“It's the little victories, right, Becca?” I said, and choked back a sob.
Her name was always on my mind, always on the tip of my tongue. They say twins have a special connection, and Rebecca and I were the perfect example of such.
We fell for the same guys in high school, bought the same outfits without the other knowing, and even came down with the measles on the same day.
The only difference between us was my leaning toward the tomboy theme, while she favored the more girly approach.
Rebecca and I graduated from college, with the same big question mark regarding our future. With business degrees in our pockets, we had no idea where to go from there.
Rebecca had ideas and I had Rebecca, so we went about it the same way we went about everything. We paired up. Of the two of us, Rebecca was always the one with the practical brain. While I'd minored in sports with a heavy emphasis on gym, she spent her extra curricular hours studying startups and small business. She was the more outgoing and popular one, to be sure, and while I certainly was no slouch – she had the blessing of self-confidence I sometimes felt short on.
We'd been at a party with some college pals, including Mark Daltry. Mark had a thing for Rebecca, and while she denied it, she wasn't above using his infatuation to her advantage.
Mark came from money; a manufacturing company on the east side that made children's furniture. He was joining the family business after graduation, and making no effort to hide the fact that he was already buying his first house, had zero college debt, and a corner office.
Rebecca and I came from far more meager beginnings. Our father worked as a park ranger and our mom taught art at the Boys and Girls Club.
We got through college on student loans that we never quite got the chance to shake. We knew that we had to find something, and that we had to do it quickly. Going into business for ourselves seemed the logical solution. What niche we could fill we didn't know, until Rebecca came up with the notion to cater to people like us. Young entrepreneurs in need of brands, logos, and a hungry marketing force.
The concept was great, sound, and easy to implement. All we needed was some funding, and that's where Mark came in. Rebecca cornered him at the party, and winked at me when they left together. The next day, we had our financing, and R&R Cooperatives was born.
We rented a small office in a respectable building with the option to rent nearby warehouse space. We started small, canvassing our fellow alumnus for their business needs.
In short, Rebecca's vision was marvelously successful. So much so that we were copied by others all over the country.
Then came Reliant Securities.
Reliant was an insurance company that catered to small companies. Members were able to combine auto and business policies to get extremely reasonable rates, as the subscribers were considered low-risk, young people.
They were intrigued by the new-millennium approach that was ours, and a few weeks after their initial contact, we all signed on the dotted lines.
That was when Rebecca met Larry, an Army veteran whose 'can do' attitude attracted her. He was the alpha to her alpha and together they were the perfect couple.
I stood for her at their wedding (Dad had passed on, three weeks to the day after Mom died) and I was there the day Leslie was born.
My niece came into this world two months premature, and the doctors were less than optimistic about her survival. She was released from the hospital just before Christmas – a regular miracle – but her health issues came, too.
Tiny and frail, she seemed to catch every virus that came along. Eventually, we built a nursery in the office so Leslie wouldn't have to be left with a sitter, or exposed to other children and their potentially fatal day-care germs. Larry, as Army-strong as he was, apparently wasn't able to deal with his own daughter's fragility. So stay-at-home Daddy wasn't in his future.
At the age of two, Leslie was diagnosed with leukemia. She wasn't strong enough for conventional treatments, so she was enrolled in a pediatric experimental study. It was expensive and not covered by insurance.
We sold everything we could to pay for it and it was up to me to make the business grow fast enough to make up the rest. Since Larry had filed for divorce, Rebecca had her hands full to say the least. She was crumbling, and while I did everything I could for her, I could see her slowly begin to disintegrate before my eyes.
Then came the news that Reliant Securities had been sold. Reliant's profitability had caught the attention of investors and they were swept away overnight. The owner of the new parent company was Maddox Petersen and his partner, Martin Stiller.
The new owners were interested in maintaining the relationship with us, but without all our other small companies – in order to offset their risk. Petersen & Stiller demanded we release those contracts. Rebecca was unapproachable by this point, so I signed for both of us. RNR Limited went exclusive to Petersen & Stiller and its child, Reliant Securities.
Something was off, though. Something was fishy. I not only smelled a rat, but an entire colony of them.
Rebecca and I only met with the exalted Misters Petersen and Stiller once, over Skype, and I was always hesitant when it came to them. Dad always used to say never sign anything without a handshake. I don't think cyber-handshakes counted.
In any event, one day the registered letter arrived that spelled the end for R&R. Reliant Securities weren't as secure as they claimed, and their profits had taken a nose dive. They ended up being a failed investment for Petersen &
