The William S Club

by Riley Banks

‘Yes, it’s me. Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t called or contacted you -’

  She cut him off. ‘Why didn’t you just call my phone?’

  ‘Given everything that has happened, I thought it best to exercise some caution. I know I sound paranoid, but I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m just so happy to hear from you again. I didn’t think -’

  ‘You didn’t think what? That I’d call you? You thought I’d just walk out of your life and never look back?’

  It hurt that she thought he could do that.

  ‘I don’t know what I thought,’ she said, her voice non-committal. She was too defensive, almost as defensive as she had been at the start, before the boat.

  They both paused for a moment, the silence stretching like a chasm between them. Damon knew he had to say something, anything, to bridge the gap.

  ‘I wish you’d come with me…’

  She started to cry.

  ‘What is it Charlotte? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Nancy. She’s dead.’

  Another murder? Worry twisted in his belly. What if she were next?

  ‘Was it Wilson?’

  ‘No. She killed herself.’

  ‘What? Why would she do that? What’s going on there?’

  ‘Someone was blackmailing her. They had pictures Damon. Terrible pictures.’

  ‘Charlotte, please leave. It’s not safe for you. If I tell you where I am, will you come?’

  ‘No, I can’t. More than ever, I have to stick this out. I have to find out why someone was blackmailing her.’

  He nodded his head, forgetting momentarily that she wasn’t there with him and couldn’t see his actions. ‘Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Do you have any idea who would have blackmailed her or why?’

  Damon suspected his grandfather but he didn’t feel comfortable saying that to Charlotte just yet.

  ‘Nothing concrete. Though I’m sure my family is involved. My dad fired me.’

  It wasn’t something he had meant to disclose but it felt like the right thing to do.

  ‘How could he do that? You’re family.’

  ‘I defied him. He demanded to know where Anita is and I refused to tell him.’

  ‘But I thought Anita was at the hospital.’

  ‘I moved her.’ How could he tell her his suspicions without making her think he was crazy?

  ‘It wasn’t just that. I asked too many questions about his butler, Jacobs. I think Jacobs got Zac out of prison.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. This all started with me and Zac…’ She started crying again.

  ‘Shh, it’s okay, Charlotte. None of this is your fault. Believe me, there is far more going on here than just Zac Wilson. I have a feeling that someone used him to further their own agenda.’

  Even as he said it, he remembered his grandfather’s interest in Charlotte. Did this have something to do with her?

  ‘I’m going to do some digging on my end but, Charlotte I want you to be careful. Really careful.’

  ‘Okay. What can I do here?’

  Damon was proud to hear some of the steel re-enter her voice.

  ‘Keep this phone with you at all times. If you need to contact me, do it only from this line. I will do the same thing. And Charlotte, watch out for my brother.’

  It wasn’t jealousy that caused him to add the warning. His family’s interest in Charlotte scared the hell out of him. She was in danger and he was powerless to protect her.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have a few more days left in Italy then you head to Dubai. Hopefully I can figure out something from my end before then. You’re certain you won’t change your mind? We could work together to find answers.’

  He knew her answer even before he asked the question.

  ‘Damon…’

  ‘Just had to ask. Be careful.’

  ‘I will. You too.’

  Now to figure out what his next step was.

  First and foremost, he needed to find Jacobs and talk to him but nobody had seen or heard from the man since he’d disappeared from France. No doubt his father knew his whereabouts but he had more chance of resurrecting Nancy than he did of getting answers from his dad.

  Damon switched the television on in his small hotel room. Now that he wasn’t travelling on his father’s money, he had to watch his expenses.

  He wasn’t without his own means. After a decade of working in the family business, where he’d been paid a very generous salary, Damon had learned how to invest his money to make it grow. But he also had to pay for Anita’s medical treatment and that wasn’t going to be cheap.

  Besides, if he was going to stay under his father’s radar, he was more invisible in smaller establishments.

  BBC News was playing in the background but Damon was not paying attention to the television.

  If he hadn’t heard his family name, he would have missed the news segment altogether.

  A body under a white sheet was being wheeled out of a familiar building - his family’s ski chalet.

  Damon turned up the volume, wondering who could have died there. Nobody had used the property in years.

  ‘Long time employee of Harvey Incorporated, Mr Isaac Jacobs, was found dead today by the caretaker of a secluded Harvey owned property. The initial coroner’s report suggests Mr Jacobs died of a massive coronary attack and that no suspicious circumstances surround the man’s passing. We now cross to Harvey headquarters where Mr Bill Harvey issued the following press statement earlier today.’

  Damon’s heart thudded in his chest as his father’s handsome face came on screen.

  ‘Mr Jacobs was a long time employee of this company. Earlier this month, he asked for time off for personal reasons, which I was happy to grant. We were unaware of his medical condition, and are very saddened at his passing.’

  Saddened by his passing? How convenient.

  It seemed every time Damon got close to answers someone else turned up dead.

  Chapter Forty-One:

  Change of plans. Arrived Dubai today. Be in Oz Friday. C.

  Charlotte sent the text message, slipping the phone back in her pocket. There was so much more she could have said to Damon but how did she tell him about her ghosts back in Australia?

  He knew her only as Charlotte. He knew nothing about her former life as Victoria Baker, or her criminal father who was running around murdering her friends.

  Besides, none of that had anything to do with what was going on here.

  Damon had enough on his plate without worrying about Charlotte’s personal life as well.

  She stepped out on to the balcony, which overlooked an upper frond of the manmade Palm Island in Dubai’s Gulf Sea.

  Spice interspersed with the salty sea air, tingling her senses. Warm sun beat down on her tanned skin and she stripped off her jacket, like a snake wiggling out of its last layer of winter skin.

  She loved sunshine and summer. It was the one thing guaranteed to put a smile on her face.

  Dubai was a brief respite from everything that had happened and, for the first time since leaving London, she felt as if she were on holiday.

  If only she could suspend this moment in time.

  It was her fifth visit to the ostentatious emirate but her first stay in anything as grand as Harvey Tower.

  In stark contrast to the company’s European properties, which were steeped in history, Harvey Tower was new, modern and ultra sleek – a soaring monstrosity of glass and steel stretching up into the desert sky.

  In a way, the two architectural styles personified the differences between Damon and BJ.

  Damon embodied the European side of the business; quiet, dignified and dependable.

  BJ was Dubai all over; glitzy, brash and with allegiances as changing as the desert sand.

  A few miles down the coast, she could still make out the once iconic shape
of the Burj Al Arab. At one stage, it had towered over the rest of Dubai, visible on a good day from as far away as the airport.

  Over the years though, Dubai had grown – much of it at a rapid pace - reaching up to take over the previously barren skyline. The Burj Al Arab was dwarfed by a sea of sky scrapers including the Burj Khalifa that soared into the heavens like a modern day Tower of Babel.

  Charlotte was drawn away from her thoughts by a knock at the door. She knew who it would be. BJ was the only one left who would talk to her.

  Everyone else gave her a wide berth, almost as if they expected her to Grim Reaper them. She had become the symbolic (if not literal) Angel of Death.

  Even the girls were avoiding her. Not that she could blame them. Of the eight of them who met in Paris, two were dead, one was missing and Charlotte had only narrowly avoided dying. No wonder they didn’t want anything to do with her. They didn’t want to be the next ones to turn up dead.

  She opened the door just a fraction, making sure he didn’t have enough room to slip his foot in. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Do you like horses?’

  The question caught her off guard. ‘Umm, I suppose.’ She didn’t just like horses. She loved them. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’

  ‘Get your things then. I want to show you something.’ He smiled affably, like he was her new best friend.

  ‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Can’t you just leave me alone?’ It was more a plea than a demand.

  ‘Charlotte. I am not your enemy.’

  ‘Funny, why do I feel the need to be so guarded around you then?’

  He too had relaxed with the warm climate, changing out of his suit and into a casual, open necked shirt, denim jeans and RM Williams boots. He was as tanned as her.

  ‘Now Charlotte, you’re letting my brother’s feelings get in the way here. I could be your friend.’

  ‘I don’t need friends like you,’ she said. But guilt clawed at her conscience. She didn’t trust BJ but he had been nice to her even when she was a complete bitch to him.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he asked again, ignoring her barb.

  ‘Where are you going?’ She wasn’t quite ready to concede defeat.

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  How much could one afternoon hurt? She could use the time to get information out of him.

  ‘You’re not going to leave me alone until you get your own way, are you?’

  ‘Nope. Now get your things.’

  ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.’

  ‘Uh huh. And as soon as you close this door, you’ll lock yourself in for the rest of the trip. I’m not falling for that trick. I’m not leaving here without you.’

  ‘You’re a real pain in the ass, you know.’

  ‘So I’ve been told once or twice.’

  Twenty minutes later, they were speeding along the highway in a gleaming black Maybach, getting further and further away from the coast.

  ‘You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?’

  BJ just shook his head, concentrating on the road ahead.

  He turned onto a driveway, coming to a stop in front of two enormous carved gates; the only break in a high concrete wall that stretched for miles across the desert.

  ‘Where are we?’ There was no sign on the gate. Just twin guardhouses that stood sentinel in the sunshine.

  A dark skinned guard emerged from the guardhouse. ‘Afternoon, Mr Harvey.’

  ‘Afternoon, Amir.’

  Amir waved the vehicle through.

  The tarred driveway curved through tall date palms that lined each side of the tarmac, leading over a slight rise in the road. On each side were large open yards filled with some of the most exquisite horses Charlotte had ever seen.

  ‘Oh my God, they’re beautiful,’ she said, a grin spreading across her face as she pressed it to the cold glass window.

  ‘This is just the brood mares. Wait until you see the real horses.’

  Happiness spread through Charlotte’s athletic body as BJ pulled up in front of a long row of state-of-the-art stables. No doubt, they were air conditioned, and the horses lived in better luxury than Charlotte did back home.

  He came around to open her door for her, but she had already beaten him to it.

  As they entered the stable, Charlotte breathed in the horsy smell.

  Of course, these horses with their sleek, shiny coats and generations of closely guarded bloodlines were worth millions, not like the loveable nags she used to ride.

  ‘You want to go for a ride?’ BJ asked, watching her closely.

  She could have kissed him for asking.

  William stood in front of a large picture window, staring at the lights of Sydney. If he squinted, he could just make out the harbour.

  He owned dozens of properties right on the waterfront with views that made a man’s heart sing. How ironic that he was holed up here in this borrowed house, hiding out from his son.

  I’m a fugitive from my own family, he thought, watching dawn break across the wide expanse of blue.

  If there was one thing William knew about his son, his threats were never idle. Bill had threatened to kill him and William knew he’d do it too. In a heartbeat.

  What now?

  He had no plan, as such. He just knew Sydney was the right place for this long saga to end.

  It was where the problem began. It’s only fitting that I end it here.

  Deep down, William knew the problems started long before Sydney and long before Paul Baker but there was only so far a man’s newfound honesty could take him in one day.

  Baby steps, William. Baby steps.

  Carl was still sleeping, the jet-lag affecting his sycophant grandson far more than him.

  Then again, William had travelled greater distances before. His body had grown accustomed to it.

  Besides, he couldn’t sleep. Not with visions of Bill’s sadistic, self-satisfied smile festering in his mind.

  It was his penance – all of it – Bill’s sadism, Carl’s hunger to please, Anita’s death…

  William had shunned his family to protect his secret.

  Oh, he’d given them money - and plenty of it - but not an ounce of love or time.

  For that, he had to make amends.

  He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to travel backwards, forcing himself to remember the faces of those he had robbed.

  Jacqueline on her wedding day, so trusting, so much in love. The poor girl had no idea her death would come too soon and at her husband’s hands.

  Grace, his wife and the love of his life. For the first time since she had passed away, William was glad she had died before she saw what he had become.

  Anita as a precocious little girl running rampant through his home.

  Helen Baker.

  The last time William had seen Helen alive was at a dinner party at his London mansion – a party celebrating Paul’s promotion. While they ate and drank and toasted Paul’s success, her daughter – who would grow up to be the spitting image of her mother – played upstairs with Bill’s children, oblivious to how soon her world would end.

  For it was that night that Paul stumbled upon William’s secret and set off a chain reaction that was still issuing shockwaves now.

  Tears trickled down William’s face - tears of sorrow and pain and God forbid, remorse.

  He brushed them aside.

  It was too late for tears. They wouldn’t bring back the dead. They wouldn’t stop more people from dying.

  It was time for action.

  He had to find Paul Baker before Bill did. He had to find some way to reverse what he himself had set in motion.

  ‘Water.’ Her throat was on fire and she sounded like she’d eaten broken glass.

  Damon lifted the ceramic cup to his sister’s lips, helping her take small sips.

  Pain shot through her stomach and chest, the fire spreading to the rest of her body. ‘Oww.’

  She sank back against the pill
ows, taking a moment to gather her senses.

  ‘Where am I?’ The room was unfamiliar and her head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton wool.

  ‘You’re in hospital,’ Damon said.

  That explained the drip in her hand.

  ‘Where…’

  Damon put a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t talk, Nita. You’re too weak.’

  ‘Where?’ she said again, never one to take orders well.

  ‘We’re in Morocco.’

  ‘Morocco? The last thing I remember is…’

  Her memory wasn’t working properly. She couldn’t think through all that cotton wool but she would have bet her trust fund it wasn’t Morocco.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  He wasn’t just smiling. He was grinning like the Cheshire Bloody Cat.

  ‘You’re alive,’ Damon said, and then he wasn’t smiling, he was crying.

  Was it that serious? Had she really been circling the drain? And why couldn’t she remember any of it? Why did she feel as if she was peering at her life through a layer of charcoal?

  ‘For a while there, even the doctors didn’t think you would pull through.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘Zac Wilson happened.’ The joy evaporated off Damon’s face, replaced by an anger Anita had never seen before.

  Damon looked as if he wanted to murder the guy.

  Why is that name familiar?

  Tiny wings took flight inside her chest, her physical body responding to something her mental mind was too slow to recognise. Danger.

  Zac Wilson. Italy. He came to my room. What was he after? Why was he there again?

  She pictured his blond face, the angular cheekbones and eyes covered in purple bruises.

  He tried to force himself on me. Did he succeed? Did he rape me?

  No. He stabbed me.

  She remembered the cold steel sliding between her ribs, her hand moving instinctively to the spot.

  The knife wasn’t there but her chest was wrapped in thick bandages. Beneath the bandages lay the source of the bushfire.

  Like a rollercoaster that had reached its last pinnacle, her memory came rushing back as the carriage went over that last hurdle, speeding her down a massive drop towards the climax of horror.

  She knew why Wilson came after her.