“Still want to have breakfast with me?” he asked as he flashed the sweetest smile.
“Yes,” I said, slipping my hand into his.
We went to The Lafayette inside the hotel, which was an elegant restaurant with lots of windows and chandeliers. It was sunny outside and the room was filled with light, and we sat across from each other while we drank mango juice and ate raspberries covered in crème fraîche.
“I got us tickets to tour the White House,” Wes told me.
I was lifting a spoonful of raspberries to my mouth; I kept it in the air as I stared at him. “How’d you manage that?” I asked. “I thought it was impossible to find tickets last-minute.”
He sipped his juice and shrugged. “My mother still has some friends in high places. Not many … but a few. I made a call, and we’re set to go. And I’m up for showing you everything—the monuments, the memorials, the museums … whatever interests you.”
I swallowed the raspberries with a dollop of cream, thinking the most interesting part of D.C. was right across the table.
Nineteen
That day with Wes flew by in a whirlwind of landmarks, and it ended the same way as the one before—with us making out like sex-starved adolescents in the front seat of his car. He asked to see me again and I eagerly agreed, and we had dinner together near his house on Wednesday and met at the Old Ebbitt Grill on Thursday night.
Wes had come straight from work, and he was wearing a dark-blue suit with a paisley tie when we were inside the restaurant, which was near my hotel. It resembled a saloon and was very nineteenth century with its mahogany rafters, velvet booths, and gilded mirrors.
We walked past an oyster bar and were seated at a booth where the upholstery felt soft against my back. We ordered drinks, and while we were waiting for our appetizer, Wes brought up the Amicus gala scheduled for the following night.
“The party is for Terry,” he said, taking a sip of his vodka gimlet, “to honor his twenty-five years with the company.”
I almost lost my appetite. “What else is he being honored for? Allowing Amicus Worldwide to blight an entire town?”
Wes put down his glass. “They’ll leave that part out … but it’s exactly what he did. And I want to be clear that my father wasn’t in on it. He’d heard the rumors and confronted Terry, but Dad was repeatedly assured that Amicus wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
This was probably the story his father had given him. I couldn’t accept it, but I understood why Wes did. He wanted to believe his father was as innocent as I hoped mine was.
“Terrence Miller definitely did things wrong,” I said. “He controls that company, so he has to know everything that goes on in it. He also has the most to lose from being exposed.”
“That’s why he continues to deny that Amicus has any responsibility for Lake Kolenya. Fortunately for him, it hasn’t been proved. But if and when it is, he’ll have a lot to answer for.” Wes grabbed his drink and finished it quickly, and then he slammed down the glass so hard that our utensils rattled. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that when I think about what he’s done to my parents—”
“You don’t have to apologize. I feel the same way about what he did to my father.”
Wes nodded. “It’s a classic example of the butterfly effect, isn’t it? If Amicus wasn’t corrupt, so many people wouldn’t have been hurt … or died.”
“Like Edward,” I said.
The waiter returned and asked if Wes wanted another drink. He shook his head and then stared at me for a moment after the waiter was gone. “Savannah,” he said, “do you seriously think Terry had something to do with Edward’s car crash? I mean … didn’t the cops say that drunk driver was responsible? It was all over the TV news.”
I grabbed a spoon and tapped it against the table. “They did say that, but I don’t buy it and I never will. I know I sound like a conspiracy theorist … you must think I need therapy.”
He gently put his hand over mine. I stopped tapping the spoon.
“What I think,” he said, “is that you’re dedicated to finding justice for a father you never even met. I admire that.”
I smiled. “So my suspicions about Miller aren’t that far-fetched?”
Wes took his hand away from mine, leaned back into the booth, and exhaled a sigh. “Listen,” he began, “you know how I feel about Terry. He’s ruthless and he’s a liar and I think his heart might be made of ice. All he cares about is staying on top. But do I think he’s a murderer?” He shook his head. “I have a hard time accusing anyone—even Terry—of something like that until I see hard evidence.”
“You’re talking like a lawyer,” I said, “and a good person. But you admit Miller wants to hold on to his position … and if that’s true, then doesn’t it make sense that he’d eliminate the one man with the most power to ruin him? Edward had a media empire at his fingertips, and Stone News could’ve decimated Miller on allegations alone.”
Wes’s hand moved to his glass; he kept his eyes on me as he absentmindedly plucked his lime wedge off the rim and stuck it back on, over and over again. “Your theory,” he said finally, “is that Terry literally offed Edward before Edward could figuratively do the same to him.”
“Correct,” I said as the waiter returned with our appetizer. He put it in front of us and walked away, but Wes and I didn’t touch the food. “I think it’s plausible.”
Wes was still tinkering with the lime. He finally pulled it off the glass and tossed it onto the table. “I think you’re right. Are you going to tell him that at the gala tomorrow?”
“I’ll be more subtle about it. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he’ll slip up and give me something I can pass along to the authorities. I’ll needle him as much as I can. You did say you want to watch him squirm, right?”
Wes nodded as he laughed. “You know what? The butterfly effect I mentioned … it’s caused so much misery, but at least one good thing has come out of it.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I met you,” he said.
*
I spent most of the next day in Georgetown, where I shopped and visited a salon. I returned to my hotel in the late afternoon with my makeup done and my hair side-parted and tucked behind my ears in a sleek Old-Hollywood style.
Then I put on a new dress I’d bought for the gala. It was ankle length with a halter neckline and a sleek silhouette, and the bodice was white but the rest was black. There was a slit cut into the left side that my leg peeked through later on, when I strolled across the Hay-Adams lobby toward Wes. He was sitting on a couch, and he stood up when he saw me.
“You’re gorgeous,” he told me.
“Likewise,” I said as I admired his tux. I sat on the couch and he sat beside me, and we stayed there for a while so we could arrive at the gala after the cocktail hour to avoid mingling with the Amicus crowd. “We’ll keep our attendance at the party strictly business,” I said.
Wes nodded. “But you should still eat your dinner … Amicus owes us a meal.”
“At least,” I said with a laugh.
“Besides,” he continued, “you bought that dress and you should enjoy it.”
I adjusted the straps that crisscrossed my chest. “I only bought it because … this probably sounds strange to a guy … but there’s power in new clothes. It’s like the cheer-up advice my mother always gives me: Put on some lipstick and a cute outfit, she says. It might seem ridiculous, but it always makes me feel better.”
“It doesn’t seem ridiculous,” Wes said.
An hour later, we were on Connecticut Avenue and outside the Mayflower Hotel, which was like so many buildings in D.C.—old and elegant and steeped in history.
“A lot of U.S. presidents have had their inaugural celebrations here,” Wes told me after we dashed through the cold and into an opulent lobby that seemed to stretch as far as a city block. From there we went to the Grand Ballroom, which was an enormous space with several balconies, a lavish chandelier, and
a stage draped in red velvet. I held Wes’s arm while we walked to our table, where guests were sitting on Chiavari chairs with satin cushions.
Wes pulled out a chair for me, and as I sat down I spotted Terrence Miller at a table near the stage. He wore a tuxedo like the rest of the men, and he was sitting beside a woman in a cream-colored dress. I recognized her from the wedding reception last week.
“That’s his wife,” Wes whispered. “She’s a nice lady … and I don’t think she has a clue that she’s been married to a viper for thirty years.”
“How couldn’t she know?”
He shrugged. “Terry is like counterfeit money. He appears to be the real thing, but he’s just a very convincing fake. Most people who know him socially think he’s a great guy. And he never gets off his soapbox about the importance of family values, although he applies that only to his own wife and kids. His family means everything to him … but he doesn’t give a damn about anyone else’s.”
I kept my eyes on Terrence Miller. He was talking to a few people around him, and they exploded in laughter at the end of whatever joke he’d told. “Hypocrite,” I muttered.
Wes’s hand touched mine under the table. I looked at him—at his bow tie and his crisp white shirt, his freshly shaven face and his hair that was uncharacteristically well behaved. It was brushed back, and that made his features seem more mannish than boylike tonight.
“I know you’re on a mission, Savannah. But can we forget about Terry for the moment and talk about us?”
“That’d be more fun,” I said as waiters slid salads in front of us.
He cleared his throat. “I know we’ve only known each other for a week … so I don’t want you to think I’m being pushy. But I hope I can see you again after you leave tomorrow.”
I smiled. “I hope so, too.”
“I’m glad,” he said, sounding relieved. “It’s such a short flight from here to New York, and I spend a lot of weekends there. Since my father filed for divorce, he’s taken up permanent residence in my parents’ apartment on East Eighty-third, and I stay with him when I’m in the city. But I guess now I have another reason to visit Manhattan.”
“I guess so,” I agreed, tightening my fingers around his.
*
The gala was almost over. Wes and I had suffered through so many slobbering speeches about Terrence Miller’s outstanding service to Amicus Worldwide that we were queasy by the time our desserts arrived. It was even worse to see Miller standing in front of the stage, chatting and chuckling with a receiving line of admirers. I watched until there were only a few people left, and then I threw down my napkin and pushed back my chair.
“Good luck,” Wes said encouragingly.
I nodded, walked away from the table, and sauntered across the ballroom toward the stage. I tossed my hair and felt air on my leg as it poked through the slit in my dress, and then I got in line behind the three remaining people who were prattling on and on with Miller.
He seemed relaxed, silver-tongued, and surprisingly suave. I supposed that helped with his Great-Guy image that Wes had told me about. He was very tall—well over six feet—and he had olive skin and eyes as dark as his jet-black hair. His eyes were too big though, and his nose was too long and slightly off center. But he was still an impressive figure, and that probably helped to convince people that his company wasn’t the least bit evil.
There was only one guest in front of me now—a woman in a dress with a plunging back. I glanced across the room while she talked, and I saw Wes at our table with his eyes fixed on me. Then the woman walked away and there was just a small space between me and Terrence Miller.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said genially. “You look familiar, though … and quite lovely. Weren’t you at my daughter’s wedding reception?”
My heart was in my throat as I took a step forward. “I was at the reception … and we haven’t met. But I think you’re acquainted with my father.”
“Oh,” he said. “Is he here?”
“No, he isn’t. He died last summer.”
Miller eyed me pensively. “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetheart. And I know him from…?”
“He was killed in a car accident. Or at least, accident is what’s listed as the official cause of death. A drunk driver was blamed … but I wonder if you know better than the NYPD.”
He seemed to be catching on. He blinked and reached up to smooth the patches of gray hair above his ears. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked without losing his calm, polite tone.
“Savannah Morgan,” I said. “I’m Edward Stone’s daughter.”
He nodded slowly and kept speaking in that friendly way. “Who let you in here?”
“I don’t think that’s your biggest problem right now.”
He raised a black eyebrow. “Savannah,” he said, as relaxed as ever, “I’m very sorry you lost your father. He was quite an illustrious man … and it’s unfortunate that he and I never crossed paths. I wish I could’ve met him, but that just didn’t happen. So I can’t understand why you imagine I know anything about his death.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I don’t believe you never crossed paths. He had your private phone number, and I can only assume he used it.”
“You should never assume anything,” he said. “It can only get you in trouble.”
“I guess you know a lot about trouble, considering the mess your company is in.”
He paused, looking down his crooked nose at me. “My company is being falsely accused, and it will be exonerated.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
He snickered in the most dismissive way. “You youngsters should spend less time reading trash on the Internet and go outside more often. Maybe the fresh air would make you less cynical.”
“I’m not cynical,” I said. “I’m realistic.”
He gave me a condescending smirk. “You’re confused.”
“Then clear things up. Tell me what you know. Admit the truth for once.”
“For once?” he said indignantly as his face slowly hardened. “I’ve already told you what I know, which is nothing. But you won’t listen to the facts … and I can understand why. It isn’t easy to accept that people sometimes lose their lives and there’s just no good reason for it.”
“The reason,” I began, crossing my arms across my halter, “is Amicus Worldwide.”
“That’s your opinion, and it’s a misguided one. But I understand that, too. You’re grieving, you’re angry, you’re looking for someone to blame … and Halstead Simms clearly isn’t enough.”
My arms unlatched and fell to my sides. “That’s interesting. You claim you didn’t know my father, and yet you distinctly remember the name of the man who supposedly killed him.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “Is this your smoking gun? That name has been all over the news for months … most of America would remember it. And I’m not sure if you’re parading as a lawyer or a detective, but you’re ineffective as both. You’re also embarrassing yourself. So I think you should stop.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not going to stop until I get the real story.”
“That’s your choice, honey. You have every right to waste your time. Like I told you before, I’m sorry about what happened to your father. But I’m not responsible.”
“Do you mean directly or indirectly?” I asked as smugly as I could.
“Both,” he said in a louder voice than he’d probably intended. He glanced around to check if anyone had heard and then turned back to me. “I don’t appreciate your implication, or the accusatory tone you’ve had since we started this conversation. I better not hear it anywhere else or I’ll refer the matter to my attorneys. Defamation of character is a serious offense.”
“I know that, Mr. Miller. I’ve read about the legal implications of slander … and unfortunately for my father, those laws don’t extend past the grave.”
He straightened his lapels. “Again, you have my sympathies. Now I don
’t mean to be rude, but I can’t discuss this with you any longer … I need to get back to my guests and my wife.”
“Speaking of your wife,” I said, “does she know why all those people in Lake Kolenya lost their lives? Or didn’t you tell your family that your company is the reason for it?”
I didn’t expect an answer to that, so I didn’t wait for one. I spun around and saw Wes looking at me from our table, and then I felt a strong hand catch my elbow. Wes rose from his chair, but I shook my head at him and turned to face Terrence Miller.
Fury simmered in his eyes. It stayed there when he leaned close to me and spoke in a seething voice as his fingers dug into my arm. “I’ve been patient with you,” he said, “but you just pushed me too far. You Stones never know when to quit, do you?” He looked at another man who stood a few feet away and was quickly beside us. “This young lady can’t behave properly in public … she needs to be escorted to the door.”
“I can find it myself,” I said, yanking my arm free.
I stormed out of the ballroom, through the lobby, and onto Connecticut Avenue, where I shivered for only a minute or two because Wes burst through the front door, holding my coat and purse. He put the coat around me and tucked the purse into my hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said. “But I wish you would’ve waited longer before coming out here. Miller didn’t know how I got into the gala, and he’ll probably figure it out now. I don’t want to cause any problems for you, Wes … You’ve already had enough.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care about that … or about him. I only care about you.”
I sighed, moved closer to him, and rubbed his arm through his coat. “Thank you for not interfering. I know you were tempted … but I needed to handle that snake by myself.”
“I was tempted,” he said. “I knew you could do it alone, though.”
Independently Wealthy: A Novel Page 20
