Chapter Four
Megan
I was so tired I couldn’t remember what day it was. I sat at the kitchen table, my laptop open in front of me, staring at it, my eyes blurry and sleepy. I blinked several times and forced myself to focus. It’d been a long day. I spent most of the morning typing up some dictation notes for a paralegal friend of mine that I had met at the farmers’ market about a year ago. Crystal was an independent contractor, doing paralegal work for a couple of free legal aid businesses; one in Orange county, one in San Diego County. She often overbooked herself, typical with freelancers, I supposed.
We had gotten talking one time and she told me that she was inundated with dictation for court documents. I told her I’d be more than happy to help. After signing a confidentiality and non-disclosure agreement, she had hired me to take her overflow. I had been expecting MP3 files or something, but she actually gave me a microcassette recorder and a baggie full of micro cassettes. I transcribed off that. It was slow, laborious work, but the hundred dollars she paid me for each transcription was certainly welcome.
Sometimes I felt guilty taking the money from her, as some of the tapes were relatively short, but it all balanced out because some of them were extraordinarily long.
After lunch, I had done a babysitting job for another woman I met at the farmers’ market. Both my mother and I had gotten to know Britney Slocomb well over the past year. She lived in a home a few miles from our apartment and made a good living as a real estate agent. She had some type of seminar conference or something up in San Francisco. Just an overnight thing, and though her sister would be coming over to stay with her two children that night, she had needed me for a few hours this afternoon after the kids got out of school and before her sister could leave work. The kids were well behaved, so I didn’t mind hanging out with them, playing games or watching television, then I fixed them spaghetti and meatballs for supper. Then her sister had arrived and relieved me.
By the time I got home at seven o’clock, I was dead tired, but I still had some job hunting to do. I couldn’t keep doing this. These pickup jobs were just not going to cut it. They helped a little bit, but I needed something steadier. I logged onto Craigslist and began glancing through the job ads. I kept coming back to one that caught my eye. A well-paying assistant position. I wasn’t quite sure what the position involved, as the description was rather vague.
The job was listed for a six months duration and paid well. Assistant. Assistant to what, or to whom? I followed the link and was directed to an application. I scrolled through it. A pretty basic application, and they also wanted my curriculum vitae. I snorted. I had plenty of work history. The problem was that none of it was long-term. I doubted that would go over well with whomever would be reading the applications and the resumes on the other end, but then again, what did I have to lose?
The job paid five grand a month. Six months at five grand each was more money than my mother and I were barely able to scrape together in a year, both of us working as many hours as we could. How could I turn it down?
Before I allowed myself to chicken out, to tell myself that I wasn’t qualified, I went ahead and filled out the application. I knew some of the jobs on Craigslist were scams, but I would refuse to go to any interviews that I wasn’t able to verify in regard to their legitimacy. I never put in my social security number. Usually, I could type in all x’s and in a space for notes specify that I would fork over the social if I was invited to do an interview. And if I did get a reply, I’d be able to Google the person to find out if they were on the up and up. And, if I was still hesitant, I could always pay for one of those background checks.
I had just finished the application and pressed send when I got the notification that my application had been submitted. My eyes widened and I gasped when I saw the hiring company. Holbrook Property Corporation.
Oh my God. My thoughts immediately went to Scott Holbrook. Memories flooded in. We’d gone to high school together and had dated briefly. That was before everything in my life turned upside down. Back then, I had lived with my parents in a large home and attended a private school in Irvine. Scott and I had met when we were in the eighth grade. We became good friends, and as we had gone through junior high school, and then to the same high school, I had begun to develop deeper feelings for him. I didn’t think they were reciprocated, especially since he always seemed to have a new girlfriend hanging off his arm every other week. So I had kept my feelings to myself, too chicken to even consider acting on them.
After my dad died, we had to sell the house, unable to pay the monthly mortgage payments. Yes, my dad had an insurance policy, but it didn’t have a suicide clause in it, so the company had refused to pay out. Of course, Scott knew about my dad’s death, but too embarrassed and ashamed to admit that he had left us literally penniless, I didn’t tell him why I suddenly had to drop out of private school, nor why the house was put up for sale.
So, Holbrook Property Corporation? Was Scott working there? He always figured that he would. He didn’t want to, I knew that. Even back then, he and his dad had butted heads a lot. He deeply resented his father, who apparently was a father in name only. What was his name? Michael. Mike Holbrook. He was out of town a lot working on property deals.
Despite my trepidation, I couldn’t help the tingle of excitement that ran through my veins. Scott’s family was rich. Filthy rich. While his dad had kind of a snooty, better-than-you attitude, Scott never had. After the tragedy, he had been compassionate, caring, and kind. and I knew he had been worried about me, but I didn’t need anybody’s pity. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me. I had left my last day at the private school acting as if everything was the same. I didn’t tell him that that day was going to be my last. I hadn’t gone back to public school either, but talking it over with my mom, graduated with a GED. I had taken some night classes after that, in the hopes of attending junior college, but even those credits and the costs were more than we could manage at the time.
I stared at the computer screen. Thirty grand was a tidy little nest egg; one that would allow me to get one step closer to opening my own bistro one day. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if—
I heard footsteps outside the door, then the key being slid into the deadbolt lock, then the lock on the doorknob. I glanced at the clock in surprise. Ten o’clock already. Mom had worked the evening shift this week, but that usually ran two in the afternoon until ten at night, but she must’ve gotten off a little bit early in order to be home so quickly.
“Hey, Mom,” I greeted her as she entered, dropping her purse on a small table by the front door. She softly closed the door, locked the deadbolt, and then turned to me with a weary smile. “You hungry?”
She shook her head. “I had something to eat at work. Did you get something to eat for dinner? What time did you get home from Britney’s?”
“Around seven, and yes, I made the kids spaghetti and meatballs. I had some.”
She nodded and ventured into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from me. Our apartment was small. The front door opened into the main living area. Directly across from the door stood our small kitchen table, opening to the small kitchen area with its white stove and refrigerator and scratched aluminum sink. It was a one bedroom, one bath apartment. Mom took the bedroom and I slept on a futon couch in the living room. It was okay, but a far cry from where I had grown up in the large house on a quarter-acre property with front and backyard, gardeners, and anything a little girl could ask for.
That reminded me. “Guess who I just filled out an application for?”
“Who?” she asked, a smile forming on her lips.
Mom was always encouraging. Always. It was a good thing we got along so well, considering that we lived in such cramped quarters. She did the best she could and she knew that I was doing the same, but life just never seemed to click in our favor after Dad’s death. I shook off my somber thoughts. “It was on Craiglist—”
“Megan Bryan, you know I don’t like you answering ads on Craigslist! There’s too much funky stuff going on with that website. You have to be so careful.”
“I know, Mom. Believe me. But when I clicked on the link to fill out the application, it took me to a legitimate application engine. I mean, I checked the grammar and everything. It wasn’t some front put on by a scumbag wanting to scam me.” At least I’d hoped it wasn’t. “Anyway, after I filled out the application and submitted it, I got a confirmation.”
“From whom?”
“The job was for the position of an assistant at the Holbrook Property Corporation—” Her gasp interrupted me. I saw the color leave her cheeks. I rushed to continue. “It’s a good paying job…” I paused. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. I frowned, concerned. “Mom, what is it? I promise that I’m not going to meet anybody in a strange place, and—”
“I don’t want you working for them.”
She said it quietly, but firmly. I was confused. “Mom, you know that Scott and I were good friends for years. You remember?”
She nodded. “I remember Scott. He was a good boy.”
“He’s a man now, same age as me. I always wondered what happened to him; if he went to work for his dad at the property company.” I paused, the pained look on Mom’s face not at all encouraging. “What’s wrong?”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Mom, the job pays five thousand dollars a month for six months! I know it’s not long term, but just think of what we can do with that kind of a nest egg.”
“Money isn’t everything, Megan.”
Flabbergasted, I leaned back in my chair. I knew something was troubling her, and I wasn’t about to start playing guessing games. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t… never mind, honey. It’s all right.”
I could tell it wasn’t. “Mom, tell me. Please.” This was so unusual, so unlike her. “Why don’t you want me working for the Holbrook’s company?”
Mom sat, silently stubborn for several moments, the look in her eyes distant, as if she had mentally gone somewhere else. I waited her out. Finally, she blinked and looked at me.
“Scott’s father, Mike Holbrook… ”
“What about him?”
“He’s the one who sold out your dad in a property deal. Your father lost… we lost the entire investment. It was that loss that bankrupted us.”
I sat stunned. Why was this the first time I was hearing about this? Then again, I sort of understood. At sixteen-years-old, it didn’t much matter to me why my dad had blown his brains out. Just the fact that he had was difficult enough to deal with as it was. But this news threw me for a loop. My anticipation and excitement over even applying for the job with Scott’s family now left me feeling conflicted. Did my mom’s revelation make me reconsider? In some ways, yes, but I was also tired of scraping out a living. If I didn’t at least take a chance, take a risk, I would never know what possibilities lay just around the corner. The job was only temporary, but the pay was extremely generous.
How could I turn it down? There were no guarantees that I would even be in the running for the job anyway. My résumé didn’t meet several of the core requirements that had been posted on the application. Even being called for an interview were next to none.
“Mom, I doubt if I’m going to get the job,” I said, trying to calm her. “My job experience is rather limited, I don’t have a degree, I don’t have a long-term job reference, and it’s unlikely that anything will come of it.”
The color slowly returned to my mother’s face. I wished I knew more about the details of the business deal that had occurred between my dad and Scott’s, but I didn’t feel that now was the time to ask. Was this just my mom’s grief talking? I had read that sometimes, people dealing with a tragic death, no less a suicide, often needed someone to blame. Was Mike Holbrook the ultimate cause of my dad’s death? He didn’t actually put a gun to my dad’s head and pull the trigger. That was my dad’s choice.
But this was mine. This was my chance, and I had been taught that you never get anywhere if you don’t try. As my mom slowly rose and headed to the bedroom to get changed, I sat, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. That I had to take advantage of the opportunity, because opportunities like this didn’t come knocking on my door like this.
And yet, no one was more surprised than me when I received a call at eight-fifteen the following morning. A pleasant female voice told me that my application had been seen and reviewed by the CEO of Holbrook Property Corporation. If I was still interested in the job, I would be scheduled for an interview at the end of the week, two days hence.
I was interested.