The Cathar Secret: A Lang Reilly Thriller by Gregg Loomis Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gregg Loomis
suggest a break, order a fresh pot of coffee, anyway."
As likely as he was about to jump out of the window.
Wynton felt his chest clinch. Causing an interruption of a meeting with one of the firm's biggest clients was not something Richardson was going to forget. It might be worse, though. He almost panicked as the dark possibilities flashed through his mind as he entered a vacant office next to the conference room. Jesus, what if Wynn-Three had fallen into the swimming pool? Run out in front of a truck? Swallowed something? Had the house caught on fire?
His hand shook as he punched the winking button on the phone's keyboard. "Yes?"
At least Paige's voice sounded calm. "Wynton, we have a problem."
He exhaled deeply, relieved that his son was not in immediate peril. A problem? No shit. Just a problem and she had intruded on what could be the most important meeting of his career so far? He swallowed the sour taste of his fear, letting the fright be replaced by his anger over the interruption.
"Paige, I was in a meeting with the president of United Bank and Trust. He and two senior partners are waiting. I hope this is important," he said stiffly.
"It's important, all right. I've just had a conference with Mrs. Jennins."
The name didn't register.
"Who?"
"The head of St. Philip's Day Care. She wants to speak with both of us about Wynn-Three."
Wynton was surprised to realize the sound he was hearing was the grinding of his own teeth. "Some teacher wants to talk with us and you interrupt . . ."
That all-too-familiar edge was back in her tone. "I'd think your son's welfare would take precedence over some meeting. Wynn-Three may have some sort of psychological disorder."
What the hell was going on? Paige had worked here. She knew how things were. Absent imminent nuclear attack, you did not call a junior partner out of meetings with senior partners. She was calling him about some fairy-fay psycho-babble? Wynton viewed mental health practitioners with the same skepticism he reserved for auguring chicken entrails, voodoo curses, or tarot cards. Paige had been away from Swisher & Peele too long.
"Paige," he said as patiently as he could, "as I said, I have a very important meeting going on concerning the bank litigation. As you know, a good performance could mean a lot to me professionally." He paused, unable to resist. "You do recall 'professional'? Any problems Wynn-Three might have that are not life threatening can surely wait until I get home. Okay?"
There was the sort of pause romance writers would have described as "pregnant," then, "Does that mean you won't meet with Mrs. Jennins?"
There was that grinding sound again.
"Paige, I'm going to hang up now, try to salvage the conference. That does not mean I'm not interested in our son. It does mean one of us has to earn a living. Okay?"
Her voice might as well have been dripping with icicles. "Wynton, it was as much your decision as mine that I become a full-time mother to our child. That does not, repeat, does not give you the right to patronize me."
He started to reply but was stopped by a disconnecting click.
CHAPTER 10
Cathedral of St. Phillip
February 1
2:20 P.M.
W YNTON STARED INCREDULOUSLY AT THE CRAYON drawing on Mrs. Jennins's desk. For this he was giving up billable hours? Because his son had scribbled something that, possibly, might be construed as a man in an old-fashioned striped prison suit, he was sitting at St. Philip's instead of preparing for trial? Swisher & Peele's announced policy was that, whether senior partner or youngest associate, family always came first. It sounded great in the firm's brochure and was an enticing inducement in recruiting. The truth was that, aside from the ability to bring in business, billable hours and performance determined all future raises and promotions. Neither
As likely as he was about to jump out of the window.
Wynton felt his chest clinch. Causing an interruption of a meeting with one of the firm's biggest clients was not something Richardson was going to forget. It might be worse, though. He almost panicked as the dark possibilities flashed through his mind as he entered a vacant office next to the conference room. Jesus, what if Wynn-Three had fallen into the swimming pool? Run out in front of a truck? Swallowed something? Had the house caught on fire?
His hand shook as he punched the winking button on the phone's keyboard. "Yes?"
At least Paige's voice sounded calm. "Wynton, we have a problem."
He exhaled deeply, relieved that his son was not in immediate peril. A problem? No shit. Just a problem and she had intruded on what could be the most important meeting of his career so far? He swallowed the sour taste of his fear, letting the fright be replaced by his anger over the interruption.
"Paige, I was in a meeting with the president of United Bank and Trust. He and two senior partners are waiting. I hope this is important," he said stiffly.
"It's important, all right. I've just had a conference with Mrs. Jennins."
The name didn't register.
"Who?"
"The head of St. Philip's Day Care. She wants to speak with both of us about Wynn-Three."
Wynton was surprised to realize the sound he was hearing was the grinding of his own teeth. "Some teacher wants to talk with us and you interrupt . . ."
That all-too-familiar edge was back in her tone. "I'd think your son's welfare would take precedence over some meeting. Wynn-Three may have some sort of psychological disorder."
What the hell was going on? Paige had worked here. She knew how things were. Absent imminent nuclear attack, you did not call a junior partner out of meetings with senior partners. She was calling him about some fairy-fay psycho-babble? Wynton viewed mental health practitioners with the same skepticism he reserved for auguring chicken entrails, voodoo curses, or tarot cards. Paige had been away from Swisher & Peele too long.
"Paige," he said as patiently as he could, "as I said, I have a very important meeting going on concerning the bank litigation. As you know, a good performance could mean a lot to me professionally." He paused, unable to resist. "You do recall 'professional'? Any problems Wynn-Three might have that are not life threatening can surely wait until I get home. Okay?"
There was the sort of pause romance writers would have described as "pregnant," then, "Does that mean you won't meet with Mrs. Jennins?"
There was that grinding sound again.
"Paige, I'm going to hang up now, try to salvage the conference. That does not mean I'm not interested in our son. It does mean one of us has to earn a living. Okay?"
Her voice might as well have been dripping with icicles. "Wynton, it was as much your decision as mine that I become a full-time mother to our child. That does not, repeat, does not give you the right to patronize me."
He started to reply but was stopped by a disconnecting click.
CHAPTER 10
Cathedral of St. Phillip
February 1
2:20 P.M.
W YNTON STARED INCREDULOUSLY AT THE CRAYON drawing on Mrs. Jennins's desk. For this he was giving up billable hours? Because his son had scribbled something that, possibly, might be construed as a man in an old-fashioned striped prison suit, he was sitting at St. Philip's instead of preparing for trial? Swisher & Peele's announced policy was that, whether senior partner or youngest associate, family always came first. It sounded great in the firm's brochure and was an enticing inducement in recruiting. The truth was that, aside from the ability to bring in business, billable hours and performance determined all future raises and promotions. Neither
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