Humbled (17 page)

Tamara enjoyed toying with Joel and watching him squirm. Once in a while it was therapeutic for him to get a dose of his own hoity-toity medicine. She took satisfaction in knocking him down a peg. She walked inside the house since Joel had left the front door open. She panned the room and didn't see anyone.

“Hello,” she called out. She roamed around several rooms until the housekeeper surfaced. “The door was open,” she said pointing in the direction of the door. “So I came in. I hope you don't mind.”

“You're fine. Is Mrs. Mitchell expecting you?”

“No, not really,” Tamara stated. “Is she busy?” She figured Zarah was home since Joel had been there.

“She wasn't well after Mr. Mitchell's visit.”

Not surprising,
Tamara thought. He had a sickening effect on people. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, in the master suite.”

Tamara ran to the stairs and began ascending them.

“Wait. I'll let Mrs. Mitchell know you're here,” the housekeeper said, hustling to the staircase. She was too late to catch Tamara, who was practically at the top of the staircase.

“Don't worry. She won't mind if I pop my head in to check on her. Besides, I'm family,” Tamara announced, figuring the added dash of clout would assuage the housekeeper's concern. It must have worked, because she ended the pursuit. Tamara was more relieved than she appeared.

Tamara wandered around upstairs for a few minutes. She hadn't gone upstairs before and didn't have an inkling about which room was the master. After opening the door to five rooms situated on a long hallway, she reached the end. To her left was a massive double-door entryway, which had to be the master. Her legs weren't going fast enough. She was anxious to see Zarah.

As Tamara approached the double doors, she could hear faint whimpering. She walked briskly into the room as the whimpering intensified. From her vantage point, she saw Zarah lying across the bed. Tamara rushed to her side.

“What's wrong? What did Joel do?” she asked. She'd continue asking until she got an answer. Tamara's fury was being aroused, and it wouldn't take long to gather steam.

“Go away please. I don't feel much up to a visit. Please leave me,” Zarah wheezed and buried her face in the mound of pillows thrown across the bed.

Tamara was torn between honoring the request and not leaving Zarah in a pitifully distraught state. Compassion won out. She'd stay. “What did Joel say or do to upset you?” Tamara asked, gently resting her hand on Zarah's shoulder.

Her sister-in-law flinched from the contact. Tamara wasn't dismayed. She pressed on, committed to finding out what that
brother
of hers had done.

“You can tell me. Maybe I can help.” As if Tamara had inserted the correct key in a lock, Zarah sat up and glided her fingertips beneath her tear-soaked eyes. Tamara moved a bit to give her sister-in-law ample space. “Is this about Joel?”

Zarah nodded in affirmation.

Tamara had figured as much. How much more could he get away with before Zarah shut him down? Getting mad wasn't going to fix the problem. Tamara kept quiet. It was the only way she could avoid saying the wrong thing and having to apologize later. She fidgeted instead.

Zarah stood and journeyed to the sitting area but didn't sit. Tamara followed and took a seat. “My husband came for a visit. I was very pleased to have him come to check on me and the baby.” It sounded as if Joel was doing the right thing for a change, Tamara figured. Zarah got choked up. “I was pleased until I discovered he didn't come for me or the baby.” Tamara was confused but didn't interrupt. “He came to offer me money for the West Coast division.”

“What?” Tamara said, leaping to her feet and reacting without weighing the cost. “You can't sell him the division. I want that division more than anyone, and I'll double whatever price he's offering.” She couldn't believe Joel had weaseled his way into the West Coast division conversation. Tamara wasn't going to be blindsided and go down without a fight. Joel had better bring it on with heat if he was going to beat her in this deal.

Zarah was dumbfounded and stood still, like a statue, not responding.

“Did you hear me?” Tamara asked.

“This is too much for me to handle today. No more talk of deals for me. I must rest for the baby,” Zarah said, finally taking a seat.

Tamara wasn't comfortable letting the conversation die and potentially losing her slice of the Mitchell Empire, but she couldn't push too hard. Zarah didn't look well. Tamara was forced to stand down and save the battle for another day. “Can I take you to the doctor or the hospital?”

“No,” Zarah said, waving her off. “I just need rest, please.”

“Are you sure?” Tamara asked, having set aside her “mogul hat” and evincing only the affection of a friend.

“I am sure.”

Tamara expressed her support again and then left the room. She would continue the discussion later. She had to find a way to get the West Coast division. She felt justified in her pursuit. After all, she wasn't asking for much. It was DMI's smallest division, representing only a tiny corner of the company, one that Joel had carelessly given away. He didn't deserve the division. She did. Convincing Zarah was the tricky mission.

Don pulled up to the twelve-foot-tall wrought-iron gates leading into his mother's estate, the home of his youth. He had mixed memories, some harmonious blended with a nearly equal share of tragedy. He was six years old when his parents divorced and he, his mother, and his siblings moved from their real home into this place without Dave. His mother made every effort to make their lives pleasant and filled with love. She did a pretty good job from his perspective, but history told a modified story. The four children who were raised in this house, Don included, had problems. Don briefly nursed accounts of the past and then quickly tossed them aside. He wasn't going to get sucked into a state of doubt, doom, and regrets. He expeditiously pushed the buzzer to open the gates.

His mother answered and buzzed him in. Don zoomed along the quarter-mile driveway, which was more like a road. He cleared his head of the depressing memories. He was homing in on the present and the task of stabilizing DMI's leadership team. Madeline and Don had been talking on and off for several days about what to do. No solid plan had materialized, only bits and pieces. Since Madeline wasn't coming into the office today, she'd asked him to drop by for lunch. Apparently, she had an epiphany to share. He was cautiously curious. His mother's ideas didn't always fall within his boundaries. He came anyway. Putting this issue to rest was his priority, as it would free him from the weighty role of CEO. He exited the car, willing to keep an open mind and listen before countering.

He found her in the kitchen, and they did their usual greeting sealed with a hug. Don had clung to his mother from his early childhood years. She seemed to make his tough situations easier when he was growing up. Interacting with her as an adult brought a different set of dynamics. Madeline was a lot to manage, but nonetheless, she was his hero.

“Jeez, why do you have this much food? Is someone else joining us for lunch?” Don asked, seeing the spread of salad, pasta, sandwiches, fruit, and cookies.

“No one but the two of us,” she answered. “That seems to be our story these days, just the two of us against the world.”

He detected the softening of her voice and steered her away from a sad moment. “Let's dig in while you tell me what has you so fired up.” He grabbed a plate and began loading food onto it. His mother did the same.

They sat at the table.

“I've done nothing but think about how to change Tamara's mind about DMI and get her on board. I have racked my brain and finally have a potential solution,” she said, waving her index finger in the air and giving him a controlled grin.

Don was intrigued. “You have the floor. Tell me what you've concocted,” he stated and took a bite of his pastrami sandwich.

“Oh, come on,” she said, playfully swatting his shoulder. “
Concocted
sounds like a witch brewing up a spell.”

“Well, if the broom fits, ride it,” he replied, toying with Madeline, glad to see her moving far away from the sadness that had tried to surface a few minutes ago.

“That's no way to talk about your mother,” she said, snickering.

“You're tough. I know you can handle it. Now, tell me about this plan of yours, Broom Hilda,” he said, laughing into his napkin.

She rolled her eyes at him and smirked. Madeline slid her plate toward the middle of the table. “Here's what I'm thinking. We know none of the DMI divisions were structured to run as stand-alone companies.”

Don agreed. “Dad was adamant about keeping the company together.”

“You're right. He told Joel, practically on his deathbed, not to let DMI get broken into pieces. And look what Joel did. Exactly what your father told him not to do.”

“Selling two out of the four divisions almost drove the company into financial ruin. Apparently, Father knew more than we did about this.”

“Of course he did. Your father was a wise man when it came to running DMI. I've never doubted his aptitude. Now, his personal choices were a totally different story.”

“And we don't want to go there, do we?”

Madeline poked at the pasta on her plate with her fork. “No, we don't.”

“And you were saying,” Don said, attempting to steer her clear of the ditch named Dave and Sherry Mitchell.

She instantly perked up and returned to the topic at hand. ”I was saying, what if we push Zarah aggressively to sell us the West Coast division? We could fold it back into DMI, where it rightfully belongs.”

“Have you forgotten Tamara wants the division?”

“How can I forget? It's kept me awake for the last week. But I'm thinking that if we get the division, it can be used as a bargaining chip with Tamara. What do you think?”

Don's eyebrows arched. He took another bite of his sandwich in order to buy a few more seconds before having to respond. Madeline continually stared at him with each chew. He grabbed the napkin and wiped his mouth, gaining a few additional seconds before being forced to reply.

Surprisingly, he wasn't completely opposed to the idea. There was definitely merit in wanting the division restored to DMI. The part causing him angst was her use of the term
bargaining chip.

“Well, say something,” Madeline demanded.

“My initial reaction is that you have a decent plan, with the exception of trying to bargain with Tamara. You know how much she hates feeling manipulated or pressured into a situation. She'll never go for it.”

Madeline let her gaze dip. She played with the uneaten food on her plate for a bit and finally said, “You have a point, but I'm not left with many other choices. We have to get the division from Zarah.”

“It may become a bidding war. How much are you prepared to spend?”

“Money is no object when it comes to my children's well-being. I'll spend ten times the market value if necessary,” she declared and gripped his forearm briefly. “This has to work.”

Don wasn't so sure. He saw the merit in both pursuing the division and walking away to let Zarah have it. He decided to stay neutral unless compelled to take a position. “Where do we go from here?”

“Call Zarah and set up a meeting where we can present the offer.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, sliding his plate away.

“A thousand percent sure. Make the call,” she said, slapping the table with force.

Madeline's persistence wasn't to be ignored. Don reluctantly placed a call to Zarah from his cell phone, having no idea what to expect. With his mother fixated on him like a laser beam, he attempted to dodge the heat.

“Zarah, this is Don Mitchell,” he stated, shifting his glance from Madeline so as not to get distracted. “I hope this is a good time to speak with you.”

“Not really, Don. I am not well today. I'm very tired. I would be honored to speak with you in a few days, once I've rested.”

Don scooted away from the table. “I'm sorry to hear you're not doing well.” He didn't want to push. Even with his back to Madeline, he could sense the heat of her desperation scorching him. Yet he couldn't justify pressuring a pregnant woman into an undesired conversation. Madeline would have to accept that she wasn't getting the division back today and maybe no other day. Time would tell. For now, this conversation was over. “I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

“Don't you dare hang up,” Madeline mouthed, not speaking loud enough for Zarah to hear.

Don fumbled to mute the phone after asking Zarah to hold for a minute. “What, Mother?” he answered, quite irritated. His mother wasn't known for her decorum when it came to holding back on sensitive issues.

“Put her on the speakerphone,” Madeline demanded and reached for Don's phone.

“No, Mother, she's sick. I'm not going to stress a pregnant woman. This can wait.”

“No, it can't,” she retorted. “Put her on the speakerphone. If you don't want to ask her about the division, I will.”

Don shut his eyes and handed her the phone, absolutely certain he was making the wrong decision. He prayed silently, recognizing that when his mother was on a mission, only the Lord in heaven was going to slow her down. Anyone else had better steer clear of Madeline Mitchell, or they'd get run down.

“Zarah, this is Madeline,” she said after unmuting the phone, trying to sound gentle. Don didn't know whether to laugh at her boldness or hide under the table due to her bullying and recklessness. “I understand you're not feeling well. So let me keep this very short. We'd like to buy the West Coast division from you.” Madeline paused. Don didn't know why. “Price is not the most important factor, which means any serious offer from you will be considered. How does this sound to you?”

Zarah was silent.

Madeline pushed the mute button and flung her hands in the air. “Is she deaf?”

Don saw how anxious his mother was becoming. It hadn't been his choice to make the call, but the deed was done. He had to find a way to salvage his mother's offer, since a bottomless bucket of cash didn't appear to influence Zarah. He had to sweeten the deal. Don unmuted the phone, put Zarah on speakerphone, and tossed in their trump card. “We are willing to consider an even exchange of DMI's majority ownership in Harmonious Energy for the West Coast division.”

Don watched as his mother's tension eased. He didn't want to think about what they were forfeiting. An equal exchange was a steal for Zarah, but neither Don nor Madeline planned to quibble over the offer. The possibility of such a monumental win for the family outweighed the financial loss.

But Zarah remained silent.

“Did you hear him? You can have your father's company. Fifty-one percent is worth about eight hundred million on the sales block. The West Coast division isn't worth more than a hundred million, max, if it's run independently from DMI. Zarah, please be smart about this,” Madeline said.

Don could taste freedom and a break in his near future. He wanted this deal to work almost as much as Madeline did, but he contained his enthusiasm.

“I am overwhelmed with so many offers,” Zarah said.

Don's and Madeline's stares were frozen. As the number of bidders went up, the cost would too. The revelation wasn't encouraging for DMI. Don figured Madeline was beginning to get antsy about her bottomless offer. She could anticipate overpaying significantly to stay on the bidder list. Maybe Zarah wasn't as docile as she appeared. Don suspected Madeline was going to find out, having practically offered a blank check.

“Exactly how many offers are you talking?”

“There have been three, if you and Don are counted. There's also Tamara and my husband.”

“Joel?” Madeline yelled as the oomph drained from her. “You're kidding,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Don was numb. Without sufficient preparation, he was engaged in a battle pitting four Mitchells against each other. Would it ever end? He wanted to flee from his mother's house and keep on running until he reached the airport. Quarrelling had taken its toll. He was sitting out this round. Madeline would have to duel alone.

He was about to say good-bye when Zarah's voice rang out. “I must speak with my attorney about your offer. It is a very good deal.”

With the snap of a finger, Madeline's zeal was restored. Don could tell by how animated Madeline was becoming as she listened to Zarah.

“Are you saying yes to our offer?” she asked.

“I cannot answer this for you until I meet with my family's attorney.”

“That's fair,” Don said.

“Why don't you take time to digest the offer and we can call you in a few days? How does this sound?” Madeline asked.

“I must go. I'm not well,” Zarah stated.

Madeline rattled off a question before Zarah could escape. “Can you at least agree not to make a decision without letting us know? We'd like to counter any offer submitted to you.”

“I can make you aware.”

“One more question,” Madeline said, but Zarah abruptly ended the call, citing she was going to be sick and had to go.

Madeline stewed a bit. “I wanted to ask how much of a shot we have, but Ms. Zarah hung up.”

Don didn't add to his mother's disappointment. He'd sit quietly until she was ready to talk about a plan B, as plan A had most likely run to the restroom with morning sickness that had extended into the afternoon. He'd roll his sleeves up and get busy with drafting a refined strategy, one that didn't depend on Zarah. He got up to grab another sandwich. It was going to be a long afternoon for sure.