Consequences(105)

The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. Samuel Rawls and Jared Clawson sat while Nathaniel Rawls paced. The large polished conference table was barely visible beneath the magnitude of papers. The players no longer worked from the New Jersey office above the textile factory, as they had five years ago. Instead, the view from the conference table or large mahogany desk was now that of Cedar Street in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district.

“Rawls stock is up another five-eighths after heavy trading. The rumors that circulated today about the quarterly report helped with that increase,” Clawson said as he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair, adjusting his suit jacket.

Nathaniel’s track around the large office included peering out toward the NYSE and circling the desk to see the large computer screens which relayed up-to-the-minute stock information. Exhaling a large gray cloud, he asked the question that sat heavily on his and Samuel’s minds, “But what happens when it’s discovered the rumors and reality are different?”

“Shit hits the fan”—Clawson smiled—“So—we don’t tell anyone.”

Samuel rubbed his throbbing head. “What do you mean we don’t tell anyone? The quarterly earnings report will be released tomorrow. The investors will find out that our capital is down. That last string of investments wiped out millions.”

“Numbers are funny things. I have a copy here of an alternative report. The numbers are all legitimate, but the information is written with a positive slant.” Clawson distributed the report. The room filled with uncomfortable silence as the two Rawls men read the new report.

“Where’s the original report?” Nathaniel bellowed. Immediately, Clawson pulled the requested pages from the cluttered table. The elder Rawls took the two reports and sat heavily at his desk. Page by page he compared the figures. Samuel and Clawson watched as the tips of Nathaniel’s lips moved from south to north. The telephone rang, breaking the silence. Instead of answering, Nathaniel hit the button on the intercom. “Connie, I said no calls!”

The voice from the box spoke apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rawls. It’s your personal line. I’ll take care of it.” Immediately, the ringing stopped.

The sight of Nathaniel’s smile had differing effects. Clawson resumed his leaned back position and lit another cigarette. Samuel leaned forward and held his head in his hands. Confronting his father in front of Clawson wasn’t a good idea, but it had to be done.

This whole damn thing was getting out of hand.





It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know it has begun



—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow





Chapter Twenty-Three


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His head rested on his arm as he listened to her breathing and watched her sleep. The discussion in his head had raged for hours. Sensing her warmth, inhaling her scent, and wanting to taste her lips…the voice of love prevailed.

*

Claire floated in that place before consciousness, having difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasy—unsure of what she was feeling. The epiphany came with the realization—she was feeling. It’d been so long since she felt anything. She felt warm—safe—and secure. Her mind tried to convince her it was a dream, but she remembered feeling the same way before she fell asleep. She questioned herself, is this real? Her soft skin rolled on the silky sheets and felt radiating warmth. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes. Right in front of her—close enough to touch—was Tony’s firm broad chest. Again—questions, is he really here—he usually left her bed before she woke—Why is he still here?—Now as Claire rolled onto her back and saw the beautiful ornate ceiling she wondered, Where is here? This isn’t my room.