Page 74 of The Estate
“Yes. Please,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here are the keys. It’s this one right here.” He pointed to the correct key. He watched as the group funneled out the front door before grabbing his cell phone and calling Trace again. He growled, hearing his call tip right into voice mail. His feet were automatically in motion as he left a message.
“Hey, Trace. It’s Cal again. Can you please call me as soon as you get this? It’s about the gala. I need to speak to you. It’s important. Thanks.”
Ending the call, he quickened his pace down the hallway towards Trace’s office. Part of him laughed at how ridiculous he was being. He wanted to shake his head and laugh it off, but right now he didn’t have it in him.
Opening her door, it took him a moment to figure out what was different. Trace’s office was always messy, with file folders all over the place. Given the state of his own office, he could hardly fault her for that.
He’d been in here two days ago and it looked relatively the same. What finally struck him was that the office was missing her personal items. Gone were the framed photos on the desk and the watercolor poster of some city waterfall she’d hung up her first week there.
As he walked behind her desk, he saw the envelope addressed to him sitting on her chair. The dread he’d been holding at bay surged forward, taking his breath away. He didn’t want to believe what he was looking at, but he forced himself to open the envelope, annoyed his hand was shaking. Glancing over the letter, his worst fear was confirmed. He was holding Trace’s letter of resignation, effective immediately. The delicious lunch he just enjoyed threatened to come back up.
Dropping into the chair, he looked at the desk, noting the various piles of papers and folders. He wouldn’t know how bad things were until he found the file. Why he was still holding out hope, he wasn’t sure. He knew Trace was struggling, but when they’d talked through some of the past issues this week, he believed her when she said she could handle it. He thought she just needed a little bit of support and coaching.
Shaking his head, he tried to focus. Why she left wasn’t the most important thing at the moment. He needed to know how bad things were. They were days away from the gala and he already knew of several things that had either not been done or had been scheduled far too late for comfort.
He grabbed the pile of paper closest to him. Flipping through the pages, it appeared to be a mixture of invoices, event notes and even some contracts stuck in there. All from different events.
He quickly started making piles, not allowing himself to dwell on any one page, but getting the mess of a desk sorted. At the bottom of the third pile of papers, he found the gala event folder. It was panic-inducingly thin. He placed it to the side and continued with the sorting.
When the papers had been sorted, he examined the random pages stacked atop the file cabinet and guest chair. Flippingthrough them quickly, they all looked like items from past projects. It seemed that her filing system consisted of upcoming projects and leads on the desk and past events were elsewhere.
The one bright light was that many of the upcoming weddings he knew were already entered into the new system. He would have to check later, but since those projects weren’t as pressing, he focused on the gala. As the event was booked so last minute, Cal understood if Trace hadn’t entered it into the system yet. Even if she had, the physical file would have more of the minutia he needed.
Returning to the desk, he collapsed into the chair, staring at the thin folder. Resting his elbows on the desk, he dropped his head into his hands. This was bad. So very, very bad. Here he was trying to prove to his parents that he could make the estate a profitable venture by hosting a high-end, highly visible event. Now he’d be lucky to pull this off at all and avoid a very public failure.
He heard voices and realized the group had returned already. Glancing at his watch, he realized how much time had passed. Grabbing the gala file, he headed for the patio. As he went, he looked through the thin file to confirm the situation. Trace’s initial notes on the event were there, along with setup notes. He could see she’d circled the need for a large room dedicated to the silent auction. He glanced at the call log and could see very little communication with the caterer, the rental company, or the cleaning crew.
Approaching the patio, Rachel’s laughter rang out. What he wouldn’t give to join them again and enjoy the afternoon together. If this weekend was any sign, he was going to get along with Rachel’s friends just as well as she’d fit in with his. But thatdidn’t matter just then. He had to get into his office and come up with a list of everything that had to be dealt with.
Walking out, the gala file clutched in his hand, he sought Rachel. Her eyes roamed over his face, her smile dropping. She walked over to him, her gaze flicking to the folder.
“Cal, what is it?” she asked. “Were you able to get in touch with Trace?”
“No,” he replied. “But I figured out why my calls are going right to voice mail.”
By now, everyone seemed to have realized something was going on. They were all looking at him expectantly. He was torn. He didn’t want to interrupt their outing, nor was it in him to share this colossal failure with so many. And that was the only way he could look at it. It was his job to run the estate. This event going sideways was his failure. He should have been more intrusive with Trace. He shouldn’t have taken her at her word.
Before his mind could spiral out in the one million and one ways he’d failed, Rachel guided him to the table.
“Here. Sit down, Cal. Tell us what’s going on.” Rachel sat next to him as her friends grabbed their seats.
He gazed at Rachel, taking in her concern and obvious support. She really was an extraordinary woman. “My event planner Trace quit,” he said. Not surprised when he heard a collective gasp from the group. “I found her letter of resignation at her desk,” he continued.
Rachel rested her hand on his arm again, and he couldn’t stop himself from covering it with his. Her warmth radiated through, thawing his paralysis slightly.
“It’s tough she left, Cal,” Rachel said. “But honestly, she wasn’t the best fit for the position. You really should have gotten rid of her a while ago.”
Cal shook his head and chuckled without humor. “Isn’t that ironic since the whole situation has come to bite me in the ass?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Tossing the file down, he replied, “That’s the event folder for Saturday’s gala. There are no rental agreements for the tables and chairs. No linen order. No meeting scheduled with the caterer.” He glanced over at Jake. Shaking his head again, he continued, “No cleaning service scheduled. Nothing I would expect to be ordered or scheduled.
“I looked through her desk,” he added, raking his fingers through his hair. What he really wanted to do was yank it all out. “This is all I could find. Granted, some things may be scheduled and just not noted in the file, but given everything I know, I’m going to guess things are as bad as they appear on paper.
“It would seem she did next to nothing to prepare for the gala. It’s in six days, and we’re dead in the water.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
