Intimate Betrayal (25 page)

Tokyo, Japan

M
ioshi Tasaka looked up from the notes on his desk in response to the light that flickered over his office door indicating that his assistant, Namicho Ichibahn, requested entrance. It was a device he'd had installed at his offices and at home, to compensate for his loss of hearing. Or so everyone thought. Tasaka had learned years ago that what most considered to be disabilities could be used as
abilities
when implemented by the right people.

It all began some twenty years earlier when Mioshi Tasaka had what the doctors thought would be minor surgery. However, the simple tonsillectomy turned Tasaka, a poor but aspiring singer, into a very rich man. The slip of the young surgeon's scalpel had caused extensive damage to the throat. Tasaka's once rich basso, which had graced many concert
halls in Tokyo, was never the same. Or so it was thought. One promising career was destroyed and a new one was born.

Seizing the opportunity, Tasaka hired the best attorney he could find. His lawsuit nearly brought the historic hospital to the brink of bankruptcy. However, being a benevolent man and an opportunist, Tasaka used his windfall to purchase 51 percent of the hospital's stock, making him its primary stockholder. He brought in friends and relatives to oversee and manage the facility, turning the hospital into a prosperous family business. That was the beginning of his empire.

Over the years, Tasaka built a reputation for being an astute businessman, knowing when to strike and how deep. He owned, or had a hand in, any and every enterprise throughout Japan that turned a profit. Politicians came to him for advice and no decisions were made without his approval. During the two decades of his reign, he'd amassed a fortune in land and building developments. But always with his eye toward the future, Tasaka entered the world of computer technology. Which was how Maxwell Knight's proposal had been brought to his attention.

“Come in please,” he said in his nearly inaudible voice.

“
Sumimasen,
please, Tasaka-san. Should I make arrangements for dinner?” his personal assistant of five years inquired, giving a short bow of respect. Straightening to her full five-foot-three-inch height, the striking young woman stood patiently in front of Tasaka's black lacquer desk.

Although Tasaka had given his dinner instructions early in the day, he was prone to change his mind at a moment's notice, an idiosyncrasy that continued to baffle and infuriate his friends and adversaries. But it always gave Tasaka the upper hand and kept many at his beck and call. He thought it was quite amusing.

“They will remain the same,” he said, his eyes slowly moving up from behind heavy lids to rest on his assistant's
placid face. “Unless Knight-san changes his mind,” he added in his hushed, practiced whisper. “Inform the others.” Namicho bowed and left as discreetly as she had arrived.

Tasaka steepled his thick fingers in front of his nose, his heavy-lidded eyes appeared closed to the casual observer.

So the prodigal son had finally come home. Tasaka's lizard-like smile sent a chill through the air.

 

Maxwell and Reese arrived at Narita Airport some eleven and a half hours after take-off from LAX. Reese felt totally disoriented realizing that not only was it the next day, it was an additional four hours ahead.

“I don't see how people can do this.” Reese yawned as they stood in front of the limousine waiting for Max's chauffeur and interpreter, Daisuke, to finish loading their luggage into the trunk. “The time difference is a killer.” She slid her arm through the curve of his and immediately felt his muscles tighten. She frowned and looked up at him. “Max. What is it? You've barely said a word to me in hours. Are you worried about your meeting?”

Maxwell had been tormented by the implications of the note from Victoria—if it were true. And as much as he wanted to deny the things she'd said, he couldn't ignore the fact that she knew things that she would have no reason or way of knowing if it weren't true.

He looked down into her questioning gaze, and his stomach dipped. She already had so much to deal with. The last thing she needed at the moment was another trauma. Somehow he had to reach deep inside himself and come to terms with some moral and ethical decisions. The very nature of Victoria's claim precluded him from having any further intimate relationship with Reese. But how could he do that when her very existence fueled his soul? He would have to find a way to get beyond his ingrained convictions if their relationship
was to survive. The injustice of it all left him bereft of any tangible emotion.

He gave her his most disarming smile and tweaked her nose, delighting in her giggles. “That's part of it,” he admitted, glad for the out. “This is probably one of the biggest negotiations I've been involved in. Everything I say and do from here on out is crucial.”

Her smile and the glow from her eyes warmed him from the inside out. “You've prepared yourself for this moment for the past year, Max. You've looked at everything from every angle. You've created a product that the world will clamor for. You'll get what you want out of this deal.”

The left corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Thanks. I guess I needed a little stroking,” he said sheepishly.

She tiptoed and planted a light kiss on his lips. We all do every now and then. Do you want to run your game plan by me?”

“Sure. Why not? We'll talk at the hotel. Even though I know that dinner tonight won't include business, I'd rather be prepared.”

“Your bags are in the car, Knight-san,” Daisuke said in perfect English, bowing as he opened the door.

Maxwell bowed in return and held Reese's elbow as she stepped into the lush leather interior of the Lincoln. Once they were seated, he instructed Daisuke in lilting Japanese.

Reese grinned, and whispered, “What did you just say? All I caught was Hyatt.”

“I told him we're going to the Hyatt but he should wait because I have a meeting this evening and I'll need him to interpret for me.”

Reese's milk-chocolate brow bunched in confusion. “But you speak fluent Japanese. Why do you need an interpreter?”

“To make my soon-to-be business associates more
comfortable. It also gives me an edge when they think I can't speak or understand the language.” He winked conspiratorially.

Reese slowly shook her head. “Aren't you the clever one,” she teased.

“I work hard at it.”

 

Maxwell faced the full-length mirror shifting his burgundy silk patterned tie from left to right until it was perfectly centered. “I'm sorry I can't take you with me, sweetheart,” he said, appraising his appearance.

“No problem.” Reese came up behind him and ran her hands across his suited shoulders smoothing the charcoal-gray jacket in place. “I'll get some work done while you're gone, order room service and get our clothes organized.”

He turned to face her and slid his arms around her waist. “Tomorrow I'll take you on a tour, and show you the locations I've selected for our sites.”

“Well if this tour is anything like the one in L.A., I'd better forget about doing everything I've said and just go straight to bed!”

Maxwell tossed his head back and laughed. “That was because I didn't like you very much, or at least that's what I was trying to tell myself. I figured if I wore you out, you'd give up and go home.”

“And look at all of the fun you would've missed if your diabolical little plan had worked.”

“The best laid plans.” He sighed, sarcastically.

Reese poked him in the chest. “Very funny.”

Maxwell leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Gotta run.” He moved toward the door.

Reese blinked in surprise then stepped back to let him pass. “A kiss on the cheek?”

“For now,” he replied offhandedly, his unwritten rules of ethics rumbling to the surface.

“I hope it's not the start of something,” she asked more than stated.

He turned to face her as he stood in the open doorway. “Of course not. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment.” He knew his explanation sounded weak from the narrowing of Reese's eyes. “I'll see you in a few hours,” he added quickly and strode down the corridor to the elevator.

Reese felt her stomach rise and fall as she watched him walk away. “Good luck,” she said almost to herself. Mindlessly, she closed the door and stood there for several moments engaging in a mental retrospect of the past few hours. Maxwell had been acting strangely since midway through the flight. It was as if he were trying to put distance between them. He attributed his behavior to the meetings that faced him. But instinct told her it was more than that.

“What are you keeping from me this time, Max?”

 

Maxwell settled himself in the backseat of the limousine and stared, without seeing, out of the tinted window.

The teeming streets of Tokyo were awash with humanity, rushing in every direction and in stiff competition from a multitude of cars and jitneys. Maxwell saw none of this. His thoughts were focused on the letter from Victoria even as much as they should have been focused on his meeting with Tasaka. He knew he would have to tell Reese of Victoria's allegation. He'd already experienced her ire when he'd kept things from her.

Reflectively, he massaged his smooth chin. What would it all mean in the end? Perhaps he should try to verify Victoria's claim before he presented it to Reese.

He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. For the moment, he would have to put that aspect of his life on hold. He could
not risk being at anything but optimum when he sat down with Tasaka. If there were even the slightest bit of hesitation or uncertainty on his part, Tasaka would eat him alive.

For the balance of the twenty-minute trip, Maxwell employed the relaxation techniques of
Tai chi.
When he opened his eyes again, the car was pulling up in front of Tasaka Enterprises, the corporate headquarters for his multiple business endeavors.

The seven-story structure was a picture of high-tech tinted glass, chrome and steel. Maxwell's dark eyes traveled upward in concert with the outdoor elevator as it made its slow ascent. Light from the waning sun bounced off the steel support beams, giving the building the illusion of being illuminated from the heavens.

Maxwell alighted from the car, and stepped onto the street. “Ready?” he asked Daisuke, pushing through the revolving doors.

 

Mioshi heard the knock in concert with the flashing red light above the door. “Come in,” he said in his hushed voice.

Namicho bobbed her head before speaking. “Maxwell Knight has arrived, Tasaka-san.”

“Show him in.”

Moments later Maxwell strode into the office and was momentarily taken aback by the stark similarities between his office in New York and Tasaka's. Maxwell's keen eyes quickly swept across the room assessing its contents.

The exquisitely appointed room spoke of wealth and taste. Tasaka surrounded himself with Japanese art and artifacts that adorned his walls and table tops. His desk, the obvious vocal point of the office, was a massive structure of black lacquer with winged corners rimmed in gold and jade. It remotely resembled the great Japanese sailing ships of long
ago. Jade vases with matching bowls graced the credenza. Behind Mioshi, the metropolis of Tokyo spanned beyond him from the smoked floor-to-ceiling window. The paneled walls were soundproof, Maxwell knew. A man like Tasaka wouldn't have it any other way. Off to the far right of the office was the traditional low-level table surrounded by pillows. Inwardly, Maxwell smiled.

Mioshi Tasaka gingerly pushed himself up into a standing position, supporting his arthritic body by bracing his hands on the smooth finish of his black and jade lacquer desk. “
Kon'nichiwa,
Tasaka-san,” Maxwell said with a low bow as he stepped fully into the room.

Mioshi nodded in response, surprised by Maxwell's flawless delivery.

Maxwell turned toward his companion and dipped his upturned hand in Daisuke's direction “This is Daisuke Uchiyama. He will interpret for me.” Daisuke bowed and repeated Maxwell's statement.

Aaah. So he does not know the language after all, Mioshi concluded, relaxing. Just a few choice phrases. Mioshi inclined his head and extended his hand toward the chairs that flanked his desk, never once extending his hand in greeting as was becoming common custom in Japan.

There was a time that handshaking was considered rude. But with westernization the practice was more commonplace. However, the fact that Mioshi held fast to this Japanese custom, in the midst of his westernization, gave Maxwell some of the psychological insight that he needed. He was certain that Mioshi expected that he would feel slighted and thrown off guard by what outwardly appeared to be blatant rudeness by American standards.

Maxwell took a seat to Mioshi's right, maintaining his ambiguous facade.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule
to meet with me earlier than planned,” Maxwell began. Daisuke started to translate, when Mioshi halted him with an up-raised palm.

In rapid Japanese he said, “I understand the English language very well. I prefer not to speak it. Interpret please for Knight-san.”

Maxwell hid his amusement behind a guileless expression as he listened to the translation that he already understood. He nodded. So, it would certainly be a game of cat and mouse throughout the negotiations, he surmised. Mioshi's tactic was to keep him at a disadvantage. Now that he understood the approach, he knew how to proceed. And even with that understanding, he had the most eerie feeling of dealing with a Japanese version of himself.

 

Reese's amber eyes darted back and forth between the notes to her left and the screen of her laptop to her right. Agile fingers tapped in rapid succession bringing the story of Maxwell Knight to printed life.