Splitsville, page 4
She pressed her hand against her forehead. “What did they say?”
“You got passed over for Uncle Gabriel. True?”
“True.”
“You practically accepted the award before Granddad said Gabriel’s name and looked crushed when it didn’t go to you.”
She slouched lower down the sofa. “True.”
“And you’re planning to bail on Rivera & Perez and start your own firm.”
“What?” She sat up straight. “How could anyone possibly know that?”
“Maybe they just assume?”
“That I would ditch my daddy’s firm?”
“Have you said this to anyone?”
“Only Sharon.”
“She wouldn’t post. Did you say it loud enough that anyone else could hear?”
She thought for a moment.
Crozier. Damn it all, Crozier. Was he eavesdropping? That was exactly the kind of slimy stunt she would expect from him.
“It’s possible I spoke too loudly.”
“After the second vodka gimlet? Mom, I’ve talked to you about that.”
“Am I about to be scolded by my fourteen-year-old daughter?”
“Yes.” Hailee flipped the lights on and spun her wheelchair around so she could look her mother in the eyes. Her dark hair cascaded down both sides of her head. Big glasses framed her eyes. A half-finished Balzac novel rested in her lap. “Mom, I’m your social media manager, remember?”
“True…”
“I can’t turn you into a high-profile influencer if you’re running around acting like a petulant sore loser. Or stumbling around drunk.”
“No one saw me…”
“Grow up, Mom. Everyone in this city has a cellphone with a camera. You can’t do anything anywhere anytime without being spotted. And possibly recorded.”
She didn’t bother arguing. It was embarrassing to admit that your teen daughter was smarter than you. But when it came to the internet—and many other matters—she was.
Hailee suffered from a chronic illness called ME—myalgic encephalomyelitis. Some people called it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but she hated that label. It made the victims sound like sluggards when they should be described as fighters battling a serious physical condition.
It surfaced when Hailee was five. They thought she had the flu at first, but it never went away. She felt giddy when she rose out of bed, glands swelled up in her neck, and she ached from head to toe. Then it got worse. Ever since, Hailee’s activities had been severely limited. She could walk, but for no more than a few minutes at a time. The wheelchair was much easier. She’d learned to pace herself, not to overdo. After several disasters, she’d started homeschooling which, given Kenzi’s schedule, basically meant Hailee was educating herself. Fortunately, this little autodidact was a better teacher than her mother could ever be. Hailee was already better read than ninety-nine percent of the people on earth and knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects. She talked about going to medical school. Kenzi didn’t know whether that was realistic, but she admired the girl’s spirit.
Kenzi had hoped her father might be more useful when the ME diagnosis was delivered, but he played an “I told you so” card and used it as more evidence that she should have listened to him and not married the man who bailed about ten seconds after Hailee was diagnosed.
“I have more pressing concerns at the moment than social media.”
Hailee laughed. “Now you sound like an old person.”
Old? She wasn’t old.
“I’ve told you this before, Mom. You let your social media presence slip and no one will be listening when you need them. Posts equal likes. Likes equal influence. Influence equals referrals. Referrals equal clients. Clients equal money.”
“We’re doing okay.”
“But you could do so much more. There’s a real opportunity out there. Influencers are raking in big bucks for endorsements, building prominent profiles in fashion, sports, makeup, cooking. Even roller skating. Or poetry! But so far, there’s no dominant attorney influencer. LegalEagle on YouTube has a decent following, but you could be bigger. You could be the one who changes everything. You could convert your influence into awesome power. You could dominate the world.”
“Are you a social media manager or a supervillain?”
“You need a change of pace,” Hailee said. “Let’s do something fun this weekend.”
“Movie? Restaurant?”
“Nah. Let’s be adventurous. How about we take the ferry to Bainbridge Island? Go to that coffee place you love.”
“It would be simpler to go to Pike Place Market and visit the world’s first-ever Starbucks.”
“Who wants simple? Let’s motor. Inhale the sea air. Feel the mountain chill.”
Kenzi couldn’t help but smile. Here was her daughter, who suffered from a debilitating illness, talking about adventuring. “That sounds wonderful. But I should probably work.”
“Mom, you’re the highest-billing attorney in the firm and you still got passed over. Screw them. If Uncle Gabe wants to be the managing partner, fine. Let him work weekends.”
“You know what? You’re right. I don’t have any major cases pending. I should be able to escape.” It would be a wonderful change of pace, and it would allow Hailee to get a little exercise, which was important. ME was a black hole for its victims. First it took your physical health, then your mental health, then your friendships, then any sense of independence that might remain. Many people with ME got worse, not better. Some ended up completely bedridden, unable to take a step. Some developed intolerance to light or sound. Some ended up being fed through a tube because they weren’t able to swallow.
That was why she’d agreed to make Hailee her social media manager. In addition to school, Hailee had a job. Something to keep her active and give her a chance to shine, to be treated with respect. She would not let Hailee’s sparkling spirit disappear into the folds of this illness.
“Saturday or Sunday?”
“Not sure. I’ll check my calendar.”
“Playlist?”
Kenzi shrugged. “You know more about music than I do. Just don’t make it…ancient.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hailee, you’re currently playing Frank Sinatra. On vinyl.”
“He’s the Chairman of the Board! And vinyl is cool.”
“Well, use those cool computer skills of yours and see if you can find some music by someone who’s still alive.”
“What, like Coldplay?”
“Stop. I’m not that old.” She pushed herself off the sofa. “Let me shower. Then we’ll talk more. You should scan the internet. See if anyone is talking about me. See if the bad news has hit the KenziKlan.”
“It will. Do you want me to take offensive action?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing much. Maybe a massive Twitterstorm targeting Uncle Gabe.”
“I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”
“He stole your job.”
“My father gave him my job.”
“If you’re serious about starting your own firm, I could visit GoDaddy and start reserving domain names.”
“Riveralaw.com is already taken.”
“How about, KenziRiveraLaw.com? That isn’t taken. I checked.”
Kenzi paused. It did have a certain ring to it.
But not yet. “I’m going to talk to your grandfather before I make any decisions.”
“And if he doesn’t give you an answer you like?” Hailee wheeled her chair around, blocking her mother’s path. “What then?”
Kenzi stepped around her and headed toward the bathroom. “RiveraDivorce.com? Nah. Sounds too negative. How about: KenziKlanSuperstarLawyer.com? That has a nice ring to it.”
Chapter Six
Kenzi strode into the office with her head held high. She knew people would be watching her, so she made a point of acting as if nothing had happened. No embarrassment. No shame. She was still the most profitable attorney in this firm. She and her father were about to have a reckoning.
After she left the elevator but before she entered the office, she pulled her phone out of her shoulder bag and started a livestream. “Greetings, KenziKlan. Quick shoutout before I get to work, because as regulars know, photos and videos are not permitted inside. Some of you may have heard yesterday’s big news. Suffice to say, I’m not taking it lying down. I’m going to march into the big boss’ office, tell him what I think, and take no prisoners. It’s the KenziKlan way.”
She winked into the camera phone. “Details later. Keep the faith. And let me know what you think of these new earrings. Aren’t they the bomb?”
She shut off the phone and headed inside. A few minutes later she was at Sharon’s desk. She spotted the spindle with a tall stack of phone messages. And ignored it. “I’m going to do it, Sharon. Just like you said. I’m going to march into my father’s office and tell him exactly what I think about all this. I’m going to demand an explanation. I’m going to—”
“You have a client waiting.”
“—read him the—wait, what?”
“Client. Or potential client. In your office.”
“Someone I know?”
“Newbie.”
“I prefer to vet my clients before I meet them face-to-face. I won’t take just anyone. And I’ve got to see my father about—”
“I know all that. But I thought you might want to make an exception this time.”
Kenzi frowned. She was losing her train of thought, not to mention the anger that had fueled her entire morning. “Why would I want to do that?”
“For starters, you shouldn’t be turning away work if you’re planning to start your own firm.”
“Does she look like she comes from money?”
“Frankly, no. She’s a scientist.”
“Oh, then she must be loaded.”
“Her husband filed on her yesterday. Wants everything, though he hasn’t worked in years.”
“Deadbeat. But—”
“And he wants exclusive custody of their daughter.”
Again? She’d just thwarted one husband’s revenge-custody scheme. “He’s out of work and he wants custody?”
Sharon nodded silently.
Kenzi glanced at her watch. She knew at some point her father would start taking meetings and it would be harder to get his attention. But she might have a few moments…
“Fine. I’ll talk to her.”
Sharon handed over a file. “Here’s everything I’ve dug up so far.”
Kenzi thumbed through the paperwork. “I can’t believe this loser wants sole custody.”
“Me neither,” Sharon said, picking up the phone. “I mean, not every cult is evil.”
Kenzi froze. “Cult?”
The woman sitting at the round table appeared to be in her late thirties, a little older than Kenzi. She did not look the part of a stereotypical female scientist—no thick eyeglasses, no white coat. She didn’t wear much makeup and her haircut was unfortunate, but Kenzi had seen worse.
She rose when Kenzi entered. “Hello. I’m Maya Breville.”
“Nice to meet you. Please sit.” Kenzi had this table moved into her office years ago. She hated peering at clients over a desk. It seemed like a hierarchal, male power play. I’m the Big Cheese in this room because I’m sitting behind the desk. She preferred to talk to people like equals. “I’m Kenzi Rivera.”
“Oh, I know.” The woman laughed a little. “I’m in the KenziKlan.”
A scientist followed her on social media? Not bad…
“I love your tweets. And your livestreams. You always make me laugh. These days I appreciate the chuckles. Wherever I can find them.”
Okay, now she officially loved this woman. “How can I help you? I understand your husband has filed for divorce. And he wants custody of your daughter.”
“Yes. Brittany. She’s six. We’re extremely close. I would do anything for that beautiful girl. She would be devastated if Michael got custody.”
“Maybe we should take it from the top.” Kenzi laid her phone on the table and started the recorder. She preferred that to taking notes. Every time she touched a legal pad she felt a thousand years old. “Okay if I record?”
“Sure. Michael and I married about ten years ago. I work as a research scientist at a lab just outside of town. I have a Ph.D. in chemistry, but my work is far more wide-ranging.”
“And your husband?”
“Was a scientist. But Michael has never been able to hold down a job. He has a hard time…getting along with others. He’s abrasive. Temperamental. Angry.”
“Violent?”
“Sometimes.”
“Has he ever hit you?”
Her eyes lowered. “Yes.”
She could see how much this shamed Maya. She was an intelligent woman, probably someone who thought “It could never happen to me.” Until it did. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“If it makes you feel any better—I hit him back once.”
“Good for you.”
“Only made him madder. I was afraid he might take it out on Brittany. So I stopped. But he didn’t. He took it out on me later that night. In bed.”
Kenzi leaned forward. “Has he ever hit Brittany?”
“No. I mean, not that I know of. And I think she would tell me.”
“Good. But if Brittany is in any danger, I want a restraining order.”
“Of course. I’ve thought about leaving Michael, but I know how hard divorce is on children. I was hoping to avoid that if possible.”
“Where are you living now?”
“We have a little house in the suburbs.”
“Is Michael still there?”
“Two nights ago, right after he told me he was filing, he left and didn’t return. The next day I was served. I don’t know where he is now.”
“If he comes near you or your daughter, call me immediately.”
“Understood.” Maya seemed to relax a bit. She had probably been worried sick.
“It’s going to be all right. I promise. Before you know it, this will be an unpleasant memory in your rear-view mirror.”
“I hope so.”
“What’s his beef? Sounds to me like you’re the one who should be filing.”
Maya hesitated. “He…objects to some of my friends.”
“Work friends? Girl posse?”
“My…church friends.”
Kenzi’s Spidey-sense was tingling. “My assistant said something about a cult.”
“It’s not a cult!” Maya’s voice soared. “It’s my religion. People are so prejudiced. If your religion isn’t one of the Big Three, then it’s a cult.”
“So your husband objected to your religion.”
“And more. It’s also a female empowerment group.”
“I’m all for female empowerment. What’s the group called?”
Maya drew in her breath. “Hexitel.”
Kenzi had heard of Hexitel. Anyone active on social media, or who kept up with the news, had heard of Hexitel. Several high-profile members had recently fled the group, accusing it of being a mind-control cult, or a money-sucking pyramid scheme, or worse. People compared it to Scientology at best and NXIVM at worst. Stories had blanketed social media and TV news shows. She thought she’d read someone was making a Netflix docuseries about it. “Your husband objected to your involvement with Hexitel?”
“He objected to some of its principles. Hexitel focuses on executive training. Making women feel confident enough to deal with the toxic males who inhabit the professional world.”
“Your husband must’ve felt threatened. Executive training is not remotely controversial.”
“But some of Hexitel’s…programs for building confidence might be.”
“Can you give me some examples?”
“Most of the training is classroom work. Lectures and exercises designed to help people recognize their flaws and eliminate them. No different from what self-help coaches do. But we also have some rituals and…ceremonies that are more unusual. And of course, anytime you do anything outside the mainstream, critics come swarming.”
Kenzi was getting an uncomfortable feeling about this. “Give me some examples of these ceremonies.”
“They’re mostly about actualization. Hexitel takes you on a journey from subservience to self-awareness. You earn your way to where you want to be. We’re paired with a senior member who becomes sort of a sensei. We work for them and perform small services to show our devotion. In time, we progress and become the master.”
“Excuse me. Master?”
“That’s what we call our group leaders. It’s just a title.”
“It implies dominance. Slavery, even.”
“It’s no different than calling someone a captain. Or a boss.” She sounded defensive. “We just happen to say ‘master.’ As in ‘schoolmaster.’”
The uneasy feeling spread. “Have you taken your daughter to any of these ceremonies?”
“Of course not.”
Thank goodness. “Anything dangerous in the ceremonies?”
Maya craned her neck. “We did this thing where we put out a match with our fingertips. Like in Lawrence of Arabia, you remember? To see how long we can handle the pain.”
“That’s…masochistic.”
“The point is to realize how strong we are. To unleash our inner strength. No one ever did it long enough to cause permanent damage.”
“Anything else?”
Maya hesitated. “I do have tattoos.”
“Hexitel tattoos?”
“We all get them. I have a stylish H and X on my left shoulder blade. That’s sort of the Hexitel logo. And every masterclass—that what we call each small group led by a master—has its own symbol.” She stretched out her arm. Just below the wrist, the tat was visible. Three concentric semi-circles with something that looked like the tip of a red knife at the center.
“That looks like a murder weapon.”
“It’s a symbol of empowerment. We don’t let anyone push us around.”
“You stab them in the heart with a bloody dagger.”
“It’s just a symbol. In Hexitel, we believe all women are born with innate power.”
