CHAPTER THREE
Lydia
"Morning, Carl," I said, breezing through the doors of De Havilland Enterprises, removing the coffee, two sugars, no cream, from the drink holder and placing it on the front security desk.
"Morning, Lydia. Have I told you lately that I love you?"
I laughed, kissing him quickly on his grizzled cheek and heading toward the elevator bank. "Every morning, Carl. And I'll still never get tired of hearing it." I grinned at him and stepped into an elevator as it dinged open in front of me. Balancing the other three coffees in the drink holder, I switched my briefcase to my other hand and pushed the button to the upper floor.
I'd woken up this morning with a hopefulness I hadn't felt in months, a certainty that everything was going to be okay. I had a meeting with my brother at nine, and we were going to go over the quarterly reports. We'd recently won several large construction bids, and there was every reason to believe we'd win several more. Based on the numbers that came in this morning, we'd come up with a plan and even if I had to cut my own salary in half—again—we were going to get back into the black, so help me God.
Going with the when you look good you feel good philosophy, I'd put on one of my prettiest work outfits, an elegant, fitted sapphire wrap dress and nude heels and spent extra time on my hair and makeup.
Stepping out of the elevator, I greeted Charlene, Stuart's secretary, and placed a coffee in front of her. She was on the phone but mouthed thank you to me. I winked and used my shoulder to open the door of the conference room, walking inside and setting all my things down on the edge of the large mahogany table.
Once I'd gotten all my things situated, I peeked my head out the door. "Hey Charlene, has Dave in financials dropped the reports off yet?"
"There wasn't anything on my desk this morning. Do you want me to call down?"
"No, that's okay. I'll wait until Stuart gets in." I called his cell, but it went straight to voicemail, and so I drank my coffee in the conference room, going over a few emails on my laptop. When Stuart still hadn't arrived forty-five minutes later, I put my things away and headed down to my office, asking Charlene to let me know when he got in. Why did I have the sinking feeling my brother was at home in bed, nursing a hangover as he so often was on Monday mornings these days? I sighed, the hopeful attitude I'd arrived with quickly dwindling.
I walked back up to Stuart's office about noon, but Charlene just furrowed her brows and shook her head. I sighed, turning to leave, when the door opened and my brother walked in. I startled at the look of him, bedraggled and pale. "Stuart?" I asked, walking toward him. "Good Lord, are you sick? Why'd you come in—?"
"Go into the conference room, Lydia." I frowned, and started to ask him what was going on when he cut me off. "Please." That startled me more than anything. I couldn't recall the last time my brother had said please.
"Lydia, do you—?"
I shook my head at the start of Charlene's question. "No, Charlene. I'll call you from the conference room if we need anything." A pit was beginning to form in my stomach. Something bad was going on. Something I was pretty sure I didn't want to know about.
The door clicked quietly behind us. Stuart went and stood at the head of the table, his hands on the chair in front of him. I could see that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow.
"What is it?" I asked quietly. I felt myself bracing, drawing inward against whatever he was about to share with me.
"I . . ." He ran his hand through his dark blond hair. It already looked like he'd done that far too many times this morning. "Jesus, Lydia, I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry. I . . ." he let out a long, shuddery breath and then met my eyes, "I lost the company."
I stared at him, my mind grappling to understand what he was telling me. I shook my head. "Lost the company? That's impossible." I laughed, a brittle sound. "You can't lose a company, Stuart. What are you saying?"
"I lost it in a card game. I gambled it. I gambled the company."
I blinked at him: once, twice, three times. "I don't understand," I said, speaking very slowly. "I think you better help me grasp what you're trying to say here."
Stuart raised his arms and dropped them, anger coming over his expression. "I fucked up! I bet the company in a high-stakes poker game, and I fucking lost, okay? I was with our lawyers all morning. I signed it over. It doesn't belong to us anymore. Is that clear enough for you? Are you comprehending?" he spit out.
My blood pressure was skyrocketing, and I felt nauseated. "Don't," I said, my voice a hiss. I pulled a chair back and sagged down into it. "That can't even be legal. Surely there's a way to undo this—"
"There's not. Not unless I want a hit put out on my life. Or maybe yours. Fuck, Lydia, there's no way out of this. I was so close. It was right within my grasp. All our problems . . . solved! Right there and then," he snapped his fingers, "gone." He pulled the chair back that he'd been standing behind and sagged down just as I had. "We're fucked."
I shook my head back and forth, reeling. This couldn't be happening. He’d gambled the company? No way out? A hit . . . on his life? On mine? What the hell? "No, no, I can't believe this. No, Stuart. Maybe I can talk to the person who bet against . . . what? What is that look on your face?"