Legacy of Lies (Empire of Lies Book 3)

by Whitney G.

  Slowly slipping out of bed, I tuck Meredith under the silk sheets and step onto the balcony. Opening a box of Cuban cigars, I lean against the railing and light one, puffing an “O” against the darkness.

  There’s only one asshole left on my list, and as meticulously as I’ve planned for that day, I never planned for what comes next. I’ve always looked at my list of properties around the world and thought, “I’ll step away from what me and Trevor built in New York City for a while,” become a bachelor for a few years, and then take my time deciding what I want to do next.

  Meredith has changed all of that.

  I’m officially in uncharted territory with her, and the ship can only be steered in one of two ways: On ship one, she can return to her life of being “Meredith Thatchwood” with me, and I can come up with an intricate plan to get her life back in New York City. I’ll have to get her out of out any media hailstorms, away from any and all suspicions. That plan will take eleven weeks, though. At least.

  On ship two, she can continue living her life in the shadows, never speaking to Gillian, her former coworkers, or anyone from her previous life again. She can play the role of a new character in whatever city she chooses, pick whatever backstory she pleases.

  I’ll be there for whichever one she chooses, but I can’t help thinking that she won’t be completely happy with either.

  I puff another “O” and hear the soft sound of footsteps behind me.

  “Did you get any good sleep last night?” Meredith walks over to me. “Even if it was just an hour or two?”

  “I got a little more than what I expected,” I say, noticing that her eyes are red and puffy, that there are tears streaming down her face.

  What the hell? “What’s wrong, Meredith?”

  “Nothing.” She smiles through her tears, her voice soft. “It’s the same thing that always hits me. Today is my mom’s birthday, so…I apologize in advance if I burst into tears here or there.”

  “I’ve told you that you never need to apologize for that.” I put out the cigar, pull her into my arms as she burst into tears again.

  I debate whether I should let her know now, if dropping another emotional bombshell is the right thing to do.

  When her chest starts heaving up and down, and the tears begin to fall harder, I decide to go for it.

  “Meredith,” I say, wiping away a few tears before grabbing her hands. “Meredith, look at me.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it…” She shakes her head. “I still think about her every day.”

  “You don’t have to get over it…” I wait until she’s looking up at me. “Meredith, your mother never really passed away…”

  “Excuse me?” Her expression immediately shifts to anger and she glares at me. “What did you just say?”

  “She’s not—”

  “I’ve told you time and time again that she drowned,” she says, “And I’ve told you that I hate hearing people say that she’s ‘in a better place,’ or that ‘she’s still here with me.’ She’s dead, Michael.”

  “No.” I shake my head, looking right into her eyes. “She’s dead in the same way that you’re dead. Turns out, someone else had a change of heart when he was contracted to kill her…She’s very much alive, Meredith.”

  Her jaw drops to the floor. She sucks in a long breath, looking like she’s about to hit me with a barrage of questions.

  ‘Wait.” I press a finger against her lips before she can say a single word. “I found this information out days ago, but I need you to trust me on it, one hundred percent. I can’t take you to see her now, and we can’t even begin to get to her for another few months, until we figure out if you’re going to remain missing or stay alive as your old self. You’ll have to decide what you want, but I promise I’ll take you to see her either way.”

  She stands still, looking absolutely stunned. Torn between relief and grief.

  “You wouldn’t ever joke with me about something like this, would you?” she asks, her eyes hopeful.

  “We both know I’m not the joking type.”

  She swallows and leans against my shoulder, staring straight ahead as I light another cigar.

  When the sun starts to rise over the horizon, she clears her throat. “Who ordered the hit on my mom? Was that my father as well?” She pauses, hitting me with another one. “Were you the designated hire for that job, too?”

  “No to the last two questions.” I pause, getting ready to drop the final bombshell on her. “It was your aunt.”

  Her face reddens, and she slumps down onto the nearest chair. She says nothing for several moments, she just continues glaring and shaking her head.

  When I realize that it’s been over an hour, I grab her hands and pull her up. I wrap an arm around her hips and kiss her forehead, unable to imagine the tangled web of thoughts that are running through her mind.

  “I know which ship I want to take now,” she says.

  “Ship one or Ship two?”

  “Neither of those,” she says, looking up at me. “I want to take Ship three…I want you to help me get even.”

  “Come again?”

  “I want to pay my father and my aunt back for all the pain they’ve put me through,” she says. “I want to bring down my father’s legacy, by taking everything he has and burning it to the ground.”

  “What?” I can feel my eyes widening.

  “I haven’t been able to have a full day of peace since my mom passed—Well, since I thought she passed. And even before that, I…” She shakes her head. “I never completely trusted my father after he abandoned us in the way he did.” Her face turns even redder. “I want to destroy him in every way possible. I want to give him exactly what he was willing to give to me.”

  Those are easily some of the sexiest words that have ever fallen from her lips, but they’re wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts, and she definitely shouldn’t be discussing them with me.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about right now, Meredith,” I say, half concerned, half aroused. “You’re just emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed. Murder is not a suitable payback for what they almost did, and contrary to what you think, that’s no longer my style as of this coming Monday.”

  “Then what is?”

  Silence.

  I wait for her to laugh and tell me that she’s joking about this idea, but she doesn’t. She looks dead-ass serious, and I’m beyond intrigued by her desire for this third option.

  “What would you do if it was you?” she asks.

  “I would be a bit more creative,” I admit. “I would make sure that they were well aware that I knew what they did, and I’d never loosen the leash that I put on them. Maybe prison time, maybe financial ruin, maybe not. It just depends.”

  “It just depends on what?”

  “Which dose of karma I thought would help me sleep better at night”

  She nods, letting out a breath. “I’ll need some time to think on that, then.”

  “You have way more than that to think about.” I kiss her lips. “You still need to decide if you’re going to be Meredith Thatchwood or someone else.” I don’t give her a chance to make that decision right now; it’s silly to expect one.

  “I’m chartering a private jet to New York for you on Monday,” I say, running my fingers through her hair. “I’ll pick you up when you land in the evening, after I’ve finished what I have to do, I’ll help you plan ways to get even.”

  “Does that plan include helping me take down my dad’s entire legacy?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to help you do something even better than that.” I pull her close. “I’m going to help you build your own.”

  Michael

  Now

  Subject: Last one this week.

  I just finished Mr. Hobson at the shipping pier.

  I showed no mercy, and made sure he felt everything he deserved.

  They won’t find his body until next week.

  --Tr
evor

  Subject: Re: Last one this week.

  I’m on my way to finish the person who’s responsible for everything we’ve been through.

  They’ll find his body minutes after I leave.

  --Michael

  Subject: Re: Re: Last one this week.

  Please don’t tell me you’ve decided to go soft on him…

  I was hoping that his death would be one of the most brutal.

  --Trevor

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Last one this week.

  It will be.

  I fucking guarantee it.

  --Michael

  Michael

  Now

  Monday

  There’s no reason why a man who built his empire on the premise of “helping foster kids” should be wealthy. Poor kids and low salaried social workers don’t necessarily make for huge dividends or returns on the stock market.

  Of course, for Ryan Teddy, this isn’t the case. He owns his own golf course, two resorts in Southern Florida, three hotels in Los Angeles, and he’s opening a casino in New Jersey in the fall.

  Well, he thinks he is. He won’t be alive to see it.

  Just like all typical suits who hail from Wall Street, the money is never enough and political power is the ultimate goal. He’s had several failed runs for offices all over the country, but as of two years ago, he finally won a seat as a small-city mayor.

  I even donated one hundred dollars to his campaign.

  They were counterfeit bills, but it’s the thought that counts.

  Out of all the men on my list, he’s by far the vilest. I’ve watched him closely for over a decade—taking stock of his shady business deals and sexual affairs, learning what makes him the pile of shit that he is. I’ve made it my personal mission to know him better than he knows himself, and I want him to hurt him more than anyone else since he has the most to lose.

  “Mayor Teddy isn’t taking visitors at this time,” his secretary says as I approach. She blinks a few times, and I can tell that the itch drops I placed in her contact solution this morning are working.

  She won’t remember my face, only a blur of a man in all-black with shades.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  “I’m an old friend.” I look at my watch. “I’m on his exceptions list.”

  “Oh.” She smiles, and takes out the bottle of eye drops. “What’s your name?”

  “Bill Brooks.”

  “Ah! I was wondering if I would ever get the pleasure of meeting you. You’re the only one on his list who I haven’t met yet.” She extends her hand and I shake it. “How do you know Mayor Teddy?”

  “You’ll have to get the long story from him.” I smile. “We go way back, though.”

  “Oh. So, you’re a childhood friend of his?”

  “Yes. Something like that.”

  “Well, I’ll let him know that you’re here and—”

  “Actually, don’t,” I say. “It’s been a long time. I want to surprise him.”

  “Oh…Well, I guess that would be okay.” She smiles. “He’s probably finishing up with his team in the boardroom, since he has to get ready for a charity function, but you can wait in his office. It’s down the hall and on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Wait,” she says, moving from behind her desk. “While you’re down there, can you tell him that I stepped out to clean my contacts?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I wait for her to step out into the hallway and check my watch. When I’m sure that she’s made it to the restroom, I lock the door to the office so she won’t be able to return.

  I don’t take heed to her directions.

  Ryan Teddy is not in the boardroom. He’s where he always is at three o’clock in the afternoon: In the over the top shower room he had installed next to his two-million-dollar digital golf room.

  Walking down the small hallway that leads into the shower room, I have no need to double check if what I’ve set up is correct; I’ve tested it for months, had it planned for years. No matter where he was, or which of his properties he was in, I knew exactly how I wanted him to leave this world.

  “I’ve got you…” He sings in the shower, the off-key version of a Frank Sinatra song. “Under my skin…”

  I step further into the room, looking at him through the wall of fogged glass.

  He’s lathering his hair and still singing to himself, not yet noticing me.

  Thinking it may take him a few minutes more than I feel like giving, I hit the lights for a few seconds before turning them back on.

  “What the…” He turns off the water and pokes his head out of the glass. He furrows his eyebrow. “Who the fuck are you, and how did you get in here?”

  “I’m here to deliver something,” I say.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m a little preoccupied in the fucking shower, so I’ll have to sign for it when I get out. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I always minded,” I say, suddenly seeing clear, clinical flashbacks. I see this man slamming the bedroom door shut and giving me a look that let me know he was about to own me and Trevor for the rest of the night. I see him getting a sick and depraved high from the sound of Trevor’s pained cries. Him hurting me harder each time in attempts to get me to cry in the same way.

  But the worst memory of them all, is the simplest one. It’s him making me and Trevor sign short, fake statements. Ones that said we wanted to stay with our Uncle Avery, the ones that killed any chance we had at getting placed in a real foster family. Him making us sign those papers set into motion years of terror in hell, and he paid his fair share of visits.

  “Sir,” he says, sighing. “I would really like to finish my goddamn shower alone, if that’s okay with you. If it’s not, I’ll have to call security.”

  “How many times did I ask you to stop watching me shower?” I say. “How many times did I fucking beg you to stop making me strip naked in front of you, before you took advantage of me?”

  “What?” His eyes widen. “What are you—”

  “You got a sick fucking high off watching me bathe in front of you,” I say, keeping my voice firm. “You liked it so much, that you made my brother touch you as you took it all in like some type of child porn show.”

  His face pales and he grabs a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He squints—the recognition immediate, and unlike all of the other assholes I’ve visited, he doesn’t start with denial.

  “I…” He shakes his head. “I honestly don’t remember, Trevor...”

  “I’m Michael.” I clench my jaw. “The one you treated worse. And you honestly do remember. We both do. I’m not a fan of repeating myself these days, so please don’t make me.”

  “Maybe five.”

  “Maybe?” I tilt my head to the side. “You visited us far more than five times, so you know that can’t be true…”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t want anything from you, per se. I want to do something to you, though…”

  He looks nervous as I lift my shirt—revealing the gun that’s tucked into my waistband. “You’re here to shoot me? Is that what you want after all these years? Revenge?”

  I don’t answer any of his questions.

  “There are cameras in here, you know.”

  “There were.” I smile. “But I’m not here to shoot you. You’re actually the only person on my list that I’m not going to kill like that,” I say. “But only because I know quite a few things that would be far worse for you. Give me a better number for my question so I can determine what that is.”

  He swallows. “Ten, or so.”

  “Or so? Hmmm.” I tap my fingers against the wall. “Okay, we’ll go with, or so. Problem is, that’s not really an adequate number of bullets, so I’m at a bit of a loss on how many I would’ve needed to use for you.”

  “You just said that you weren’t going to shoot me.”

  “I’m not.” I hit the hidden switch I installed years ag
o and watch as three hundred volts of electricity shock him instantly. They hit him so hard that his entire naked body convulses and shakes at once, the sound of the water drips zapping and buzzing make the scene it even more satisfying.

  He falls to the ground amidst the intensity, and I wait until I can see wisps of smoke rising from his pathetic body.

  I know he’s dead—that he was technically done the moment I hit the switch, but I wait a few seconds before flipping the switch upward.

  “It was three hundred,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Five times a week, the first week of every month, for five fucking years…”

  I leave the bathroom and feel a hint of something in my chest that I haven’t felt since I was a child.

  Peace.

  The moment I get out of his office and make it to the parking lot, I pull out my phone and send the email I’ve been longing to send since me and Trevor made this deal.

  Subject: All or nothing.

  The list is complete.

  --Michael

  Michael

  Now

  Subject: Next Moves + Sleep in NYC…

  Is there any reason why, hours after you finish what we’ve been working toward for years, that you’re currently standing me up on the celebratory dinner? (We have a lot to discuss about what we need to do next…)

  Also, I’ve slept better over the past few days than I ever have in my entire life: 10 hours. What about you?

  --Trevor

  Subject: Re: Next Moves + Sleep in NYC…

  A certain flight is getting in an hour earlier than expected, so I’m on my way to the private airport…I’ll need a raincheck. (I personally think we should both step back from the game for a little while, live a little)

  Yes, I have. 8 hours.

  --Michael

  Subject: Re: Re: Next Moves + Sleep in NYC…