FRIDAY EVENING
“Good afternoon, West Coast team.” LuAnn’s expression can be described only as grim. “Good evening, Erika. Thank you for staying after hours on a Friday to attend this important meeting. I hope to have your undivided attention.”
Erika taps up the volume on her spare laptop and adjusts the lighting in an unsuccessful attempt to improve her appearance. Though it’s only seven p.m., after this long and brutal day it might as well be midnight, and the last place she wants to be is in this big, cold house, the source of all her distress and fear.
Just get through the next twenty minutes or so and then you’ll be done, she tells herself, forever. She’ll never have to return here. She has few illusions about LuAnn’s hastily called assembly. She can read the writing on the wall. Or, to be completely accurate, the posts on Reddit.
She’s about to be kicked to TMB’s manicured curb.
Pasting on a smile, she nods in agreement with whatever LuAnn is saying. It doesn’t matter. Pretty soon she can pack up her stuff, what’s left of it. The cops have ransacked the office, taking Holly’s desktop computer and cleaning out the contents from all their filing cabinets. Erika peeked upstairs and found the primary suite in similar condition—drawers open, clothes in heaps. The passports, she assumes, are long gone.
Holly and Robert will be livid at the invasion of their privacy. The only consolation is that the search team appeared to be mindful of LuAnn’s concerns they treat the rest of the house with kid gloves just in case TMB goes through with the reveal on Monday. And that decision’s still up in the air.
LuAnn highlights a screen in the lower left. “I’d like to welcome Don A’Bair from legal.”
A middle-aged man with a combover and french collar nods. No one has to tell anyone he was from legal. He shares Freddie’s same clinical expression. No judgment. Just facts. Sheesh. She’s had her fill of lawyers for a while, that’s for sure.
“And everyone here knows Xavier, I trust.”
Social-media guru Xavier is focused on one of his three screens. He waves once and goes back to typing. Apparently, he gets a dispensation from LuAnn’s demand for undivided attention.
“If you read the memo I sent out, we have, shall we say, an irregular situation regarding our Team H&R.” LuAnn folds her arms and sits back. “However, since that email went out around noon LA time, I’ve had several very productive—if sobering—conversations with Trooper Andre Picard of the Vermont State Police. He’s been extremely helpful.”
That fink. He couldn’t resist calling the powers that be at TMB to ensure they were fully aware there’s a suspected killer on their payroll—her.
Erika would exit Zoom and peace out, if it weren’t for her burning curiosity. Just what has he told LuAnn? How far has he gone to smear her name?
“The conversations mainly concerned the police investigation into the whereabouts of our talent. It is my grim duty to report that they are now officially considered by local authorities to be missing persons and an active and vigorous investigation has been launched.”
Xavier gasps and says, “Oh, dear.”
Don the lawyer activates the digital hand. “I would like to clarify that the issue of whether they breached their contract remains until the investigation concludes and the police issue a written report.”
No one cares about the contract, Don, Erika wants to say. Human beings are missing.
“In addition, Trooper Picard confirmed that the former owner, a mentally ill homeless individual by the name Zeke Strickland, is a person of interest. He is also, unfortunately, at large and may be considered dangerous.”
Nice of Andre to let her know, Erika thinks, barely able to contain her fury. LuAnn’s on the West Coast, far, far from harm’s way. She, however, is right here. In the very house Zeke wants to reclaim.
And she’s alone!
Couldn’t he or Kashi have called her to let her know this is the turn their investigation has taken? Better yet, couldn’t they have offered protection, an escort to safety, a freaking dog whistle?
Nope. They let her find out from LuAnn, Andre’s new best friend. No doubt he’s hoping LuAnn will pitch his story as a three-part series to Netflix when this is over.
“According to Trooper Picard,” LuAnn continues, “Mr. Strickland may be seeking retribution against the Barrons for his eviction. It goes without saying that TMB sides with the Barrons, but it also means we’ll have a very challenging public relations tightrope to walk when viewers learn Robert evicted a father who lost his property for failure to pay municipal taxes. Sympathies could shift drastically from them, to him. What are your thoughts on getting ahead of this with a statement, Xavier?”
“Not overtly,” Xavier says, playing with a pen. “Covertly, yes.”
LuAnn nods vigorously. “I’m leaning in that direction, too. My concern is that, considering the prior owner apparently has two small children, we might find ourselves in the position of defending a wealthy real estate investor who kicked a family onto the street. I don’t have to tell you there’ll be blowback and it will be ruinous.”
“Look, he who controls the medium, controls the message,” Xavier says. “Lazy, drug-addicted deadbeat who rightfully lost his house because he didn’t pay his mortgage or taxes—unlike every other law-abiding American who follows TMB—takes his vengeance on a hardworking newlywed couple. You tell me who’s sympathetic in that narrative.”
LuAnn rolls her hand. “Go on.”
“Anyone who’s ever purchased a previously occupied house will be asking themselves what they really know about the previous owners,” he continues. “Unless they’re dead or in a nursing home, isn’t there always a looming threat some psycho might return to reclaim what was once his? Are you really ever safe unless you’re in a new build? Frankly, in my opinion, what we have here is fresh angle and I say go with it. Do the reveal.”
LuAnn is nodding and tapping her chin, which means her producer wheels are cranking. “Agreed. Now that an official police investigation’s underway, I can see the morning shows going nuts over this. It’s beginning to gel. Give me a script.”
“On it!” Xavier says.
Don the lawyer clears his throat. “Before we wrap this up, we should address the reason you brought me here, LuAnn.”
LuAnn sighs and says, “Xavier, you’ve got your marching orders. I don’t see any reason why—”
“Over and out!” He clicks off without even saying goodbye.
Erika’s left alone with the producer and the lawyer. Her last chance to state her case. Honestly, she has no emotions. She is beyond numb. She is hardened concrete.
“I think I know what you guys are going to say,” she jumps in. “I don’t know what Andre—uhm, Trooper Picard—told you, but I swear I did not have anything to do with Colton Whitcomb’s death.”
Don over there is rapidly taking notes. What do these lawyers do with all these notes?
“Thank you for that, Erika.” LuAnn’s lips twitch in a half smile. “You’re correct in your assumption. Trooper Picard did relay to me that you are, indeed, a person of interest in the untimely death of a woodworker who’s had a tangential involvement with this project. Extremely unfortunate.”
That’s all he had to say, Erika thinks, biting the inside of her cheeks to maintain her composure while the walls around her come crumbling down. “I don’t see how I can be a suspect in what apparently was an accident, though.”
“From our perspective, To the Manor Build cannot afford so much as the taint of a scandal,” chimes in heartless Don. “Whether or not this tragic death was an accident is actually immaterial. It’s a matter of public perception.”
“Which is why we have to ask you to tender your resignation as the Barrons’ assistant immediately, Erika,” LuAnn says gently. “I’m so sorry. You were very efficient and capable and often creative. One of the best assistants I’ve had the pleasure of working with. However, we simply can’t take any chances.”
That’s it. Exactly what she expected. It’s done.
“I’m going to ask you to leave the premises immediately. We’ve hired a security guard to escort you out as soon as this conversation concludes. This is standard TMB practice to ensure terminated employees don’t take anything with them that could jeopardize the reveal. I’m sure you understand.”
A security guard? No, she does not understand at all. Erika feels like she’s stepped through a portal into a dystopian nightmare. Earlier this week, LuAnn dubbed her a genius. Now she’s a danger to the organization who has to be physically removed forthwith!
“Goodbye, Erika,” LuAnn says, leaning toward the screen. “And good luck.”
Meeting ended.
Erika stares at the words on the white screen, her thoughts equally as blank. She could step on a tack or slice her finger on a shard of glass and she wouldn’t feel a thing. At least it’s over, she thinks, too depressed to move as her dreams vanish like dust.
Earlier, Kim left a message inviting her to dinner: pot roast and mashed potatoes with an apple pie to follow. “Tammy’s never seen apples grow on trees. Then again, I’ve never seen a lemon on a tree!” her mother chirped, trying so very hard to boost her spirits.
That’s what she will do. Go home. Take a shower. Down a glass of wine (or two) eat her mother’s pot roast, and curl up under the pink covers of her childhood bed. At least she’ll be warm and safe and there’ll be no reason for Zeke to come after her. She is no longer part of Holly and Robert’s world.
Bert was right when he cautioned her against working for them. This project does, indeed, have bad karma.
Her senses are so dulled, she doesn’t hear the office door open and a security officer enter. Unlike the ones at the wedding, he’s in all black. Black leather jacket over a black T-shirt. Even a black knitted cap.
“Come with me,” he says, waving toward the hallway.
“I have to pack my laptop.” She unzips her case. “It doesn’t belong to TMB, it’s borrowed.”
“No, now. You’re coming with me.”
She unplugs the cord. “You’ll have to wait, okay? My coffee cup and—”
“Now! I’m not fucking around.”
Glancing up, she finds herself eyeing the barrel of a gun, and it hits her he’s not here to escort her out per TMB protocol.
She’s pretty sure she’s meeting Zeke Strickland—at last.