

"Open up. Open up now!" Pamela shouted.

"Maybe we should have called first?" Oliver suggested.

"I know she's hiding in there," Pamela said, seeing they were drawing a crowd.

"Can I help you?" the superintendent asked, a skinny old man with tools dangling from his belt.

"I want to see the woman in this apartment," Pamela demanded.

"Family members?"

"Definitely not," Pamela replied.

"Sorry, can't let you in," the super said.

"I'm a lawyer," Oliver advised, handing him a business card. "We just want to make sure the young lady is all right. No one has heard from her in several days."

The old man nodded and unlocked the door, giving it a shove. Pamela charged in, but didn't need to search. Rachel was lying on the couch, under a quilt, apparently asleep. Her skin was unnaturally white. Used tissues littered the floor. There was vomit on the carpet, and the smell of urine. Oliver rushed in, checking for a pulse.

"She's really sick," Oliver said.

"Okay, so she has the flu. Wake her up," Pamela replied.

"Are you calling paramedics?" the superintendent asked.

"Yes," Oliver said, taking out his phone.

"No, she's fine," Pamela objected, taking the phone away from him. She pushed the old man into the hall and slammed the door.

"I don't think she's fine," Oliver said.

He drew the quilt back, finding Rachel was only dressed in a sweat-soaked T-shirt. She'd lost weight. The lively youngster he'd known was terribly thin.

Rachel woke up, surprised at first. She coughed, spraying mucus. She reached for a tissue, but the box was empty.

"What are you doing here?" she wondered, trying to pull the quilt up.

"I came about this," Pamela said, looming over her waving the will. Rachel shrank back, but there was no place to hide.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"It's Daniel's will, you stupid little whore, as if you don't know. But get this straight right now, you'll never see a penny. Not a damn penny. I'll tie it up in court forever."

"I don't want any money. Go away," Rachel said, still struggling with the quilt. Her thin fingers kept slipping.

"Don't give me that bullshit. The whole world knows this is what you wanted all along. It's why you fucked him to death," Pamela said.

Rachel drew the quilt to her chin, tears in her eyes.

"Pam, that's enough," Oliver said, pulling her back.

"You're not getting a dime! Not a dime!" Pamela shouted, waving the will.

"Mr. Mendelson, please draw up papers," Rachel requested between coughs. Her voice was dry. Cracked. It was hard to make out all the words. "I don't want anything from Daniel's family."

"You should have an attorney," Oliver advised, kneeling close to her. Pamela realized they knew each other far better than she had guessed.

"I won't be needing an attorney, but thank you," Rachel said. She began coughing harder and buried her face in a pillow.

Pamela paused to look around the small apartment. The young woman did appear to be in distress. If she'd been eating, there was no sign of it. Empty water bottles littered the table. The dwelling itself was clean. Cutesy figurines and embroidery provided color, mostly reds and greens.

"The papers will be here in the morning, unless you lock us out," Pamela said.

"You can leave the door unlocked," Rachel replied.

"Miss Montgomery, that's not wise. Not in this neighborhood," Oliver warned.

"No one will bother me," Rachel said. Oliver was not convinced. Pamela grabbed his arm.

"Tomorrow morning," Pamela said, waving her finger.

Rachel raised her head, big brown eyes gazing at Pamela.

"He never said he loved me," Rachel whimpered, her voice quivering. "He said he loved his children. And he still loved you. He never said he loved me."

"What would there be to love? A dirty little sex toy?" Pamela said, going out the door. Oliver met her in the hall a moment later, pulling the door closed.

"You didn't need to say that," Oliver said, quietly angry. "I've known Rachel for three years. She's a sweet girl who never says a bad word about anybody. That's why Danny loved her."

"She said Danny didn't love her."

"No, only that Danny didn't have the guts to say it. Why do you need to be such a bitch?"

"Oliver Mendelson, who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

"Not the woman I fell in love with, that's for sure."

"Just get those papers ready. We'll need a notary. Do you think that tramp has a driver's license for identification? Or a welfare card?"

"I don't know. She doesn't drive, as far as I know."

"We'd better find out. I don't want any excuses later."

Pamela turned back into the apartment, throwing the door open. Rachel wasn't on the couch. The quilt lay crumpled on the floor. Pamela glanced toward the small kitchen, finding it empty, and then looked down the hall.

"Jesus Christ," Pamela yelled. "Ollie! Help!"

Rachel was lying on the bathroom floor, unconscious. The T-shirt was bunched up. She had messed herself. Her breathing was shallow.

"Call 9-11," Oliver said, kneeling to check her vitals.

"No, too much publicity. I have a better idea."

"It better involve a doctor," Oliver warned.

"I'll call Rory. It's about time my pigheaded daughter finally proved useful."

"At least help me get her up. We can't leave her on the floor."

"I'm not touching her. She stinks like hell," Pamela said, backing away and sending a text message.

Oliver soaked towels in soapy water, stripped off the soiled shirt, and washed Rachel as best he could. Then he carried her into the bedroom, wrapping her in blankets. Pamela felt no sympathy, but she was surprised by how frail her enemy was.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

"What's this about, mother?" Rory asked, wearing a nursing uniform. With her was a young doctor, tall and slim, with a blond beard. A stocky male orderly carried medical supplies.

"Rachel Montgomery lives here. She's sick," Pamela said.

"Why would we do anything for that skank?" Rory questioned.

"She needs to sign papers for me."

"So have her sign them," Rory said.

A year older than Rachel, Daniel Benson's only daughter was 5'8, freckled and broad-shouldered. Not many would consider her pretty, though she wasn't without enticements. Her short red hair was nicely styled. The green eyes showed an aggressive intelligence.

"The documents aren't ready yet," Pamela explained. "Let's have the doctor fix her up. Then we can wash our hands of her."

Rory followed Dr. Bellows into the small bedroom. A pale young woman was curled under the covers. The only light came from a narrow window overlooking the alley. Bellows turned on a table lamp and chased everybody out.

"I can help, Mike," Rory said.

"After what I just heard? No, Ro, you have a conflict of interest."

"I'm a professional! You know that," Rory protested.

"And I know we're playing with fire if anyone ever hears about this. Out you go," he said, giving her a push and closing the door.

* * * * * *

It's always darkest before the dawn.

Isn't it?