Cole
I love a good screwdriver. Mitchell found this bar down on forty ninth a couple of weeks back that makes some of the best ones I've ever tasted. They're mixed just right, not watered down. The place makes their own brand of vodka too, in house. Goes down real smooth. The women tending bar are easy on the eyes too, a much needed break after a long day at the office.395Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuPlDwl7m6V
I'd give anything to be going there tonight. Actually, I'd choose any other activity.
The screwdrivers have been keeping my head together this morning. This is number four but my stewardess, Claire, doesn't ask questions. She smiles and asks me if she can get me anything else each time she serves me another one.
This is the way people treat you when you have money. If I were sitting in coach on a commercial liner they would have cut me off long ago. This flight is private and the check Claire collects comes directly from my pocket, entitling me to do whatever I wish. I wasn't raised in such luxuries. We were dirt poor, actually. It's made the lavish lifestyle my money affords me difficult to accept. I find myself taking a step back at times to remember where I came from. It only makes me want to push harder to leave my past behind.
I was doing okay for awhile. The memories of my childhood hadn't plagued me in years. Then it all came crashing down on me at once.
I haven't recovered. The full impact of the situation hasn't hit me yet, because I haven't allowed it to.
That time is coming.
I've never been so exhausted. That's incredible since my work days span anywhere from ten to fourteen hours a day. I planned on napping during this flight. One text from the office about a mandatory phone conference threw that plan out the window.
I put my earpiece in and dial into the conference once Claire places a fresh cocktail in front of me. Disregarding the text would be foolish, because my boss doesn't play around when it comes to his meetings. You're either at the meeting, on the phone, or you're fired.
"Cole, you on?"
I perk up at the sound of Mitchell's voice and shift my focus from the current situation so I can concentrate on business again.
"I'm here, Mitch," I huff, rubbing my face as if it will make the exhaustion less intense.
"Great, Dennis is here too," he tells me.
"Hey man," Dennis chimes in. "Sorry about all this. We wanted to send flowers but Cheryl said you were taking donations for a couple of charities, so we did that instead."
I breathe in through my nose and swallow. "Thanks."
A beeping sound comes over the line, signaling that someone else has just dialed into our conference.
"Is Cole on?"
My father's voice is rugged this morning.
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I hear a snicker in the background that no doubt belongs to Mitchell.
"I'm right here," I sigh.
"Good. Let's start. I'd like to discuss Macquarie," he says. "We have about two months left until the sit down. Cole's on the road for this. I need the rest of you to focus on prep for his meeting. Mitchell, where are we on the contract?"
My father means business. The last time I heard him this agitated someone got fired.
I hope it's not going to be me. Then again, I doubt my mother would allow it.
Mitchell clears his throat. "Cole and I were ironing out the final details last week. Personally, I think this guy is going to love what we want to bring to the table."
I can picture Mitch sitting in his office, turning circles in the executive chair with a pen in his mouth trying to come up with the right thing to say so my reputation won't be trashed more than it is. He's not only my brother, he's my best friend. The one who gets me completely.
"Is this something I can possibly see?" My father asks. "Cole, where are you on this?"
My whole body hurts. It's a rugged ache that reaches deep down inside of me. I've felt like this for almost a week. I'm also running on two hours of sleep, total, but it hasn't deterred me from my focus. I can't lose this opportunity. I've worked too hard.
"I have it in my hands right now," I say. "I've been making some adjustments, but it will be on your desk first thing Monday for your review."
"Are you certain you'll be back to the office by then?"
My father is nervous. I can't blame him. The whole deal is up in the air right now, and this delay is my fault.
Distractions. Fucking distractions. The timing of this couldn't be any worse.
I attempt to answer but my chest grows tight and it's hard to breathe. I start coughing and wheezing into my hand, just like this morning.
I pull my hand away from my mouth, glancing at my palm when I feel the wetness there. I see bright red liquid spattered against the skin and feel the color drain from my face. When I lick my lips that coppery metallic taste of blood is present as ever and my heart begins to race.
This has never happened before.
"Cole are you still with us?" My father says, patience wearing thin in his voice.
"Yes, I'm here," I gasp out.
I glance at Claire and wave. Her eyes widen as she notices the problem but nothing is said to me as I'm handed a few wet naps and some cloth hand towels. I do my best to clean up, push the incident out of mind.
I'm shaking.
"I'm not sure I can count on you to be back here by Monday, Cole. I think I need to pass this off to you Dennis," he says.
"The Macquarie deal?" Dennis asks.
Dennis is great, but closing mergers isn't his strong point. He's a great negotiator and has found the firm some of our most profitable clients, but he stutters when he gets nervous and tells bad jokes.
Jesus Christ.
"He'll be back Monday," Mitch speaks up. "Cole's good for this. He's the only one that can do it, Jack. Come on, you know that."
I owe him a huge favor.
"I wasn't speaking to you Mitchell," My father grunts. "Cole you understand my point don't you? I need some sense of security right now."
In all the years I've worked for him, my father has never spoken to me like this. Right now, he's not confident in my performance. Failure is a strange feeling for me. It's not something that exists in my world. I never settle until I get what I want, and right now I want my career back on track.
I've been at war with myself about whether or not I should follow through with my promises since I received the news. Mostly, I wanted to turn my back on the situation and refocus on my career. After all, this isn't my burden to carry. I'm on the brink of a promotion and too busy to take on the responsibility. Every time I picked up the phone to make the call, something stopped me. My chest began to tighten; it was hard to swallow, to breathe. Then the coughing would start again. It became physically impossible to follow through with it.
I'm angry. I've been this way for days on top of being sick and just--fucking tired. My life and career are at a standstill, and there's nothing I can do about it.
I'm helpless. I'm afraid.
I'm lost.
There are no handholds to grab onto. I'm slipping emotionally. I'm about to lose my composure, like last night.
I refuse to do it again. Those emotions will stay locked deep inside. Strong and unemotional, those are the qualities that have helped me to survive and build a life for myself.
"I need two days out of town, maximum," I say. "It will seem like I was never gone. Please--just give me this time."
My father sighs harshly but doesn't protest. It means he's decided to forgo giving my project away.
I let out a long breath.
"Can you fax what you have completed in the meantime, Cole?" He asks. "I need something today."
"I can send the first part of the contract as soon as I land and get to a fax. You'll have it in a few hours."
"Great." His response is followed by another harsh sigh. "We'll reconvene on Monday, 7 AM. Mitchell you'll keep Cole updated via phone, text, and email until then."
"Will do," Mitchell responds.
"By the way Cole," My father continues. "If this merger falls apart you'll have to understand my position on the partnership."
I wince and rub my face with my hands. The pounding headache I woke up with returns, and I rub my temples to remedy it. That only seems to help the pain grow more intense, and I have to hold my breath to keep from letting my emotions out over the phone.
"I'm not going to let that happen," I manage. "You have my word on that. I wouldn't have to be out of the office at all if it weren't for—"
"I know," He sighs. "I hate to be so hard on you about this. You're under a lot of pressure right now. I have complete confidence that you'll pick up where you left off. You've never let me down before."
I'm sweating.
"Yes sir."
"Take care of yourself."
"I'll call you with an update later, Cole," Mitchell says.
The conference clicks off. I pull my bluetooth out of my ear and my head hits the back of the seat. The bile slides back up my throat as my gut twists and turns. I force it down and close my eyes, managing to doze for the duration the the flight. Once the plane begins its descent Claire taps my shoulder and reminds me to put my seatbelt on.
I do it and have her bring another drink.
When we land I waste no time. The driver greets me as I enter the terminal and doesn't hesitate to take my bags. We get to the limousine within ten minutes and I grumble an order at him to find a store with a fax machine as quickly as possible.
I settle back against the leather seat when we get onto the open road, running a hand through my hair and down the back of my neck. I'm half drunk but still able to focus. My hair has turned back into an unkempt mess, making the time I spent grooming it before the flight a complete waste. I suppose it made me feel more like myself though. There hasn't been time to groom myself to the normal standard since I received the news that forced me to take this trip. My life has been a tangle of phone calls, paperwork, phone conferences, and work obligations ever since.
I've been getting mixed up. On Monday I called a business client in place of the cremation people and began discussing arrangements. My father ended up getting a phone call about it. I don't think he had ever been that angry with me before. My emotions were on edge that day. I was never so unhinged before and my weakness disappointed me.
The decision I made to travel to Indiana wasn't a choice; it was an obligation. As much as I've been advised otherwise by my family, I know that I have to do this, even though I've been dreading dealing with the situation in person since I received the news. To say that I was completely unprepared is an understatement. Before this, my biological mother hadn't crossed my mind in years. She didn't matter to me once they took me away from her.
I made my life what it is on my own.
********
One week ago
After a weekend filled with women, booze and various parties around Manhattan the last thing I want to do is sit in a Monday run through. My headache worsens as I attempt to focus on the laptop screen, my fingers pounding the keys furiously in order to keep up with Jack's feverish pace. I'm about to be called on for my beginning of the week statement, there's no doubt about that, and if I'm unprepared it's the only subject I'll hear about for the rest of the week.
Jack Donner has taken a chance on me. A year ago he put me in a position that makes me his number two. He thinks I'm the next generation, the one that will take over this company in ten years and allow him to retire. It's what I strive for, but I also like to break away from it with a few drinks on the weekends. He doesn't approve. He feels I should be putting in more overtime on the weekends, keep winning, keep overachieving.
Mitch says he's trying to get me on the same power trip he's been on our whole lives.
I don't like to get in the middle of their relationship issues. I try to do the best job I can so he'll be proud of the decision he made.
I owe him and his family everything
A knock comes at the pane glass door. Myself, along with everyone in the conference room turn to acknowledge the sound. I see my assistant standing there, terrified. She knows better than to interrupt me. I'm not that strict with her. She does an amazing job for me and knows the only stipulation I have is that there are to be no interruptions during Jack's Monday run through. Needless to say, I could fire her for this.
Jack glances at me, his expression filled with questions like 'don't you train your help?'
I do.
So why is she here? The answer to that question is making me more nervous than anything else. Out of the corner of my eye I see Mitchell's gaze. His wide eyed stare proves he has no idea why my assistant would step this far out of line.
Cheryl pushes the door open, slightly breathless. "I'm so sorry to interrupt—"
"Miss Kline, for your sake I hope this is an emergency." Jack growls.
She takes a deep breath and focuses her attention on me. "Cole, there's a police detective in your office. Detective Garrison? I asked if he could come back later this afternoon, but he said that he needs to speak with you right away. I—I didn't know—"
I hold a hand up to silence her, partially to keep her from embarrassing herself and also because I have no idea why a police detective would need to speak with me about anything.
"Did he say what he needs, Cheryl?"
"He said it was a personal family matter, but wouldn't get into specifics."
Cheryl is shocked, but that's to be expected. As far as she is concerned my father is Jack Donner and his wife, Cynthia, is my mother. Most people don't know about my past. I have bitter feelings about most of those years and make it a point to focus my mind elsewhere. It's no secret I'm a workaholic. My days at the office are never ending. Often, I bring my projects home and work late into the night. During vacations I bring my work computer with me and take conference calls when I should be enjoying myself. All of this is so Jack will be pleased with me. That's my life.
I rise from the executive chair and button my blazer. "Thanks Cheryl, tell him I'll be up to meet him in a few minutes. Jack, will you excuse me? Mitchell can partner with me later on whatever I miss."
The entire staff stares at me in disbelief. I've never walked out of a meeting before. People have been fired for less. I'm not just anyone though and I'm counting on that to save me.
"Hallway. Now." My father gives me a stern gaze before storming out of the conference room.
I take one final glance back at Mitch. He looks bewildered and shrugs at me, clueless. I take a deep breath in and out before stepping out of the conference room and into the hallway. Jack is pacing. This isn't good.
"Didn't I tell you that partying on the weekends with your brother would get you into trouble?" He stops in front of me and stares intimidatingly into my eyes.
"Nothing happened. We went to a club, had some drinks, and crashed at my place around 2," I say.
"Don't defend him. What did he do this time?"
"Mitchell didn't do anything. If he had, don't you think this guy would be asking for him instead of me?"
Jack considers what I've said for a few moments. One of his biggest problems is he doesn't trust Mitchell, and he has his reasons. My mom is generally the mediator between them, but she's not here right now.
"So what could a police detective want with you?"
"I don't know, Dad."
"Do you think something is going on here internally?"
"I don't see how. Nothing gets by me, you know that. Besides, Cheryl said this is a family matter. Obviously it's not about the office."
He takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales, hands on his waist as he looks down at the floor, collecting his thoughts. Then he looks back up at me. "Fine. Find out what's going on. I want you to come to my office and wait for me there as soon as he's gone."
"Yes, sir."
Jack glares at me suspiciously before throwing the glass door open and walking back into the conference. I see him get straight back to business without hesitation and that means I've been dismissed.
I get in the elevator, wiping my sweating palms against my trousers as I wait for the doors to open. A million thoughts of what this could be about race through my mind. I'm not prepared to deal with all of this on a Monday, but just like I would if I had an emergency financial meeting with a client, I get myself together quickly. I stop in the hallway once I get off the elevator, go into the men's room. I splash water on my face in an attempt to look less hungover, straighten my tie and comb my hair down some more with my fingers.
I nod at myself in the mirror. I can do this. I can face this. I can face anything.
I blink and the memories grab hold, paralyzing me. Me at 7 years old. Her begging them not to take me away. Me, screaming in terror, reaching out for her....
My sudden coughing forces me out of the memory. I take deep, slow breaths, clutch my chest, my throat burns and chest aches from all the coughing.
Something is wrong. I'm definitely sick but refuse to acknowledge it with anyone. I don't know if that makes me ignorant or just dumb. My sister, Caroline, is a resident in the cardiology ward at NYU Hospital. If she knew I've been keeping something like this from the family she'd probably disown me. Lately she's been trying to pry, telling me I look tired, asking me the last time I made a doctors appointment for myself.
She's always been too smart for her own good.
Cheryl is at her desk when I enter my office.
"Sir I—"
"You're not in any trouble, you didn't have a choice," I reassure her. "I need those analytics by noon."
"Yes, sir." She focuses back on her computer screen.
I open the door that leads to the inner part of my office and walk inside, closing the door behind me. The detective comes into view immediately, sitting in front of my desk.
"Detective Garrison?"
The detective stands up and turns to face me. A mid forty something, the thought wrinkles on his forehead and the bags under his eyes prove he's been doing this for too long. "Mr. Donner, good morning."
"You can call me Cole." I step forward and give him a professional handshake along with a polite smile. "What's going on?"
"Let's have a seat."
I half nod, keeping my gaze on him as I take a seat behind my desk. The detective resumes his place in the chair in front of me and slides forward, folding his hands on top of the desk.
"Im sorry to burst in on you like this. I'm with the NYPD, but we've been working with the Auburn Police Department on this case."
"As in, Indiana?"
He nods. "My captain wanted me to come and confirm if you're the person we've been looking for." He pauses and pulls a manilla folder out of his briefcase and onto the desk, opening it up to reveal a photograph. "Do you recognize this woman?"
I stare down at the picture. There's no question that it's Whitney. She's pale, her lips are blue, her face is infested with craters from all the drugs she's taken. Her eyes are closed.
"She's dead." I don't look up at him. A sort of numbness permeates from my chest and travels down to the tips of my toes. I guess I'm in shock?
I'm not sure how to absorb this.
"Whitney Bauer. That's your mother?"
This time I look at him, hard, right in the eyes. "Biologically. Other than that, no."
He nods and closes the folder. "She overdosed, apparently. Last week. They found her in the street. It took us awhile to locate you. When juvenile records are sealed and an adoption has taken—"
"Just tell me what you want," I grunt. "I'm not exactly focused on my past anymore. If this is about funeral expenses I'll take care of it, but I want to pay as little as possible. I'll have my assistant arrange a cremation for her."
A look of understanding takes over his expression. "We wanted to find out if there were any remaining next of kin and your name came up. There are two minors involved and Auburn wanted to see if you'd be interested in discussing custody arrangements."
"Minors?"
"Whitney had two other boys." He pulls another piece of paper out and begins to read off of it. "Austin Michael Bauer, twelve and Davey Alec Bauer, six . Austin has been in the foster care system for some time, but Davey has only been in about a year. At the moment, Austin is in juvenile detention, but Davey has been placed in the same home about four months now."
It takes me a moment to absorb the information. I suddenly feel winded, a stabbing pain pokes me in the gut. I have no doubt that these two kids have been through the same kind of things that I went through as a child. Maybe worse.
"Why juvie?" I finally say.
"Austin stole a car last month. He ended up crashing into a telephone pole and the car was totaled. They found liquor in the car. He was so intoxicated that he couldn't talk to the police for two days. Thankfully, no one was critically injured."
"You can't be serious. He's twelve years old."
"He's tall enough to reach the steering wheel and gas pedal and isn't afraid to get behind the wheel," he chuckles. "It says here that he's been in and out of detention since he was ten years old. There's citations for underage drinking, marijuana use, petty theft, even minor assault charges. It's been difficult for most foster families to handle him so he's been bounced around a lot."
I raise a brow. "How long is he in for?"
"It's a two year sentence but you can work something out with the DA and social services if you decide to take him in. They may release him into your custody under a probation stipulation."
"Wait a second. Take him in as—here? Home with me?"
"Right. We're asking if you'd be willing to become the legal guardian of both the boys so they won't have to be separated any longer."
I lean back in the chair and let out a breath. "Two kids? There's no way. I work sixty hours a week. I'm never home."
"I've been doing my research. It seems you may have the means to provide care for them despite your work schedule."
I frown. "Look. If it's money you want I'll set up a trust for them. When they turn eighteen—"
"They have no one else. Without you they'll become wards of the state. Statistics. You're their last chance."
I can't answer him, can't look at him. I lean over the desk and bury my face in my hands.
I know all too well what those statistics are. I know how they'll grow up and what will be waiting for them when they come of age.
It's the same thing that would have been waiting for me.
Nothing.
"I know we can't force you into this," he continues. "I was going to suggest a visit down to Indiana to meet the boys and speak with their caseworkers before you make a final decision."
I lean forward and fold my hands on top of the desk, looking down at the glossy black marble as I try to comprehend the wild idea of raising two kids by myself. I should tell him to leave, that I want nothing to do with it, that I have my own life and refuse to take on what Whitney irresponsibly left behind.
"Cole?'
I sigh and look up at him. "How soon do you need me to fly down?"
What the hell am I doing? I'm no parent of the year. I'm not a PTA volunteer coach kind of guy.
I don't ever plan to be.
So why am I caving? Mitchell will tell me my mind is shot. Dad will tell me I'm endangering my career and my future. Mom won't believe I can have the career that I do with the burden of kids, but she'll stand by my choice. And Caroline? Well, she'll be the one to tell me I'm making the right choice and that she'll help me however she can.
Half brother or not, I'm all they have left. I'm not the most compassionate person but I've been through enough in my life to know they need family by their side right now, not social workers, foster parents or correctional officers.
I wish I knew what to expect. The uncertainty scares me more than anything else.
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