Friend Me Page 4

  Jane pouted. “Of course not. And that’s not going to happen.”

  “I had a good friend like that, but she . . . she passed away a few years ago. Her name was Suzanne.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened. But I may have some very good news for you. What we are going to do is create the perfect friend for you. I really mean that. We’ll create that perfect friend, and then I’ll introduce you both.” Jane wagged her head in delight. “It’s the best part of the job.”

  “I know this may sound strange, but I think I should ask you something.”

  “Ask away,” said Jane. “I’m here for you.”

  “Is it possible not to just, say, create a new friend for me, but to actually make her like the friend I had? Like Suzanne?”

  Jane’s eyes seemed to darken. “You mean, look like Suzanne, talk like Suzanne?”

  “Yes. Can that be done?”

  “Yes, it can. But I will warn you now that it will take some work on your part to bring it off. Do you have good-quality video and pictures of Suzanne? Good samples of her voice?”

  Something stirred inside Rachel. “I do.”

  “Are you prepared to upload a great deal of that to us for analysis? If the quality is good enough, I think what we can do will surprise you.”

  “Oh, yes. If you tell me what you need, I can do it.”

  Is it possible? Can this really be true?

  Jane continued, “All right, then. But before we get started there’s one thing we should do. I need to get you registered on our system. That way, if we get interrupted or something happens, you can come back and we can pick up where we left off. Does that sound okay?”

  “Okay. Does this cost anything?”

  “No, not necessarily. There are some, well, special features we offer sometimes. But for the person that just wants a friend, that’s free. Completely free. Just like Facebook. Are you ready to register?” Jane seemed to be genuinely excited.

  Rachel looked at the screen where Jane waited. What harm could there be in checking it out? The whole process might be kind of fun. And Jane did seem trustworthy.

  “Sure, ask me your questions.”

  “Okay, question number one. Where did you first meet Suzanne?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stress

  Scott had already been working two hours when the telephone buzzed. He finished entering the formula he’d been working on in the spreadsheet on his computer, then clicked the button to activate his headset.

  “Scott, will you come into my office, please?”

  “Sure, Mr. Castle. I’ll be right there.” What could the owner of Castle Investments want with him? Being called into the office, for whatever reason, wasn’t going to be good.

  Alan Castle sat in his office at a small round conference table. Across from Castle was one of the company’s most important customers. Gleason Archer had over $9 million with Castle Investments. Archer neither stood up nor smiled when Scott walked into the room.

  Archer’s portfolio was Scott’s responsibility. Tension filled the air. What was the problem? Alan Castle had managed it himself until two years ago, when he had shifted the trust of it to the younger man.

  “Scott, please have a seat. Mr. Archer has some concerns he’s been discussing with me.”

  Searching the client’s expression, Scott pulled back a chair and sat down. Archer’s eyes gave nothing away. “Certainly, Mr. Castle. What can I do?”

  Archer’s face reddened. He looked intently at Scott and said, “What can you do? Maybe that’s exactly the question we need to answer here. Or maybe the question is, ‘What have you been doing?’ My portfolio is off seven percent in sixty days, while the market is up six percent. We could probably start with an explanation, Mr. Douglas.”

  Scott looked to Castle for guidance, but the older man did not return his gaze, staring instead at a report cover. Scott rotated his seat toward Gleason Archer. “Mr. Archer, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been the manager for your portfolio for the last two years, and I’ve been following the same investment strategy all along. It’s the strategy we agreed on. Over the last two years, you’ve seen a twenty-four percent increase overall. I understand fully your concerns about it being down right now, but I do not think it’s a cause for concern. Right now the bond market—”

  “I don’t want to hear excuses, Mr. Douglas. I want to see results. And when I see my portfolio down seven percent, I get worried. When Mr. Castle put you in charge of my account I wasn’t sure I was happy with his decision. Now I’m even more worried.” Tight-lipped, he shot Alan Castle a glare, then turned back to Scott. “Unless you can turn this investment portfolio around, and get it out of the tank it’s in now, then I don’t think our confidence in you has been warranted.” He looked back to Alan Castle. “Which means, Alan, I will not think my confidence in you and this company has been warranted either.”

  Castle’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. Archer, I don’t think that—”

  “Alan, I don’t need excuses from anyone this morning. Not you and not him. I just want to see some improved performance and the trust I have put in you and your firm vindicated.” He stood up to leave. “If we don’t start seeing major improvements, I’ll find another place for my investments.” He held out both hands, palms up. “Strictly business, you understand.”

  Castle nodded, looking like he’d agree to anything. “We understand, Gleason, we totally understand. We’ll make sure your trust in Castle Investments has not been misplaced.”

  Archer picked up his briefcase. “Thank you, Alan. I’m sure you will.”

  After Archer’s exit, Castle turned to Scott. “Please close the door.”

  The door made an ominous click as it closed. Scott turned toward the older man. Dread lay in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight.

  Alan Castle had been a mentor, a friend. This wasn’t good.

  “Sit down, Scott. Let’s talk.”

  The two men sat down together at the small conference table. Castle folded his hands together in front of himself and studied them for a few moments before he spoke. “Scott, I like you. You know that. And I have confidence in you. I’m afraid, however, this situation is not about confidence so much as it is about business. We have to make Gleason Archer happy. There are no two ways about it. I want you to do a full review of the Archer account. Whatever else you’re working on, I want you to set it aside—give it to Patricia or someone else—and give a hundred and ten percent of your attention to this single item. We don’t have a more important client than Gleason Archer.”

  “Mr. Castle, I don’t want you to think I haven’t been working hard and doing my best. I really have. But sometimes the markets are up and sometimes they’re down.”

  “I understand, Scott. I’m saying that’s not the issue. I know you work hard, but the fallout from having an unhappy client like Gleason Archer could be catastrophic to our business. It’s not about whether his portfolio is up or down. It’s what he says about us to others. You may be managing his portfolio in such a way that by the end of the year he’ll be ecstatic. It doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is that he’s currently unhappy, and we have to do something about it. More to the point, you personally have to do something about it.”

  “When I started with the Archer account we agreed on the investment strategy. I’m following that to the letter. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m not disputing that. This is more than strategy.” He looked directly into Scott’s eyes. “There are a lot of people in the office outside this door who depend upon you and me doing our very best jobs. Neither of us is indispensable.” He arched an eyebrow. “I think you know what I’m telling you. Now get out there and do the exceptional. Step out of your box and use your imagination.” Castle stood and extended his hand to Scott.

  Scott took the older man’s hand, shook it uneasily. Clear enough. My job is on the line.

  He returned to his cubicle, walking on legs that wobbled.
It seemed as if every eye in the office was upon him.

  Carole Turner, who had started as an investment counselor just a few months before Scott, stopped by his cube. “You look worried. Is everything all right? Anything I can do?”

  “Sorry, Carole. Didn’t know it showed. No, I’m okay. Nothing a little more effort won’t cure.” He gave her a sideways grin. “Got to work hard and feed all those hungry kids I’ve got.”

  She didn’t smile in return, but stood looking at him, as if evaluating his honesty. Then she spun around and walked off, leaving him feeling even more uncomfortable as he returned to his work. It wasn’t her business, anyway.

  It took Scott half an hour to reorganize his desktop, setting everything aside except for the Gleason Archer account.

  He had a family that depended upon him. The prospect, the very thought, of having to tell Rachel he’d been fired filled him with dismay. He would not let it happen.

  By three o’clock he had completed his initial review and needed a break. There was no way in the world he was going to have time to leave the office for a walk or even to get a few minutes of fresh air. He clicked on the icon to bring up his Internet browser.

  News? Politics? More stress. He needed something else; some kind of an outlet.

  He wanted to call Rachel, but making a personal phone call at this time would just invite criticism given the current climate in the busy office. He sure would like to hear her voice now. Rachel. He had treated her badly this morning. Just grabbed his coffee—which she had set out for him—and took off without so much as a simple good-bye. And last night? He’d not told her that all he’d done was sit alone in a movie theater, even though he knew she was fearing much worse. He had wanted her to think about how he should be treated.

  Selfish. He was acting selfish. He’d make it right. This wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be. But right now there was work to do.

  He looked back at the Archer account. There wasn’t much he could do to improve it. It was a solid, conservative mix of common stocks, AAA bond funds, and a high-yield-percent money market to give it flexibility and keep it nimble. He could bring the current return higher, but it would be at the cost of a lower annual return. Archer would just have to live with that.

  Unless . . .

  He’d never been comfortable with options trading, but a good trader could do very well with options. With a “call” option, he could control a block of stocks for three, six, nine, twelve months or more. It was risky, but when it was profitable, it was very profitable.

  Gleason Archer’s portfolio was down and Scott had to bring it up.

  Almost all of Scott’s trading and investment strategies had been based on the fundamentals of traditional investing. He was accustomed to looking at the strength of the company, its value in the marketplace, its management, its track record.

  Options trading was based more on what traders called technical analysis. Technical analysts looked at the patterns in the stock over time. They looked for stock prices that rose and fell in repeating patterns. They attempted to see into the future. Scott understood how it worked, but as a conservative investor, and particularly as one who invested for other people, he had always stayed away from it. Now, however, the pressure was on. Could he do it, and do it right? He was not an amateur trader. It was time to marshal his skills and do what he had been trained to do.

  When he pulled it off, the Archer account would jump back on track overnight. If he failed, then he was probably no worse off than he already was.

  He turned to his computer and pulled up his charting and analysis tools. He would work and study until he could determine if an opportunity existed. And if it did, then maybe he would just take it.

  Carpe diem. Seize the day.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Flat

  Scott wanted three specific chart patterns in a range of midcap stocks over the last five years. He keyed the criteria into his Stock Scan software. A small box popped up indicating that the scan would take forty-three minutes.

  He picked up the Bible from the shelf in his cube, turned to today’s date. It was arranged in a one-year format. If he was faithful, he could read the whole Bible in a single year.

  The Old Testament portion looked long. He skipped to the New Testament and read the story of the woman taken in adultery. He stopped when he got to the selection from Proverbs about the immoral woman at the end.

  “Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not astray in her paths. For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.” There were worse things that could happen to a marriage.

  He sat back in his seat and looked at the screen. Twenty-two more minutes. What could he do while he waited for it? While the scan was in progress he couldn’t do anything else with his computer or he’d risk slowing it down. Many of the staff had left for a tax seminar so he had a little more privacy in his cubicle than normal.

  He could call Rachel and apologize for the way he’d been acting. He’d been treating her more like she was in his way than in his heart. When was the last time he’d just stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes?

  He slipped his office phone headset on, then punched out his home number. Five rings later the automatic answering system picked up. Hello, you’ve reached Scott, Rachel, Scotty, and Angela. We can’t talk right now, so please leave a message. Before he reached the end of the announcement he hung up the phone. Where could Rachel be? Oh, today was a Hugest Loser day. She might still be out.

  That’s what he felt like right now, the world’s Hugest Loser. If he lost his job his reputation would be toast. Then what would he do? In the financial industry you couldn’t survive being blackballed. The question hung like a wall of ice before him. Somewhere on the other side of that frozen wall was the answer. He hoped he’d never have to find out what it was.

  He looked at the clock on his desktop. Seriously? Too late to go out, and the message on the screen indicated he still had seventeen minutes to go. Okay, he’d wait.

  The Gleason Archer account had to turn around. He had to bring it off. Back in those halcyon days when he had first started working at Castle Investments he’d been the shiny new kid on the block. Everyone knew he would go far. Three years later he didn’t seem to be going anywhere. His life was becoming an endless series of tasteless business lunches and late nights in the office working alone. No matter how well he had performed in the past, it seemed like he was on trial every day. Always on probation. Never knowing where he stood. How long could he keep this up?

  He’d tried to talk to Rachel about it a few times, but she was all about the children and the house and really didn’t understand what he was doing at work. He chided himself for his own naïveté. Why should he expect her to understand what he did when he was in the office? She didn’t need to understand the details of investments; she had a husband who was supposed to take care of her and his family. He was on the verge of doing a very poor job of that.

  God had given him a good wife. Not only a good wife but a faithful one, and two wonderful children. At the thought of the children, gloom settled on him like a low-hanging cloud. When was the last time he had taken little Scotty out into the yard and played with him? For that matter, when was the last time he had picked up Angela, holding and cuddling her like he used to? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know the answer, and that troubled him even more.

  I’m not doing a very good job as a husband and I’m not doing a very good job as a dad. And it’s not like I don’t know how. . . . My mother and father set a perfect example in that.

  He was still wearing the headset. He pushed redial on the phone and listened as it rang once again at the house. No answer. He hit the speed dial for the cell phone. Still no answer. Rachel must be busy somewhere, shopping or exercising. And probably wondering why he had left in the morning without even kissing her good-bye. She probably thinks it’s her, but
it’s not. It’s me, and there’s no one I can talk to about it.

  Across the room, Carole Turner sat at a table with a low stack of green folders. Blond hair swept around the shoulders of the black top she wore. Scott started to turn his eyes away, then hesitated when he saw a flash of white skin from slits cut into her sleevetops. No. “As an ox goeth to the slaughter?” That would not be him. He turned back to his desk.

  If only he could go back, start last evening over again. The episode this morning wouldn’t have happened.

  Their honeymoon trip had been an event to envy. What a wonderful time they’d had just the two of them alone together, no one else around, for two amazing weeks. They had never left each other’s side as they drove to Sequoia National Forest in Northern California. The year before, in an uncharacteristic act of foresight, Scott had rented a cabin in that huge primitive forest. They’d spent all their time together, walking the trails under the great redwood canopy in early summer, marveling at the grace of God in creation.

  The cabin had been sparse but not primitive, with running water and two bedrooms. They’d needed only one. As he recalled those times now it seemed they had spent more time in each other’s arms than apart.

  Rachel completed his life. All that had gone before her no longer seemed important.

  Scott pushed the redial button again and listened to the soft burr-burr of the ring. He imagined he could hear the phone ringing in their living room, and pictured the toys scattered about the floor, stacked on the stairway. He pictured home.

  “Hello?”

  Scott was startled by Rachel’s voice. “Rachel, is that you?” He felt foolish as soon as he asked the question. Of course it was her. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “Is something wrong? Why are you calling?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong. I just had a few minutes and wanted to talk to you. It’s been a tough day, and I really wanted to hear your voice.”