Throne of Lies: Prequel to Legacy of Lies

by Leigh, Tara

  “Good. Now, keep your mouth shut unless spoken to.”

  Like my father, I had a temper, too. “Then what am I doing here?” I snapped.

  His nostrils flared as he looked down his nose at me. “You’ve always said you wanted to see what I do, right? To work in the business, take it over one day. Well,” he made a sweeping gesture with his hands, “welcome to the most important lesson you’ll ever learn, son. It’s called Covering Your Ass 101. It’s not something they teach up at Columbia, so just keep quiet and pay attention. Because if I play my cards right, you might actually have a business to inherit. If not, we can both kiss our careers goodbye. Got it?”

  This time I merely glared. He didn’t press me, instead waving at the people clustered outside the door. They filed back in, taking seats around the conference table. “We have a bit of an optics problem,” said one of the suits.

  My father snorted. “I’m facing life in prison and you want to talk about optics?”

  The lawyer didn’t flinch. “Your son and Chapman’s daughter, they’re dating?”

  Before I could answer, my father quipped, “Would it help if they were?”

  “No. It wouldn’t.”

  “Then they’re not.”

  I bit down on the urge to interject, wanting to see where the lawyer was going with his line of questioning.

  He slid a sheaf of papers across the table, and my father slammed a meaty hand on the pile, dragging it the rest of the way. Peering over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Jolie and me, photographs that had obviously been taken last night and then picked up by the media as part of the story surrounding our fathers.

  Grunting as he examined each one, my father then tossed the lot back on the table where they fanned out across the gleaming mahogany surface. “So? My son brought Chapman’s daughter to a dance last night. That’s all.”

  “Respectfully, Mr. Montgomery, that’s not all, because that’s not how it’s playing in the press. It won’t help your case if your son is carrying on with the daughter of the man with whom you are accused of committing the largest fraud Wall Street has ever seen. Any connection between your two families lends credence to the theory that you and Chapman were co-conspirators.”

  “Just because my son played hide the sausage—”

  “Dad!”

  His head swiveled back to me, skin flushed, veins bulging from his neck. “What did I say to you? Shut your mouth and listen, or get out.”

  I stood up. “Fine.” I stalked out of the conference room, my phone already in my hand, thumbing off a text to Jolie as I looked for the exit.

  But I didn’t get far before my mother caught up to me. “Tripp, wait.”

  I stopped, but only because the entire floor looked the same, and I wasn’t sure where the exit was. “I’m not going to listen to Dad talk about Jolie like that.”

  She rubbed my arm through my blazer. “Your father is under a tremendous amount of pressure right now. He just doesn’t have the capacity to be politically correct. You have to cut him some slack.”

  “Politically correct is having ten options to choose from when it comes to gender. Hide the salami is just crass, and I’m not going to sit there while anyone, including my own father, degrades the woman I love.”

  Instead of arguing further, my mother smiled sadly. “Jolie is a very sweet girl, but—”

  “Mom—”

  She held up a hand. “But you have to realize your relationship is impossible right now. Maybe when all this is over, but right now . . .”

  Logically, I knew that what she was saying made sense. But love and logic existed at opposite ends of the spectrum, and I couldn’t justify giving up Jolie for anyone, even my father. “Mom, I’m almost twenty years old. You and Dad don’t get to choose my girlfriend.”

  She blinked several times, lips pursed as she observed me. “Let’s put a pin in that for now. Why don’t I find an office for you to hang out in for a while, so you can cool off?”

  “I don’t need to cool off. I’m going to go home, grab a few things and head back to my apartment near campus.” Columbia wasn’t far, but I shared an apartment in Morningside Heights with two roommates, both of whom also had families that lived on the Upper East Side.

  “You can’t.” Her voice was quiet, but firm.

  I paused. “What do you mean I can’t?”

  “We have to stay here for a little while longer.”

  There was something she wasn’t telling me. “Why?”

  “They’re executing a search warrant on our apartment right now.”

  I flinched, but I should have known. “Fine. I have my keys in my pocket, I’ll go straight uptown.”

  “Tripp, they’re searching your apartment, too.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because your father’s name is on the lease, and you work for the company.”

  “Part-time. Technically, I’m an unpaid intern.”

  She put her hands up, palms out. “Don’t shoot the messenger. All I know is what I’ve been told. The lawyers have asked all of us to stay here until the search is completed. If we interfere in any way, even just to observe, it might be viewed as obstruction or leaked to the media that we’re being uncooperative. Either way, it won’t look good.”

  The full weight of the situation my father had brought upon us came bearing down on me, seeping into my bones. This was serious, and it wasn’t going away any time soon. I scrubbed a hand over my face, studying my mother’s wary expression. She had nothing to do with this, and I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for her than they had to be. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Okay, but I’m not going back to the conference room. I’ll camp out in someone’s office until we get the all-clear.”

  She gave a grateful sigh. “Thank you, sweetheart. We have to support your father while he figures out how to get us through this. Life will be normal again, I just know it.”

  I didn’t argue with her, even though I knew she was one-hundred-percent wrong. My father wasn’t going to be able to get us through this, no matter how many lies he spun or lawyers he hired. We were royally screwed.

  Locating a deserted office, I dropped onto a small sofa, eying the stack of newspapers that would be my only source of entertainment for the next few hours, or at least until Jolie was back from her father’s lawyers. Whatever happened, I was completely committed to getting through it with Jolie. Maybe we couldn’t appear in public together, but there was no reason we couldn’t stay in touch by phone and text, and see each other privately as often as possible. “I’ll be fine, Mom. You can go back to Dad now.”

  She hesitated in the doorway. “There’s one more thing.”

  I forced a half-hearted smile. “I won’t make a break for it as soon as you’re gone, I promise.”

  “I need your phone.”

  My lips reversed into a scowl. “For what?”

  “You’re going to have to hand it over to the investigators by the end of the day anyway, if not sooner. The lawyers just want to look it over first. They already have mine, and of course your father’s.”

  I reached into my pocket, pulled it out. “Can you give me a few minutes?” I wanted to delete all of my texts and emails with Jolie first.

  Reading my mind, she shook her head. “No, I can’t let you do that. Even if it has nothing to do with your father’s case, you could be accused of destroying evidence.”

  “But—”

  “Tripp, please.” She reached out a hand and I reluctantly surrendered my phone, feeling as if everything in my life was getting swept away by the tornado my father had created, one ready to destroy all of us in its perilous path.

  I’d been raised to believe we lived in a steel bunker, but instead it had turned out to be a dilapidated camper at the edge of a trailer park. We were going to be crushed and there was nothing we could do.

  15

  December 2007

  Jolie

  “Can I have my phone back yet?” I hated th
e whiny note that had crept into my voice, but I couldn’t help it. The situation seemed to be getting worse by the minute. I was tired and hungry and scared.

  Nina pulled it from her purse. “Sure. They haven’t had a chance to look through it yet.”

  I accepted it with a mumbled thanks, returning to the chair I had commandeered in a corner of the room. It was as far as I could get from where my father was seated with his lawyers, talking about trades that never happened, money that never existed. Strategies and evidence and criminal penalties. I wanted to cover my ears and scream, just to block it all out.

  Pulling up my text messages, my heart thumped joyfully when I saw Tripp’s name.

  Thank god for Tripp Montgomery. I would never be able to get through this without him.

  My hungry eyes devoured his message . . . but something was wrong. The letters formed words that weren’t just words. They were bullets, tearing into the softest, most vulnerable parts of me. There was no blood, no open wounds—but my body was screaming in pain.

  I read Tripp’s message.

  Over and over and over.

  Until tears stung my eyes and I couldn’t see.

  Until panic gripped my throat and I couldn’t breathe.

  Until I dropped the phone and really did start screaming.

  At Nina. At the lawyers. Mostly at my father.

  The headlines were true.

  He really was a thief.

  He’d stolen my heart.

  I would never forgive him.

  And I would never be whole again.

  16

  January 2008

  Disgraced banker James Chapman, of MC Partners, was found in the executive washroom of his lawyer's offices late yesterday, dead of an apparent suicide. It marks the end of a rough week for the once high-flying, highly respected Wall Street insider. Last Sunday, after a lengthy investigation by this publication, it was revealed that Chapman and his business partner, Remington Montgomery, had defrauded their investors of well over one billion dollars. An inside source close to the investigation has indicated that Chapman, claiming no knowledge of the alleged Ponzi scheme, had offered to aid investigators in building a case against Montgomery and recovering as many funds as possible. The prosecutor initially accepted his offer, although the specifics of how this would benefit his case were still being negotiated.

  However, the plea deal was rejected upon Montgomery's insistence that Chapman was the criminal mastermind, vehemently denying all allegations to the contrary.

  Little is known of the origins of their business, but MC Partners’ claim to fame was earning consistent returns hovering around ten percent.

  A spokesperson for James Chapman's family told police that he was under enormous strain from the accusations and anticipated trial, including what would have most certainly been a lengthy prison sentence. After learning that his longtime business partner was placing the blame for the fraudulent scheme on him, Chapman excused himself from the conference room where he had been meeting with his family and team of lawyers (including what is being described as a “heated” exchange with his daughter) and locked himself in the executive washroom. He was found hanging by his tie from a beam in the ceiling. No note has been found.

  Sources have indicated that Montgomery agreed to plead guilty in exchange for assurances that his wife, an executive in the company but with no official duties, would not be prosecuted for any crimes relating to the financial fraud.

  James Chapman is survived by his second wife, Nina Chapman, and his daughter Jolie Chapman, from his first marriage. Plans for a private funeral service are underway, the details of which are not known at this time.

  The End

  Did you enjoy the first act of Tripp and Jolie’s dramatic love story?

  Discover the fate of this star-crossed couple in LEGACY OF LIES.

  Coming October 15th!

  Pre-Order Here

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  Also by Tara Leigh

  Legacy of Lies

  Throne of Lies

  Legacy of Lies

  Nothing But Trouble

  Rock King

  Rock Legend

  Rock Rebel

  Billionaire Bosses

  Deal Breaker

  Penthouse Player

  About the Author

  Tara Leigh is a multi-published author of steamy contemporary romance. A former banker on Wall Street, she graduated from Washington University and holds an MBA from Columbia Business School, but she much prefers spending her days with fictional boyfriends than analyzing financial spreadsheets. Tara currently lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut with her husband, children, and fur-baby, Pixie. http://bit.ly/TaraLeighNwsltr