Second Chance Love (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Steve Larson had always claimed not to care about money or material things. He was beginning to realize that he hadn't known what the hell he was talking about.

Steve's fall from affluence had been hard and fast. Three months earlier, all had been right in his world. Then a storm washed over Palawan and destroyed Larson Industries' newest investment. Now, thanks to associated commitment, his own fortune was gone as well.

Until this precise moment, that destruction had felt abstract—dwindling numbers on a balance sheet. Today they entered practical reality. Steve was on his way to turn in his almost-new Mercedes SLS for something more modest. Elizabeth had offered to come with him, but he wanted to do it on his own.

Steve thumbed a button on the steering wheel. “Suzi?”

Suzi, the artificial intelligence that organized his life, answered from the Harman/Kardon speakers. “Yes, Steve?”

“I need you to wipe yourself completely from this vehicle's system. Return it to factory specs, please.”

“Yes, Steve. When would you like me to execute this command?”

“Now, please, Suzi.” The Beethoven symphony that had been playing in the background ended in mid-crescendo, leaving only the thrum of the Mercedes' engine and the hum of its tires on pavement. Steve sighed, turned on his blinker, and pointed the SLS into Bannister Mercedes/BMW. Bill Young, his personal salesman for the last fifteen years, was waiting by the front door, his face somber. Steve pulled into a space next to the front door marked “For Returning Bannister Customers Only,” stepped out of the car, and shook Bill's hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Larson.”

“Hello, Bill,” Steve said. “We never expected to have a meeting like this, but it's not all bad, is it?”

“No,” Bill agreed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am—"

"Don't worry about it," said Steve with a wave-off. “I appreciate you coming in this late on Labor Day Friday to take care of this. I’m sure you’ve got other things you could be doing.”

Bill shook his head. “Really, Mr. Larson, it’s nothing. I’ve enjoyed leasing you a new car every few years, but it’s more than that. When I needed advice about where to buy my own home, you took my call. You’ve always been easy to work with and a fair negotiator. I can’t say that about all my customers.”

"Thanks, Bill." Steve handed him the key fob with one last, quick glance at his Mercedes. “Is the other one ready?”

“Still seems hard to imagine you in it, but yes. I had my garage go over it bumper to bumper yesterday. It shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“Then you did everything you could. Thanks again. If I'm ever in the market for another car, you'll hear from me."

“It’s right around here, then,” Bill said, pointing around the back of the building.

When they turned the corner, a brick red 2001 Ford Taurus sat forlornly amid the luxury cars. Steve looked at it for a moment, laughed at the absurdity, then said: “Keys are in it, then?”

Bill nodded without meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Looks well-kept for its mileage. Nice choice. Anything I need to sign before I drive it off the lot?”

Bill shook his head. “No, we’ve already got everything we need.”

Steve put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “I really appreciate you looking out for me with this,” he said, and opened the Taurus's door. He waited for the seat to adjust to fit him. When it didn’t, he opened the door again. “Bill? I’m too far back. How do I adjust the seat?”

“In this particular model, it's not automatic; you have to do it yourself. Here, let me show you.” Bill moved to the driver’s door, leaned down, and pushed a button on the side. The seat slid forward.

“Guess I should have remembered that. Thanks again, Bill.” Steve glanced around for the gearshift, slid it to D, and eased out of the parking lot. “Suzi.”

There was no answer. “Suz…oh, crap. Right.” He slid his phone out of his pocket, tapped it awake, and tried to keep most of one eye on the light traffic. “Suzi?”

“Yes, Steve?” Her voice sounded distant and tinny coming straight from his phone.

“Please download the Owner’s Manual and specs for a 2001 Ford Taurus LX four-door sedan. I have a hunch I’ve got a lot to learn, starting with how to open the gas tank.”

“I have that now, Steve.”

“Good. Keep it in memory. Now, what do I have on my schedule the rest of the day?”

“You have instructed me to remind you to begin packing up your condominium for ten days now. This is your daily reminder.”

“Suzi, you are such a nag. Anything else?”

“You programmed me that way, Steve. You also have a reminder set to watch
Guest House Gestapo
with Elizabeth at 8:00 PM
tonight.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Gail goes for all the money tonight.”

Perspective is a funny thing. When Gail first went on that show, I couldn’t understand why she would subject herself to all that humiliation for only a hundred grand. Now I'd seriously consider trying for it myself, even if it meant a little public exploitation.

“Suzi, call Elizabeth.”

“Calling.”

Elizabeth’s warm alto answered. “Hi, Honey.” He could almost hear her biting her lip over the phone. “How’d it go?”

“No problems. You are speaking to the proud owner of a sleek and sexy 2001 Ford Taurus. The Mercedes SLS is so 2013, I had to make the switch.”

“Good. Are you on your way home, then? Max and I are whipping up something for dinner before we watch Gail.”

Steve choked off a small laugh. When he had first found Elizabeth again after twenty years apart, her cooking skills had run toward boxed mac-and-cheese and microwave pizza. With Max's helpful instruction, including an endless supply of online recipes and tutorials, she had made great culinary strides.

“Sounds great, Honey. Be there in twenty.”

Twenty minutes later, Steve stopped at the security keypad just ahead of his high-rise condo's automated gate. He punched in his code; the gate swung up. He drove through, then braked to a halt when a man appeared in his path. It was Santo, one of the security men for the Eagle’s Crest Condominium Homeowners' Association. Steve shifted the Taurus into park, caught himself ordering Suzi to roll down the window, tried to find the right button, failed, swore, then opened the door and got half out of the car. “Santo?”

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Larson. My apologies. The computer didn’t recognize the plate and sent me an alert.”

“It’s what all the former millionaires are driving. I’ll send down the paperwork to get this on the list tonight.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry again, Mr. Larson.”

“Just doing your job. ’Night, Santo.”

Steve got back in the Taurus and pulled into the underground garage. Three minutes later, he stepped out of the elevator on the top floor and punched his code into the security pad outside his condo's private entrance. Until the past year, the dwelling had always smelled like a model home that had never been occupied. Tonight, it smelled like a home: potted plants in the entryway, something good cooking in the kitchen, and books. Lots and lots of books. Her tiny apartment was too small for her book collection, and she had talked Steve into storing some of her collection.

“Lizzie, I’m home.”

Elizabeth hurried around the corner. She put her arms around Steve and kissed him. “Welcome home, Honey. I’m not sure I want to ask how your day was.”

“It just improved remarkably, thank you very much.”

Even after nine months, her smile retained its natural shyness. Steve found it endearing.

“Aside from the car, what else happened with you today?”

“I think I need a drink, then I’ll tell you about it.”

“Two steps ahead of you,” Elizabeth said, handing him two fingers of Glenfiddich, neat. She led him toward the couch, where he set his briefcase on the coffee table and sat down. Elizabeth slipped her shoes off and tucked her legs up under her. “So, what's up?”

“Well, I had an informal meeting with a few of the Larson Industries Board of Directors today. I’ve got some hard choices to make, and I wanted to run things by them.”

Elizabeth nodded. Steve's eyes had taken on a sleep-deprived look of late. Several times in the last few weeks, she had woken up in the middle of the night to find Steve sitting perfectly still in bed, staring off into the darkness.

“Everyone’s pensions are okay, though they won’t be worth as much, because Larson Industries won’t be around and adding to them as long as we had hoped. Still, they’re funded and up to date, and it could be a lot worse. That was where Enron screwed up. At a minimum, none of us are going to jail for embezzlement. My dad didn’t teach me a lot, but he did get it through my head that cooking the books and cutting corners doesn’t pay off.”

“That all sounds good,” Elizabeth said. “So why are you so stressed?”

“Because that doesn't mean that everything is okay for the staff. They put their faith in me. Some of them, like Betty Spencer, are ready to retire and have just been sticking around to take care of me." He sipped at his Scotch. "Others have it a lot worse. Real estate got wiped out in the recession. We were just working our way back when this hit. No one's hiring.”

Steve pulled his iPad out of his briefcase, turned it on, and tapped an icon. After flipping through several screens of thumbnail images and documents, he double-tapped a picture. Up popped the image of a pretty, dark-haired, young woman.

“Take Maria Sanchez, in our Property Management division. She started out on minimum wage as a custodian in our apartment buildings. She was too bright and took too much pride in her work to spend her life vacuuming common areas. Now she’s in our entry-level management program, and working on getting her GED. She’s a single mom with a first-grade daughter at home. Is she going to be able to find another opportunity like we’ve given her?”

“I don’t know, but I know that you can’t take responsibility for the whole world.” Elizabeth reached out and touched his face softly. "What about you? Since we’ve been together, we’ve never really talked about money. You had so much more of everything than I did, I couldn’t even comprehend it. It seemed like your assets were limitless. Will this bankrupt you, too?”

Steve smiled, a little bitterly. “Not quite. I am protected from debtors of Larson Industries by the corporate veil. They can’t come after my personal assets. Everything I had invested in the company is completely gone, and that’s most of what I had, but between cash reserves, my own pension, and assets like the condo, the Mercedes, and some of my collectibles, I could have been pretty comfortable.”

“Could have been?”

“Yes. And you had a role in that.” She looked shocked. Steve took her hand between both of his. “Lizzie, when I was sitting in my office, the day the storm washed over Eden’s Bay, all I could think about was what it meant to me. How it impacted
me
.”

“That was a big blow, Honey, it’s only natural—"

“It is, but still. When I told you the news, what was your first reaction? It wasn’t, ‘Oh there goes all our money.’ It was 'We’ve got to go see if we can help those people.’ There’s an entire family alive in the Philippines because of your reaction. That showed me something about myself, and I didn't like it.”

Elizabeth’s head took on that pensive tilt. She remained silent.

“Losing my business was bad, but it wasn’t the worst thing. At that moment, I felt like I didn't deserve you. That would have been a lot worse.”

“Oh, Steve…” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. Her eyes brimmed up with tears.