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Authors: John Ramsey Miller
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I'm not interested in selling RGI at the present.”
Trey's smile remained, but something in his eyes was now decidedly reptilian. “That so? We'll leave the door open awhile yet. I'm sure you'll come to see that selling to us is in everybody's best interest.”
Ward felt his smile evaporate. “The truth is, Idon't imagine I can come around to see anything of the sort.” He was sure Trey was unaccustomed to having people turn down offers, and the fact that what Trey had just said sounded like a threat made his blood boil. He wasn't afraid of this malevolent slob on any level, and he would never defile his father's company by turning it or its employees over to this worthless sack of shit. He wanted him to know it.
“Well, I'll let you two get back to your lunch meeting,” Trey said. “I expect this lawyer's charging you an hour to watch him eat. I need to work the room.”
“You have to try the crab legs,” Tami said, rubbing her stomach and rolling her eyes. “I ate about twenty of them. I'll have to work out for a week to get rid of the calories.”
“She eats like a pig,” Trey said. “How she keeps her dancer's figure is a mystery to everybody.”
Trey and Tami moved on to another table to speak to the manager of the track. He was sitting at a table with Dale Earnhardt, Jr., and three men in suits Ward didn't know. Earnhardt, often called the best- loved driver inthe sport, had recently signed with a new team and would have a new number. Ward couldn't hear the conversation that Trey and Tami had hijacked, but Earnhardt's frozen smile was freakish in its insincerity, and Ward wondered if the young man might suddenly bolt for the door.
“I didn't know Trey would be here,” Gene said, sincerely.
“The idea of that prick ordering our de signers to work on Tami's product lines makes me want to throw a chair through this win dow.”
Gene shrugged. “ Twenty- two million dollars. Plus a percentage.” He winked. “It's very appealing.”
“Not if it was twenty- two billion. I'd live under a bridge first.”
When Ward went to the buffet to fill his plate, he didn't so much as look at the crab legs, going straight for the beef tips.
FOURTEEN
When Ward returned to the office an hour later, Leslie was in her office talking with a man Ward recognized from the picture she had on her desk. Todd Hartman had short red hair. He sat bolt upright, with an athletic build featuring wide shoulders, narrow hips, and eyes that were the same pale blue- gray as a Siberian husky's. He was a couple of inches taller than Ward, and looked to be in his early thirties. He was seated beside Leslie's desk with an aluminum briefcase at his feet.
“Mr. McCarty this is my friend, Todd Hartman.”
Todd stood and shook Ward's hand with a firm assuredness.
“Mr. Hartman, it's a pleasure to meet you. I didn't expect you to come right over.”
“Call me Todd. We had lunch earlier and Leslie said you needed some help recovering something, and I've got f orty- five minutes before I'm due back in the office, so I figured if youcame back in time and had a few minutes we could see how I might help you.”
“Please come to my office and we can talk,” Ward said.
He led Todd into his office and they sat opposite each other at the conference table. Todd placed his aluminum briefcase on the floor beside him.
“Leslie says you want to recover a model car that was stolen.”
“That's pretty much it.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No. I don't think law enforcement would be interested.”
“What's the value?”
“I've never thought about it. I suppose to a serious collector, it's worth a thousand or more, but its sentimental value is immeasurable.”
“Tell me about the theft first,” Hartman said. “As much as you know about the circumstances surrounding the loss.”
Ward showed Todd a picture of the car in its showcase his father had taken years before. He told Todd about the strange girl, his trip to the
Trey's smile remained, but something in his eyes was now decidedly reptilian. “That so? We'll leave the door open awhile yet. I'm sure you'll come to see that selling to us is in everybody's best interest.”
Ward felt his smile evaporate. “The truth is, Idon't imagine I can come around to see anything of the sort.” He was sure Trey was unaccustomed to having people turn down offers, and the fact that what Trey had just said sounded like a threat made his blood boil. He wasn't afraid of this malevolent slob on any level, and he would never defile his father's company by turning it or its employees over to this worthless sack of shit. He wanted him to know it.
“Well, I'll let you two get back to your lunch meeting,” Trey said. “I expect this lawyer's charging you an hour to watch him eat. I need to work the room.”
“You have to try the crab legs,” Tami said, rubbing her stomach and rolling her eyes. “I ate about twenty of them. I'll have to work out for a week to get rid of the calories.”
“She eats like a pig,” Trey said. “How she keeps her dancer's figure is a mystery to everybody.”
Trey and Tami moved on to another table to speak to the manager of the track. He was sitting at a table with Dale Earnhardt, Jr., and three men in suits Ward didn't know. Earnhardt, often called the best- loved driver inthe sport, had recently signed with a new team and would have a new number. Ward couldn't hear the conversation that Trey and Tami had hijacked, but Earnhardt's frozen smile was freakish in its insincerity, and Ward wondered if the young man might suddenly bolt for the door.
“I didn't know Trey would be here,” Gene said, sincerely.
“The idea of that prick ordering our de signers to work on Tami's product lines makes me want to throw a chair through this win dow.”
Gene shrugged. “ Twenty- two million dollars. Plus a percentage.” He winked. “It's very appealing.”
“Not if it was twenty- two billion. I'd live under a bridge first.”
When Ward went to the buffet to fill his plate, he didn't so much as look at the crab legs, going straight for the beef tips.
FOURTEEN
When Ward returned to the office an hour later, Leslie was in her office talking with a man Ward recognized from the picture she had on her desk. Todd Hartman had short red hair. He sat bolt upright, with an athletic build featuring wide shoulders, narrow hips, and eyes that were the same pale blue- gray as a Siberian husky's. He was a couple of inches taller than Ward, and looked to be in his early thirties. He was seated beside Leslie's desk with an aluminum briefcase at his feet.
“Mr. McCarty this is my friend, Todd Hartman.”
Todd stood and shook Ward's hand with a firm assuredness.
“Mr. Hartman, it's a pleasure to meet you. I didn't expect you to come right over.”
“Call me Todd. We had lunch earlier and Leslie said you needed some help recovering something, and I've got f orty- five minutes before I'm due back in the office, so I figured if youcame back in time and had a few minutes we could see how I might help you.”
“Please come to my office and we can talk,” Ward said.
He led Todd into his office and they sat opposite each other at the conference table. Todd placed his aluminum briefcase on the floor beside him.
“Leslie says you want to recover a model car that was stolen.”
“That's pretty much it.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No. I don't think law enforcement would be interested.”
“What's the value?”
“I've never thought about it. I suppose to a serious collector, it's worth a thousand or more, but its sentimental value is immeasurable.”
“Tell me about the theft first,” Hartman said. “As much as you know about the circumstances surrounding the loss.”
Ward showed Todd a picture of the car in its showcase his father had taken years before. He told Todd about the strange girl, his trip to the
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