The Rutherford Series: Roll the Dice (Book 2)

The hot spray of the shower jet beat down on her upturned face and stretched neck as she stood with her hands on the blue tile wall in front of her. Steam billowed up around her, the water massaging her into wakefulness. Four-thirty came early, but Jacqui Karston had been waking that early for the past two years, losing herself in the projects of The Karston Foundation ever since her family died in a plane crash without her. She was up late every night, as well. She had to be. There was still so much to do to rebuild Biloxi after Katrina devastated the coast ten years ago. The city had already did quite a bit, of course, but it was not enough. It would never be enough in Jacqui’s eyes, not as long as there were vacant lots and partially demolished buildings scattered everywhere, and, if she were honest with herself, she needed the distraction.

After blow drying her hair, she brushed it into long, blond walls, framing her narrow face, keeping her closed off and uninviting. It also added the illusion of height to her already five-ten frame, which only made her look that much taller in her three-inch heels. Height meant power. People took you seriously if they had to look up to you, and Jacqui demanded people took her seriously.

With her travel mug full of black coffee and an everything bagel wrapped and ready to be devoured, she locked the door to her silent house, leaving her father, whom she forced to move in with her a year ago, and their housekeeper sleeping soundly, as she headed to the offices of The Karston Foundation. The morning traffic was a mere trickle in the pre-dawn hours, and by six-fifteen, she walked through the dimly lit foyer of the building bearing her family name. There was only one other person there that early, Karl Henry, the building’s custodian. Since the Karstons pulled Karl’s life out of the rubble of Katrina’s aftermath, he always made sure Jacqui never unlocked her own office door. Once he realized her coming in early after the death of her family was a permanent thing and not just a onetime occurrence, he adjusted his hours to match hers. Even though Jacqui hated he had to leave his family that early every day, she appreciated the fact that he threw himself into his job. Biloxi needed more people like Karl. If more people were as driven as he was, then the Gulf Coast would have been restored to its former glory already with empty lots filled and damaged buildings renewed with fresh purpose. The casinos had been quick to rebuild after Katrina, but that didn’t help the smaller businesses who needed it. Some had lost everything and moved to other areas. The Karstons didn’t want to see any more people leave their city. They needed a reason to stay, and Marc, her late husband, had been determined to give it to them. She had joined his crusade and devoted the last decade of her life to doing just that. However, over the last two years it had consumed her every waking moment, making her cut out anything that failed to help her fulfill Marc’s mission.

Her office light was on, and her personal coffee pot already had fresh coffee waiting on her, another of Karl’s services. She tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but the quiet man refused to listen. “You gave my family hope to keep going after the storm hit,” he said. “You gave me a job and helped us get back on our feet. What’s a pot of coffee compared to that?”

Jacqui stood behind her desk and picked up a silver picture frame that held the last portrait ever taken of her family. Her husband, Marc, had his arms around her shoulders while their nine-year-old daughter, Maggie, sat on Jacqui’s lap, Marc’s hand on his daughter’s right shoulder. Jacqui had her arms around her daughter. Jacqui smiled as she stared at the picture, her family staring back at her. Helping the Henrys was Marc’s vision for his city. He wanted to save people, save their homes, their businesses. She joined in that vision, believing in it, in Marc. Yet, when her family needed her the most, she was not around to save them. It was her job as wife and mother, a job she had failed at doing. She didn’t deserve hot coffee being made for her. She deserved nothing, because she still owed so much.

By eight that morning, she was so absorbed in the plans for her new project, the Maggie Karston Community Center, that she hadn’t noticed her personal assistant, Lily Anderson, until the young woman came in to dump out Jacqui’s cold coffee and replace it with fresh. Realizing she had basically been in the same position for the last hour and a half, Jacqui tried to stretch her cramped muscles. Everything was tight, and she heard her joints pop as she stretched her arms high over her head. Her father would scold her for not being more active. “Muscles need to be worked.” Yet, when did she have the time? There was so much to do and so few people to do it.