A Winter Dream Page 3

  “That thing’s a monstrosity,” my mother said. “What was the artist trying to say?”

  “Maybe he was just trying to get attention,” my father said. “Like an adman. If so, he succeeded.”

  “There’s more to life than attention,” my mother said.

  “You would know, sweetheart,” my father said. “You would know.”

  My mother was the constant recipient of male attention, something that both flattered and frightened my father.

  I sided my Honda Pilot up to the Delta terminal’s curb and put it in park. My father climbed out first, signaling a skycap over to the car. A meaty, mustached fellow quickly obliged. “May I help you with your bags, sir?”

  “Yes,” my father said. “We have two bags to check.”

  “How many are traveling?”

  “Two of us.”

  “May I have your IDs, please?”

  My father handed him his license, then turned back to my mother. “Rachel.”

  “Sorry,” she said. She got her license out of her purse and handed it to the skycap, who took the licenses over to his counter. A minute later the man returned with luggage tags and two boarding passes. “Two tickets to sunny Phoenix,” he said. “I was just there last week. You and your daughter are going to love it.”

  “She’s my wife,” my father said.

  “There goes the tip,” the man said, but, obviously a pro at his job, added, “Well done, sir.”

  My father grinned. It wasn’t the first time the mistake had been made. It wouldn’t be the last. While my father was rifling through his wallet for a tip, my mother leaned forward and hugged me. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I said. “Have a good time.”

  “We will.” She looked at me for a moment, then said, “I know last night was hard. But take it in the spirit it was intended. He means well.”

  “Okay.”

  “Take care of Ben.”

  “I always do,” I said.

  My dad walked up to us. “Here you go,” he said to my mother, handing her back her license. “Let’s go.”

  “Have a good time,” I said.

  “Of course we will. And you keep busy.”

  “Of course we will,” I said.

  He gripped my shoulder. “See you soon, son.” Then he put his arm around my mother and the two of them walked into the terminal. I climbed back into my car to drive home and get some sleep.

  Sunday was a day of rest, which I was grateful for. Around six o’clock I met up with Ashley for dinner at her parents’ house. It was a quiet evening that ended with our making homemade ice cream and watching 60 Minutes with her father, who fell asleep during the last segment.

  Monday morning we had our usual nine o’clock staff meeting. Thankfully, none of the brothers said anything to me about the party. Not that they had forgotten—I was sure they hadn’t. We were just busy. With my father gone, we were all loaded down with as much work as we could handle. In addition to the typical maintenance our accounts required, like printing and media purchases and placement, we also had the entire Murdock campaign to produce. I was glad to focus on my work.

  The following Tuesday afternoon I was in my zone, writing radio scripts for the Pack Your Bags campaign, when Simon buzzed me in my office, interrupting my concentration. “We need to see you in the conference room.”

  “I’m in the middle of writing,” I said.

  “We can’t wait,” he said sternly and hung up.

  We? I hated being interrupted in the middle of my writing, but with all the tension in the office I wasn’t about to fight him on this. I got up and walked to the conference room.

  I was surprised to find the room filled with all of my brothers; Rupert, Simon, Levi, Judd, Dan, Nate, Gage, Ashton, Isaac, Zach and Ben.

  Everyone wore grim expressions. All of the tension in the room seemed focused on Ben, whose eyes were red and puffy.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  For a moment no one spoke, then Rupert leaned forward, knitting his fingers together. “We have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” I asked.

  “Actually, Ben has a problem,” Judd said.

  I looked at Ben. “What’s going on?”

  Ben was unable to speak.

  “I’ll help him out,” Simon said. He glared at Ben. “Ben embezzled from the agency.”

  It took a moment for the words to settle. I looked at Ben in disbelief. “You what?”

  “I was going to pay it back,” Ben said softly.

  Ben worked in the firm’s accounting department along with Dan and Judd.

  “Six months ago,” Rupert said, “Ben secretly transferred a significant sum of money to his bank account. Dan caught it.”

  “Transferred?”

  “He stole it,” Judd said.

  I looked at Ben. “How much did you take?”

  He looked at me through tear-filled eyes. “Thirty-six thousand.”

  “Thirty-six thousand?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said.

  Rupert slowly shook his head. “Four years ago we could have just swept this under the rug and let Dad discipline him.”

  “Not that he would,” Simon interjected.

  Rupert looked at him, then continued. “But that’s four years ago. Today we’re a publicly traded company. We’re going to have to act on this.”

  “Act?” I said. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re going to prosecute him,” Simon said.

  I looked around at them in astonishment. “You can’t prosecute your own brother. They’ll send him to prison. He’s family.” They were unmoved by my plea. “He’s your brother.”

  “Our brother stole from us,” Dan said.

  “He’s your brother,” Gage said.

  “You can’t send him to prison,” I repeated.

  “What would you have us do?” Rupert asked.

  I looked at them. As much as they had always disliked Ben and me (“Rachel’s spawn,” they secretly called us), they had pretty much left Ben alone, which I had always assumed was because Ben didn’t receive as much attention from Dad as I did.

  “How much of the money do you have left?” I asked Ben.

  He grimaced. “None.”

  “What did you do with that much money?” I said.

  “Little Benny has a gambling problem,” Simon said.

  I just stared at Ben for a moment, then I took a deep breath. “I can get the money.” I had some and I knew my mother would help, which, indirectly, meant my father would be helping pay back the money stolen from his own company.

  “It’s not that simple,” Simon said. “A crime has been committed. You want us to just cover it up?”

  “You’ll have the money,” I said. “No harm, no foul.”

  “No harm?” Levi said. Up to that point he had been sitting back with his arms crossed at his chest. “Really, that’s your answer? Benny put us all at risk. He risked our agency’s reputation and especially Dad’s. Had he not been caught by one of us, he would have been caught by the auditors, then it would have hit the fan. Rupert probably would have been fired and we all would have been guilty by association.” He looked spitefully at Ben. “He needs to be punished.”

  Ben looked even more terrified.

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” I said.

  The room fell silent and I noticed that several of the brothers looked toward Simon. After a half-minute or so, Simon said, “There might be a deal to be made.”

  Simon glanced over at Rupert, who was looking more upset than the others. “Ben, leave the room,” Rupert said.

  Ben looked up, his eyes darting back and forth between his accusers.

  “Go,” Simon said. “The men need to talk.”

  He glanced at me fearfully as he walked out. Gage shut the door behind him.

  Rupert said, “Before we called you and Ben in, we took a vote. Nine voted to turn Ben in to the authorities. But Simon had an idea.”
He gestured to Simon. “Simon . . .”

  Simon turned to me with thinly veiled hostility. “Here’s the deal, brother. Someone’s got to pay. You want Ben saved—you pay the price. You quit the firm, move out of town, we’ll sweep this under the rug and little Ben keeps his freedom.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. Then the others. They all wore the same grim expression. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Dead serious,” Judd said.

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “I have a contact with an agency in Chicago,” Simon said. “They’ve agreed to give you a shot.”

  “You already found me a job? Premature, aren’t you?”

  “You tell us,” Simon said.

  I didn’t know how to answer. After a moment I asked, “What about Dad?”

  “We’ll take care of Dad,” Dan said. “The deal is, you’re not allowed to speak to him or your mother.”

  Simon said, “We’ll tell Dad that you wanted to spread your wings and took a job with a big-city firm.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  Simon shook his head. “We make the call, little Ben goes to jail. Who knows, the judge might be lenient. Maybe he’ll just get a few years in a medium-security facility. Not too bad for what he did, except you know how fragile little Benny is. I give him a fifty-percent chance of surviving prison. But even if he does, he’s a man with a record.”

  Ben would never survive prison. He used to melt down every year at summer camp. My mother had to drive up and bring him home.

  “Your choice,” Dan said. “You go to Chicago or Ben goes to prison. Either way works for us.”

  “So this is your play to get rid of me,” I said.

  “Why would we want to do that?” Simon said. “. . . Dreamer.” He lifted a paper. “I have your resignation conveniently typed up. It just needs your signature.”

  I looked at him coldly. He had me and he knew it.

  “What’s the company?” I asked.

  “The famed Leo Burnett,” he said. “You can thank me later. Who knows, you might even make something of yourself.”

  “When do I have to leave?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon before Dad and Rachel get back,” Simon said. “We’ll book the flight. No phone calls, no goodbyes. If Dad finds out what happened, the deal’s off.”

  “If Dad finds out, he won’t press charges,” I said.

  “When the stockholders find out, he’ll have to.”

  “You really think they’ll believe I just took off for a new life without speaking to them?”

  “They’ll believe it when you do it,” Gage said.

  He had a point. “What about Ashley? Is she just supposed to pick up her life and leave as well?”

  Dan said, “If she loves you, she’ll follow you. If she doesn’t, then we’ve done you a favor.”

  “What do I tell her?”

  “Nothing,” Simon said. “If you’re smart.”

  “Tell her you found a better offer,” Judd said.

  I looked back down at the paper. “Who do I talk to at this agency?”

  “The creative director is Peter Potts,” Simon said. “But my friend’s name is Timothy. He’s the one who got you in.”

  “I need time to find a place to live.”

  “We found you a place,” Dan said. “It’s close to work.”

  “You had this all planned out,” I said.

  “Consider it a courtesy. All you have to do is sign the resignation.”

  I looked at Rupert. I had always admired him. When I was young, he and his wife would sometimes tend Ben and me while my parents went out. We always had a good time. I thought that he, of all the brothers, would not go along.

  “This is what you want?” I asked.

  He looked pained but nodded.

  My heart ached even more.

  “Don’t forget,” Levi said, looking at Simon. “He can’t take Dad’s coat.”

  “That’s right,” Simon said. “That’s part of the deal. The coat stays.”

  “It would be an insult,” I said.

  “Benny’s rip-off is an insult,” Judd said.

  “The coat stays,” Simon said. “No discussion.” He handed me a pen. “Sign.”

  After years of envy and resentment the brothers finally had their revenge. As I hovered over the paper, I realized that there really was no other choice.

  I signed my instrument of surrender.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  Someone has grabbed the wheel of my life and steered me over a cliff.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  As I walked out of the conference room, Ben was leaning against a desk, waiting for me. He looked as anxious and eager as a defendant awaiting the jury’s verdict.

  He stood. “What’s going to happen?”

  “They’re not going to turn you in,” I said.

  He looked as puzzled as he was relieved. “They’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I made a deal,” I said.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “The kind I can’t tell you about.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I do, the deal’s off. So don’t ask, unless you want to go to prison. Understand?”

  He just looked at me blankly.

  I exhaled. “I won’t be around for a while.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I stopped outside my office. “I said, don’t ask. Ever.”

  He was silent a moment then said, “What have you done?”

  “What had to be done. I made a deal with the devil. Devils.”

  “You can’t take the hit for me.”

  “I already have. Now do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” he said.

  I looked him in the eyes. “Grow up.”

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  The greatest falls—of towers and hearts—happen when beliefs are built upon assumptions.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  I felt like I had stepped out of that conference room into a Salvador Dalí painting. Time was bent. Everything was surreal.

  I got a box from the supply closet, then went to my office and packed my things. There was no point in finishing the copy I was writing. There was no point in finishing anything. I was finished.

  As I cleared out my desk, Rupert’s secretary, Grace, delivered an envelope with my flight information, apartment lease and a severance check for three thousand dollars, presumably to help me get started. I noticed that the check was signed by Rupert, not Dan, as my paychecks were. I guessed he probably did this on his own to lessen my troubles. Or soften his guilt.

  On my way out of the office I gave my sister, Diane, my office key. She was understandably confused.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Ask Simon,” I said. “He’ll be happy to tell you.”

  My flight was scheduled for the next day. I drove to my apartment and packed everything I could carry in two suitcases.

  There were far more details than I had time to resolve. I’d have to leave my apartment for Ben to rent out. Actually, he could just move into my apartment. He was looking for a new place and had always liked mine. He could also take my gym membership. He’d have to sell my car.

  As I was making out my list, my cell phone chirped, signaling that the battery was nearly dead. I plugged in the charger, then realized the futility. I would have to get rid of it anyway. It was either that or forever ignore my mother and father’s calls. I might as well have been planning my own funeral. In a way I was. Life, as I knew it, was over.

  I finished packing my bags, then drove to Ashley’s apartment for dinner. The entire drive, I puzzled over one question: How would I tell Ashley?

  I had been with Ashley longer than any girlfriend I’d ever had. We’d met three years earlier at a photo shoot for a brochure I’d written. At the time, she worked as a receptionist for Uphill Down, a ski parka produ
cer and client of ours. She was strikingly beautiful, so I wasn’t surprised when the president of the company asked her if she’d like to model some of their coats for their winter catalog.

  The first time I saw her, she was wearing an all-white ski parka with matching snow pants and a white fox fur hat, all sharply in contrast to her onyx black hair, Windex blue eyes and bright, cherry red lipstick. Seeing her was practically a religious experience. The heavens parted and angels sang. It was love at first sight.

  Ashley was born in Colorado and had lived in the Denver suburb of Thornton her entire life. She had graduated from CU in newspaper journalism. Unfortunately, Colorado’s newspapers were faring about as well as the rest of the country’s paper journals, and with the fall of one of Colorado’s biggest newspapers, the 150-year-old Pulitzer-winning Rocky Mountain News, she ended up first working as a waitress at an Olive Garden, then receptionist, then model. She wouldn’t be eager to move. A year earlier when I suggested she could pursue her dream of a journalism career if she applied to jobs outside of Colorado, her response was simply, “That’s not going to happen.” Now I had to tell her we were moving.

  I knew Ashley well enough to know that I couldn’t tell her the real reason we had to move. She’d never understand.

  And she was headstrong. I knew what she’d do with the real story—she’d go straight to my father. I had no doubt about this. Ben wasn’t a favorite of hers. She believed that he was coddled by my parents, and more than once she had expressed her opinion that he needed to suffer the consequence of his actions. I doubted that she would sacrifice living in Colorado for him.

  I wasn’t even sure that she could. She was one of those people who held to justice like a life ring. It’s not that she wasn’t merciful. It’s just that her need for justice was a whole lot stronger than her desire for mercy.

  On the way to her apartment I stopped to pick up some wine for dinner. We were going to need it. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. She had even made one of my favorite dishes, spaghetti carbonara. I had been looking forward to the evening since Friday. Now I wished it were over.