Authors: Bella Costa
I check my watch. I had better get going. I pack up some paperwork to review over the weekend and gather up my bag, popping my head into the kitchen.
"Grace, I have to go. I have forgotten about my cousins wedding and I still need to see Grant before I go to Seattle. Call me if you need anything."
"Sure thing honey, you go, and
have some fun
." Her emphasis on the last three words is hard to miss.
I am
just climbing into the Beast, when my blackberry buzzes and I glance at the screen. It is Grace. I see her waving at me through the small office window, phone against her ear.
"Glad to know I'm needed so soon," I answer dryly.
"And don't you forget it girl! Listen, I have that Savannah woman on the phone again and let me tell you, she needs to learn some manners. I'm going to transfer the call to your blackberry."
"Okay, thanks Grace." The line goes dead for a moment then I hear an impatient greeting.
"Is that Acacia Jones?"
"Um, Acacia Ward." Being called by my ex-husbands
name makes me uncomfortable.
"Right
- Sorry. Mrs. Ward!"
"Ms. Ward," I correct patiently. The phone goes
eerily quiet and I silently wonder if I should have just kept my mouth shut.
After all – What is in a name, right? Other than my reputation, sanity and the contents of my stomach!
"Let's stick with Acacia." Savannah's voice oozes impatience. "I am told you need to come over and look at the facilities. Well, the only availability I have is tomorrow evening, five o'clock."
"I have an important event tomorrow and..."
She cuts me off. "We're off season. Take it or leave it!"
"I'll take it.” I reply quickly. I will come up with something.
"Between five and six pm, don't be late!" The line goes dead.
I put the Blackberry down on its cradle, wondering if Savannah is always so abrupt.
"I guess we all have our problems.
” I mutter to myself, remembering Victoria and her 'nasty dog' analogy as I start backing out the drive. I need to get some food in me before I muddle through my commitments for tomorrow. My head is positively pounding now and I am feeling light headed.
First stop – SUBWAY for a sandwich
, second stop – Grants office, then pick up a weekend bag and head for Seattle.
Oh, joy!
~.~
I head up the dank stairs to the second floor where Page and Associates General Legal Practitioners have their modest offices and go in search of Grant.
"Hey Grant." I find his lean, tall body bent over double, trying to pry a paper jam from the
photocopier.
"Hi Acacia, I'll be with you in a minute." He is deep in concentration, his lips pursed and deep furrows mar his expansive brow. I lean against the door jam and watch in amusement. Twice he runs his fingers through his receding, neatly trimmed sandy hair, his green eyes squinting at the problem at hand.
"Grant, when are you going to get a secretary to do all this for you?"
"When I actually get paid for the work I do, so I have money to pay the secretary. There!" He straightens and smiles victoriously, at the offending photocopier.
"Good point!" I murmur. More than half the work he takes on is pro-bono, the shelter's tenants and I included.
"You wanted to see me?
” I ask, as the copier starts smoothly spitting sheet after sheet of paper, into a collection tray.
"Yes, and I'm glad you're a little early." He gestures to the hallway and we both leave the copier to continue its work unsupervised. I note that the name plaque on Grant's
door has finally fallen off. It's been hanging precariously, for several months.
"Coffee?"
he asks as I take a seat in one of the two mismatched chairs in front of a cluttered desk.
"I'm good. Thank you.
” Grant's coffee should come with a health warning.
"Okay. I have a Mr. Willow coming to see us in a bit. He represents an organisation which wants to propose becoming a Fiscal Sponsor." He tells me, as he pours himself a cup of sludge from a dumbwaiter in the corner of the room.
"A Fiscal Sponsor? What does that mean exactly?"
"I only received a copy of the proposal this morning and have only had a brief look at it. In this particular case, it means that Broken Haven will officially become a project, so to speak, of their organisation. Although as far as I can tell, it will remain Broken Haven and operate independently as such, at least in the public eye."
"What's the point? Broken Haven becomes their project but doesn't change - why bother?" Grant looks a little uncomfortable. I suspect there is a lot more to this and he is not sure how to tell me.
"You
could
lose ultimate control of Broken Haven.” Grant looks down at his coffee and concentrates on stirring it thoroughly.
"What? Why would I even consider it?"
I am astounded that Grant even thinks I might be prepared to entertain the idea. "You should have run this by me before arranging this meeting with Mr. What's-his-face." Grant assesses the horrified expression on my face and shifts uncomfortably.
"Willow. Mr. Willow. Acacia, losing ultimate control of the charity is not necessarily a given. It's a legal requirement but doesn't necessarily have to be enforced by their board, unless there were serious legal problems."
"Serious legal problems like what exactly?" I am struggling to get my head around what this all means.
"Like fraud, law suits, insurance claims." He is watching me wearily. "Acacia, it's just a proposal. You don't have to accept."
"I know, but I could have done with more warning to prepare before being thrown in the shark tank. Who are they?"
"Liberal Brotherhood."
I gape at him.
"Liberal Brotherhood," he repeats slowly.
"And they expect to be taken seriously? They sound like a nut-job political movement, like the K.K.K. or the Free Morgans!" I splutter, almost tempted to burst into fits of disbelieving giggles.
Grant takes a seat opposite me and puts his coffee down. At least he has the sense to look amused. "Acacia, I think you need to hear Mr. Willow out."
"And that's your professional legal advice?" Grant nods and waits for my response. I narrow my eyes at his long angular face wondering what he's playing at.
"Fine," I sigh warily. Right
on cue, a head pops around the door, advising Grant that a Mr. Willow has arrived. Grant rises to invite him in. I rise as Grant ushers a short, spherical man into the office and makes introductions.
"Mr. Willow.
” I mumble, trying to hide my mirth as I shake his hand.
The man is small and rotund, with a mop of thick black hair, curling over the tops of his ears. His thick mustard tweed suit, complete with waist coat, stretches over his ample stomach and the olive drab bow tie under his loose jowls looks far too large. I take in his surreal features with interest as he pushes his round, wire rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his stubby nose, exposing more of his ruddy cheeks. Small wise eyes evaluate me, one eyebrow arching higher than the other. I get the distinct feeling, that if this man auditioned for a role as a goblin in Gringott's Bank, serving Harry Potter, he would get the role instantly.
Grant motions for everyone to sit and Mr. Willow takes the seat next to me while Grant settles back into his own chair, behind his desk.
"Ms. Ward, may I just say that it's a pleasure to meet you finally? I have heard a lot about you. Not all of it flattering of course, but then the press can be quite brutal." He smiles at me and his smile is kindly. His honesty is disarming and heightens my curiosity about this strange little person and the equally strange organisation he represents. I try to place his accent - Diagon Alley perhaps?
"Yes
, the press can be brutal.” I admit. "Mr. Willow, Grant tells me your um...
organisation
has a proposal for me. He has given me a very brief overview, but I am not sure I understand much of it. Perhaps you could enlighten me." I lean back in my chair, resting my hands loosely on the armrests and hold his gaze steadily. Mr. Willow clears his throat loudly. He does not seem intimidated and I suspect clearing his throat is just a habit.
"Firstly Ms. Ward, Liberal Brotherhood is not my organisation; I merely represent
them, primarily as their accountant but I have a few other roles as well. The board of the organisation is large and its members prefer to remain anonymous where ever possible."
"Is that even legal?" I glance at Grant.
"There are ways to maintain anonymity, complex admittedly but I assure you that the organisation operates well within the law." Mr. Willow announces sternly before Grant can respond.
"Forgive me, Mr. Willow. Please continue," I smile apologetically.
"I have already given Mr. Bardon a full copy of the proposal, to sift through the legalities and advise you accordingly, although I doubt he would have had enough time to go through it properly yet.” He glances at Grant for confirmation and Grant nods.
"The crux of the proposal, Ms. Ward, is that Liberal Brotherhood will absorb Broken Haven into its own. Broken Haven will in effect become a project of Liberal Brotherhood."
"Mr. Willow," I lean forward. "This much Grant has told me. What I fail to understand is how this will benefit either Broken Haven or Liberal Brotherhood." I try not to smile as those last two words slip strangely off my tongue for the first time.
"Well, Liberal Brotherhood has a long list of respected, established charitable organisations operating as projects. Once Broken Haven's
affiliation to these charities is known, in the philanthropic circles, the charity's public profile will be boosted overnight - raising awareness not only of the Charity, but of the cause as well.
"Furthermore, you will no longer need to solicit funding for Broken Haven. Those duties will be taken care of along with public administration, licensing and accounting by Liberal Brotherhood."
Well there goes my job then!
I gaze at the small man, hoping my expression is as neutral as
I am trying to make it. My mind is juggling everything he has just told me. I do not have to worry about fund-raising, red tape and accounts. Could it really be this easy?
"I'm sure there is more to it than that, Mr. Willow. What is in this for Liberal Brotherhood?"
"Well under normal circumstances, your board of members would become a committee so to speak; taking care of the day to day running of the charity. Any needs, ideas, etcetera would then be put forward by a spokesperson of the committee, to the Board of Liberal Brotherhood for final approval."
He is not answering my question and I purse my lips into a hard line, but hold my tongue and allow him to continue.
"In this case however, Liberal Brotherhood would expect your board to continue with the decision making forward planning for the charity. You will be given a budget of one hundred thousand dollars per month to cover daily running expenses, salaries, legal counsel...yes Mr. Bardon, you will finally get paid to represent the charity and its beneficiaries..."
Hmmm, is this why Grant seemed so keen for me to hear Mr. Willow out? And one hundred thousand dollars a month?
Holy shit! We are just about managing on twenty now.
However, he still has not answered my question. I wait for the small man to continue.
"The budget will be reviewed annually and more is available of course for expansion, vehicles and such, but approval would be needed for that."
"So let me understand. We continue to operate on the surface as if nothing really has changed, except we no longer have to battle through red tape, tedious accounts and administration. We get an enormous budget to spend on the charity as the charity sees fit, and if things go wrong we have no legal responsibility. And Liberal Brotherhood gets what?” I ask again.
"Actually Ms Ward, while the charity has no direct responsibility, and its
committee controls the spending, measures will be put in place to safeguard Liberal Brotherhood and the funds."
I frown and tilt my head slightly.
"What I mean is," he looks slightly uncomfortable now. "We will be able to detect fraudulent activities by any board members of Broken Haven and those individuals will be subject to prosecution."
Grant glances quickly at me and I catch the warning in his eyes. Robert's accusations continue to haunt me. Oddly, even though I am completely innocent of any fraudulent activities, Robert's accusations and the media's support of those accusations have done much to erode my certitude and I actually feel guilty when
I am regarded with suspicion. I quickly compose myself, hoping Mr. Willow has not caught the momentary flush on my face.
"I'm still not seeing what Liberal Brotherhood has to gain from this." I struggle to keep my voice neutral.
"Ms. Ward," he sighs patiently. "Liberal Brotherhood is a multipurpose charity, which has varying interests and more resources than any one charity could ever need. Understandably, with a board so large, twenty-five members in total, Liberal Brotherhood does not have a singular interest or sympathy to an individual cause. So, rather than support one interest with more resources than one charity could ever need, it helps many smaller charities support themselves."
I ponder this for a moment. I have a feeling I would be mad not to give this some serious consideration.
I am still worried about conceding control at some point.
"Mr. Willow, the proposal is certainly an interesting one.
I am sure you can appreciate our need to make a thorough examination of the small print and time to confer with the rest of our board. I hope you are not expecting a declaration of interest at this time."
"Of course not, Ms. Ward, there is one small thing though; the proposal expires this coming Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" I gasp. "Today is Friday!"
"Yes Ms. Ward, Tuesday. You had better get reading Mr. Bardon."
The goblin from Gringott's rises, somewhat stylishly for his physical stature and shakes our hands before leaving. Grant and I slump in our chairs feeling shell-shocked.
"Don't worry Acacia," Grant finally murmurs. "I had no plans for this weekend, other than a preliminary visit with your newest tenants. I'll call you when I've gone through it and we can set up a board meeting."
"Email me a copy as soon as you can, so I can have a read please." It should make some interesting bedtime reading tonight, if my cousin ever lets me get to bed.
"No problem," he mutters.
"Keep me up to date with the investigation as well please." If they are investigating Robert again, they will be investigating me as well. I have a right to be kept informed.
"I'm not sure how much the investigators will tell me, but I'll let you know anything I hear," he agrees quietly.
I nod numbly, rising to leave. Could this day – no, this week - get any weirder? Possibly - I am off to spend twenty-four hours with Bridezilla, supreme!
~.~
23rd of March
I peer through the Beast's flat windscreen
, at the darkening afternoon sky; eerily reflecting my own downward-sliding mood. An unseasonably late, spring snowstorm has been forecast. Fat, purple clouds are rolling over the top of the mountains in thick, oppressive blankets, heavy with snow. My concern grows by the minute. I check the fuel gauge again, desperately tapping the glass cover with a long painted fingernail. That wrong turn earlier, cost me dearly, in both fuel and time and I haven't seen a gas-pad, in over an hour. I check my watch for the umpteenth time. Would it be too much to ask the hands to move in the opposite direction?
"
Arrrrrgh! Not now!” The Beast stutters and jerks, finally dying. I shift her out of gear then freewheeling, I guide the Beast onto the verge of the road, thankful for the lack of power steering. I am also grateful, that the dizzying drop down the side of the mountain is on the other side of the road. Engaging the handbrake and turning off the ignition, I wonder how much more could possibly go wrong.
Leaning forward on the large steering wheel, I peer up at the sky again, spying the first fat flakes of snow, tumbling and swirling toward me. Suddenly possessed, I fumble for my Blackberry, hoping to find some charge in its drained batteries. Some charge that I
had not noticed the last five times I checked. I hold the power button, chewing my lip in desperation. Frustrated I give it up for dead.
With the Beast's engine now off, the cold is starting to seep in and I can feel its icy
tendrils seeping through my thin clothes. I cannot afford to spend the night here with temperatures are set to drop below freezing. On a remote mountain road, on a Saturday evening, rescue seems a little uncertain. I quickly take stock of what I have with me. A borrowed clutch purse, my dead Blackberry, a short coat - more suited to autumn or spring than deep winter - and the Beast's small tool kit.
I wrap the coat around me, buttoning it up all the way to my throat. My
nylon-clad legs will just have to brave the cold. My bridesmaid shoes lay abandoned on the floor. The needle thin, towering heels are not made for roadside hiking, but barefoot doesn't seem like much of an option either, so I slip them on.
The snow is already blanketing all the windows
, muting, the already dim, March evening light and obscuring the world outside. Grabbing my clutch purse, I climb onto the ground, blinking as the wind drives the snowflakes into my face. If I stay on the road and walk briskly, I am sure I will find help soon enough. The walk should help keep my body temperature up - theoretically!
The wet snow, has already found its way inside my shoes and I can feel the first icy trickle, sneak under the collar of my coat. My knees and face, are already burning in the cold wind
. I try to ignore my discomfort, focusing on pressing ahead, picking up my pace as much as the towering stilettos will allow. It is getting harder to see where I am going, as the wind strength increases. The snowflakes are now mixed with sleet, driving hard into my face and eyes. It stings. I think I have been walking five minutes or so. With my head bowed so low, I can barely make out the ground directly in front of me.
The heel of my left shoe wobbles, on something unseen under the snow and my ankle buckles. Pain shoots through the tendons. Tenderly, I test my weight on the injured foot. It hurts, but holds. It dawns on me now. I've left the road!
Frantically, I turn my back on the driving sleet and snow, trying to get my bearings. I sweep my surroundings through snow-dusted lashes and try to pick out shapes through the wall of white. It's hopeless. I cannot see a damn thing; not even my own foot prints. I try to visualise what I last saw of my surroundings, before the snow blanked everything out. I remember a dense growth of forest, a short distance above the road. The inclination was steep, but not as steep as the almost sheer drop on the other side of the road. If I could reach the trees, I might be able to find protection from the driving wind. I find the steep incline and claw my way up, wincing in pain. I look for someone to blame for this predicament. My cousin? Why not? Who in their right mind, makes their bridesmaids dress like this, with summer still so far away? And she lost my weekend bag with my charger, maps and proper clothes. Certainly cause for blame there.
I guess it would be too much to expect an apology, not staying to the end of her wedding is almost unforgivable.
"Arrrgh, shit!" I grind my teeth as a stab of pain shoots through my ankle again.
Shit, Acacia you are all kinds of first rate stupid!
The Beasts battery still had power! I could have flashed the lights to try to get attention. Now I'm not even sure where the Beast is. It would have at least been dry and out of the wind.
Idiot! Ignoramus, injudicious twit!