Friend Me (6 page)

Flat

S
cott wanted three specific chart patterns in a range of midcap stocks over the last five years. He keyed the criteria into his Stock Scan software. A small box popped up indicating that the scan would take forty-three minutes.

He picked up the Bible from the shelf in his cube, turned to today's date. It was arranged in a one-year format. If he was faithful, he could read the whole Bible in a single year.

The Old Testament portion looked long. He skipped to the New Testament and read the story of the woman taken in adultery. He stopped when he got to the selection from Proverbs about the immoral woman at the end.

“Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not astray in her paths. For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.” There were worse things that could happen to a marriage.

He sat back in his seat and looked at the screen. Twenty-two more minutes. What could he do while he waited for it? While
the scan was in progress he couldn't do anything else with his computer or he'd risk slowing it down. Many of the staff had left for a tax seminar so he had a little more privacy in his cubicle than normal.

He could call Rachel and apologize for the way he'd been acting. He'd been treating her more like she was in his way than in his heart. When was the last time he'd just stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes?

He slipped his office phone headset on, then punched out his home number. Five rings later the automatic answering system picked up.
Hello, you've reached Scott, Rachel, Scotty, and Angela. We can't talk right now, so please leave a message
. Before he reached the end of the announcement he hung up the phone. Where could Rachel be? Oh, today was a Hugest Loser day. She might still be out.

That's what he felt like right now, the world's Hugest Loser. If he lost his job his reputation would be toast. Then what would he do? In the financial industry you couldn't survive being blackballed. The question hung like a wall of ice before him. Somewhere on the other side of that frozen wall was the answer. He hoped he'd never have to find out what it was.

He looked at the clock on his desktop. Seriously? Too late to go out, and the message on the screen indicated he still had seventeen minutes to go. Okay, he'd wait.

The Gleason Archer account had to turn around. He had to bring it off. Back in those halcyon days when he had first started working at Castle Investments he'd been the shiny new kid on the block. Everyone knew he would go far. Three years later he didn't seem to be going anywhere. His life was becoming an endless series of tasteless business lunches and late nights in the office
working alone. No matter how well he had performed in the past, it seemed like he was on trial every day. Always on probation. Never knowing where he stood. How long could he keep this up?

He'd tried to talk to Rachel about it a few times, but she was all about the children and the house and really didn't understand what he was doing at work. He chided himself for his own naïveté. Why should he expect her to understand what he did when he was in the office? She didn't need to understand the details of investments; she had a husband who was supposed to take care of her and his family. He was on the verge of doing a very poor job of that.

God had given him a good wife. Not only a good wife but a faithful one, and two wonderful children. At the thought of the children, gloom settled on him like a low-hanging cloud. When was the last time he had taken little Scotty out into the yard and played with him? For that matter, when was the last time he had picked up Angela, holding and cuddling her like he used to? He couldn't remember. He didn't know the answer, and that troubled him even more.

I'm not doing a very good job as a husband and I'm not doing a very good job as a dad. And it's not like I don't know how. . . . My mother and father set a perfect example in that
.

He was still wearing the headset. He pushed redial on the phone and listened as it rang once again at the house. No answer. He hit the speed dial for the cell phone. Still no answer. Rachel must be busy somewhere, shopping or exercising. And probably wondering why he had left in the morning without even kissing her good-bye.
She probably thinks it's her, but it's not. It's me, and there's no one I can talk to about it
.

Across the room, Carole Turner sat at a table with a low
stack of green folders. Blond hair swept around the shoulders of the black top she wore. Scott started to turn his eyes away, then hesitated when he saw a flash of white skin from slits cut into her sleevetops. No.
“As an ox goeth to the slaughter?”
That would not be him. He turned back to his desk.

If only he could go back, start last evening over again. The episode this morning wouldn't have happened.

Their honeymoon trip had been an event to envy. What a wonderful time they'd had just the two of them alone together, no one else around, for two amazing weeks. They had never left each other's side as they drove to Sequoia National Forest in Northern California. The year before, in an uncharacteristic act of foresight, Scott had rented a cabin in that huge primitive forest. They'd spent all their time together, walking the trails under the great redwood canopy in early summer, marveling at the grace of God in creation.

The cabin had been sparse but not primitive, with running water and two bedrooms. They'd needed only one. As he recalled those times now it seemed they had spent more time in each other's arms than apart.

Rachel completed his life. All that had gone before her no longer seemed important.

Scott pushed the redial button again and listened to the soft
burr-burr
of the ring. He imagined he could hear the phone ringing in their living room, and pictured the toys scattered about the floor, stacked on the stairway. He pictured
home
.

“Hello?”

Scott was startled by Rachel's voice. “Rachel, is that you?” He felt foolish as soon as he asked the question. Of course it was her. “I've been trying to call you.”

“Is something wrong? Why are you calling?”

“No, nothing's wrong. I just had a few minutes and wanted to talk to you. It's been a tough day, and I really wanted to hear your voice.”

“Scott, did anything go wrong at work? You're not in trouble, are you?” Her voice had a hard, worried edge. As if she were about to hear bad news.

Scott closed his eyes. Was she suspicious of him? “No, Rachel, nothing is wrong. Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice. That's all.” She was way too good at interpreting his moods.

“Well, I've been worried about you. You ran out this morning without even telling me good-bye. That's not like you. And, you know . . . last night you were . . . just different.”

Here I am, on the defensive again. Can I not even talk to her without having to defend myself?
“There's no problem, Rachel. Did you just get home?”

“Yes, I just walked in the door a few minutes ago. Angela is still out in the car strapped in her car seat. I have to run out and get her. Can you wait for a few minutes? Do you want me to call you back?”

“No, no need. I was just checking in because I had a few minutes while I was waiting for everyone else to come back from lunch. Plus, I'm sorry for leaving this morning the way I did. I didn't even kiss you good-bye.”

“I was afraid I'd done something wrong. I didn't, did I?”

“No, it's just me. I'm glad you're so patient.” He looked up, noticing people coming through the doors. “Oh, great. Everyone is coming back now, so any privacy I might've had just went out the window. I'll talk to you again tonight when I get home.”

Scott could hear things rattling and bumping in the background. The sounds of groceries and the results of a shopping trip being carried in from the garage.

“Okay, Scott. But I'm worried about you. You just haven't been yourself.” Something went
klumph
in the background
. “I've got to get out there and get Angela. Let me know if you're going to be late, okay?”

“Okay, talk to you later. I guess I just picked a bad time to call.”

The background hiss of the cellular network went quiet, transformed into a muffled silence as his wife terminated the call.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a padded room. I'm not connecting with anybody
.

Scott shook himself out of his reverie, looked back at his display. Thirty more seconds, and the Stock Scan program would be complete. He waited for it to finish.

The screen revealed three likely candidates for an option trade.

The third candidate surprised him.

The company was named Solar Charge. There had been a lot of news about it when the administration in Washington had decided to guarantee it a $500 million loan to pursue its unique solar power technology. They had developed a patented process to manufacture and cut solar array panels into any conceivable design configuration. They promised to turn flagpoles into solar collectors. The CEO was a personal friend of the president, and the second loan guarantee was in the works. The technology was green and trendy, and the government, the
federal
government, was behind it in a big way. A guaranteed success.

Solar Charge's stock had been rising dramatically over the
last six months. For whatever reason, call options were still relatively cheap. If he were to purchase call options thirty days out, only $5 above the current stock trading price, was there any way he could lose? Every month for the last ten months the stock had risen in value by $10 or more. With the new infusion of cash coming from the federal government the only direction the stock could go was up.

If the conservative Alan Castle found out he was considering buying options he would hit the roof. Scott would have to make the trade without saying a word to anyone. When it was done, and the options had been sold or exercised, he would be a hero. If it failed . . . well, that was a scenario he really didn't want to think about.

He looked around, feeling conspicuous again. It was as if everyone in the office was watching him, knowing what he was about to do, which was silly. No one was watching and no one was listening. Just the same, he stood and inspected the area all around his cube.
Okay, I'm good to go
.

Scott went back to his computer and logged on to the trading website. He found the tab listing the various options strategies he could choose and clicked on
purchase calls
. He did a search for thirty-day calls on Solar Charge. The stock was trading today at $115 a share. He could buy thirty-day options relatively cheaply. But how many should he buy? Each option contract would cost him $175.

That meant if the Solar Charge stock went to $120 at any time during the next thirty days he could exercise his stock options and still buy it for $115 a share. That would net him a profit of more than $3 per share. Or he could sell the options at any point.

Either way, the potential to make a lot of money was huge, and it seemed unlikely he could lose on the deal. If he did lose, he wouldn't be losing his own money, but he would most certainly be losing his job. It all amounted to the same thing. A big win would turn him into a hero. A loss would put him on the street. Time to swim with the sharks.

Scott bought 1,400 contracts, which effectively put him in control of 140,000 shares of Solar Charge stock for the next month. The price of that control cost him almost $250,000, but if he won, the profit would be immense. Roughly $750,000. If he lost, the whole $250,000 went into the tank. There was no in-between.

His hands shook and his neck and forehead were wet with sweat. He exited the trading website, logged off his computer, and went outside to stand in the fresh air.

His course was set. There was no turning back.

Déjà You

I
t had taken Rachel a week of naptimes and stolen minutes away from the two children to share everything she knew about Suzanne. Jane asked lots of questions. Not just the obvious, general ones, but questions actually based on what Rachel had already told her. Like, “After the wedding, did Suzanne go back home with her parents?”

Now the work was at an end. Rachel uploaded one last video of Suzanne. The progress bar climbed to 100 percent and Jane appeared on the screen. “I think we're complete, Rachel. We have everything we need. Now we need to take about twenty minutes to allow our system to process all the information you've provided. You can either leave your computer on or you can wait for an e-mail from me. I'll give you a link you can click to bring you back to this page. I'll be waiting for you here. Does that sound okay?”

“Yes, I've told you everything I can think of, but I'm sure there must be things I left out.” It had been difficult in the extreme just thinking so much about Suzanne. There had never been another friend like her, and her loss had always been like
an open wound on her heart that would not heal. Only the prospect of having her back—in some measure—made it worthwhile to pull all these painful memories back up.

Jane nodded. “I'm sure there are things that will come up later on. That's fairly common. We'll give you an opportunity later on to, shall we say, fine-tune your friend? As you remember things you left out, you'll be able to add those to Suzanne's profile. I think you'll be very happy with the result.”

“I'm beginning to think so too. And even though I know you're not a real person, I must admit I feel like I've been talking to a real person all this time. It's kind of spooky.”

“You'll get over it.” Jane laughed.

“I'll say good-bye for now.”