Chapter Fourteen: The Care and Feeding of a Quartermaine

"And of course, Old Man Ed was never one to let bygones be bygones. He came back from that island with a vengeance, and proceeded to rip that company right out of the hands of Barrett and his little mongrel Hornsby. I wasn't in town at that time, but I got it straight from my cousin Jenny. It was a blood-bath. Nobody dared cross him after that—he had always been a carnivorous old coot, but that victory over the Cartel just…well, it turned what little soul he ever had to granite."

Simon stared at the guy in front of him. Luke Spencer, by his own admission, was sort of a seedy character. But he knew his beer and he damned well knew his history. The place they'd gone to, something called Jake's, was of the "manly yet devoid of charm" variety, complete with cheesy bartender in loud shirts checking out the (sparse) female action.

"He sounds like a charmer," Simon said sullenly, taking another sip of his beer. He'd never been one to drink in the daytime, but the last few hours of intensive Quartermaine 101 had been more than a little trying. "A real piece of work," he added. "That number he did this morning on his own daughter was…well, yeah."

"You can never overestimate the amount of cruelty one Qmaine is capable of inflicting on another member of the family. And before you start going all Quixote on me, my good scholar, let me tell you this." Luke downed the last of his beer and tapped the bar for another. "In her day, Princess Tracy was the hands-down champ of the dirty deal, the double deal, and the sneaky underhanded schemes. That's why she and the old man clash so much—she's his spiritual heir. Anything he could do, she could do meaner, smarter, and sneakier. Believe me, Tracy Quartermaine can handle herself."

Simon shook his head, partly to clear it from the exhaustion-fueled jet lag, partly in response to Spencer's accusation. "I've known this woman for twenty-four years, and nothing I've ever seen has led me to suspect that she could be like that man. She's tough, a workaholic, a perfectionist. She doesn't let anybody phone in their jobs, mostly herself. But vindictive? Cruel? Not my Tracy."

"Well, your Tracy used to be their Tracy, and believe you me, Young Hawking, that woman was no angel."

"How did you say you knew her again?"

"I used to manage a club for her weasel of an ex-husband, Mitch Williams. I didn't have that much contact with her, but everyone who worked for Mitch knew it was best to steer clear of the Missus." He waggled an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong—we were happy to look, if you know what I mean. But touch?" His laugh was sardonic. "Oh, not Eddie Q's baby girl! Nobody was that crazy or suicidal."

"Do you know what happened to get her banished?" He knew it would be near-impossible, given the time and the prejudice, to get a straight-forward answer from any member of Tracy's family; maybe this guy could help.

Spencer accepted his beer from the mustachioed bartender with a "thanks, Coleman," took a deep swallow, and leaned forward. "Well, rumor is that the old man got tired of his spoiled brats fighting amongst themselves and decided to put Tracy to a test of loyalty. Why just Tracy and not Alan—well, you'll have to take that up with The Old Man himself. Anyway, EddieQ proceeds to get her all worked up, tells her he's going to cut her off completely if she doesn't stop trying to prove that Monica and Alan's son was not fathered by Alan. Apparently, Monica was a bit of a free agent in her younger days, and a few of the field goals may have been kicked by the visiting team, if you get my drift."

"Unfortunately," Simon nodded.

"Well, The Old Man sets it up to make Tracy think she's about to be cut off—caput, finished, out of the castle. From what I heard, he even had a new will drawn up, completely bankrupting the girl. And then, just as it's getting juicy…" He slammed his mug of beer down hard on the bar. "BAM! The old guy clutches his chest, falls to the floor, and starts yelling he's having a heart attack. By all accounts, Tracy did what he told her to do—she went get his medicine." Luke grinned from ear to ear. "Now here's the good part, Einstein. My sources, reliable all, tell me that when the Princess gets back, she doesn't give him the pills. She puts them just out of reach and won't budge, no matter how he begs." He nodded his head in approval. "She has a pair of brass ones, that Tracy Quartermaine, no doubt. Anyway, the old guy stops moving, apparently dead. Baby Girl snaps out of it, tries to call for help, and he nails her. Accuses her of attempted murder, slams her out of the will, and there you are. Bye-bye, Princess Quartermaine." He sighed. "I have to admit, I hated seeing her go. She was definitely one of my favorite Quartermaines. She was just as vile, vindictive, and nutty as the rest of them, but much prettier to look at, with a hell of a lot more style." He winked at Simon. "Thanks for bringing her back into town. This should get interesting."

"We have no intention of staying," Simon said coldly, meaning it. They were here to resolve Tracy's issues with her father, or at least to – he didn't know – get some closure for her. Get whatever this was out of her subconscious so that she could go back to the life she created. The sane life. The functional life. The life free of back-stabbing family members, lunatic fathers, conspiracies and jockeying for position….

Simon had a flashback to when he and Tracy first met. He'd done the first consulting gig for Freedom as a favor to his department head, and politely turned down the company's offer of a full-time position. He remembered his reasoning clearly—it was the early 80s, and as a career academic, his limited knowledge of the corporate world came from shows like Dallas and Dynasty. He had no desire to be part of a place that, to his naïve point of view, seemed even more cut-throat and stressful than the world of academia.

She'd come to his school, the CEO herself, found him in the Student Union having lunch with some of his grad students. She seemed so out of place there, yet she still managed to fit right in. She had by her own admission lost all interest in academics once she got her bachelor's degree. She knew nothing of chemistry, but wanted to learn because of her business. She needed someone on her staff who was knowledgeable, honest, and had a backbone.

Someone like Simon.

Tracy Walker, by her own admission, was all about business. And success. And as the grad students finished up their meals and said their goodbyes, Tracy Walker set about explaining to Simon her philosophy of business. Her goals for Freedom.

It all made sense now, in context, with the knowledge of how Edward ran his company and his family fresh in his mind.

Freedom was to be a company that valued its employees, that valued innovation, that dealt straight but played hard, to win. Freedom was to be about innovation, not stagnation. Freedom, most of all, was to be about hope. Her hope was to get filthy rich, she'd joked. But the hope of Freedom Energies was to find a new way, to get beyond the trap the world was in, to break free not only from the dependence on current energy sources but from the iron grip of the companies who had a strangle-hold on the lives of every person in the industrialized world.

Simon wondered now how much of that desire had been for business, and how much was her own desire for freedom from Edward's iron grip? Back then, though, he knew nothing of this.

She'd been passionate and honest and unbearably beautiful. A perfect salesperson for Freedom and the perfect bait to lure him in.

He'd signed on the spot.

"We've got business back in Seattle," Simon continued, aware of the eyes on him. Spencer was trying to figure him out, no doubt trying to unravel the complex and somewhat strained relationship he had with Tracy.

"A word of advice, compadre," Luke said darkly. "Whatever business venture you have with Tracy, you might want to take steps to protect it. Old Man Quartermaine has made a career of destroying lives. Now that Tracy has reappeared from the dead, mark my words. He will stop at nothing to muck up any chance of happiness she has."

Simon's mind turned immediately to the IPO. He had no difficulty seeing the old devil using any sneaky, underhanded trick in the book to ruin things for Tracy. His stomach clenched in knots. He checked his watch—11:30. Quick math—it was 8:30 in Seattle. "Excuse me."

He pulled out his phone and hit the speed-dial. After a moment, he said, "Chelsea, it's me. Yeah. Yeah, well, she's seen him. Bloodbath, but I'll explain that later. No, really, she's fine." To Luke, he mouthed, 'Tracy's secretary' before continuing into the phone. "Listen, Chelsea, I need you to do some research. This is top priority; farm out whatever's on your desk. I want you and you alone on this project. Yeah? Yeah, I'm serious. Give that to Nancy. Okay. What I need from you is research on Edward Quartermaine, ELQ Corp., and their acquisitions. Check everything, every member of his family (including bastard children and grandchildren). Look up DBAs and subsidiaries, the board, upper management, lower management. Hell, if the janitor has an Ameriquest account with fifty bucks in it, I want to know." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know it's unethical. I need to know buying patterns, and I need to know any avenue Tracy's father could use to try to fuck up this IPO." He waited as Chelsea responded. And when he answered, his voice was low and sad. "Yeah, kid. It's that bad. I know, I feel rotten, too. She's gonna get through it; we'll get her there. But if the vindictive old coot destroys Freedom, she'll never bounce back. Not to mention it would pretty much wipe the rest of us out, too. What? No, I haven't. Yeah. Yeah, I'll call her back once I find out what's going on. Look, keep me up to date on the ELQ thing. I have to turn off my cell phone in the hospital, but I'll check my messages frequently. Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Chelsea. I'll give her your love."

"Everything ok?" Luke said as Simon grabbed his jacket, pulled out his wallet and left a $20 on the bar to cover the drinks.

"Tracy left a pretty frantic message on the answering machine of a mutual friend. She's not able to reach her, and she's worried." Simon slipped on his jacket. "I'm going to check on her. If she hasn't had enough time to cool off, she'll just have to make the time."

Luke lifted his glass in toast. "Here's to you, Dr. Braveheart. Go claim your Quartermaine!"

Coming in Chapter Fifteen: Faded Pictures and Letters Home