Trial Run (10 page)

“Did you ever wonder why Julio left for Rome like he did?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Of all the people to depart with Dor Jen, losing his number two security guy had shocked him the most. Charlie had been more than a little hurt that Julio had taken off without a word or backward glance. In fact, Charlie had not even known Julio was considering the shift until a team member told him the man was gone. He had not heard from Julio once since then. This from a man he still considered a close personal friend. Charlie recalled, “You were the one who told me he'd taken off.”

“That's right.”

“You said he had a thing with Dor Jen.”

“He did. Does.”

Which had been good for another total surprise. “I always thought, well, you two . . .”

“He wanted it. I couldn't.” Her shrug was a fullback's move, pushing aside the opposition. “He left.”

Charlie's confusion left him only able to say, “I'm sorry.”

She burned him with her gaze. “Did it ever occur to you why I couldn't be the lady he wanted me to be?”

“I figured it was—” Charlie stopped. “Are you saying . . . me?”

“Gabriella really has left you blind.”

“I hope not,” Charlie said. “For all our sakes.”

“Yeah, well. That's how it is. I just thought you should know.”

“Elizabeth . . .”

“Don't say anything. This is awful enough already. And don't worry. I won't make a fuss.”

Charlie tasted several comments. But nothing he could think of would make any difference at all. He nodded and turned and opened the door and stepped into the hallway. When the door clicked shut behind him, he released a quiet, “Oh, wow.”

Charlie tended to travel very light. He showered and dressed in the one decent outfit he had brought, the standard uniform from his corporate security days—grey slacks, dark single-breasted jacket, white shirt, rep tie. He examined his reflection in the mirror. He had never much cared for clothes, another reason why the civilian life had fitted him like somebody else's suit. He thought he looked exactly like what he was, a tough security agent trying to disappear. The burn scar still crawled from his collar, and his shoulders still bunched the jacket in an unsuitable manner, and his eyes were still agate hard.

But nothing, no hours of anticipation, would have prepared him for what he found waiting for him when he knocked on Elizabeth's door.

Gone was the bad attitude and the radical clothes and the spiky hair. In its place was a woman whose short hair was styled and coiffed, her makeup perfect. Charlie had never seen Elizabeth wear cosmetics before. The result was beyond striking. The hard-edged features and the unspoken threat were smoothed and refined and distilled into pure allure. She wore a suit of café con leche silk. The skirt was short, her stockings patterned, her heels high.

Charlie said, “Whoa.”

Elizabeth winced in the manner of receiving what she most feared. “Ready to go?”

“What I mean is, you look great.”

She strode past him and out the door and down the hall. Charlie followed to the elevator. At least the silence was the same.

Elizabeth's genuinely fine looks and short skirt acted as a magnet for virtually every male's gaze they passed. Charlie assumed the show was for his benefit, and he wondered what could possibly have been the right response to keep the woman from being hurt more than she already was. They left the hotel and crossed the parking lot to the rental agency's numbered spaces. The car was a grey Maxima.

Charlie unlocked the car and held Elizabeth's door. He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. “Where to?”

Elizabeth even sat differently. Gone was the powerful ease of a lazy cat. She sat with the careful composure of a lady headed to her own funeral. “I need you to know what happened in the ascent.”

“Sure thing.”

“I went home.” She shook her head. “Wrong word. That place was never my home. I went back to the house where I was sent off from. I was dressed in this outfit. Not clothes like this. This exact suit.”

Charlie huffed a quiet laugh. At himself.

Elizabeth might look like a totally different woman. But her skills of perception were still precise. “You thought I dressed like this for you?”

He nodded. “Put it down to typical male ego.”

She studied him a moment longer. “If I thought it would make a shred of difference, Charlie, I would burn my whole wardrobe. For you.”

That shut him up.

She turned back to the front windshield. “Turns out our hotel has a small clothing store in the lobby. It caters mostly to the tourist trade, but there are a few outfits for travelers coming in for conferences. I found this. In my size.”

“It looks like it was tailored for you.”

“I know.”

“What happened then? I mean, in the ascent.”

“I went home, like I said. My father was dying.”

“I'm very sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Don't be. In the image, you weren't with me. Do you think that matters?”

“I have no idea. I can drive over and wait outside.”

“If I get to the house and he isn't there, or he isn't ill, we can cut things short and head back to Switzerland, right?”

“We can do whatever you like.” Charlie watched her face constrict and realized she was fighting back tears. He had never seen the woman cry. “You sure you're up to this?”

Her nods grew to where they rocked her upper body. “Seeing Daddy is one thing. I can handle that. But what came after gives me nightmares.”

M
urray Feinne pulled into the UCSB admin parking lot, wondering not for the first time what he had gotten himself into, and why.

He had done his undergraduate work at Yale, then returned to his native Bay area for law studies at Stanford. He had edited the prestigious
Law Review
. He had spent a year clerking for the head of the California Supreme Court. He had fielded offers from every major firm in the western United States. He was on the cusp of making partner.

And now this. Playing flunky to a couple of UCSB students. Who couldn't pay him. And yet had the power to threaten his career.

For today's meeting, Murray's senior partner, Dale Partell, had wanted him to rent a suite at a resort spa in the hills above Santa Barbara. The spa catered to the Hollywood crowd, and a standard room cost over a thousand bucks a night. Murray had pointed out that such a setting might be a tad over the top for a couple of starving students. Dale Partell had acquiesced, but only after phoning the uni
versity president and personally describing their keen interest in this pair. Since several of their clients were alumni with deep pockets, the UCSB president had offered them his own private conference room.

The secretary knocked on the open door. “Your guests are here.”

Murray rose to his feet. “And right on time.”

The words sounded lame even before they emerged. But he doubted either Shane or Trent heard him. They were too busy taking in the opulent fittings, the high-backed leather chairs, and the massive oval table. The room was as close to a royal audience chamber as the California university system possessed. The view was out over Del Playa Park and the tidal pools. The Pacific glowed a fierce blue in the afternoon light.

Shane took in the trio of chandeliers, the high-tech video conference center on the far wall, the damask drapes in the university colors, the president's own silver coffee service resting on the antique sideboard. She said to Trent, “Maybe you should have gone with the tie after all.”

Murray dismissed the secretary and personally served them coffee. Which was overkill. But he could feel his senior partner's breath on the back of his neck. He opened the first file and walked them through the basic articles of incorporation, the structure of shares, all the things he had done a million times before. Hoping they did not notice the occasional quiver to his voice. Trent Major sat back in his chair and watched with calm disinterest. But there was nothing detached about Shane Schearer. The lady was totally on, her questions precise.

He asked the president's secretary to witness their signatures and notarize the documents. When they were alone once more, he opened the second file, swallowed hard, and said, “I haven't been as successful with the gaming company as I would like.”

Shane and Trent exchanged a glance. “They didn't go for it?”

“No, no, not at all. But they say it's going to take months to see whether the algorithm performs as you describe.” Murray had lain awake all night worrying over how to handle this next bit. He still wasn't certain. But the recollection of being assaulted by the lady's
service echoed through his brain. So he gave them the truth. “I've worked with this group for over three years. I consider the company president a personal friend. And I could not read him. I couldn't tell whether we're getting jerked around or they genuinely don't know what to do with your concept.” Murray slid the unsealed envelope across the table. “This was their best and final offer.”

Shane pulled out the slip of paper. Didn't speak. Trent leaned over. Read, “Ten thousand dollars.”

“It's peanuts. I agree. But they wouldn't budge. The best I could do was one percent of revenue from any game that employs your concept. Which is paltry.”

Shane said, “Take it.” She looked from the check to her partner. “Right?”

“Absolutely.”

Murray found himself sweating. Which was nuts. “I could approach another group—”

“No,” Shane said. “We stay with this company. You know them. The deal is a good one.”

“It's hardly what I would call—”

“How much does a new game make?”

Murray checked the pages just to give his hands something to hold. “Their last hit was Mars Attack. It was released last June and has sold six million units.”

“There's your answer,” Shane said. “How much do their gamers pay for online access?”

“A monthly fee of nine dollars. Which doesn't sound like much, but . . .”

“Most of these players are in their teens,” Shane supplied. “Nine bucks a month is a major financial hit. The residuals are huge. At one percent of the gross—that was gross, right?”

“I did manage to negotiate that. Yes.”

She said to Trent, “The game retails for seventy bucks a pop, half of that goes to the company. Say a third of the gamers are online any
given month. If we were part of a game this big, our payout would be . . .” She looked out the side window. “In the first twelve months we'd walk away with two and a half million dollars.”

Trent said, “Take the deal. Definitely.”

Once they had signed the documents and Murray's secretary notarized their signatures, Shane tried to return the envelope. Murray said, “The money is yours.”

“What about your cut?”

Here it came. “All initial fees have been set aside. A goodwill gesture on behalf of my firm.”

“Is that normal?”

“It happens occasionally,” Murray replied carefully. Every inch the cautious attorney. “When we are seeking to establish long-term relationships with clients whom we deem of particular interest.”

Shane looked at him. “Did you practice that all the way up from LA?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Murray. Put yourself in our shoes. One minute we're struggling to get in the door, the next and your company is comping us? Doesn't that sound just the teeniest bit weird to you?”

In response, he opened the third and final file. “You remember Kevin Hanley?”

“Your squash partner.” Shane smiled. “Sort of.”

The lady had a beautiful smile. It transformed her from stern and mysterious to childlike. All by the shifting of her facial muscles. Even Trent was mesmerized by the sight. Murray had the sudden impression that she did not smile often. Which was a shame.

He said, “Kevin Hanley is a very important client. He has made a second offer to acquire an interest in your newly formed—”

“No,” Trent said.

Shane turned in her seat. “You don't want to hear the guy's offer?”

“No other partners. That's final.”

Shane shrugged. “You heard the man. Sorry, Murray.”

Murray closed the file holding the first agreement and replaced it with the second. “In anticipation of your rejection, Kevin Hanley has tabled a different offer. He is very keen to work with you on an ongoing basis, however you want to see this happen. Kevin has found your second concept to be of extreme interest.”

Trent asked, “You showed him the algorithm related to quantum computing?”

“Your instructions as I read them were to patent the concept and find someone willing to acquire the process outright.”

“Trent isn't complaining. Are you, partner?”

“No. It's just . . .”

Shane studied him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I just wasn't expecting anything this fast.”

Shane wanted to ask him something else. Murray could see the strain it caused to hold back. But she turned to him and said, “So Kevin Hanley is interested in my partner's work.”

“Interest doesn't begin to describe it.” Murray slid a second unsealed envelope across the table.

This time Shane was longer in responding to what she found inside. “A hundred thousand dollars.”

“Actually, if you'll look once more I think you'll find there are two checks. Each for the same amount.”

Shane pulled out the other. Set them beside each other on the table. Trent watched her fingers trace their way around both borders. He did not speak. Or move.

“The first check is to acquire sole proprietary rights for the usage of your formula. The second is initial payment for a long-term arrangement. Kevin Hanley wants first rights to whatever you discover next.”

“So this is an advance on future work.”

“Exactly. In exchange, Kevin wants your promise that you will show your work to no one else. He has six weeks to examine—”

“That's too long.”

Trent said, “No it isn't.”

“Six weeks is an eternity. He could rework your next concept and claim it was his all along.”

“Then what happens to the concept after that one?”

Shane clearly didn't like it. But all she said was, “Since Hanley is such a power around your firm, how can we be certain you'll act in our best interests?”

Murray nodded. It was the right question to ask. “You are my clients. I am required by law to represent your best interests in all matters.”

She asked the next question to her partner. “And if there's a conflict between Hanley's interests and ours?”

Trent shrugged. “We've got to trust somebody, Shane. And this guy came highly recommended. To say the least.”

Murray started to ask where they had gotten his name. But Shane chose that moment to rise from her chair. She asked Trent, “You mind if I have a word alone with Murray?”

“Of course not.”

“Hang tight. This won't take long.” When they were outside, Shane lowered her voice and asked Murray, “You think maybe you could work it so I speak with the university president?”

The secretary was on her feet behind her desk. “Actually, Ms. Schearer, the president has mentioned that he would very much like to meet you and Mr. Major both.”

“It'll be just me and our attorney.” She motioned with her chin. “Let's go, counselor.”