Monopolies

By Claudia Ware

Widow Rachel Moore returns to the world of high finance where there are big winners and big losers only to find that within months of her return the securities industry is threatened by collapse. To make matters worse, a stalker has put Rachel's life and those of her children in danger. Will Rachel survive as the world of investments continues to plunge, and will the potential killer be found in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claudia Ware
• Release date: Apr 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301375318

Claudia Ware

Claudia believes she was born to write. Starting with a play at age eleven, she has progressed to short stories and novels. MONOPOLIES is Claudia's second novel. CLUES: THE MYSTERY AT RIDGE MANOR, published in 2010, was her first, and she has been encouraged to write a sequel. Claudia has won numerous awards for her short stories. She is Executive Director of A HEART FOR BROKEN WOMEN, and available to speak at conferences. Claudia has taught Psychology courses at several colleges. She and her husband live in Tennessee.

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MONOPOLIES

by Claudia Ware

Copyright 2012 Claudia Ware

Smashwords Edition

I dedicate this book to my very special Aunt, Gloria, who has been a source of inspiration. She has given me abundant encouragement, and she is my biggest fan.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Claudia Ware

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Rachel’s impatience grew as she stood in the deserted hallway pushing the call button for the elevator. It arrived and she entered. A well-dressed man followed her in and stood directly in front of her. Moving to the rear, and then facing forward, she stared at his back, as a feeling of uneasiness spread through her. Where did he come from and why was he here at such a late hour?

What floor? he asked as he stared straight ahead.

The Garage, she replied.

While the elevator descended to the parking garage, she tried to dismiss her anxiety. Perhaps the stranger could be a protective element. The doors swung open and he gestured for her to exit first. At least he has good manners. The garage was almost empty and except for the click of her heels on the cement silent. She glanced around. The man had disappeared. Her pounding heart quieted, as she felt less vulnerable. As she pressed the security lock of the silver-gray Lexus she had leased two weeks earlier, she heard, Don’t yell and you won’t get hurt. It was the voice from the elevator.

What do you want? I don’t carry much money, she managed to say with lips quivering.

Just get behind the wheel. I’ll tell you where to go.

The man opened the door and motioned for Rachel to get in. He walked around, opened the passenger door, and settled into the seat.

Keep your eyes straight ahead.

Please, I have children.

Do as I say. Start the car and drive toward the guard shack. Don’t do anything foolish and you’ll be alright.

Rachel obeyed his instructions. They approached the exit ramp and her hands shook violently as she fumbled for her wallet.

Act calm, he told her.

She pulled up to the barrier, lowered the car window, and handed the attendant a ten-dollar bill.

That will be five dollars, said the parking attendant.Out of ten? Five is your change. You have a nice night now.

Yes, thank you. Rachel laid the five in the console and inched the car forward, hopeful the attendant would see the terror in her eyes. He had turned back to watch the Yankees on the television and never noticed there was a problem. Rachel drove onto the street, past the Met Life building, a bright beacon in the darkness of the night. The sidewalks were full of people all on their way somewhere, each in a world of their own. Please notice something is wrong here.

Head towards Vine. Don’t get on the bridge, the man said in a monotone voice.

She obeyed his commands, but her hands trembled as she fought to maintain control of the wheel. She recalled movies where people had jumped out of moving cars. Was it worth the risk?

Where are we going? She already imagined the worst and wanted with all her heart to believe he would not hurt her. As they neared Vine and Ivy, the stranger told her, Turn left onto the interstate.

They were now heading north, the opposite direction of her home. Her fears escalated as the moments ticked by. This route had abundant wooded sections. The moon was a sliver in the sky. She had not done much praying in the past, but she began in silence to ask God for help. How long will Nikki, my sitter, wait before reporting me missing? Will I ever see Matt and Morgan again?

Thirty minutes later, her captor gave an abrupt command. Pull off the next exit.

It led to the outskirts of Oakdale, a small bedroom community.

See that McDonald’s?

She nodded.

Pull into the dark area around the back of the parking lot.

Rachel did as he asked. The man opened the door and got out, careful to turn his body away from her.

Forget you ever saw me and this will be the end of it. I know who you are and that you have children. If you report this I will make you sorry.

She considered the irony as he walked into the shadows leaving her drenched with sweat. She had not gotten a good look at him and doubted she could ever identify him. Should I scream for help? What would he do if I did? Will he keep his threat if I go to the police?

No, safer to leave, she decided as she backed out of the parking spot and turned the car towards the highway. Driving south, she reached for her cell phone to call Nikki. It was gone. The whole experience seemed bizarre, as though she were a puppet with someone else controlling her every action. Now set free, she fought to maintain composure and not collapse in a heap. She approached her exit and swung off, robot-like.

Her house stood ahead, a red brick Tudor with hunter green shutters. The shrubbery needed trimming and they cast eerie shadows across the lawn. A click of the remote and the garage door opened. She sat still for what seemed a long time. The man had not harmed her. He had only taken her cell phone, however he had forced her to drive him against her will. It all had happened so fast. She was both indignant and scared. Nikki cracked the door that led into the house and peeked out. I thought I heard you. Are you alright?

Rachel opened the car door and stepped out. Yes, a bit tired. It’s been one of those days. Kids okay?

Both asleep.

Give me a minute. Rachel walked inside. I need to make a quick phone call. She picked up the handset and began to dial the police. She put the receiver down before completing the call. How dumb of me to tell him I had children. She walked back to the family room. Does he really know who I am, or was it an idle threat? She needed time to think.

How much do I owe you, Nikki?

Sixteen even.

Keep the change, Rachel said handing her a twenty. Thanks again and I’m sorry I was a little later than I said I would be.

No problem, Nikki answered heading for the door. Night now.

Good night.

Rachel walked down the hall to Morgan’s bedroom. She quietly tiptoed into the room and leaned over her bed. The braids in Morgan’s dark brown hair had come loose, she had thrown the covers off, and Rachel pulled them up around her before giving her a kiss on the cheek. She did not move. When she entered Matt’s bedroom she found him wrapped around his pillow and when she kissed him, he stirred, What time is it?

Still nighttime. Sleep tight. Matt turned over and was sound asleep again.

Rachel took a quick shower and got into bed. Sleep did not come and she tossed and turned until daylight.

* * * * *

At daybreak, she remained undecided about the events of the last evening. In a technical sense, she guessed she had been kidnapped, although she was convinced the police would dismiss the incident since nothing else happened. It would probably be a waste of time, she reasoned; however, the encounter had distracted her enough that her first report, which was due the following morning, remained unedited. She knew first impressions were so important.

Rachel woke the kids, fed them breakfast, and watched from the window as they boarded the school bus. She searched the street for anything out of the ordinary. All seemed as usual. Dressed in a navy blue suit, pale blue silk blouse, pumps, and handbag to match, she set out for the office. She felt uneasy, as though her car were somehow contaminated. The Morris complex, where last night’s occurrence had taken place, came into view. Two police cars were in front. A chill went through her as she relived the details of the previous evening. She glanced down and saw the change from the garage still in the car’s console tray.

Traffic came to a standstill, no doubt the perennial fender-bender, and she found herself sitting across from the parking garage where the abduction took place. The honking horns, which she would normally block out, played on her nerves this morning. She reached over to call her secretary and realized she no longer had her cell phone. Of all the times to be late, she said, pulling into the parking lot. With minutes to spare, she hurriedly crossed the street and pushed on the glass entry door of her employer of four weeks. Tremmer and Tremmer, a conservative financial institution catered to high profile investors. Rachel caught herself in the foyer mirror, ran her fingers through her cropped blond hair, and fluffed the casual look that was popular this year.

Weren’t you at the Morris building last night? her secretary, Julie, asked as she walked toward her office.

Yes, why?

Someone got murdered.

Rachel’s mind raced. Was there a connection? Could she identify the man who had abducted her? She could recall he was about 6 feet tall, 180 pounds, or so, with brown hair. She had never looked directly at his face. That description was generic enough to fit many men, which brought her back to the dilemma of reporting the incident. No time for that right now.

Murdered? What is this world coming to? I left early so I guess I missed all the excitement. Rachel grabbed her folder and headed towards the conference room.

On the way, she diverted to the break room, poured a cup of coffee, and juggled it along with her report. As she set the cup on the table, the contents spilled over the side.

Here, let me give you a hand.

It was Doug Wilson. They had been introduced on her first day. Doug was attractive with deep blue eyes, dark wavy hair, and he was exceptionally personable. He had filled her in on the office dynamics before he left on a business trip. He had let her know Arlo Tremmer considered punctuality and being prepared as the eleventh and twelfth commandments. This was why she was nervous about her unedited assignment: an analysis of the portfolio of a prospective major client. If she landed the account, it would be a feather in her cap.

Good Wednesday morning, said Martin Taylor as he entered the conference room and plunked an open box of Danish on the sideboard. His garish tie brushed through the tops. I’ve been up all night baking, he quipped. Help yourself.

No thanks. I’m watching my weight, Rachel’sfaint smile looked more like a grimace. She had managed to get back into a size eight, a major achievement of willpower having fought and lost the fat battle most of her adult life. Martin Taylor, who went by M. T., was the comic relief of the office. The Far Side cartoons and other off beat collectibles decorated his desk and walls.

Lynn Sharp followed close behind. Hello, all. Nice day. Lynn was, in a word, striking: with spiky jet-black hair and a tall, slim figure. Her personality, Rachel had heard, matched her name—Sharp. The scuttlebutt was you did not cross Lynn. She could be brutally pointed. However, on the positive side, Lynn was bright, a walking encyclopedia, who always knew what was going on.

I heard that a man, an executive, from what I understand, got killed last night, inside the Morris building. Lynn shook her head. It seems you aren’t safe anywhere these days.

That explains the police cars I saw out front this morning. Any idea what time it happened? I was in that building for a meeting last night. Rachel feigned a detached tone of voice.

No, details yet, just the rumor mill. Did you see anything?

Not me. Rachel’s lips trembled as she spoke. I left early. With amazing clarity, she recalled the encounter at the elevator and her subsequent captivity. A connection?

Arlo Tremmer strode in the door. Ladies and gentlemen, I see we are all present. Please be seated.

Arlo was the junior Tremmer. His father, George, was seldom seen. Office gossip was that George handled the top five accounts personally and conducted most of his business on the golf course.

He leaned forward in his chair. I’d like to do a bit of brainstorming today. Last week we discussed the need to solve two problems: increasing revenue and company image. Our staunchest competitor, Stockmen Leeds, has underhandedly targeted several of our best accounts. Their focus is personal service. In other words, schmooze the client. We’ll need to up the ante to beat them at their own game. That’s one reason I brought Rachel on board. I know her capabilities. She’ll be an asset in the image department. Arlo shot a look of approval towards Rachel.Okay, down to business. I’ve asked each of you for a report. Doug, what do you have?

It’s my opinion that if we totally revamp our corporate image from starchy conservative and dependable to more aggressive and willing to take risk, we can add clientele without scaring away our meat and potato clients.

That’s a pretty dramatic change. How would you propose we go about accomplishing that, Doug? Arlo leaned forward.

It’s all in my report. Would you like me to highlight the key points?

No, I’d like to read the whole report and get back with you on any questions. Arlo turned his head.

Lynn?

You asked me for demographics of our client base. I’ve put it all in a PowerPoint format. It will be easier to digest. A smug smile spread across her face.

That’s what I like—initiative—going beyond the assignment. Let’s see what you have.

She pushed the button and a screen rose from the interior of the conference table. With confidence, she explained the graphics. Ten percent of our client base is in for the long haul. They are the most valuable part of our company—our Crown Jewels. I would say they are solid accounts, having been with the firm since the onset. Thirty-five percent are flexible. With steady results, they will remain clients. The remaining fifty-five percent are those who may panic with any downturn in the market. They need constant reassurance. For the next ten minutes, self-assured Lynn used charts and graphs to deliver the information in a concise, well-rehearsed presentation.

Well done, Lynn. How about you, M.T.? I asked you to run stats on current accounts, and future projections based on an increased client base of five percent.

I have it all here. He passed his folder to Arlo. It’s rather dry, but I can put it into a slide…

No, no, just give me the report, Arlo said, a slight irritation in his voice. That brings me to Rachel. I realize you’ve only had one week. If you need more time, I understand.

Rachel drew in a deep breath. I can do this.Actually, I’ve completed my report. I expect to sign Stickly on; I should have his authorization by the end of the month. We have one more meeting scheduled. I’ve identified four other targets. That should bring us close to the five percent.

Time frame?

Third quarter.

A look of admiration spread across Arlo’s face.

Rachel sat back. Her eyes connected with Lynn’s whose thunder had obviously been stolen. She did not like taking second place, and she glowered as she ran her tongue across her scarlet lips.

I knew you were right for the firm, Arlo said. I’m impressed. Questions anyone?

No one spoke.

"Okay, then, I’ll read the reports