Page 1 of The Second Ending
CHAPTER 1
SURPRISES
Early September
Ashleigh Lynch did notlike surprises.
Surprises never ended well. Someone got insulted, or hurt, or all sorts of bad memories were formed or resurrected. Far better to know in advance, to be prepared. To be able to run away.
The man sitting across the table from her right now was just such a surprise, and all she wanted to do was run.
It hadn’t seemed like it would be bad when she started on this case. Her friend and fellow-choir member had asked for her assistance with a community project, and as a lawyer who dedicated her life to helping the little guy, she had agreed at once.
Her friend, Masako, had four young children who enjoyed playing on the fields behind their school, where it met the parkland by the small ravine that ran through that part of Toronto. Then, overnight, fencing had appeared around the area with large signs announcing that the land was being developed into a condominium complex with three large towers.
“We thought it was public land,” Masako had exclaimed the first time they met about the issue, shaking her head in disbelief. “We didn’t know if it was part of the school or the park, but we never had the first indication it was private. And now someone’s buying it. Can you help us? It’s where all the neighbourhood kids play.”
The whole situation had seemed odd. If the land was privately owned, it was almost unthinkable that it had been open for kids to play on for who knew how many years. The liability issues alone would have given Ashleigh cold sweats. What sort of negligent owner would allow that? He must be mad.
“I’ll look into it,” Ashleigh had assured her friend. “There might be some irregularities somewhere. But I’m not sure there’s a lot I can do if it’s a legal sale.”
“Can we at least go public with our concerns? Take it to the papers, or hold a press conference? ‘Big Bad Developer Threatens Innocent Children’, or something like that. The media would eat it up.”
A press conference. Oh, God, no.
“Er, I’ll help with the legal stuff, as much as I can,” Ashleigh had hedged, “but I can’t go in front of a microphone. I’ll crumble and ruin everything for you.”
Masako had stared at her. This diminutive woman had the energy and determination of a divinely-inspired army. She would, Ashleigh considered, have made a phenomenal suffragette, had she been born a century earlier. She managed her young and busy family with a flair that made it look easy, had a small but growing line of clothing designed for non-standard sizes, ran a boutique in Yorkville, one of Toronto’s most elite shopping areas, and was one of the strongest singers in the Eglinton Echoes, a first-rate concert choir. Ashleigh’s dread of speaking in public must seem unfathomable to someone like her.
“But you’re in front of an audience every time we perform,” Masako had replied after a moment. “The thought ofsingingin public is what gives most people nightmares, and you manage that beautifully. Just talking to a bunch of reporters is easy—”
“Please, no. I really can’t. I did once, but not anymore. I’ll stay in the background and help from there. Okay?”
“Uh, sure. If that’s what you want, although you’d be way better than you think. You just need more confidence.”
Ashleigh had sighed. “No. I can’t think on my feet. It’s really not my strength.” She’d had confidence once. Her family had dealt with that pretty quickly. But this was no time to sink into old regrets. The kids needed her. She’d do this for the kids.
That had been several weeks ago. In the interim, Ashleigh had carved out time from her main job at a small law firm to dedicate to Masako’s Field, as she had mentally termed this new case. There was little enough to go on. The sale to the developer, it seemed, was not yet finalised, which made the fencing and signs a bit premature. Still, if the land was owned by someone, they could do what they wanted with it, in this regard at least. The identity of the owner was also a bit of a puzzle, because while it seemed that everything was all above board and in order, the land was registered to a shell company, and even with her connections, Ashleigh couldn’t find exactly who held the current title to the plot in question.
That left her with two options to present to Masako. The first was to take it to City Hall as a zoning issue. With a school and a city park abutting the property on two sides, surely putting up three large condo towers would be problematic, at best. There might be something she could do here, especially if she found the right people. Presumably the buyer already had assurances that they could go ahead with their plans, but the media fuss might change that.
The second option was to approach the developer and try to convince them to give up the project for… reasons. She would think of some. She hoped. The media storm that Masako hoped to stir up might be the key to making them think of other locations. It was a possibility.
Masako leapt at both options.
And that was how Ashleigh came to be sitting in a small meeting room at Laconia Development Corporation’s rather swanky offices just east of Yonge Street when the worst mistake of her life walked through the door.
Marcus Fredericks wasin no mood for this meeting. Some foolish do-gooder had demanded a half hour of his very precious time, on behalf of some community group with no money and not a logical thought in their heads, about this project that was ready to get off the ground.
God, he had seven other things he needed to be doing now—preferably yesterday—and he needed to prepare for the meeting with one of his financial backers. Not sit and tell a group of parents that the land in question had not been theirs, was not theirs, and would never be theirs, and that he could do what he wanted with it.
A germ of discontent gnawed at him. It wasn’t his either. Not yet. That sale was nearing completion, but the owner was being a nuisance. Whoever he was. Because—and this was another little niggle of uncertainty—he had no idea who actually did own the land. Everything was being handled through lawyers and agents and a shell company several layers deep, and there was something about the whole affair that didn’t sit completelyright with him. But it was close enough, and once the sale went through, it wouldn’t matter anymore.
But now, this meeting. The last thing he needed.
It had been a bad day. There had been a power outage on his street the night before, which meant the coffee maker didn’t make his coffee. He’d been in a hurry, and so had picked up a cup on his way into the office, but had spilled it on his jacket when someone walked into him as he left the elevator. He could have asked his EA to get him another cup, but that wasn’t her job, and he wasn’t going to treat her like an old-fashioned secretary when she was a highly skilled professional.
Then the photocopier had jammed, and the email he needed from his lawyer hadn’t come through, and then… oh, it had been one thing after another. And now this meeting. The last thing in the world he needed.
