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Valencia began trying to think of an alibi.
I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him, was her first thought, and that thought allowed her to breathe a little easier. But since being black and innocent of a crime didn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t be going to jail for it, she quickly began running through possible scenarios to deal with the police.
Suppose someone saw her running out of the house?
What if someone’s doorbell camera caught her driving away?
What if some nosey neighbor tells the police that they had seen her Ferrari parked on the street many times?
What would she say then?
“I did not kill Coleman,” she said aloud this time.
But the fact was that she had motive to kill him; after all, he was blackmailing her, and she did have opportunity, so the fact that she didn’t do it didn’t mean much to her, she’d still be in jail for murder.
But she didn’t do it, and a police investigation would prove that. Coleman was a blackmailer; Valencia was sure that there were plenty of other suspects, and that could and would keep the police busy and away from her, because here again, she didn’t do it.
Valencia paused and took a breath.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said aloud. And then she slowly began thinking about the upside.
Coleman Patterson is dead.
The hold that he had over me died with him.
And with that thought, Valencia began to relax.
There was no evidence, no proof of her crime that could be left around waiting for the police to find. His power over her came as a result of what he knew, not what he could prove. It was information that, if it were to become public, would ruin her. Valencia was the face of Porter Technologies; she met with all of her clients; personally, closed and signed every deal herself. The last thing that she needed was a scandal at a time when she was taking the company public.
As she drove further, Valencia’s thoughts began to move slowly away from the events of the evening and to the important business that she had in the morning. She looked in her rearview window and began thinking that now there was only one person who knew her secret; one other person who could ruin her. And all she had to do to get rid of him was to deliver Mike Black.
At least I hope so.
Chapter Six
With a deep marine Saint Laurent leather purse over her shoulder, a Sac De Jour leather satchel and a file folder in her hand, Valencia rushed through the parking lot at Prestige Capital Associates. Dressed smartly in a blue Chiara Boni La Petite Robe Cassandre wrap-effect boatneck dress, and Balenciaga square knife point-toe stiletto leather pumps, Valencia was there for a Monday meeting with Mike Black.
In what was a turnaround of company policy, and over Wanda’s strong objections, he had made the decision to allow the use of third-party vendors on their IT platform. Now that all the details had been worked out between James Cox, the head of IT at Prestige, and Drew Morgan and Christian Rivera from Porter Technology, Valencia was there to meet with Black to personally close the deal. Once that was done, then she could move to her other agenda; the one that really mattered.
“Did you get the revised talking points on the centralized dashboard and how it will allow managers to handle project details, schedule tasks, and view progress?” her assistant, Adrianna Gray asked.
“I got it right here in my hand,” Valencia said with the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, trying her best to walk, talk and get the file in the satchel at the same time. “Did you remember to send the finalized agenda for the meeting to Drew and Christian?” she asked, and there was silence on the line.
“I did,” Adrianna said after a few seconds.
She had been with Valencia for a long time. Longer than anybody, except her lawyer, Becky Jacovitz. Valencia hired her when Sherwin Blake and Darnel Wilkes sued her in an attempt to break the work-for-hire contract they signed and tried to claim partial ownership of her company. Adrianna was a great assistant, the best assistant that Valencia ever had, but her attitude, at times, left a lot to be desired. And after the night she’d had, Valencia was in no mood for it.
She was tired when she got home the night before. But despite that, Valencia couldn’t sleep. Each time that she closed her eyes, all she could see was Coleman’s body lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Eventually, Valencia took Ambien so she could get some sleep. That put her out cold, and she answered the phone the third time that Adrianna called.
“If you didn’t answer me this time, I was on my way over there.”
“I’m alright. Just had a tough night, that’s all. I’ll be alright,” Valencia may have said, but she was far from being all right that morning.
She was still feeling the effects of the Ambien. She was anxious about the police, and Valencia was worried that she wouldn’t be at her best at a time when she most needed to be. The deal with Prestige was, at this point, a foregone conclusion. This meeting was more of a formality to address any final concerns that they had and to answer any open questions. It was what was going to happen when the meeting was over that she was worried about. The events of the last evening made this day that much more important because now, with Coleman dead, Valencia saw a way that she could finally be free.
“I’ll give you a call when it’s over and let you know how everything went, and we’ll talk about next steps.”
“Sounds good.”
