She’d already told Linda about her disastrous meeting with Nathan King.
“I don’t know what else to do,” Kerri admitted, which wasn’t her style. She never allowed herself to even think about failing. After all, she was Wonder Mom.
The idea for the crazy name and costume had popped into her brain four years ago, shortly after Cody had been diagnosed with Gilliar’s Disease. He’d been five and in a lot of pain. He’d gotten so down, he refused to go to school or hang out with his friends.
In a move that many would consider too bizarre for words, Kerri had come up with the idea of being Wonder Mom. If she had secret powers, they would also be passed on to her son. And if Cody had secret powers, then he could certainly conquer his disease.
With the help of some neighbors and a hydraulic jack, she’d arranged for her son to “see” her lift a car with one hand. He’d been so impressed he’d begged her to let him sign up for T-ball. Over the years she’d figured out a costume, a logo and had made regular appearances doing the seemingly impossible.
She didn’t know if it was the whole Wonder Mom persona or just good luck, but Cody’s disease had progressed more slowly than expected. If looking like an idiot was helping, she was happy to do it every day.
“What about what Tim mentioned?” Linda reached for her glass of wine. “Say it’s happened and maybe it will.”
“A little clarity would have been nice,” Kerri murmured. “All I can come up with is that he was suggesting I announce Nathan King agreed to give the money.”
“Why not?”
Linda was an attractive brunette in her late forties. She’d spent twenty years working with Abram Wallace in the research facility in town and Kerri had come to rely on her intelligence and practical sense. She had met her when Linda had come to her with a hair emergency.
“Would it work?” Kerri asked more to herself than Linda. “Can I do that? Lie?”
Linda smiled. “It won’t be the first time. It’s not like you actually had the references you claimed to have to get that restaurant job.”
“I know, but the reference thing would fall in the white-lie category. Is announcing a donation that hasn’t been made illegal? I’m all Cody has. If I were to go to jail…” She opened her mouth, then closed it. Somewhere deep inside her brain a light went on.
She straightened. “I’m having an Oprah ‘aha’ moment,” she said, hardly daring to think the whole thing through. Was it possible? Could she pull it off?
“I have letters,” she told her friend. “Form letters from King’s company. So I could scan in the letterhead and then write a different letter saying he’s giving us the money. I give that to the local paper. They get all excited, word goes out to the wire service and voilà, the whole world knows.”
Linda grinned. “It could work. And the jail threat?”
“That’s the great part. Do you really think a big-time developer is going to put the mother of a sick kid in jail? If he tried, there has to be some sleazy lawyer willing to take on my case. Think of the publicity. Worst-case scenario, Nathan King backs out of the donation, then someone else may step forward.”
Linda leaned forward and pulled a folder out of her purse. “I don’t think he’ll be backing out. I did a little research of my own. Nathan King is trying to build those luxury high-rise towers on Puget Sound.”
Kerri wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, yeah. Million-plus-dollar condos and upscale shopping and restaurants. In my next life I’ll buy one.”
“He’s getting a lot of resistance from city government. You’ve only been living here a few months, but I’ve been in the Seattle area all my life. Nathan King has made a lot of enemies. He’s not well liked. Really bad publicity could ruin his chances of getting his project through.”
Hope burned hot and bright in Kerri’s chest. “He couldn’t afford to put me in jail.”
“Probably not.”
“I would represent every little person he’s ever stepped on in his quest to amass his fortune.”
“Exactly.”
“I like it.”
The two women clinked wineglasses.
AFTER FINISHING his breakfast, Nathan King put down the Wall Street Journal and opened the folder of clippings that had been left with his paper. Every morning he reviewed what the newspapers had said about him the previous day.
In his current battle for zoning and funding, press reports were a necessary evil.
He flipped through copies of articles about his various businesses, an op-ed piece on the horrors of luxury high-rise construction, a short report on the wire about his plans to contribute fifteen million toward research on Gilliar’s Disease and an interview with a pro-environment reporter who had twisted his every response to make him sound both cruel and stupid. If they—
He carefully set his coffee on the table, then flipped back to the previous page.
There weren’t many details. Just a statement about the donation and a couple of sentences that research would resume at the facility in Songwood, Washington.
Nathan already had out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial for Jason Hardy.
“You’re getting an early start,” Jason said when he answered. “What’s up?”
“Someone is trying to blackmail me into giving her fifteen million dollars.”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know her name. Some psychotic waitress who ambushed me at lunch last week. She wants me to donate to some cause.” There was no point in telling Jason what cause. Nathan never discussed his son’s illness and subsequent death with anyone. Not even his closest friend and attorney. “She even tried bribing my chauffeur to get to me. She’s crazy. I want her stopped.”
“And people think being incredibly rich is trouble free,” Jason said easily. “Was she working at The Grill?”
“As a server. A bad one.”
“I’ll start there. Give me until the end of the day and I’ll get you a full profile. So how’s she blackmailing you?”
“She issued a press release on our letterhead saying that I would personally be donating the money to some research facility in Songwood.”
“The money goes there rather than to her?” Jason asked.
“She’s got a sick kid. The head guy there is working on the kid’s disease. She wants a miracle.”
“Well, sure. Is it fatal?”
Nathan refused to think about the slow and painful death that claimed children with Gilliar’s Disease. “Is that compassion I hear in your voice?”
Jason chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot myself. You’d think law school would have beaten that out of me. I’ll call you later.”
THE HAIR BARN WAS like any one of a thousand small-town beauty salons. It was bright, cheerful, and the source of all the local gossip.
As Kerri wove the pointed end of her comb through Amber Whitney’s dark blond hair, she listened carefully to the talk all around.
“My Frank says they’ll have to hire at least fifty new scientists,” Millie of the dry cleaning store was saying. “That will take some time. But they’re going to be well paid, so if you want to sell, this is the time. All those research people will need housing. Sure, a few of them will live in Seattle or North Bend and drive up the mountain, but plenty will settle here.” She sighed. “It’ll be like it was, when the town was thriving. It’s good for business.”