"All right, let's hear it!" Philip began, slamming his office door. "The damn plane had mechanical trouble or I'd have been here hours ago." Taking over in his inimitable style, he walked forward, flinging off his coat, and demanded of Mark Braden, "Well? What have you found out about these bomb scares? Who's behind it? Why aren't
you in
New Orleans—that store seems to be the prime target!"
"I just got back from
New Orleans, and all we have now are theories," Mark began patiently, then he paused as Philip marched over to the computer screens on the credenza behind the desk and punched in commands on the keyboard that brought onto the screen the total sales in all the stores for the day. When he compared that figure with last year's, on the other screen, his face turned an alarming shade of gray beneath his newly acquired tan. "Good God!" he whispered. "It's worse than I expected."
"It'll get better soon," Meredith said, trying to sound soothing as he belatedly pressed an absentminded kiss on her cheek. If things hadn't been so dire, she'd have laughed at his appearance. Never less than impeccably attired, her father now wore a suit wrinkled from the long transatlantic flight, he needed a shave, and his hair looked as if he'd been combing it with his fingers. "People are staying away from our stores right now," she added, "but in a couple of days, when the publicity about the bombs is over, they'll come back." She started to move away from his desk so that he could sit in the chair behind it, but he surprised her by distractedly motioning her to stay there. Walking over to one of the guest chairs, he eased himself into it, and she realized that he was more exhausted and strained than he looked.
"Start from the day I left," he told her. "Sit down, Mark. Before I hear your theories, I want to hear some facts from Meredith first. Did you complete the purchase of the land in
Houston yet?"
Meredith froze at the mention of that particular project, then she glanced at Mark. "Would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, Mark, while I discuss this with my—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Meredith," her father said. "Braden can be trusted, and you should know it"
"I do know it," she said, chafing at his tone, but she remained firm. "Mark, would you please give us five minutes?"
She waited until he left, then she came around the desk. "If we're going to talk about the
Houston project, we're going to have to talk about Matt. Are you calm enough to listen without going into a rage?"
"You're damned right we're going to talk about Farrell! But first I want to try to salvage my business—"
Instinct told Meredith that this was the right time to tell him about everything, including her involvement with
Matt—now, when he was distracted with business concerns and Braden was outside waiting to fill them in on whatever he knew. For one thing, he wouldn't have much time to rant and rave over each event. "You said you want to hear everything that's happened, and I'm going to tell you all of it—I'll keep it short and in chronological order, so it'll only take a few minutes, but you're going to have to understand that Matt is involved in some of it."
"Start talking," he ordered, scowling.
"Fine," she said, and reached out for the diary she'd kept at his instruction before he went on the cruise. As she flipped through pages she said, "We did try to buy the
Houston land, but in the midst of the negotiations, someone else bought it." Glancing up, she said levelly, "
Intercorp
bought it—"
He half rose out of his chair, his eyes blazing with fury and shock. "Sit down and stay calm," she warned him quietly. "
Intercorp
bought it for twenty million and upped the price to thirty million. Matt did it," she emphasized, "in retaliation against you—because he discovered that you'd had his rezoning in
Southville
blocked. He also planned to sue you and Senator Davies and the
Southville
zoning commission." He paled at that and she quickly added, "It's all been settled already. There'll be no lawsuits, and Matt is selling us the property for the original twenty million."
She watched him, hoping to see some sign of softening toward Matt after that, but he was rigid with the effort to control his hatred and anger, and she dragged her gaze back to the business diary, flipping through the pages. Glad that the next matter didn't involve Matt, she said, "Sam Green said there's been an unusual amount of interest in our stock on the market. It drove the price up until this week, when the price began dropping because of the bomb scares. We should know any day now who the new shareholders are and how large a block they own—"
"Did Sam happen to use the word
takeover?"
he demanded, his voice tight
"Yes," Meredith said reluctantly, and flipped to the next page, "but we all agreed that's probably an imaginary worry, because we'd be a poor takeover target right now. As you already know, we had a bomb threat in the
New Orleans store, which proved to be false. It slowed down sales for several days; then they returned to normal." For the next few minutes she continued leafing through the pages until she'd brought him up-to-date on everything, including Parker's call that morning about their new lenders. "That takes care of business," she said, watching him for signs that the strain was more than his heart could take. He looked like a stone statue in that chair, but his color had returned to normal. "Now let's take care of personal matters—Matthew Farrell in particular." Deliberately phrasing the question as a challenge, she said, "Can you handle a discussion of him now?"
"Yes," he snapped.
Gentling her voice, she said, "When I discovered he'd bought the
Houston land, I went to his apartment to force a showdown. Instead of finding Matt there, I found his father, who warned me to stay away from Matt, and who accused me of trying to ruin his life and of having an abortion eleven years ago." His jaws clamped, and Meredith calmly continued. "I went to see Matt at the farm that weekend, and together we realized what you had done, including preventing him from seeing me in the hospital. When I had time to think," she said with a sad smile, "I realized you obviously thought you were protecting me from—from a man you believed to be a social-climbing gold digger, which is what you called him back then. You shouldn't have interfered," she added somberly. "I loved him, and I never got completely over the pain of believing he'd deserted me and the baby. In the end you caused me more hurt than he ever could have. But I know you didn't mean to," she added, searching his rigid face.
When he didn't move or speak, Meredith continued. "The week after I came back from seeing Matt at the farm, the bogus lawyer you hired was arrested, and he started naming his clients' names, which caused an uproar in the press about Matt, Parker, and me. Matt had him bailed out of jail and taken care of, then the three of us gave a joint press conference. We tried to pass the matter off as lightly as possible and to put up a show of solidarity. Unfortunately, last week four of us went out to dinner for my birthday, and Parker had too much to drink ... and, well, there was a fight, and that got us in the newspapers again. About all I can say," she added, trying desperately to joke and find something positive from it, "is that our business had an upward surge for several days after the press conference, which probably came from all the publicity."
Her father didn't smile. When he finally spoke, his voice shook with angry disbelief. "You've broken your engagement to Parker, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Because of Farrell."
"Yes." Softly, but with absolute conviction, she said, "I love him."
"Then you're an
idiot!"
"And he loves me."
That brought her father out of his chair, his lip curled with contempt. "That monster doesn't want
you
or love
you
—what he wants is revenge against
me!"
His tone hurt as much as his words, but Meredith didn't falter. "Matt understands that I can't live with him for a few weeks—not after I stood in the auditorium downstairs and publicly announced that we scarcely knew each other and there was no possibility of a reconciliation. Now," she concluded with quiet finality, "the fact is that the two of you are going to have to learn to accept each other. I won't pretend that Matt isn't still angry with you for what you did, but he loves me, and because he does, he'll forgive you for the past eventually, and even try to find a way to be friends with you—"
"Did he actually tell you that, Meredith?" he demanded with biting scorn.
"No," she admitted, "but—"
"Then let me tell you what he told
me
eleven years ago," he grated out, leaning his fists on the desk. "That bastard warned me—he threatened me in my own home—that if I came between you and him, he'd buy me and then he'd bury me. He didn't have a thousand dollars to his name eleven years ago, so that was an empty threat, but it isn't now, by God!"
"What were you doing at the time to make him say such a thing?" Meredith demanded, already guessing at the answer.
"I won't hide it from you. I tried to pay him off to go away, and when he refused the money, I took a swing at him!"
"And did he hit you back?" she asked, knowing he wouldn't.
"He wasn't that stupid! We were in my house, and I'd have called the police. Besides, he didn't dare alienate you by attacking me. He knew you were going to inherit millions from your grandfather, and he intended to get his hands on all of that. He
warned
me what would happen if I got in his way, and now he intends to make it happen!"
"It wasn't a warning, it was an empty threat," Meredith said slowly, trying to put herself in Matt's place and think how he would have felt. "What would you expect him to do, stand there and let you humiliate and bully him, and then thank you for it? He had as much pride as you have, and he's just as strong-willed as you. That's why you two can't stand each other."
His mouth dropped open at her
naivete
, and he stared at her in speechless wonder, his anger draining. "Meredith," he said almost gently, "you're a very smart young woman, and yet you're still a gullible little fool where Farrell is concerned! You’ve been sitting here updating me on a series of dramatic events that are having dire effects on our business. And yet it hasn't seemed to occur to you they
all,
including these bomb threats, coincided with Farrell's reentry into our lives!"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" she said, shocked into laughter.
"We'll see who's ridiculous," he warned fiercely, and leaning across the desk, he picked up the intercom and said, "Send Braden in here. And tell Sam Green and Allen Stanley I want them to join us immediately."
As soon as the corporation's lawyer and its controller arrived a few minutes later, Philip launched into action. "We're not going to play games in this meeting," he told them. "I'm going to lay all my cards on the table, but nothing that is said in here is to leave this room. Is that clear?"
The three men nodded immediately, and Philip turned to Braden. "Let's hear your theory about the bomb scares."
"The police believe, and I agree," Mark explained, "that the bombs weren't meant to do actual damage to the stores. Just the opposite, in fact, because they were carefully placed where they'd be easily discovered before they could explode—and where they'd do minimal damage if they did. In every instance, warnings were called to the police, well in advance of the time they were set to go off. Also, here in
Chicago, where it took the longest to locate the bomb, someone actually called in just before it was discovered, to give a
hint
where it was. It's as if whoever is behind all this was taking infinite care that no serious damage was done to the stores. It's bizarre," he said frankly.
"I don't think so," Philip jeered. "It makes
perfect
sense to me!"
"How?" Braden asked, staring at him in bewildered silence.
"It's simple! If you're getting ready to launch a takeover attempt at a department store chain, and you're vicious enough to put bombs in their stores so their stock will drop and you can buy it up cheaper, then you take
great
care that those bombs don't actually do any harm to the stores—because you're planning to own the goddamn stores!"
In the deafening silence he turned to Sam Green. "I want a list of the names on record of every person, every company, every institution, that's bought more than one thousand shares of our stock at a time in the last two months."
"I can get you that tomorrow," Sam Green said. "I'd just about finished drawing it up at Meredith's request."
"I want it first thing in the morning!" Philip ordered, then he turned to Braden. "I want you to run a thorough investigation on Matthew Farrell and get me every scrap of information on him that you can find."
"It would help if I knew what sort of information you're looking for," Mark said.
"For starters, I want to know the names of every single company he owns a major share in, and every single name he does business under. I want to know everything you can find out about his personal financial setup, where he keeps his money, and under what names. I want names. He'll have trusts set up and shelters—get me
names."
Meredith already knew what he intended to do with those names—he was going to start looking for those names on the list of new stockholders that Sam was getting together.