Chapter 30

Indecent Proposal

-RHONDA-

The hazy heat of mid-August permeated the city streets. These were the waning days of summer vacation, as swimsuit sales had given way to back-to-school promotions. Thusly, I had been let go from Bikini Atoll yesterday, and there was little else to do with my time since most of my other friends were still working. It wasn't like I desperately needed the money or anything (though it was kind of nice to have money that I had earned and could spend at my own discretion instead of depending on Daddy), but it had been somewhere to go, and now I didn't have it.

More importantly, it had been a distraction from the uncertainty over my grandfather's efforts to contact my family. Knowing what he had done in the past, I couldn't help but look for sinister motives. The man had essentially driven his own son to suicide, after all, and gaslit his daughter – my mom – over it. I could hear Arnold's voice in my mind telling me that maybe he was making a sincere attempt to make amends, but then, Arnold always could be hopelessly naïve.

IN any case, now that my days were free, the germ of insecurity began to fester in my mind, no matter how much I reminded myself that Clayton Wendell had no power over me. My mother had been free and independent of his sphere of influence for decades, and I myself am not exactly defenseless. And yet, that germ of insecurity kept periodically forcing images of the things a rich, influential man could do to the people I cared about, and especially to she who I cared about most. I was so worried that I'd insisted Nadine allow Bridget's people to shadow her. She'd been resistant at first but I'd fnally managed to impress upon her that this was mainly for my own peace of mind.

It was in the third week of August when Clayton Wendell's people finally made contact with me. I was just arriving home when a limo pulled up beside me. The tinted rear window rolled down, revealing a man in a nondescript but well-tailored suit and glasses. "Ms. Lloyd?" the man asked.

This was pretty much what I'd been expecting for well over a week. Inwardly, I was excited over finally having an opportunity to get some answers, but there was no reason to let this guy know it. Play it cool, I reminded myself. Don't let them know you have any idea what this is about. "Maybe. Depends why you're asking. And you should know, I'm only sixteen… a man your age approaching a girl mine could be very easily misinterpreted. All I have to do is holler and you're looking at a potential prison sentence."

"Understood," the man said. "Rest assured I have no such intentions."

"That remains to be seen," I said.

"Hmm," he continued, not betraying any emotional response to my implied threat. "My name is Charles Garmen. I'm an attorney representing one Clayton Wendell."

Feign ignorance. Don't give away anything. "Should I know who that is?" I asked neutrally.

"Mr. Wendell is the country's most prominent individual in food packaging. He is an extremely wealthy and influential man. He is also your maternal grandfather."

"I was unaware my maternal grandfather was still alive."

"Well, he is, and he would very much like to meet with you."

I continued to project as little emotion as possible. "Well, seeing as I am still underage, I would suggest speaking to my parents."

"Mr. Wendell has already attempted to contact your parents. They have refused all approaches so far."

"Well, if they have, then they must have a reason for it. I believe our business here is finished." I started to walk on, hoping the attorney would take the bait.

He did.

"Look, here's my card," he said, offering it. "If you change your mind, come down to our offices in midtown."

I forced my eyebrow to stay stlll, because it really wanted to raise itself at this news. Was Clayton Wendell actually here in the city? Or was this some kind of over-the-phone deal?

"I'll think about it," I said brusquely, snatching the card as perfunctorily as I could manage and shoving it into my purse. Rest assured, I would be calling on Mr. Garmen's offices, but on my own terms, and not until I was good and prepared.

Helga let out a low whistle. "That is fucked-up. I mean… what the hell does someone say about something like that?"

"You can see why my mom wants nothing to do with him. To be quite honest, I would be perfectly happy if I never had to have anything to do with him either, but I don't think he's willing to cooperate on that front. He seems very insistent on making contact with me for whatever reason."

"So, why are you coming to me with all this?"

"Well… I already told Nadine, and, since I'm involved with her… technically, that makes you my best friend."

Helga blushed. "Um, well thanks, but even then, this kind of thing is pretty serious. I'm not sure even best friend status entitles me to know. And, honestly, I'm not sure how to handle knowing that sort of stuff about your family. My chosen coping mechanisms are sarcasm and hostility, and I don't think they'd be very appropriate here."

"Actually, thing is, if I go into a meeting with these guys, I don't wanna go in blind. And then I remembered, back from when I helped you make amends to Inga, that you have all that surveillance and recording equipment, and I was wondering if maybe we can rig me up with a wire so I can record everything that happens in that office…

Helga's eyes darted back and forth. "Yeah, funny story about that… I kinda don't… have that stuff any more?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Well, up until recently, I was in a pretty stable, mature relationship, so I didn't really see any need to keep all of that crap around. I sold it all to the AV Club. Used the money to buy a new laptop."

"Hmmph. It's nice you've had personal growth, but it's very inconvenient for me."

"Maybe you can try hitting Bridget up for some gear? You're already got her doing a security detail on Nadine, I'm sure she'd be up for helping you out here too."

"I don't know… she's already provided us with a lot, and she's never charged us for any of it… do you think maybe we're taking her for granted?"

"Hey, who are we to turn down her generosity? Besides, don't we always help her out whenever she needs it?"

"True…"

"So, don't worry about it. You already explained this whole thing to her when you had her shadow Nadine, right? If she was on board with that, she'll be on board with this too."

As it turned out, not only was Bridget willing to go along with it, she was willing to take it a step further.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but… couldn't you get in a lot of trouble for this?"

"For what?" Bridget asked, glancing aside at me through her glasses. She'd exchanged her skin-tight blue catsuit for a conservative charcoal pantsuit and tied back her long chestnut hair in a sensible bun.

"I'm pretty sure there's a law against impersonating a lawyer," I responded, as we approached the midtown highrise in which Mr. Gamen's law offices were located.

"Yes, there is. Lucky for you I passed the bar exam two weeks ago."

"You're a real lawyer?"

"Took classes during my downtime. Gotta have something to fall back on in case the crimefighting gig goes south, right?"

The law offices of Garmen, Schultz and Alger were located on the 43rd floor of the building. It was a small, utilitarian space, with very little in the way of decoration or amenities. Probably a satellite office. Mr. Garmen was waiting in the main (and only) meeting room, having previously agreed to meet with us at this time. He was the only other person present. There was no sign of the mysterious Mr. Wendell himself.

"Ms. Lloyd," he acknowledged. "And who is this?"

"I took the liberty of having Ms. Leigh, my family's legal counsel, present during our meeting," I replied. "I'm certain that won't be a problem?"

"Not at all," he responded evenly. I had a feeling he wasn't expecting a teen like me to be this savvy. Good. The more he underestimates me, the better.

"Will Mr. Wendell be joining us?" I asked. "I was under the impression that I would be meeting with him today."

"I'm afraid Mr. Wendell Is unable to join us in person," he replied. Curious… "He will be conversing with us via video chat." He opened the laptop that was sitting on the conference table. The computer exited sleep mode revealing a chat window that, for now, only showed the app's logo. While I betrayed no emotion, my mind was racing, If he was so desperate to meet with me, why not doing it in person? One reason immediately came to mind. Moments later, it was confirmed when Mr. Wendell himself appeared on the screen.

I'm not sure what I had been expecting. The one photo I had found of him had been taken in his prime, so naturally he would be older. What I didn't expect was for him to look this old. The Clayton Wendell on the screen was far from the robust middle-aged man in the file photo. He was gaunt, pale, his hair chalk-white and thinning. Though anything below his neck was out of view, I took particular note of a tiny tube that ran into his nose, suggesting that even breathing was not something he took for granted. It was very likely he had a whole oxygen-tank setup just offcamera. The reasons for his not showing up in person were now glaringly obvious.

"Ah," he said, smiling weakly. "You must be my granddaughter, Rhonda. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I only wish it could be in person, but… perhaps that can be arranged."

I had to say, the doting grandfather act was quite jarring, knowing what I did. Jarring, and galling. To think that he could put on this pleasant facade after all he had done was, to but it mildly, infuriating. And yet, his infirm condition was blindingly obvious. Perhaps his condition had given him cause to reconsider, even repent, his actions. Perhaps that crushing guilt had even contributed to his deterioration, and this outreach was a last, desperate attempt at redemption before the Reaper came for him. One last grasp for escape from the fires of Hades. How did I feel about that? One voice, sounding suspiciously like Arnold's, argued that every human being is capable of redeeming themselves if they make an effort; the other, sounding suspiciously like Helga's, contended that no amount of contrition could ever make up for the things he'd done. The proverbial shoulder angel and devil, if you would. And right now, both were making very convincing arguments.

I considered my response carefully. To seem cold at first would give away that I wasn't coming into this meeting without preconceived notions, but also didn't want to act too eager. "I have to admit, I was unaware until recently that you were even alive," I finally responded.

"Yes, well, I made the mistake of allowing my family to slip away from me. But recent developments have made me realize that family is the most important thing of all."

"Recent developments?" I reiterated, guessing what he was alluding to but hoping he'd expand further.

"No need to sugarcoat it, I think. The fact is, I'm dying." There it was. He was not long for the world and wanted to square things before slipping the mortal coil for good. "And I need an heir. Your mother, yourself, and your sister are my only living relatives. Your mother has made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me, and your sister is far too young. Therefore, I would like to pass on my estate to you."

"Me?" I repeated. "I'm only sixteen."

"I'm certain Mr. Garmen can work out the details with your family attorney, but, yes, I am writing up my will and am planning to name you as my sole heir."

My eyebrows went up, without my being able to stop them this time. Of all the things I expected, becoming heir to a frozen food empire was the absolute last. "Are you serious?"

"There really is nobody else at this point. Of course, there are some things we must discuss before that point."

"Such as…"

"Well, if one is to be heir to the Wendell empire, it is imperative that one must comport herself as befitting the heir to the Wendell empire. Certain… standards must be upheld."

And there it was, the sinking feeling in the pit of all three of my stomachs. "What standards are we talking about here?" I asked.

"Specifically, I am referring to the company you keep. In particular, your relationship with a certain young woman." Yep. There it was. For all his talk about regrets and reconciliation, Clayton Wendell had not changed one bit.

"I'm not certain what you're talking about."

"Come now, Rhonda, dear, playing dumb is beneath you. You know very well to whom I am referring. Namely, one Nadine Robinson. Now, I can understand the temptation to… slum it, as it were, but surely you must understand that associating with her type is beneath you?"

My teeth began to clench. I had been patient, but that patience had eroded. "What exactly do you mean by 'her type?' Because Nadine Is beautiful, brilliant, talented, and kind. She's the best person I know, so I really want to know what you're saying."

"You know very well what I mean. The relationship between the two of you is fundamentally wrong, and not simply because you are both women."

"You mean we shouldn't be together because she's black. That's what you mean. You're using weasel words like 'her kind' and 'standards', but that's what you mean."

"I understand your mother has been… overly permissive. But once we find a suitable match for you so you can produce a proper heir, you can put all that behind you and-"

Enough was enough. "Let me stop you right there. By 'suitable' you mean, some upper-class rich twit that can take care of everything while I push out some pure white babies for you, is that what you mean?"

"N-Now see here-" he stammered.

"Oh, I see just fine." My eyes narrowed. "But, you know, you're right. It is my duty as your heir, after all. Perhaps I'd call my first son... oh, what's a good name… Rhys?"

His face was already as pale as a ghost, but my namedrop somehow made it blanch even further. "H-how do you know that name?"

"Mom told me everything," I responded, allowing myself the luxury of a smug expression. I had earned it.

"She couldn't have possibly-" he stammered. "You don't understand… the pressures of-"

"I understand everything I need to. That you're a bigot, and a control freak. You want everything to be exactly the way you think it should be, and when things aren't perfect you try to force them to be. And when things don't fit into your mold, when forcing things into your mold breaks them, you try to bury the evidence. But the truth doesn't stay buried. No matter how much you want it to." I turned to his attorney. "Thank you, Mr. Garmen, but I think my attorney and I are done here. Have a nice day."

"You don't know what you're doing, you stupid child!" sputtered Wendell. "Think about your future!"

"I am," I replied. "I want Nadine to be part of it. And I don't want you anywhere near it."

"You're making a huge mistake, girl," he replied, all paternal pretense gone. "I'm a very powerful man. I can make things very difficult for you."

"Excuse me," Bridget interrupted, "but that sounded a lot like a threat. Was that your intention? Because I really don't think you want to be making any threats. Threats have a way of leaking."

"So do secrets," I added. "If anything happens to me, or anyone I care about, I've arranged for a certain neutral party to release certain information. Specifically, the fate of one Rhys Owen Wendell."

"I-impossible. There's absolutely no proof of anything-"

"It's the information age, Mr. Wendell," added Bridget, backing my bluff. I didn't really have anything on him other than my mother's word, but he didn't know that. "Secrets have a way of being revealed these days, no matter how carefully you try to hide them. So, if I was you, I'd drop that particular line of thought immediately."

The two of us strode out of the attorney's office and I let out the breath I'd been unaware I'd been holding. "Ohhh, my god, I can't believe all that just happened…"

Bridget smiled. "You were pretty amazing in there, actually. I barely had to do anything."

"Yeah, I scored a victory over a sick old man," I replied. "Should I really feel good about myself after that?"

"Rhonda, even knowing what that man has done in his lifetime… and given how he just tried to manipulate you, he clearly feels no real remorse over it… you still feel compassion for him."

I heaved a deep sigh. "I know he doesn't deserve that. I know that he shouldn't get to go to his grave with a clear conscience. And yet… I can't help but feel like I'm still wrong somehow."

"Face it… you're just a better person than he is. That's all there really is to it."

"If you say so." I replied. "In any case, thanks for everything."

"No problem," she said, smiling. "You kind of remind me of a young me. Full of insecurities, conflicted about your upbringing, crazy into blonde chicks… no, that last one's still true…"

I chuckled. "I still feel like I should owe you something for all the tech you've invested in us."

"Actually, you're the ones who've been providing us a service. Besides the occasional mission, you've been field-testing our tech for us. It's been really helpful so far. But I appreciate the sentiment. Now go. Go home and hug your blonde. You've earned it."

"Awww," Nadine cooed as she snuggled up to me on the couch. "You gave up a fortune for me." The opening credits of Jun's In n' Out, our current binge show, were running. Several cartons of food from Jade Garden awaited devouring. After the stress of today, a casual night in, some Webflix, takeout, and chill, was just what the doctor ordered.

"Well, let's be realistic. I probably wasn't going to have any actual control over the money for years, and it's mostly tied up in the company, and, let's face it, even without his money I'm still probably looking at a cushy future, but… yeah. I gave up a fortune for you."

"You could have just lied to him and waited 'til he died, though."

"Oh, crap, you're right, I could have! Ah well, I'd still have to live a lie for however long it takes. It's not worth it. I'd rather be true to myself, to us, than have to be someone else for any length of time."

"So, what happens now?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but 've learned enough from Daddy to guess. After he buys it, control of the company'll probably pass to the shareholders. They'll likely sell out to some big food conglomerate and pocket the cash, and that'll be it for the Wendell legacy."

"You sound so casual about it. This is still your grandfather dying."

"I know I should feel something, but… he was not part of my life. And when he tried to make himself part of my life, he wanted it to be on his terms, which I could not accept. No… if anything, I feel bad that…"

"…you don't feel bad?"

"Exactly. Does that make sense?"

"There's nothing wrong with wishing things could be better. Nothing at all. It's how things get better. That and the hard work needed to make it a reality, of course. But it starts with wishing."

"You are aware of how corny that sounds, right?"

"Painfully, yes."

"Reason #357 why I love you. I should probably write all these down someday."

"Shh, show's about to start. Pass the snow peas."

A.N.: D'awww…

Anyway, Bridget was just going to impersonate Rhonda's lawyer but I thought it would be funnier if she actually was one. I mean, she's probably got all sorts of hidden talents, so why not?

Veganmama: Yes. Yes he is.

Jose: He really dd just get lucky.

JayDogg: Mr. Wendell's only metaphorically a bum.

See ya next time!