Jillian’s injunction to push Brant’s custodial motion through is stopped, courtesy of our new team of legal representation: six attorneys rigorously opposing any and all attacks on Brant Sharp’s character for an enthusiastic eight hundred dollars an hour. Jillian has funds, so she can fight us tooth and nail, but I don’t think she will. Not when an end result will require months of broadcasted legal battles that will only hurt the public image of BSX, as well as any chance of a family reunion between her and Brant. Not when the test results showed that she had injected Brant with a cocktail of illegal drugs while keeping him prisoner. We haven’t heard from her since her arrival at our home yesterday. I am assuming she is licking her wounds while removing any trace of the imprisonment that occurred in her home.
The hum of the highway rolls with a muted sound through the car as we head back from the office, my ring finger heavy with the weight of my new acquisition. I finally feel worthy of it, allowed Brant to drop to one knee on the carpet outside of his safe and repeat the question he has spent years perfecting. We had decided to wait until today, for any legal issues to be handled before showing up at the office, not wanting police awaiting our arrival, or some similar scene orchestrated by the control freak that is Jillian.
“What are you going to do about her?” I look away from the window, my eyes catching the quick glance from Brant as he takes his eyes from the road to visit mine for a moment. His jaw tightens, his grip on the steering wheel working the leather as he flexes his hands.
“I don’t know. I want to talk to the DID expert, find out my ability to run the company. Regardless, I don’t think I have a choice about Jillian. She has to be removed from any role of power.”
I sigh. “The company’s her life. Has been for twenty years.” He won’t want to run a company. At least not old Brant. Financial sheets bore him, meetings drive him insane, and he can’t name ten employees off the top of his head. He likes to be in a room, alone. Working, fixing, creating. Jillian has done a great job in her role, even if she had been psychotic in her treatment of Brant. I have no desire to reward the woman but hate the waste of the situation.
Brant’s hands move on the steering wheel and I glance over, see his fingers pull up the phone prompt and dial the number for BSX.
A perky voice answers moments later.
Brant clears his throat. “Hank Michen in Security, please.” I blink, surprised that he knows a name in security. Maybe he can name ten employees without pause.
The next voice is deeper. More intimidating in its greeting.
“Hank, this is Brant Sharp. I need to lock Jillian Sharp out of everything.”
There is a long pause. Finally, the voice drawls back through the receiver. “At the risk of losing my job… is this a joke?”
“I assume you have caller ID. Verify it against the internal corporate directory. I can also verify my driver’s license number or social security number, both of which I assume you have on file in some location.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Sharp. When you say everything, do you mean—”
“Her office, her email, her remote ability. Anything that could give her an iota of access. Turn off her campus gate codes and transponder. I don’t want her to step on BSX’s campus without being flagged and stopped by a member of your staff.”
Another long pause. “Is this a temporary or permanent situation?”
“I’m not sure yet. For now, it is indefinite, unless you hear otherwise.”
The man clears his throat. “You should know, Mr. Sharp, that we received a similar call from Ms. Sharp yesterday with the same instructions for you.”
“And?”
“And I refused. I attempted to call you at that point but you did not answer your cell. I left a voicemail for you.”
“You did the right thing. How long will it take before her access is stopped?”
There is the muffled sound of a receiver being covered, then he returns to the line. “Less than a half hour. We’ll have remote access cut before the end of this call, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you directly if there are any changes. Don’t accept orders from anyone other than me. And text me your cell phone number.”
“Yes sir.”
Brant glances at me. Appears to weigh something in his mind. “Hank, if I do call, or if someone else calls pretending to be me, don’t listen to my directives unless I verify my identity with a code word. I don’t care if I’m standing in front of you, don’t do what I say unless I verify it with the word.”
“Which is what, sir?” The man seems unaffected by the strange demand.
“Sheila.”
“Got it.”
“Also, you may take instructions from Layana Fairmont, should I be incapacitated for any reason.”
“I don’t really feel comfortable taking orders from someone who is not a BSX employee, Mr. Sharp.”