Fifth Avenue

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The young man who worked for Redman Place glanced down at the three cardboard boxes stacked in the entryway of Celina’s apartment. He picked up two, calculated their weight to be around sixty pounds apiece, looked at the rest of the boxes and then looked back at her. “He came back from Redman International an hour ago. I just finished helping him carry a bunch of boxes up to his apartment?”

Curiosity flickered in Celina’s eyes. What would Eric be doing at Redman International on a Sunday? “How many boxes?”

“Eight?”

“Do you know what was in them?”

The young man shrugged. “Office supplies?”

“Office supplies?”

“Maybe not. I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse.” He looked at his watch. “Look, Miss Redman, if I’m going to deliver these boxes to him, I should probably get going. My break’s over in another ten minutes.”

Celina turned to the table beside her and reached for her purse. She removed a $50 bill, glanced at him, and then removed another. “Don’t worry about being late,” she said. “You work in receiving here, don’t you? I’ll phone Jake and tell him to give you the rest of the day off-with pay.” She handed him the money. “And this is for you. Thanks for the information, Dan. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” And he was gone with the first of Eric’s belongings.

She moved through her apartment. Every room, every corridor, was quiet and mysterious and changed. Her home seemed foreign to her now. The rooms were weirdly bare. Although she had never paid much attention to them before, Celina now was acutely aware that the photographs of Eric and her no longer rested on side tables or hung on walls. Now they were packed away in boxes.

She stepped into her bedroom. The bed, the antique chairs and tables Eric bought for her while abroad on business all remained, as did the shelves of hardcover books they once read in bed. The books and the chairs and the tables would stay, she decided. Celina needed some tangible proof that what she and Eric had was real.

As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. She was an unfamiliar woman who no longer looked happy, but years wiser than she had only days ago.

She closed the door behind her when she left the room. It was getting late. She wondered if her father had finished shooting with Frostman. When she left him that morning, she returned to Manhattan to pack the rest of Eric’s clothes. Although the job didn't take long, it had seemed to her like a lifetime.

She wondered if George was angry with her for not returning. After the way he treated her, she decided, for the first time in her life, that she didn’t really care. The phone rang just as Dan was leaving with the final box. Celina answered it in the living room.

“Where have you been?” George asked. “We missed you this afternoon.”

It was not anger she heard in his voice, but something else. Regret…? “I’ve been here,” Celina said. “Cleaning.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided to get rid of Eric’s things.”

A silence passed. Celina dropped into a chair covered in glazed cream chintz and said, “What’s up, Dad? Why are you calling?”

“Two reasons. First, I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier. I never should have reacted the way I did and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Sometimes her father sounded so formal it amused her. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, wanting to put it behind her. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“How’d your meeting go with Ted?”

“It went fine," George said. "But we’ll discuss that later. I’m calling for another reason.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think we should discuss it over the phone.”

“Why not?”

“It’s about your sister.”

A part of her recoiled. “Whatever Leana has done now-”

“She was beaten, Celina.”

“Beaten?”

“Eric did it the night of the party-probably not long after you left the room. If I had known that earlier this morning, he would be in the hospital now, instead of just looking for a job.”

Things were moving too quickly. Her mind tried to grasp what her father was saying. “You fired him?”

“Of course, I fired him,” George said. “And that’s just the beginning. Now, look. I don’t want to discuss this over the phone. Can you come out to the house, or not?”

They were in George’s study. After thirty minutes of long silences and raised voices, the room had gone quiet. Celina looked from her father to her mother and then back at George. He was seated at his desk, his face flushed. Few times in her life had she seen him so upset.

George broke the silence. “If we press charges against the son of a bitch, if we bring him to court, our name and Leana’s will be dragged through every rag on the newspaper stand. And for what? So Eric can walk free because no one witnessed the beating?”

Elizabeth frowned down at him. She had just returned from a charity luncheon when George led her into his study, saying they needed to talk.

“What about our daughter?” she said. “Isn’t she witness enough?”

“It’ll be his word against Leana’s.”

“So? Leana will win. Diana Crane will see to that. She’ll put that man behind bars.”

George thought back to earlier that morning, when Diana answered Eric’s phone. He was almost certain they had been in bed together when he called. And if that was the case, if Diana was sleeping with Eric, she would hardly try her best to defend Leana against him in court.

He looked at Elizabeth and said guardedly, “I don’t think that would be possible.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“Reasons you don’t have to concern yourself with.”

He saw the confusion on Celina’s face and glared at his wife. He would tell her later-away from Celina. “What matters is this,” he said. “Leana would lose no matter who represented her in court. Eric Parker has lived a model life. Our daughter’s bout with cocaine was once the center of a media circus. The defense would make it a point to remind the court of that, and her word would become worthless.”

“I saw them in that room together,” Celina said. “In front of Eric, I accused Leana of setting us up. That’s got to be worth something, Dad. It’s a motive, for God’s sake.”

“What you two seem to be forgetting is this-Leana’s not talking. I’m convinced she never wanted anyone to know about this.”

“But why?” Elizabeth said. “Why couldn’t she have come to us?”

“Because she’s angry,” Celina said. “She’s angry with us, angry at life. Leana always has been.”

“I don’t understand why. We’ve given that girl everything.”

“Except love,” George said.

Elizabeth, a woman who was revered for her poise and grace, turned to George without a shred of it. “Are you saying I don’t love my daughter?”

“You love Leana as much as I do. What I’m saying is that we paid very little attention to her while she was growing up and Leana’s angry because of it.” He looked at the picture of Leana that was on his desk and noticed for the first time that it was neatly tucked behind his pictures of Celina and Elizabeth. He wondered if that’s how Leana saw herself-being neatly tucked away in a silver frame-and decided it probably was.

He looked at his wife and daughter. “Leana didn’t come to us because she doesn’t love us. I think there are two reasons. She doesn’t trust us. And I think Eric threatened her.”

“Threatened her?”

George nodded at Celina. “I’m fairly certain of it.”

Elizabeth watched her husband. It was obvious he already had made decisions concerning Eric Parker and his future. She knew his temper and right now, it frightened her. Once, many years ago, losing control of it had nearly sent him to prison.

“George,” she said firmly. “I want to know what you’re going to do.”

George met her gaze with his own. “Something I should have done this morning,” he said, and reached for the phone.

Celina wasted no time in leaving. She didn’t want to know who her father called or how it might affect Eric Parker.

After kissing her mother goodbye, she left the house. Her father caught her as she was stepping into her car. “Where are you going?” he called from the porch.

Celina felt a flash of disappointment. Who had he spoken to so quickly? “I have a few errands I need to run and then I’m going home,” she said.

“Jack Douglas will be here in another half hour,” George said. “Why don’t you come back for the meeting? You might find it interesting.”

In all the confusion, Celina had forgotten about Jack Douglas and his meeting with her father. Although the last thing she wanted to do now was attend a meeting that might take hours, a part of her wanted to see Jack again.

“Why would I find it interesting?” she asked.

“Because I’m going to offer him Eric’s job.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

Traffic in town was heavier than she anticipated and she was forty minutes late for the meeting.

After parking her car behind an old Buick she supposed belonged to Jack Douglas, she hurried into the house and went to her father’s office.

Jack Douglas was there, his back to a sunlit window, reading a file on WestTex Incorporated, the large shipping corporation based in Corpus Christi, Texas. In that brief moment before he realized she was there, Celina saw on his face a look of relaxed concentration.

To her surprise, he wasn’t wearing a suit, but tan pants and a white Polo shirt. On his face was a day’s growth of beard. She sensed in him a man who was comfortable with himself, unaware of his good looks and somebody who refused to put on airs.

She thought back to the night of the party. Although he arrived soaking wet, there had been an unmistakable, refreshing poise about him, a directress and sense of humor she admired. She remembered liking him very much.

She glanced around the room, noted that her father wasn’t there and cleared her throat. She smiled when Jack looked up. “How are you?” she asked.

Jack closed the folder and placed it on the table beside him. He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. Then he looked at her with a grin. “Drier than when we first met?”

Celina laughed and stepped into the room. As she crossed to her father’s desk, she became aware of herself. She wondered how she looked. She wondered why she cared. “I owe you an apology,” she said, sitting in her father’s leather wingback. “I meant to return for that dance, but something came up and I had to leave unexpectedly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “I left not long after you, anyway.”

“You saw me leave?”

Jack nodded. “I would have gone after you, but you seemed pretty upset. Is everything all right?”

If he had seen her in that state, she could hardly lie. “It wasn’t, but I’m fine now. Thank you for asking.”

At that moment, George entered the room. Celina looked at him and felt relieved. She didn’t want to discuss that evening with anyone.

“You’re here,” George said to Celina. “Good. Then we can get started.” He looked at Jack. “Have you told her the good news?”

“We didn’t get around to it.”

“Then we should now. Jack accepted my offer, Celina. He’ll be taking Eric’s place as our chief financial officer.”

A wave of feelings assailed her. She felt a sense of loss-not the happiness she had been anticipating. Eric was gone. He really was gone. It was as if those years with him now meant nothing. But there was another feeling and she couldn’t deny that it was a sense of relief.

She managed a smile-and knew by the change in Jack’s expression that he could sense it wasn’t genuine. She felt uncomfortable. She wondered why she came. She wondered why she still had feelings for Eric. She should hate him for what he did to her and to Leana. So, why did she miss him?

“That’s great,” she said to Jack. “Congratulations.”

Jack said nothing. He looked away from her and faced George, who was opening a file on WestTex. Celina sensed this meeting was going to pass slowly, but business was business, so she sucked it up.

They discussed the takeover of WestTex, which shipped anything from oil out of the Persian Gulf to coffee beans out of Colombia. Eighty-six percent of their business was strictly international and it was not uncommon for most of WestTex’s fleet to be in international waters at the same time.

As Jack thumbed through the file, he learned that while business at WestTex was good, it was being affected by the instability in the Middle East. He also learned that George Redman was about to pay $10 billion for a company that, according to these figures, was worth half that.

He looked at George, who was seated across from him, and found himself at a loss for words. Why would a man whose stock was at an all-time low pay twice what WestTex was worth when the company had just pulled its entire fleet from the Gulf and whose situation was worsening in the wake of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars? No wonder the press was hounding him. No wonder his stockholders were so damned nervous. The man could lose everything if he took over WestTex.

And then it occurred to him. George Redman was no fool. He obviously knew something the press and his stockholders didn’t know, something that had the power of making him millions. Jack couldn’t help a smile.

“So, what do you think?” George asked. He was sitting in his chair, legs crossed, hands clasped behind his head. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow against one side of his face, leaving the other side in shadow.

“If you weren’t George Redman, I’d say you were a fool to even consider this takeover.”

“Mind explaining why?”

“Not at all. With your stock at an embarrassing low, you’ve agreed to pay $10 billion for a company that’s worth half that.”

George shrugged. “WestTex can support itself.”

“Not if the Middle East remains in the can.”

“WestTex isn’t just about the Middle East.”

“According to these papers, more than sixty percent of its business is done in the Middle East.”

“So, we turn things around. Find other avenues. Explore other ventures.”

Jack lifted the folder from his lap. “Oil is where the money's at. And yet it says here that because of each war, WestTex and other shipping companies are pulling their tankers from the Gulf. That’s a sixty percent drop in business for WestTex. And with that kind of decline, there’s no way it can support the $10 billion you’re willing to pay for it, no matter what avenues or ventures you have in mind. The money is in oil. Period.”

George suppressed a smile. “So, why do you think I’m going through with it?”

“I think you know something the public doesn’t,” Jack said. “I think once this takeover is complete, you’re going to be the one laughing-not the press. Am I right?”

“I hope so.”

“Mind filling me in?”

“Absolutely. You’re an employee now. What is said in this room stays in this room.”

“Of course.”

George left his chair and stepped to one of the large casement windows behind him. Acres upon acres of green lawns and rolling hills stretched out as far as he could see.

“You’re perfectly right,” he said to Jack. “Under ordinary circumstances, this takeover would be the end of me and Redman International. Not only can’t WestTex support itself at the price I’ve agreed to pay for it, but after spending nearly $1.5 billion on the new building, I would never be able to afford it.” He smiled. “But, luckily, that isn’t the case.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because of my deal with Iran,” George said. “The deal no one knows about.” He turned to Celina, who was sitting beside Jack. “This is your area. Why don’t you take it from here?

Celina began with the basics. “Two weeks ago, my father and I met with a group of Iranian officials to see if we could work out a deal that would make us one of Iran’s chief exporters of oil. For a lot of reasons, few are willing to go near them.”

“Except for you and a few others,” Jack said. “But why?”

“We’re willing to take the risk because of two factors,” Celina said. “First is the price we’ll be paying for the oil. Iran has guaranteed us a price so low, the revenues we’ll earn from hauling and selling the oil should pay off WestTex in less than five years. That’s over two billion dollars a year. In a sense, we can’t afford not to go to Iran.”

The kind of money they were discussing was astronomical. “What’s the other reason?” Jack asked.

“It was recently announced that the U.S. would do what they did during the Gulf War. Our country plans to send the Navy into the Gulf to provide military escorts for dozens of American-flagged tankers. For security reasons, the exact date wasn’t given. It’s been kept top secret. No one-not Iran nor Iraq, nor any other oil or shipping company-knows the date but us.”

“How did you find out?”

“I have contacts at the State and Defense Department,” George said. “I called in a few favors and was given the date.”

“So, what you’re saying is that, with the Navy in the Gulf, the risks will be fewer and insurance prices will go down.”

“Exactly,” George said. “Making the venture profitable.”

“If that date was made public, every oil and shipping corporation in the world would be scrambling to export oil out of the Gulf.”

Celina smiled. “But instead, most are scrambling to get out of it.”

“It’s not all a gilded road,” George said. “There are problems-major ones. Just yesterday afternoon, RRK, the investment group we hired to help finance the deal, pulled out. They felt the risks were too great to get involved, the deal with Iran too shaky because our agreement with them is verbal.”

“Verbal?”

“That’s right,” George said. “Verbal.”

“I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“That’s because you don’t have the biggest set of balls in the room. Earlier this afternoon, I met with Ted Frostman from Chase. We talked over a game of skeet, I told them the pros and cons of taking over the company and he’s agreed to work with us.”

“That's terrific,” Jack said.

“Don’t get excited just yet,” George said. “We’ve yet to discuss fees and the terms of the deal-but Ted did assure me that he can get a commitment from Chase and, if for some reason that falls through, word’s out that Peter Cohen at Morgan Stanley is looking for an LBO-he might be interested.”

George looked at Jack. “What do you think?”

Jack’s former boss was Peter Cohen, Morgan’s chairman and chief executive. “I think Peter would be very interested,” he said. “Morgan is still trying to get back into the LBO business and I happen to know that Peter is under pressure to save their third-quarter earnings, which are expected to be down. A one-shot injection of, say, $100 to $200 million might be the opportunity he’s been waiting for.”

“Good,” George said. “Because we have to move fast. If I wait much longer, Iran could learn of the Navy’s move-and if that happens, there’s no question they’ll withdraw their offer.”

He stepped away from the window and sat in his chair. There was a sudden energy about George, a vitality that glimmered in his eyes and animated his features. “My sources at the State and Defense departments say that the Navy will begin its move on July 21. I’ve already spoken to my contacts at Lloyds, and they’ve agreed to cut their insurance rates in half when the Navy is stationed in the Gulf.”

“Where do I come into all this?” Jack asked.

“You mean besides your connections at Morgan Stanley, which might prove invaluable? On the day WestTex becomes ours, you, Celina and Harold Baines will be signing the final papers in Iran. It’s all just a formality, really-by then, the papers will have been drawn up and vetted. But obviously, it’s an important formality. If I take over WestTex without having secured this deal with Iran, I could lose everything I’ve ever worked for if they decide to back out.”

“Why don’t you just complete the deal with Iran first?”

George looked wistful. “I wish I could, but Iran won’t allow it. Only when WestTex is ours will they sign the final papers. They refuse to commit themselves otherwise.”

Jack couldn’t still a sense of apprehension. The risk this man was taking was great. He found himself admiring Redman, but also wondering how the man slept at night. “Are you sure this is the right move?” he asked.

“No,” George said. “But I didn’t get where I am without taking risks. I think this one is calculated. I feel good about it, so I’m going for it.” He stood. “I think you and Harold should meet before the trip. How does dinner sound?”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I’m free anytime.” He looked at Celina, who was flipping through a file on WestTex. He had been waiting all afternoon for a moment like this. “Why don’t you join us?” he asked casually.

Celina looked at him, surprised and speechless. She was about to refuse when her father said, “That’s a good idea. This way, you all can get to know one another before the trip.”

Eric Parker was there, but now only in the back of her mind. As her dinner date with Jack drew nearer, Celina found herself thinking more and more about him.

At board meetings, he would enter her thoughts by surprise. At business dinners, she would remember his smile and how they first met. In cabs headed cross-town, her mind would wander into his personal life. When he wasn’t at work, how did he spend his time? He seemed athletic. Was he on a team of some sort? Did he belong to a gym? And where did he live? Near her? On the West side? Downtown?

And her thoughts deepened. She wondered if he was seeing anyone.

She began to imagine the kind of woman he was interested in. She would be pretty, of course, but not so pretty that she didn't want to get her hands dirty. Somehow, she sensed that looks were less important to him than intelligence. And he would want someone who had a sense of humor; someone witty like himself, but not cruel or cutting. As the days passed, she imagined endless possibilities-but then, on the eve of their dinner date, she put an end to it.

This is crazy, she thought. Not only have I just ended a relationship, but once WestTex and the deal with Iran is secured, there will be more problems, more responsibilities and less time for me. This man should be furthest from my mind.

She was thinking this as she slipped into the black silk dress she purchased earlier that morning at Saks. Besides, it isn’t as though we’re going to be alone at dinner. Harold will be there. I’m simply a businesswoman attending a business dinner with my business colleagues.

She stepped in front of the bedroom mirror. The dress was short and chic and clung to her body, exposing her tanned shoulders, accenting her long legs. Studying herself, she wondered what had happened to the businesswoman, wondered what Jack Douglas would think if she arrived at the restaurant looking like this.

She reached into her closet and removed a black Chanel jacket. She put it on and turned before the mirror, inspecting the more conservative version. “That’s more like it,” she said.

But when she left her apartment, it was without the jacket.

When she arrived at the restaurant, she was led by the captain into a room filled with bouquets of fresh flowers, people dining at elegantly appointed tables, a man playing piano in the center of the warmly lit room. Jack Douglas was already seated at their table and he stood as she approached.

“You look terrific,” he said.

Celina thanked him and, as the captain pulled out her chair and she sat down, she noted the expensive navy blue suit Jack wore, his recently trimmed hair. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said. “Harold’s not with you?”

Jack shook his head. “I thought he’d be with you.” He looked at the captain, who was standing beside them, and asked Celina what she would like to drink. “A bottle of champagne?”

Celina regarded him with a smile-this man did not drink champagne. Although he seemed perfectly at ease at this restaurant, she sensed he would rather be dining at a Village cafe, cutting into a thick steak, drinking a cold beer. “I was thinking more on the line of having a beer,” she said. “Does that sound all right with you?”

Delighted, Jack grinned. “Sounds fine to me,” he said. “But I drink from the bottle.”

“Oh," she said, smiling. "I was hoping for a chilled glass."

And it was that simple.

The beers came and they began to talk.

“Why’d you leave Morgan?” Celina asked. “You made a name for yourself. Things were happening. Why leave?”

Jack shrugged. “The pressure wasn’t worth the money and the money wasn’t worth the hassle of putting up with a room full of bond traders-most of whom would kill their mother if they thought her life would cut a better deal.”

He look a long pull from his beer. “Besides, there’s a lot going down that nobody knows about. A lot of inside deals. I’ve been offered an obscene amount of money for a whisper of information, but I don’t want any part of it. These people haven’t learned. When Wall Street collapses again-and it will, before you know it, really-I didn’t want to be anywhere near the place when the concrete begins to fall.”

He straightened. “So tell me about yourself,” he said. “When did you decide that working at Redman International was for you?”

“You’re assuming I had a choice,” Celina said. “When I was a kid, my father used to bring me to each month’s board meeting. I’d sit in a special corner chair while he hammered out deal after deal. He was mesmerizing. The board loved him. At night, I’d pretend I was him. I’d stand in front of my bedroom mirror and mimic the way he stood before the board-arms crossed, feet spaced firmly apart-pretending I was the one in charge. Believe me, I know it sounds cheesy, but at the time I was enthralled. My father was my hero.”

“Is he now?”

Although she said, “Yes, of course,” Celina wasn’t sure. After the incident with Eric Parker and her father’s reaction to it, her feelings had shifted toward George in ways she couldn’t quite describe.

The conversation turned and they laughed and joked about how they met and how Jack was planning on buying a new car. They talked with ease, as if they were old friends catching up over dinner. From time to time, Jack would touch Celina’s hand to make a point. From time to time, Celina would do the same.

When the waiter brought the second round of beers, Celina excused herself and left to use her cell phone. She called Harold at home. It was his wife, Helen, who answered.

“He should be there, Celina,” the woman said. “He left over an hour ago.” A silence followed. Celina could hear the sudden whistling of a tea kettle coming from Helen’s kitchen. “Maybe he’s at the office,” Helen said. “He did mention stopping by there.”

But Harold wasn’t in his office. And he wasn’t with her father.

“How long have you been waiting?” George asked.

“An hour,” Celina said. “And I’m getting tired of waiting. Where do you think he is?”

George didn’t know.

“If this wasn’t becoming a habit of his, Dad, I’d be worried. But it is becoming a habit. First he decides not to show for two board meetings, and now this. What’s going on with him? Harold’s never acted like this before. That man used to be on time for everything.”

“He may have just forgotten, Celina. The deals with WestTex and Iran have doubled his workload. He’s not as young as you.”

“True,” she said. “But my workload has tripled and you don’t see me missing a business dinner.”

“I’m not going to defend him.”

“I don’t expect you to. You know how I feel about Harold. But I do expect you to talk to him. Somebody has to.”

She severed the connection and forced herself to relax. She was damned if Harold’s absence was going to ruin this evening.

She returned to the table. Jack looked up at her as she approached. “We might as well eat,” she said. “It looks as though he won’t be coming.”

“Did you find out where he is?”

“No,” she said. “And at this point, I really don’t care. I’d rather have dinner alone with you, anyway.” She picked up the menu and flipped through it, aware that Jack was looking at her intently. “The filet mignon here is wonderful,” she said. “It's so rare, I think they merely walk a cow past a stove. I’m having that.”

Later, after dessert and coffee, Celina said, “It’s still early. Would you like to come back to my apartment for a nightcap? We can continue the conversation there.”

Jack said he would like that very much.

The evening was so warm, they decided to walk.

“You haven’t mentioned your family,” Celina said. “What do your parents do?”

They were walking up Fifth, stopping from time to time to glance at the illumined store windows. Jack reached out and held Celina’s hand. “They’re retired,” he said. “Dad worked forty years at a Pittsburgh steel mill before he sold the house and moved to West Palm with my mother. They live in this little house near the ocean. My mother calls once a week to tell me that Dad is driving her crazy. My father calls twice a week threatening divorce’“

“So, they’re happy?” Celina said.

“Excessively.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister,” Jack said. “Her name is Lisa. She’s a nurse.”

When they passed 59th Street and her apartment complex came into sight, the first thing Celina noticed were the flashing red and blue lights surrounding it. As they drew nearer, she counted six police cars and one ambulance. A crowd had gathered outside Redman Place and traffic was lined up the street. Sirens gave chill to the warm night air.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

Celina said she didn’t know. She immediately thought back to the bombs that exploded on top of Redman International and couldn’t still a twinge of fear. The police still hadn’t learned who rigged the spotlights with explosives.

They hurried up the avenue. Car horns were sounding and people were talking excitedly, their voices rising. Celina tried to grasp what they were saying, tried to make sense of it, but it was impossible in the confusion.

The ambulance was parked in front of the building-lights flashing, sirens now quiet. A team of ten officers kept the crowd at bay. Jack led Celina toward the building’s entrance. His grip was strong, firm, and she was thankful for it.

When they reached the front of the crowd, they were in time to see two paramedics wheeling a man out on a stretcher. Celina knew it was a man by the arm that dangled to one side. It was muscular, bloody, bruised. An IV dripped life into it.

As the paramedics neared them, her stomach tensed and she squeezed Jack’s hand harder. She leaned forward but couldn't see the man’s face as he passed. It was partly covered by a bloody sheet.

She noticed that one of the man’s legs was quivering. She also noticed that the other leg was twisted horribly beneath the sheet.

Celina knew almost everyone in this building. It was here that many of Redman International’s senior executives lived. She turned to one of the officers and was about to ask who had been hurt when, from inside the building, a woman shouted, “Wait!”

To her surprise, Celina watched Diana Crane rush from the building.

There was a bandage on her forehead. One eye was slightly swollen. Celina heard Diana say, “I’m going with him.” She watched in disbelief as the woman climbed into the back of the ambulance. No one objected.

The paramedics were lifting the stretcher. Celina knew it was Eric lying there even before the sheet fell to one side and revealed his broken face.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move or react. Her mind began making connections. She remembered her father calling a week ago and saying, “Leana’s been beaten, Celina. Eric did it the night of the party-probably not long after you left the room. If I had known that earlier this morning, Eric would be in the hospital now, instead of just looking for a job.”

She knew her father was responsible for this. She was sure of it.

Why else would he have asked Elizabeth and her to leave the room before making that call?

The ambulance’s doors slammed shut. The sound broke Celina’s reverie and she saw that the vehicle was preparing to leave. She was about to run forward and ask what hospital they were taking him to when she caught sight of her sister in the crowd.

For a moment, Celina could only stare.

Arms crossed, face grim, Leana was standing across from her, sandwiched between two tall, muscular men. She was wearing dark glasses, a black pant suit, no jewelry. Her hair was pulled away from her face.

Celina called out her name.

Alarmed, Leana turned in her direction. Their eyes met. Leana took a step back.

Celina called out her name again.

Leana ignored her. She spoke to the men beside her, they looked at Celina and quickly led Leana away.

She was gone at the same moment the ambulance screamed to life.