The Aeschylus (3 page)

“I don't know. Why don't you tell me?”

“All the wits of a CIA operative, and here you are still working as a secretary.”

“I'm not a secretary, I'm an—”

“Executive assistant, I know,” he finished.

“That's actually not true either now,” she said, looking at him slyly. “I got a new job.”

“Really? Where?”

“Same place. But I'm not an EA any more. I'm a media relations executive, and I have my own assistant. What? You're making fun of me now,” she said, noticing the glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes, I admit, I know all about it. And you've earned it. It doesn't look good to have the smart girl working for the dumb ones, does it?”

“Are you still going to harp on me for not moving up the corporate ladder fast enough?”

“Oh no. But you could have moved faster with my connections, if you weren't so stubborn to ignore them. All of that is meaningless now, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit down, dear.” He shuffled back behind his desk and took a seat, watching as she grabbed the chair across from him. He smiled. It was a grandfatherly smile, but it was impossible for Godfried not to look crafty when he showed his teeth. He had too much Clint Eastwood in him.

“What's all this about, Godfried?”

The old man reached into a bowl on the side of his desk and took out a peanut. He cracked it in his gnarled hands and nodded. “Tell me what you think of Valley Oil, Katelyn. I'm not interested in the public relations nonsense, mind you. I just want to know what you think of us personally.”

She frowned. Godfried was one of her father's oldest friends, but he was also a significant shareholder. He was also on the board of directors. He had also given her a personal recommendation when more qualified candidates were spilling over the brim.

“I don't know. To tell you the truth, I never really thought about it. I love my job. I'm grateful for it. But the company itself? The most I could tell you is that I'm impressed by them, and that's the truth.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, they have the fourth largest market share of gasoline on the west coast, and they're still growing. They've got the best ad campaign of all the big oil companies right now. Their slogan is catchy,” she said, picturing the green and yellow outline of their stations, the words
Drive through the green Valley
printed above their pumps. She waited for Godfried to respond, and when he didn't, she picked up a peanut shell and threw it at him. He didn't return her smile this time.

“That's good, dear. Your loyalty is good. Because we have a problem now, and damned if I've ever heard of anything like it.”

“You're killing me,” she said, only half sarcastic. “If you need someone in public relations to—”

“This isn't about our image,” Godfried said. He was angry now, and she withdrew, surprised. “This is something serious, my dear. You'll be hearing the particulars soon enough, but it starts here, with this.” He withdrew a manila envelope out of his desk and passed it across to her. “He wanted you to have this.”

When she took the envelope, her hands were shaking. She didn't know why, but a darkness had descended upon the room. She could feel it in the envelope's weight, in the intensity of her godfather's stare.

She unhinged the clasp, and the contents spilled to the floor. Could there be a letter from him? The news of some scandal, or some heart-felt confession about the company? It turned out to be neither.

“Pictures,” she whispered.

“Satellite images, photographs, blueprints. Do you know what they're from?”

“They're from Aeschylus.”

The Aeschylus Platform had been one of the largest public relations pitches handled by Kate's department in the past two years. She had only been an EA when the campaign was heating up, but information about the project had percolated through the office months in advance. Deep in the south Atlantic, the two-point-two billion dollar platform was Valley Oil's crowning jewel, an engineering marvel made possible by VO's acquisition of several sub-sea drilling companies in the preceding decade. At the time, its construction was a large financial gamble, but The Aeschylus, as well as several smaller platforms to the north, were supposed to escalate VO's yield by three hundred thousand barrels per day. The real problem, however, was that VO had to go to extreme lengths to satisfy the Protocol on Environmental Protection for Antarctica since they were located only a few hundred miles north of solid land. In many
respects, the real audience of the marketing campaign had not been the general public, who cared as little about where their oil came from as the cows on their dinner plates, but the U.N. And the U.N. was not a force that could be lobbied, greased, or otherwise moved in the way other businesses could. In the end, Argentina, who would receive a huge economic boost through sub-contracted labor on the platform's construction, helped win international approval, but it took months.

“Have you seen these?” she asked.

“No, but, after hearing the news from my contacts this evening, I'm not surprised.”

“What news? What are you talking about, Godfried?”

“All communication from the platform has ceased. They suspect some kind of terrorist attack, something like that. I don't know the details.”

“Jesus! Is the military—”

“No one knows about this, Katelyn. In fact, not even I'm supposed to know. They're holding an emergency board meeting tomorrow morning, and you're going to be there.”

“Me? Are they looking for a way to spin this?”

“You're not going as an executive, dear.”

“What do you mean, I'm not going as an executive? What are you getting at, old man?”

“Relax, dear. Have a seat.” She hadn't even realized she had gotten to her feet and pushed her butt back down, embarrassed. “You forget the reason I called you here. Your inheritance, remember?”

The reading had been two days ago, and she could barely recall any of it. She vaguely remembered getting the deed to her father's Mercedes, the family china, and a few knick-knacks. Bobby had gotten the condo on Independence Avenue, their summer home in Connecticut, the yacht and the jet skis on the Chesapeake pier, the other cars, and various other items he seemed to appreciate. The liquid cash had all gone to his favorite charities since the family didn't need it, and his positions on various committees and boards were already being filled. Mensa would probably be honoring him with a chess
dinner, or whatever those types did.

“I don't care about the assets,” she said.

Her godfather's stony visage cracked, and he looked amused again. “Really?”

“I loved my father, Godfried. I'm not going to squabble over the scraps. And what does all this have to do with an emergency at the platform?”

“You do know your father was a board member, correct? He still had many friends at the company, which is where he came by those images, I'm sure.”

“Oh yes, I remember. I always figured you had the bigger influence, though.”

Godfried chuckled. “He was the largest shareholder in the country, Katelyn. He had twice the pull that I do. I know my position on the board offers me a lot of leverage, but at the end of the day, everyone answers to the shareholders.” Godfried was staring now, his green eyes burrowing into her. “The fact is, your father had a phenomenal stake. The fact is, most of his fortune came from Valley Oil before you and your brother were even born. Did you know that?”

Kate crossed her legs nervously. Her dress was too short, and she had to smooth down the hem with one hand. “And?”

“And he left it to you. His VO stock, I mean. Not to Robert and certainly not to me. To you. All of it.”

It took a moment for it to sink in. Kate stopped fidgeting with her dress and looked across the desk. “What?”

“Three hundred and eighty-three thousand, one hundred seventeen shares. I just looked up the share price while you were on your way in. It's sitting at eighty-four dollars a share. Do the math.”

“What?” she repeated.

And now Godfried really was smiling again, the crafty gunfighter showing through every crevice and age line. “You'll be at that meeting tomorrow not as an executive, but as the biggest oil shareholder in the country. In the meantime, I think it's best you let your security detail resume, don't you?”

“Do I... do I...” Whatever she wanted to know, she couldn't finish. Her whole body was trembling.

Godfried winked. “You're rich, sweetheart.”

Twelve hours later, Kate found herself on the top floor of Valley Oil's D.C. corporate offices. Imitation Victorian-era art lined the walls, statues decorated a nearby fountain, the rug beneath her feet probably cost as much as her car. It was oddly quiet, and oddly serene. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the gentle tap of the keyboard from the administrative receptionist, but that was all. The receptionist herself was a sculpted, bronzed figure, probably only a few years out of college. When Kate asked her name, she said, “My name? Oh! That's Merrie, dear. M-E-R-R-I-E, if you're interested,” though Kate wasn't.

She didn't have to wait long. An attractive man in his late forties strode past the reception desk and extended a hand to her just as she was getting comfortable. “Hello, Miss McCreedy. It's good to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise, Mister Lucian.”

Michael Lucian was Valley Oil's head of international projects. Everything about the man was striking, from the sharp lines of his features to the colors he chose to accent his looks. His suit was a beautiful gray, the blue in his tie perfectly matching the blue in his eyes. The effect was planned but still disarming. Although Godfried had been keen to keep her inheritance a secret, now that the cat was out of the bag, it seemed everyone who was anyone at the company wanted to meet her.

“Please, call me 'Michael.'”

“Okay.”

“I was so sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man, and we'll miss him. It's terrible we have to meet
under these circumstances.” He smiled sympathetically at her. It was the kind of smile that could charm investors out of hundreds of thousands of dollars and, she reflected, probably had.

As Kate opened her mouth, the television switched on behind her. She hadn't even noticed it was there. CNN flashed a view inside Capitol Hill, a gruff-looking man behind a podium. She recognized him immediately as Jack Fields, an old ex-marine built like a battleship with a voice just as tinny. “It is with great humility, but great honor, that I rescind my position here and rise to aid my commander-in-chief. Though we can never replace a man that was as stalwart and steadfast as—”

“Sorry,” Merrie said behind them, hitting the
Mute
button on a remote.

Fields went on as the sound cut out, gesticulating in silence. Kate knew what the speech was about, of course. Two days ago, Jack Fields had been Speaker of the House. Today, he was Kate's father's replacement. Or perhaps replacement was a poor word; he was his
successor
. She had met Jack twice prior to her father's funeral, and the most she could say was that there were worse men for the job.

“My fault,” Merrie said. “I bumped the remote.”

Was that jealousy Kate saw in her eyes?
Dream on, honey.

“No problem,” Michael said, unperturbed. Then to Kate, “This way.”

The first stop was his office which, if possible, was even larger and more lavishly decorated than the corporate reception room. Like her godfather, it seemed her newest acquaintance was a collector of books, and he had the shelves to prove it. Kate thought of her own office three floors below—a cluttered mess of stacked folders and field reports that looked more like a college dorm room than a place of employment—and felt a tinge of embarrassment.

He stopped just long enough to pick up the phone at his desk. “Yes, she's here. We're on our way down.”

When he hung up, Kate thought he looked nervous.

“I'm afraid things are a bit of a mess right now. My counterpart in Abu Dhabi wants us to get started immediately, and I don't blame him.”

“Get started?” Godfried had told her about the meeting, but with all the hubbub, it had almost slipped her mind. “Oh, right.”

“Walk with me. I'll try to get you up to speed.”

Michael led her down a stairwell, through another concatenation of expensive-looking offices. “As you can imagine, this could be a public relations nightmare. Not to mention what it's going to do to our stock once this gets out. And we're not going to be able to keep it from getting out much longer.”

Kate was trying to keep up with the details, but it was hard. Production stopped. Personnel missing. Disaster on the newest and most expensive platform ever owned by the company.

“So you coming into the fold is a bit fortuitous. We don't want to break this to our public relations department until later today, but you're of that department. So your insights would be greatly appreciated.”

“Hold on,” Kate said, stopping.

Michael stopped. For a moment—just a moment—his stolid demeanor cracked. “Sure. What's wrong?”

“I just... I want to know what's going on, here.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, moving his hand to her arm. She didn't want to feel comforted by it, but somehow, she did. “I didn't want to put so fine a point on it, Kate, but the truth is, we have a bit of a crisis on our hands. I would love to stop and talk to you about long-term company goals, and maybe we'll get a chance later, but this comes first. I apologize that this is all happening so quickly.”

“All right,” she said.

“Good. Now, we only need to stop at the security desk down here for a moment, then we'll go in.”

“The security desk?” Kate had never been to this floor, and moments later, she found herself face to face with another receptionist with a pen in hand.

Five minutes and three non-disclosure agreements later, Kate walked into a meeting room, this one large enough to accommodate forty people or more. It looked just under half
full when she and Michael walked in.

For the umpteenth time that morning, Kate found herself flummoxed. The room was littered with heavy hitters from the company's executive board. Marie Sinclair, the senior vice president of the D.C. office. Larabe Johnson, the director of security. Talia Stroikavich, the reputed computer genius who headed VO's internal engineering department. Several others were clustered around the room's long meeting table, and she noticed that one man in particular didn't look like he belonged. Chiseled and square-jawed, his cut Valentino suit looked more like a disguise than a piece of wardrobe.