A Fine Mess

Chapter 25

Moira hesitated, looking at the light flashing on her private line. Only a select few had the number and even fewer used it. So far, it had provided she and her co-conspirator the chance to speak more often under the guise of business. Aside from that, it was usually used for private favours or the caller's request for obscurity. She sighed and adjusted her bottom in the soft leather chair that had once supported her husband and took great pleasure in the sense of power it gave her.

Slipping into the role of President pro tem had been remarkably easy and she quickly learned which knobs and buttons gave her the most authority. The board and the shareholders had demanded settlement of the partnership agreement and the installation, unanimously approved, of Moira Weston as majority stockholder. Myles had done wonders charting the perilous waters of the director's ambitions, wooing them with his own concoction of smoke and mirrors and seamlessly easing Moira into her present position. There would be another vote on share distribution and the merger at the next meeting later in the week but for now, she held the reins. Business was grinding on regardless of the endless tribulations it faced.

Not bad for an only child from parents who leached an existence from the social set through their own form of fraud and massive credit debt. Moira was able to move in circles, which would otherwise have her fighting way above her weight, with relative ease due to important introductions and subsequent invitations. This was the milieu in which she met Barton Weston and with the devotion of a nun, pursued and finally won his proposal—Moira Weston, slick and successful then—slick and successful now.

She smiled happily and picked up the receiver, answering with a soft hello.

"Mrs. Weston? I'm certain you don't know me but I did some work for a representative of yours a little while ago. It consisted of some audio adjustments."

Moira felt her stomach shift and she tightened her grip on the receiver. "How did you get this number? Why are you calling?"

"I'm surprised you would need to ask your first question, Mrs. Weston, considering my expertise." He chuckled unpleasantly. "I've been reading about the circumstances surrounding your husband's company and, well, it seems that my contribution warranted a lot more than I received. The reason I am calling is because I would like to negotiate my monthly annuity."

Her throat seized and she covered the mouthpiece while she coughed to clear it. "Annuity? What annuity? I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I think you do, Mrs. Weston, and I think you will want to discuss this soon—and in person. Don't worry; I intend to be cautious and discrete. We wouldn't want anything compromising on the ah, record...would we? Shall we say nine-thirty this evening at the Bellville."

"I don't- I can't—" The line clicked dead and Moira slowly replaced the receiver, her fingers cramping from the strength of her grip.

The rap at her office door startled her and she looked up, fighting the panic that gripped her. The rap sounded again and she cleared throat and answered.

"Sorry to intrude, Mrs. Weston, there's a Mister Gil Petchorik in reception who says he needs to talk with you."

"Gil what? I don't know—"

"He says he's Mister Cathcart's lawyer."

Moira swallowed and felt her legs tremble. Of course Brian's lawyer would want to talk, the case was moving quickly through the system and the trial would be in a few short months. Why now, after that unsettling call? What had happened? One minute everything was roses, the next it was shit! She patted her hair and assembled a small smile. "Fine, Cindy, show him in an hold my calls for fifteen minutes."