by Cara Putman
One of her notes made him pause.
Vincent told Fletcher he’d follow up on your accounts while needed. I told him I would do that, but Vincent got to Priscilla and convinced her to route your calls to him. He charmed Mrs. Maverick, and she’s considering transferring the account.
The words were practically gouged into the paper.
Vincent Ross was the type to take advantage of his absence no matter the reason. He’d proven he’d scrabble and step on anyone if they got him a rung closer to his goal. He had rushed into the small firm with a chip on his shoulder and thrust it around with everyone but clients. To them he could be as charming as the best used car salesman—no offense to those who were good at what they did. He was not. But he somehow managed to convince everyone he was by stealing other people’s analyses and work.
The Maverick portfolio was worth a small fortune. Reid logged into the firm’s system and started poking around. But when he tried to access the Maverick account and see what damage Vincent had done, he was blocked. He frowned and tried another avenue, with no success.
So, the man was intent on keeping him out.
He could do an end run of his own.
He picked up his phone and dialed George Maverick at his office. Odd that the call rang through to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message and turned back to Simone’s notes. Everything else looked okay. That she’d managed to contain Vincent’s end run was impressive in and of itself. He made a note to give her a more visible role with select clients. She was ready, with him as her backstop, but knowing her work ethic, she wouldn’t need much.
He rubbed his temples and scanned his calendar. Other than a firm meeting that afternoon, his day was impossibly clear. The hazard of coming back unexpectedly.
Good. It gave him time to research and consider new ways to reach prospective clients, and a good reason to contact his book of business. Offer to pay for coffee for clients and their interested friends. Up it to a nice lunch at Old Ebbitt or someplace similar for key individuals. Mr. Fletcher had taught him that the right amount of wining and dining was a necessary expense.
He hopped on the phone and systematically connected with each client, watching his calendar fill up as he did. There was hesitancy in some voices, but the promise of a free lunch if they brought a friend worked. No matter how rich they were, people liked a meal on his tab. Then he called Jordan Westfall.
A self-made millionaire several times over, Jordan had the look and feel of a Mark Z, genius with the savvy to get the right people around him to make his ideas succeed. He liked to tell people he still tinkered at the high-tech firm he’d sold. Anybody else would call it creating the apps they relied on to manage their lives.
“You want what?” Jordan had the slightly distracted sound that conveyed Reid had caught him in the middle of a thought.
“To take you to lunch and update you on your portfolio.” He paused a moment. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about that yesterday.”
“That other guy’s not taking my account. You can stop worrying. And I still haven’t decided about Almost Home.”
“Okay.” Reid dragged out the word, a bit taken aback.
“Schedule time with David for basketball. I’ll be there.” He chuckled. “We can talk money then.”
“Will do.” Although they would not talk money then. Those conversations needed much more privacy than the local Y provided. And he felt awkward having business bleed into what had been a stress release for as long as he’d known David.
“See you then.” And Jordan was gone.
Reid held the phone in his hand, hesitating. David Evans had been there throughout college. They’d diverged for grad school, David going to law school while Reid got his MBA with an emphasis in finance at a top New York school. They had reconnected when he first moved to Virginia, diverging again when David made Ciara Turner his bride. Marriage tended to limit those easygoing nights of playing pick-up games of basketball that left both huffing and puffing.
It would be good to try, but now that David had a newborn daughter, Reid wasn’t holding his breath.
CHAPTER 15
Staring at a blank sheet of paper felt as productive as watching grass grow.
Earlier Reid had called to fill her in on what he’d learned about Kinley’s status. She should research and break down the elements she would need to prove if they had even a chance of gaining custody.
But her mind was as blank as that stupid sheet of paper.
It only took seconds to dig up the relevant statutes. The language made it clear the law focused on parental relationships. The definitions recognized that other family members could have an interest, but it didn’t draw a clear line for when another family member could take custody from a parent.
“The statute is the starting point, Emilie. Remember everything you learned in your legal research and writing course.” The pep talk to herself didn’t work as well as she’d hoped, but she started pulling up the cases that referenced the code.
As she dove into the cases, she felt a burble of hope. There were several cases talking about the primacy of the parent-child relationship, but then she found some related to attacking a parent’s custody. One case even related to the death of the mother.
Her hope began to evaporate, though, when she noticed that the courts required a finding of harm to the child before a lower court judge could move to “best interests of the child.” Without proof that Kinley staying with her father was harmful, this was a nonstarter. No one had witnessed what happened, so it was as likely that Kaylene had shot Kinley as it was that Robert had. She needed to contact the detective and see what he might say.
That was one thing she could jot on that blank page.
Emilie flopped back in her chair and stared at the Monet print on the wall. The soft colors and brush strokes usually gave her a deep sense of peace. It was her way to re-center in the middle of work that was often disturbing. While she tried to maintain her happy-go-lucky appearance with friends, it had gotten harder. The weight of her clients’ deep needs had reached a tipping point. The peace incumbent in the painting she’d always loved had slipped away with her ability to help Kaylene.
She recalled standing in front of the original at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. It had been part of a traveling exhibit, and the water lilies painting had filled an entire wall. She had sat in front of it for an hour, completely lost in the cascade of color and the way the brushstrokes changed based on her distance from the painting.
She’d learned a valuable lesson that day.
Her perspective on a case could change depending on how close to its details she stood. If she stood nose to paint from it, she could lose the vast swirl of colors in the minutia. Still beautiful, she saw the individual bristles of the brush imprinted in the paint rather than the way the details merged into a kaleidoscope of color that formed the greater picture. Stand too far away and she lost the way each carefully placed stroke or glob contributed to the larger story being told.
As she stared at the print, she wished she could slip into the larger scale once again. While the Smithsonian had a lovely assortment of Monets, none on display had the sweeping scale and scope of those she’d seen in the Nelson-Atkins exhibit. And she didn’t have time for a trip to Kansas City even if the exhibit was still there. She closed her eyes and forced her mind to slow, thinking about the painting in its entirety, being swept into the broadness and scale of the image.
She pulled up a search engine and searched for Kaylene. The first thing in the search was the video. She watched it again. Nothing new, but was it possible to slow it down or refine it? She buzzed Taylor. A minute later her assistant stood in the doorway.
“Come watch this.” Emilie scooted her chair to the side to make room for Taylor. They watched the short video together. “Do you see anything?”
“Not that I haven’t seen when watching it before.”
“Do you know of a way to enhance the video
? Maybe get a better handle of what’s on it?”
“I can check.”
“Thanks.” After Taylor left, Emilie’s thoughts turned to the girls. She knew Kaylene, but not the girls. What had life been like from their perspective before the tragedy?
Kaylene had been careful not to pull her girls into the drama at home. She’d done everything she could to prevent them from understanding the full flow of hate and derision. She’d told Emilie the girls should adore their dad. That it was good and right because he was a good father.
That was not the testimony the judge needed to hear.
What she needed was proof that the father had controlled their lives to the extent he had controlled Kaylene’s.
How could she gain that when Kinley remained in a coma and her mother and Kaydence were dead?
What would a judge find to be persuasive evidence? That was where she needed to focus her attention.
If the video could be cleaned up, would it reveal something that might sway the court’s opinion, persuade the judge there was an alternate explanation for what happened in the home that terrible day? But it still wouldn’t show what had happened inside the home.
Had Kaylene ever said anything about Robert not allowing the girls to do activities? Had she ever talked about Robert threatening the girls? Emilie walked through the different conversations she could remember. The primary focus had been on how Kaylene and the girls could flee. Robert had controlled the finances to the extent that he gave Kaylene cash, but never access to the checkbook or credit cards. It had started as a way to relieve her stress as an overwhelmed young mom, but over time she realized it had trapped her. With Emilie’s encouragement, she had set aside twenty or forty dollars a week from different budget items, slowly building a tiny escape fund. Something was better than nothing.
Had he done anything similar with the girls?
Kaylene hadn’t said, and Emilie hadn’t asked.
Someone knocked at her door, startling Emilie from her thoughts.
Rhoda strode into her office and settled on the chair in front of her desk, as if preparing to stay a while. “How are things going?”
“Fine.” Emilie tried not to frown at the sudden interruption.
“Good, because I’ve heard nothing from you regarding Nadine Hunter, and she was in here last Thursday. That’s five days ago.”
As if Emilie didn’t remember. She couldn’t tell Rhoda that each time she opened the file to start working on Nadine’s protective order, she froze. “I’ll get to it.”
“It’s just a protective order.” Rhoda leaned forward, every line of her body intense and focused. “I could have any of the secretaries complete it.”
“Then let them. You don’t need me to fill in the blanks.”
“But Nadine needs you as her advocate.”
“Maybe now isn’t a good time.”
“Really? This isn’t a good time to do your job? Emilie, Kaylene was one of our clients. One of many. There are dozens more who still need our help and advocacy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Emilie bit back the desire to say it was exactly what she did mean. She needed this job. Maybe not for the income, but she needed it because it was a large part of her identity.
“Then I suggest you get on top of Nadine’s case. You of all people understand the impact any delay can have.” Rhoda sighed. “I’m spending time each day explaining to reporters how agencies like ours can keep events like the Adams tragedy from happening. Did you know the police might release the 911 calls?”
Emilie trembled at the thought of what those calls could contain. “I hadn’t heard that. Why would they do that?”
“Sunshine requests. You’d better hope there’s nothing that harms us anywhere in those calls.”
“There won’t be.” She tried to infuse her words with certainty.
“Good, because I never want to hear the Adams name again. We are closing that file and moving forward.”
“What if things aren’t as the media says?”
Rhoda’s blue eyes sparked with a fire that warned Emilie to back off. “It doesn’t matter to us if the media got it right. I do not want to hear you have done one more thing related to that file. Do you understand?” Her posture softened. “We cannot allow a client we can no longer help to prohibit us from serving all the women we can assist.”
Emilie swallowed and then nodded. Guess she’d have to move the rest of her investigating home. It might require a shift in her hours, but other than Nadine’s matter, nothing was pressing at the moment.
The instant Rhoda sailed out of her office, Emilie paged Taylor. “I need you.”
Her assistant hustled into Emilie’s office and took the chair Emilie gestured toward.
“Can you finish Nadine’s PO today?”
“No problem. I’ve got most of the information ready to plug in.”
“Great. I’ll need to spend time working from home.”
“Gotcha.” Taylor made a note on her ever-present legal pad. “I’ll cover for you.”
“Forward any calls to my cell.” Emilie pulled her purse from beneath her desk. “I’m heading home now. E-mail the PO when it’s ready.”
“Will do.”
Emilie followed Taylor from her office and then hurried to her car and home. She quickly changed into comfortable linen capris and a designer T-shirt before setting up her laptop on the first floor of the town house. Today she didn’t want to be buried in the basement. She needed to know the sun was shining as she instigated the next layer of research. A quick Google search showed that the 911 calls hadn’t hit press websites yet. She jotted a note to check a couple times a day.
Her thoughts turned back to Robert Adams. Were there activities he hadn’t allowed the girls to participate in? She thought of all the things her parents had encouraged her to try. Swim team, piano, dance, youth group, and so much more. How on earth had they gotten her everywhere she’d needed to be?
As she reviewed her conversations with Kaylene, she couldn’t remember a time Kaylene talked about the girls being involved in activities other than school and the piano lessons that he’d canceled. Had that been by choice? Maybe they were homebodies. Or was it a decision that had been forced on them by a strong-willed father who always knew best? How could she find out?
Her eyes popped open as she swiveled toward her computer.
If the girls had social media accounts, maybe she could learn what they did and thought.
It didn’t take long to realize she might have to download Snapchat. On Instagram the accounts were private, and Kinley didn’t have a Facebook account, but her sister did. Kaydence hadn’t done anything to make her Facebook content private. As Emilie scrolled down, she was surprised at how much Kaydence had posted without any sort of personal filter. The young woman had a strident relationship with her father, one she didn’t hide.
Had he seen the posts?
Emilie searched for Robert Adams. There were so many it would take days to locate the right one, if he was even on Facebook. It might be time worth spending if she could connect Kaydence’s posts to his behavior. She’d had clients whose significant others had made frequent and repetitive threats on social media. If Robert had done the same, that would help draw the line . . . though surely he’d be smart enough not to post for the world to see.
She added the task to her to-do list. An intern or secretary could scan through the search results and narrow down the list of men named Robert Adams—if she had one. Wait a minute. She went to Kaylene’s page and clicked on her friends. A quick search, and she had the right Robert. As controlling as the man had been, there was no way he would let her online without monitoring her activity.
She scrolled down his timeline. It was overwhelmed with comments of sympathy regarding the shooting. The vitriol against Kaylene was intense, with no one questioning what had happened.
It was as she finally reached posts more than two weeks old that Emilie began to get a sense of who the man
was. She clicked on his photos and saw a string of images containing his girls, hunting, and other outdoor activities. A handful of photos had Kaylene in them. It was as if he had already divorced her from the family, funneling his attention to their beautiful girls.
There was nothing there that would indicate he didn’t love his daughters wholeheartedly. Of course, people usually presented their best selves online. That was all a judge or jury would see. Only what Robert Adams wanted others to see.
CHAPTER 16
Her cell phone rang, and Emilie glanced at the screen. Reid? What would he be calling about? She swiped to take the call. “This is Emilie.”
“Hey.” His voice was casual and relaxed, but she wasn’t buying it.
“Hey.” She settled back and clicked to Kaydence’s Facebook profile while she waited for him to talk.
“So last night I looked through the photo albums in the boxes Kaylene left.”
“Find anything useful?”
“Not really. There are very few photos of the four of them together.”
“And the files?”
“I haven’t looked yet. Not sure what I’m looking for.”
“Want help?”
“I could bring pizza and the files to your place some evening.”
Emilie considered it as she scrolled down the teen’s page. She looked for people who appeared in multiple photos and posts. “Did Kaydence have a boyfriend?”
Reid snorted. “Umm, I would have had to been more a part of her life to know information like that.”
“I’m looking at her Facebook profile, and there’s no guy listed. There’s not even a guy showing up consistently in group photos.” She scrolled through a few more photos. “For as beautiful as she was, with her blonde waves and bright smile, I’m surprised she didn’t have one.”
“She was young.”
“Not that young.”
“Then I’m never having kids. Or I’ll arrange their marriages at six months.”
“My dad always threatened that.”
“I think I’d like your dad.”
