The Cumerian Unraveling Trilogy (Scars of Ambition, Vendetta Clause, Cycles of Power) Page 8

  “What is the Ma Ha’dere?”

  Carlisle flinched, his left cheek straining ever so slightly. He pursed his lips and flared his nostrils.

  “I haven’t the faintest clue. Is it a person or a thing?” Carlisle asked.

  Lowell shot up from his seat and nearly ran around his desk, grabbing Carlisle by his jacket with such force that he needed to steady him from falling over.

  “Don’t bullshit me here. You tell me what it is,” he ordered, but all Carlisle returned was an expression of bewilderment bordering on fright.

  “Please, sir. You’re hurting me. Get a hold of yourself,” Carlisle said, wheezing. Lowell let the man go, putting up a hand in apology. “Will you tell me what it is? What’s gotten you in such a frenzy?”

  “I don’t know myself, but it’s of vital importance I find out,” Lowell said, taking another step back. “But that outburst at the meeting was uncalled for. If you’d wanted to bring it up, you could’ve warned me instead of putting the company at risk. To ensure you exercise more prudence in the future, the company will be docking your bonus this year.”

  Depriving Carlisle of over a million count would draw some attention, but by the time the year ended this episode would be long forgotten and he could blame it on anything if the media tried to make a stink about it. Certainly it would come as a dear loss to Carlisle, but the man would survive.

  “Proper payment,” Carlisle muttered as Lowell was returning to his desk.

  “What was that?” Lowell asked, sensing more impudence.

  “It looks like I’ve been properly paid,” Carlisle stated.

  “Properly paid for what?”

  Carlisle had a rueful look on his face, his mustache twitching on one side.

  “Do you think I’m so cold-hearted I’d spend the entire cycle slaving here at the towers for you during The Crossing? After we spoke I went down to wait for the train, but when I saw you weren’t there I headed to the car park and saw you half dead on the ground. I put in the call to the ambulance, and this is what I’ve been paid for it.”

  If Lowell felt bad after stripping Carlisle’s bonus after the chairman had saved his life, it was nothing compared to what he would experience the next cycle. He was meeting with his foremen down in the gas plants about increasing efficiency when a group of a dozen men and women approached him in one of the underground passageways.

  “There he is,” chirped a secretary who accompanied them. She was oblivious to the monumental catastrophe she had led to him, completely unaware of what those dark blue suits, brimmed hats, and jade and fuchsia bandanas wrapped around their arms meant.

  “I think our meeting is over,” Lowell said to the foremen, some of whom had sensed that a calamity wound their way. He had precious few moments until the embarrassment and the torture began, and he thought his heart rate must’ve doubled.

  Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he wondered who he could message in so little time that would make a difference. Deciding it was futile, Lowell twisted to shake hands with one of the foremen, giving cover as he removed his phone from his pocket and slipped it down the back of his pants.

  The dozen outsiders halted when they reached him.

  “Mr. Lowell Bracken, my name is Shelman Toggler, and I’ve been appointed by the Cumerian Grand Council’s Private Oversight Committee to head this investigation. I need you to cease all activities at once, surrender any electronic devices you may have, and come with us immediately,” a plain-looking man with olive skin said. The hat he wore made his hair puff out in the back, appearing almost feminine.

  The only option was to cooperate.

  “Sure, but my phone’s in my office,” Lowell said, giving the most subtle glances to the foremen who had seen him with his phone out mere seconds ago to keep their mouths shut. Mr. Toggler pointed to Lowell and looked at a stern male companion, who jumped forward to start patting him down and searching his pockets. As the man groped inside of his jacket, Lowell wondered if the man would be so bold to delve between his ass cheeks to find his phone and what the penalty would be for lying to a P.O.C. officer.

  The search ended after every pocket was emptied, leaving him without his wallet, keys, and pen, but he retained his phone, which he would have to use to alert Sierra and Randall—it was inconceivable that his fate may now rest in the hands of Randall—about what was going on.

  “We also require you to wear this tracker,” Mr. Toggler said, sliding a white card into his breast pocket. “If we’re not able to locate you at any time during this investigation, additional charges will be brought against you. Let’s go.”

  The twelve investigators marched Lowell out of the plant as if he were a criminal, and every person they passed gave him a look of horror that pained his sense of pride and dignity. Only when they were in the middle of the plaza on the way to the towers did he have enough space to speak without employees or visitors overhearing.

  “I demand you tell me what this is about,” Lowell barked at Mr. Toggler. “You have no right to be here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Mr. Toggler glanced to the side, his lips curling upward. This man took some perverse pleasure in his work.

  “Your demands are irrelevant, but you are entitled to know we’re investigating an infraction of the Commerce Code,” he said.

  “Which chapter?” Lowell asked. The Commerce Code outlined the fundamental principles of all aspects of business, from competition to worker’s rights, ethics to taxes. Citing the Code gave him no indication of the basis for the investigation.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Mr. Toggler asked. Lowell pursed his lips.

  After a few more strides, Lowell stopped in place and forced the investigator to turn to him. There was no point getting worried about this when he knew how to handle it.

  “OK, this has gone on long enough. How much is it going to take to make this go away?” he asked.

  Every CEO had a secret or a slipup that they needed to keep buried, and it wasn’t all that uncommon for one to send the investigators after another, but it was never more than a minor nuisance; handing over a little money was always the answer. Lowell hoped he had enough count in his office safe to send the investigators on the next train out of town.

  “The only thing that can save you now is the truth,” Toggler said, brusquely turning and continuing on. Lowell’s throat tensed. Never in his life had he heard of a low-paid investigator turning down a bribe. He didn’t know what to do next.

  Together they entered the main tower housing Lowell’s executive suite and the battlefield, and members of the investigative team started to fan out. One pulled out a notebook and began quizzing the security guard while another crossed the lobby and descended the stairwell, doubtlessly planning to search his car.

  The rest accompanied him in the elevator to his office on the forty-eighth floor. Receiving alarmed looks from his staffers, including Skuire, who visibly trembled, Lowell led the investigators into his office.

  “I want it all,” Mr. Toggler proclaimed as his investigators scanned the room, digging through filing cabinets and yanking out folders, dissembling his computer equipment, and packing everything into bags.

  Lowell went to his desk and opened one of the lower drawers where he kept a work phone he occasionally used. After handing it over, he watched the investigators ransack his entire office and most of the floor. It wouldn’t have looked this bad if he’d been robbed.

  “Is there anything you want me to do?” Skuire asked. Someone had commandeered his desk.

  “Give me time to think,” Lowell said, gingerly sitting down in the old recliner.

  He wondered what he did, but after a few moments he wondered what he hadn’t done. The deaths, the lies, the espionage. Every CEO he could name found a new way to break the Commerce Code once a cycle, but infractions never seemed to matter until the investigators from the Private Oversight Committee busted down the door. And the only reason they ever came running was because someone had tipp
ed them off.

  Lowell Bracken had no shortage of enemies. From the smaller gas miners to all the people Bracken Energy squeezed in order to improve business conditions, there were any number of people he didn’t know that could be involved. Maybe the Ma Ha’dere were coming back for him. But the timing of it suggested it was something else.

  Lowell’s phone vibrated, causing him to stiffen and glance nervously at Mr. Toggler. It made just enough noise to be audible over the shuffling papers, and if it continued things could get much worse for him, but the phone stopped and Lowell sat on his hand as he fumbled for the power button through his pants.

  Most likely it was Jim Bolt making another comment about the deal, and Lowell leaned forward when he began to put the pieces together. Had Bolt been playing coy and reluctant in order to get him to compromise the interests of his own company, a clear violation of the Commerce Code? Certainly someone could make that case if they were deeply beholden to profits from gas or simply wanted to shake Lowell out of his own company.

  There was no doubt this personal attack would make the news and embarrass his family and himself, but this investigation opened the door to the chance he’d be forced to leave his own company. He imagined tense courtroom proceedings requiring him to argue that throwing away the bulk of Bracken’s cash reserves, buying an emerging but struggling business, and resigning their profitable gas operation to a slow death in one fell swoop was wise business. If he failed, the oversight committee could put him on the street, leaving him with what little money he had that wasn’t tied up in the company.

  Anger swelled in his chest, adding urgency to his breathing that bordered on bloodlust. He would’ve sensed a trap from Keize in an instant, but mild-mannered, naïve Bolt had deceived him. They were both probably laughing together over every message.

  The urge to do something and fight propelled Lowell out of the chair, but he didn’t take more than a step before Mr. Toggler met him.

  “If you’d be so kind as to come with me,” he said with questionable politeness.

  “Let me just step into the washroom,” Lowell said, thinking the solitude would give him cover to make a call or two to his children and prepare a counterattack, but Toggler wasn’t about to give him the chance.

  “Would you prefer to train your bowels and wait or have me come in and watch you?” His lips formed that disturbing half smile. He’d probably enjoy watching.

  Shaking his head, Lowell went with Toggler to a room on the floor below where an employee’s office had been until an hour or so ago. Now the employee was gone and the room was empty except for a bare desk and a couple of cheap metal chairs. Toggler ushered Lowell in first and then shut the door.

  “I know how much of an inconvenience this is,” Toggler said, taking a seat behind the desk. “Do I want to be here? No. Yes. It doesn’t really matter what I want, but what’s important is that we find out if there’ve been any improprieties, and we can go a long way toward solving that in a simple interview.”

  Shelman Toggler struck Lowell as the kind of person who took his job so seriously that the pressure of it threatened to snap him. He started to wring his hands and shake in his chair, nervous but not afraid. Lowell leaned forward to level him.

  “I think we’ve got some common interests,” Lowell said, remembering making a similar statement to Bolt. “We both want to make sure Bracken Energy is following the letter of the law, and we both want to see one of Cumeria’s thriving enterprises continue to grow. So why don’t you tell me how we can resolve this as quickly and painlessly as possible?”

  Toggler put his knuckles under his chin and squinted as though he were expending a tremendous amount of energy thinking. Lowell wondered if there was anyone who would hear if he strangled the man to death right on the wood-paneled desk.

  “The quickest way would be for you to confess your infractions so we can move forward with a full list of charges,” he said.

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong,” Lowell countered, his answer making Toggler wince like he’d been slapped.

  “Have you ever intentionally misrepresented your company to investors or the public? Have you ever taken assets from Bracken Energy for personal use or as a form of payment without disclosing them on your tax forms and internal compensation reports? What about consciously making decisions in your position that would injure the company?” he rambled, at times jumbling his words in order to get them out.

  “No, I’ve never done any of that,” Lowell said. Whether or not he was answering truthfully, admitting anything now was not an option. The only course would be to find circumstances excusing whatever they found on a case by case basis. But Toggler chewed his lip and abruptly smacked the table.

  “You’re lying to me!” He flailed, crossing his arms over his stomach. “If you’re lying, you forfeit all protections over your property and personhood! Wait, is that right? Yes, it is. No, it’s not. I don’t know.”

  Lowell leaned back in his chair and marveled at the complete breakdown of what had at first seemed like a consummate professional. He was on the verge of tears and would no longer look Lowell in the eyes.

  “Whoa, can we calm down a bit here and talk about what’s going on?” Lowell asked.

  “I have to fucking find something!” Toggler shouted so loudly that people down the hall must’ve been able to hear. Lowell extended a hand and urged him to sit back down.

  “Who called you and told you to come here?” Lowell asked.

  “I get my orders from the Private Oversight Committee,” he muttered, forcing Lowell to lean in to hear.

  “How did you get your job?” Lowell spoke slowly, not wanting to further unhinge his imploding adversary.

  “That’s none of your business,” he answered, rushing to open the door and ducking out into the hall. Seeing other people forced him to regain some of his composure and allowed him to spend the rest of the work cycle gathering information.

  Lowell, unable to perform his normal duties, spent a few hours reading a book until it was time to leave. The investigators refused to let him use his car or even take the train, opting instead to drive him to his estate in the Clawland hills. But somehow he’d made it through the day with his phone jammed between his legs.

  After being dropped off at home, Lowell discovered that the gate and the front door were wide open, obvious signs that something had happened here, as well. The sound of the car must’ve alerted Lowell’s lovely wife, Melody, who came out to share her displeasure.

  “They’ve torn the place apart! What in the liquid hell is going on here?” she screeched, making Lowell wish people could tone down the volume just a little bit. Almost as loud was her orange dress, which made her look like a carrot.

  “You already know the answer to that, my dear,” he said, continuing toward the house.

  “I put up with enough from you already, but an investigation is too much,” she said, stalking after him. “I knew it was just a matter of time until you got caught. You run the place like a madhouse—”

  “Quiet.” He gave her a stern look as they approached the door. “Are they all gone? Did they leave anything behind?” At the very least they had surely tapped the home phone.

  “Relax,” Melody told him, striding in ahead of him and going to an open bottle of wine on the table. Figured. “They just took all your work stuff and papers.”

  “It’ll be OK. I just have to take care of this,” he said, groping into the back of his pants for his phone. Melody cringed at him and he froze.

  “I think that’s something you’d be better off doing in the washroom,” she sniped. The callous way she’d greeted him made him think twice about including her in his plans for a response.

  “That’s a good idea,” he said, climbing the fuzzy carpeted steps leading to the bathroom that would give him some space. It had taken him all day to get a chance to reach out to someone about this, and the thought of finally getting on the road to revenge got his heart pounding.

  C
losing the door and removing his phone from inside his drawers, Lowell settled down on the porcelain and shuddered with relief. But the feeling quickly passed as he assessed his situation. Another cycle had gone by without hearing from Tris, which meant something must’ve gone wrong, and more than a dozen people had left him messages, most of them irate and scathing.

  They would all have to wait, though. He needed his children to rescue him.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice,” Lowell gushed, some of the stress melting away.

  “You must’ve had a terrible day,” Sierra said.

  “You already know?” he asked.

  “I don’t live in a hole,” she replied, making Lowell chuckle. “But I knew trying to contact you would be pointless. They really feed people to the wolves. Couldn’t you buy your way out?”

  Lowell wiped his brow, struggling to put how bad the situation was into words.

  “I need you to listen to me, because it’s much worse than that. They’ve got a man running the investigation named Shelman Toggler. He’s unstable, explosive in the worst way, and I think someone is driving him to find something against me. Whatever string is pulling him along, we need to yank it the other way.”

  When Sierra released a labored breath, it immediately made Lowell feel bad for dumping all of this pressure on her. He regretted needing her help, but there was no way he could find out what was going on from inside the investigation.

  “I’ll fix this,” she promised.

  “I know you’ll do wonders, and I love you for it,” he said.

  “Keep your head up, Dad. We’ll make it through.”

  When their call ended, the swell of pride Lowell felt for his daughter could’ve filled every chasm in the Claws. If there was anyone who could find a way to take care of this, it was Sierra, but he still needed to find out if Randall could do anything.

  “Please put my son on the phone,” Lowell asked, suppressing his frustration at dealing with one of Randall’s public relations drones.

  “Dad, hey,” Randall said, getting on. He sounded much too exuberant to have any idea what was going on. Didn’t his people tell him anything? It was hard not to already feel like this call was a mistake.