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Truthfully, Tom rarely spoke of his kids. But then, Tom was private about the things he cared about, and in the end this is how I won. It was his arrogance that blinded him. He wanted to take care of everything, his way, and in the end, I guess he did.
The investigation into the accident was simple enough. I wonder if Tom thought that through. That’s the only thing that still bothers me, really. That I’ll never know.
Three people go out on a boat. Two of them have alcohol levels near or above the legal limit. One is simply an innocent. A byproduct of trusting too much.
The service for Tom was nice. Quiet, contained. Simple. Cheap, like he would have wanted.
Beth and Mark’s was the exact opposite of that. It was quite the affair, and as leaders of New Hope this made sense. Their bodies weren’t even cold yet before a change of hands took place. Like the presidency, Adam told me. This is how it works. It’s that important. Beth wrote it into the agreement herself. I bet she hadn’t planned for this kind of ending.
It didn’t take long to find the money Tom transferred. He was good, but then, so was his secretary. She had the transfers he’d made reversed within a few days. Maybe he’d intended to cover his tracks better, but never got the chance. More likely, she knew him better than he thought. Who knows? Some questions are better left unanswered.
A few weeks after things settle, Adam and Cheryl host the quarterly dinner for newcomers. The party is bigger and better than anything we’ve done before, Adam assures me. No one expects me to be here, considering. I’ve lost so much. But I’ve gained something too. A church family. I always mention that. It makes people feel good.
Under Adam’s leadership, we will take things to new levels. New Hope is going to be better, bigger. We’re opening in three cities next month, and two more the month after that. We have a brand new rejuvenation center in the works and are in the process of drawing up plans for a new resort-like community. Thanks to my Instalook game we are doing well. Sell, sell, sell. That’s what I do. You wouldn’t believe the brand deals you can score if you’re good and you’re willing to deceive people appropriately. Companies practically throw free stuff at me. I have a whole room in the house dedicated to it, and I had to hire an assistant just to manage it all. You wouldn’t believe how much work it is with the scheduling. You really have to plan it all out. You can’t use competing products back to back, and that doesn’t even count the time it takes to photograph yourself using the stuff—or filtering and photoshopping the photos. It’s basically more than a full-time job. Kind of like what real advertising companies used to do. Only now anyone can do it. If they have influence, that is. If they’re likable, which I totally am. And who cares that half of it is overpriced crap made by children in sweatshops? My followers eat it up, and the direct deposits in my bank account say none of that matters. Sell. Sell. Sell. That’s what I do these days. Beth would appreciate this.
And thanks to the Women’s Alliance I created, the church is raking in just as much cash as I am.
“Hey, you.” Someone grabs my wrist. When I turn I see Vanessa.
I smile. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“Me, miss a good party? Are you kidding?”
“You look great,” I tell her, and it’s true. She has a bit of light back in her eyes.
“It’s the vitamins.”
We laugh like it’s an inside joke.
We have a new brand of vitamins. I worked with a drug manufacturer personally to come up with something fitting. It’s important to keep our men young and healthy. “If we are taking them,” I said to the Women’s Alliance at our first meeting, “So should they.”
“Will it get them to pick up their socks?” a woman asked.
“It will do better than that,” I assured her. “Just wait and see.”
That was my moment. It was the moment I knew I had them in my pocket. It was the moment I became the heroine of my story. Maybe theirs, too.
“To vitality,” I said.
Of course, the men don’t take them willingly. The Woman’s Alliance came up with a plan for that.
“I hear you’re really shaking things up,” Vanessa tells me, glancing around the room.
“Not too much. It’s more like boiling a frog.”
She smiles, and it feels good to see her happy. Of everything, maybe this is what I’m most proud of. I have a real friend. Vanessa needs me. “Do you really think it’s okay? What I’m doing?”
“Yes,” I reply. "You have to get back in the business of taking what you want, rather than thinking you need to shove it away so it'll find its way back.”
“Take what I want?”
“Why not?” I tell her. “Everyone else does.”
“You have a point,” she says, looking around at all the secondhand opinions in the room. There are too many to count.
“But really though,” I offer, changing the subject. “You look great. What are you doing?”
“It’s all the treatments.” We can both see she is lying.
