“He did not.”
“I’m told you didn’t go to your home. You went straight to the carriage house over the stables with your luggage. It appears you not only paint there, you live there. Am I correct?”
She wanted to lie. For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t want a State Prosecutor to be one of the first to know she’d left her and Nick’s enormous bed for a sofa.
Simon laughed. “He doesn’t know, does he?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Wow. I’m … wow. Either he really is an idiot, or he’s the best con I’ve ever seen.”
He stood again. “You can go home, Mrs. Rousseau.”
“I don’t understand.”
He laughed again. “Just don’t leave town.”
She blanched. Their gazes locked. Both of them knew she’d be going to the carriage house.
“Don’t worry. I’m a prosecuting attorney, not a divorce lawyer. I won’t tell him.”
Her heart went numb. She actually felt it stop hurting, stop yearning, and completely disengage from any concern for Nick as the last glimmer of care for her marriage burned out.
“You can tell him anything you like,” she said.
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I was serious about you not leaving town. It’s quite possible I’ll need to speak with you again.”
“I don’t know anything that could help you.”
“What about convicting or clearing your husband? Charges of real estate fraud at the amounts Nick is accused of are very serious. The FBI is involved.”
She didn’t know if she could trust the man before her to be completely forthcoming. Still, she needed to ask. “How much money are you talking about?”
“Over twenty-six million and counting.”
Angelina caught herself before she gasped. She’d always known Nick wanted more financial stability than most. While she understood the cause for his obsession, she couldn’t imagine how he might try to justify his need for that much money. Surely he hadn’t used wanting to provide for her as an excuse.
“I assume you have some sort of proof,” she said.
“We do indeed. His signature is all over documents for his dummy corporation Paragon Group Investments, or PGI. Did he ever discuss PGI with you?”
“No.” She’d never heard of it.
She folded her hands on the table, stared ahead as she realized. He was trying to trip her up, telling her she could leave, then asking more questions. He was watching her reactions, her body language, searching for signs she was lying. Waiting for her to add details or an explanation. How much longer would he continue?
“Do you know where or how he hid the money?”
“You’re making me wish I had a lawyer here with me.”
“Other than Gavin Hawk, of course.” He paused. “We know you met him a few times, with Nick. The question is: How involved were you in Nick’s plans? How much did he tell you?”
The backs of her eyes stung but she willed away the tears. She swallowed a decade of hurt over what little time she’d actually spent with her husband, how little she actually knew about his life apart from her. “I told you. I know nothing about his business or his investments.”
“All right. Have you seen your husband yet?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“I can’t let you see him yet.” He thrust his hands into his pockets, cocked his head. “I’m not satisfied you aren’t involved. I wasn’t joking about the FBI’s interest in this case. If I gave you time with him, would he tell you the truth about his deals? About the money?”
Simon might be interested in justice. Or, he might be interested in getting a conviction. However, the way his expression was changing from interest, to flirty, to lust, he might hope she’d be willing to bargain anything to get what she wanted—be it her freedom or Nick’s.
If she agreed to seek answers from Nick for the prosecutor, she might be playing with fire. But frankly, she was beyond sick and tired of seemingly every man except her husband noticing her. Talking with her husband might be the only power she could use in her favor, in the impossible position his actions had put her in. If Simon wanted to, he might misconstrue or even ignore evidence supporting her innocence. She might have to get Nick to say she wasn’t involved.
“Will you be watching?” she asked.
“Watching?”
“You and others.” She motioned with her head. “Standing behind the one-way glass, watching everything Nicholas and I do, listening to everything we say?”
She—they—were probably being watched and recorded right now.
“That’s an interesting question. Do you have something to hide?”
She refused to look away first. If this man caught any hint of fear, hurt, or the fact she wanted nothing else at that moment except to be back at the carriage house checking the condition of her paintings—he would, no doubt, exploit any and all of them to get what he wanted. His entire demeanor was probably an act to manipulate her.
“How long until I can see him?”
“A day. Maybe two.”
“And I can leave now?”
“You may.”
She rose and opened the door. “Then I’ll await your call. You obviously know how to find me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Hey, Nick. I’m Julius.”
The man who entered the interview room where Nicholas sat had both his father’s dark skin and intimidating size, along with his little mother’s quiet smile.
“I’ve just been told the State Prosecutor questioned your wife but has now let her go home.”
“Even if I’d known she was here, they wouldn’t have let me see her, would they?” Nick asked.
“Not right now. Why did you talk to the State Prosecutor without an attorney present? Why would your wife?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong. I thought if I listened, I might be able to clear up this entire misunderstanding. As for Angie, she probably thought the same.”
“From now on, you say nothing to Simon or anyone without me there.”
“I understand. I really thought this was all a big mistake.”
“Let’s not get off on the wrong foot,” Julius said. “I’m on your side, but I need you to be straight with me. Does Angelina have reason to worry about being arrested?”
“No. No, I can say with absolute certainty I kept my professional life and my married life completely separate.”
Julius placed his briefcase on the table and withdrew an iPad. He used it to take notes. “Can you think of anything that might help us prove your innocence?”
“I don’t even understand the charges. Real estate fraud? I no longer own any properties.”
“What about PGI?”
“Paragon? It’s not my company. I’m an investor. My attorney—my other attorney, Gavin—told me about them.”
Julius looked at him over his silver-rimmed glasses. “PGI was a scam.”
Nicholas felt his heart sink all the way to his feet. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.
Paragon Group Investments, known as PGI, had been the answer Nick had been looking for. Dividends from The Group should have provided for him and Angelina for life.
He’d had it all planned. Secretly retiring, surprising her, and finally starting a family. He wanted to be present in his children’s lives as his father had not been in his.
He looked at Julius. “How was PGI not a legitimate company? I’ve seen board meeting minutes. Preparations were being made to have publicly traded stock once the resort was finished.”
“The scheme surrounds a particular stretch of beachfront property down in Mobile County which suffered greatly when Hurricane Katrina went through,” Julius said. “The owners are thought to be deceased, as they never filed an insurance claim or paid property taxes. No living relatives can be found.”
“I’ve seen that property. PGI called it Paragon Beach. They’re building a billion-dollar resort there.”
/> “You saw the property, or you saw the resort building itself?”
Nick’s hands started to sweat. “I saw the land this time last year.”
But he hadn’t been down there since. As far as the resort was concerned, he’d only seen videos of the progress, sent via e-mail from Gavin Hawk, his trusted attorney who knew he was anxious to retire and looking to invest.
“You mean nothing’s built there?” Nick asked. “Nothing?”
“A shell of a building is there. Cheap framing covered and camouflaged to look more substantial. There is no interior. No plumbing, nothing. Braces hold up the exterior walls.
“A utility company employee noticed the beginnings of the structure and realized no power had been run for the resort. He spoke to his boss, started asking questions. Turns out not one permit had been pulled. The building isn’t real.”
“No. You must be mistaken. Gavin and I talked about the land, the resort. I know all about top-secret phases two and three. I’ve known Gavin for years. He wouldn’t do this to me.”
“I’m sorry, Nick. Apparently, not even the land belongs to PGI. Someone using your name paid the back taxes to get access. The outstanding mortgage was never addressed. Even if the utility worker hadn’t discovered the façade, this scam couldn’t have gone on much longer. The property is coming up for foreclosure auction next month.”
“My name? That’s not what happened. I invested in PGI. I thought I was getting in on the ground floor of a life-changing opportunity. I saw the deed.”
Gavin had shown it to him.
“Did you verify it was legitimate?”
A fake deed? Had Nick believed what he wanted, seen what he wanted, that day in Gavin’s office when his lawyer had leaned in as a friend and shared with Nick the deal of a lifetime?
“Who was listed as owner?” Julius asked.
“PGI.”
“Do you have a copy of that deed? The State Prosecutor believes PGI was yours and yours alone. That you used the bogus opportunity to persuade others to invest millions. I’ve seen the documents, Nick. They all have your signature on them. The incorporation papers. The silent partner agreements with other investors.”
That’s why Simon had spread documents on the table last night. He’d hoped Nick would notice his own handwriting as representative of PGI.
Nick thought back over the last seven years he’d known Gavin. What had he missed? Had he been so focused on the brass ring that was PGI, he didn’t question Gavin the way he should have?
“Julius, I admit I signed everything Gavin put in front of me. I trusted him, and I’m still not ready to throw my friend under the bus. But I’m not guilty. I have copies of my investment agreement in my safe deposit box. I even have a document giving Gavin Hawk my POA.”
Julius smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Where’s the key?”
“In evidence? Detective Reedy questioned me about it yesterday at the county jail.”
“Did Gavin have access to your safe deposit box?”
“Never.”
“Did he know about it?”
“No. Although I did use People’s Bank near his satellite office in Mobile. It seemed a good choice.”
“The original warrant didn’t list the safe deposit box in Mobile. Now, the State Prosecutor wants you to voluntarily reveal its contents. Is there any reason we shouldn’t do that? My counsel to you is, if you haven’t been forthcoming to me, tell me the truth now. If we cooperate, I believe the court will consider that at the hearing.”
“Why doesn’t Simon use my key and take what he wants?”
“He can’t without a warrant. He’s giving you the chance to prove yourself innocent, or—for lack of a better term—hang yourself. He could be starting to believe you’re a victim, too. Understand you’re still a suspect, but cooperating could help you in the long run.”
“You mean like when an accused murderer says I’ll show you where the body is if you reduce my sentence?”
“Something like that.”
“But I’m innocent.”
“I know this is a horrible place to be. I need to ask you to trust me to do my job. One of the investors, Frances Sweeney, lives in Mississippi. The fact the fraud was perpetrated across state lines, combined with the dollar amount, resulted in the FBI being notified. Feds don’t like surprises. Even though tomorrow’s Sunday, the FBI is prepared to make arrangements to have the bank opened and ask for their own warrant. Simon will be happier if I tell him we’ll cooperate.”
“I’ll cooperate.” Anything to clear his name and protect Angelina. “Julius, I can’t believe they questioned my wife. They might even still be searching our home. When you leave, will you call Pierce and Laurie, and ask them to check on her?”
***
At the carriage house, Angelina thoroughly inspected the first stack of paintings. Magnificent waterfalls from around the world.
She’d visited each one two years ago when Nick’s two-month trip to Baltimore stretched to three. She’d spent days at each location, taking photos and recording video. He probably didn’t even know she’d gone.
In truth, unless he’d snuck into her old studio on one of the few occasions he was home, she doubted he’d seen these or any other of her paintings.
The corner of one canvas had been slightly damaged. The gouge would be covered by framing. Still, she’d have to disclose the imperfection to Mr. Fairchild, the show’s facilitator.
She moved to the next stack, a set of eight, each showing a different, yet overlapping view of the same beach inlet of the Seychelles Islands by East Africa. When hung in a circle, they’d create a panoramic view. In person, the sight had literally taken away her breath. The horseshoe-shaped beach contained sand so white it could have been mistaken for confectioner’s sugar. The water, a study in a flawless transition from clear to turquoise to cobalt, and back again as it edged a center island of jutting stone.
She’d agonized as she mixed the colors, intent on perfectly matching the hues in her photos and video files. Success had come after hours of work and sparked instant joy and laughter, followed by acute loneliness. She’d had no one to rejoice with. No one to brag to.
At that moment one year ago, she’d felt the first snap of bitterness toward Nicholas. Was that better or worse than the numbness she’d felt today on the drive home from the prison?
In her purse on the floor behind her, her phone rang.
She didn’t want to answer. The caller could be the police detective wanting her to come back in for more questioning. Or that horrible Darrin Simon, intent on intimidating her, or manipulating her, or whatever his game was.
She looked out the bank of windows into a blue Alabama sky streaked with pulled cotton candy clouds. Better to face the dragon than have it sneak up on her.
“Hello?”
“Angelina? It’s Laurie Crane. Pierce’s wife?”
She pictured Laurie’s round, freckled face and her blonde-brown hair with short, straight bangs. She’d often thought Laurie resembled a typical college freshman rather than a pastor’s wife and professional decorator in her early thirties.
“Hi, Laurie. Can you, um, hold on for a minute?”
“Sure.”
Angelina lowered her phone. For the first time in years, she thought of her dad and his comments about churchgoers being nosey and flocking to catastrophe just so they could feel better about themselves.
She didn’t need fake sympathy or Christian-speak clichés. Or to be questioned why she hadn’t attended church the last several Sundays.
She could only guess why Laurie had called, as she and Laurie had exchanged only a few words since Pierce took over The Barn Church. They weren’t close friends as Julie Matthews—Rick Matthews’ wife— and Laurie were.
Julie and Rick. Of course. Knowing Angelina’s husband was now in prison, if Laurie also knew of Angelina’s history with Rick, she’d want to protect her friend and more prominent church member. Hopefully, Laurie would ask her qu
estions, then offer a quick, generic prayer and hang up.
Angelina shook back her hair and lifted her phone. “Hey. Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Wondering if I could come by for dinner.”
She checked the time and thought of the microwave meals in the kitchenette fridge. “Well—”
“That didn’t come out right. I brought dinner. I’d like to stop by.” She paused. “Oh, I don’t abide subterfuge and secrets. Look, Nicholas asked Julius to ask me and Pierce to check on you. Rather than subjecting you to a very busy two-year-old, I volunteered Pierce for daddy duty and snatched the chance to leave home alone and go somewhere that isn’t the grocery store. So there. I’m about five minutes away.”
Terrific. First, half of the Rowe City police department, then the State Prosecutor, and now her pastor’s wife would know she moved out of her and Nick’s home. Then again, why did that matter?
“Actually, I’m in my studio in the carriage house above the stables. When you approach the house, you’ll see a driveway to the right. Follow it to the back of the property.”
“All right. I’ll be right there.”
She restacked the Seychelles set and listened for Laurie’s approach. She heard the car door slam, Laurie’s footsteps up the stairs, and opened the door as Laurie raised her hand to knock.
“I hope you like chicken and dumplings,” Laurie said. “Because I made a mess of it.”
“A mess?”
“Sorry. A bunch. A big pot.” She blew her bangs off her forehead. “I mean we’ve got plenty.”
She looked at Angelina without judgment, without a dozen questions in her eyes. She held a foil-covered dish like it was a chunky infant. In her other hand, she held an insulated bag, which she handed over.
“That’s biscuits. Piping hot. I’m envisioning rivers of butter dripping down the sides and hope you’ll overlook it if I lick my fingers.”
The image of Laurie licking dumplings off her fingers further caught Angelina off-guard.
“We can sit over here.” Angie carried the bag to the round glass-topped bistro table in the kitchenette.
Abide With Me (The Barn Church Series Book 3) Page 14
