by Calia Read
“I’m not disputin’ that. But it might not work this time,” I explain, trying to keep my voice gentle.
Serene turns back to the carving before she nods. I hold my hand out, and she takes it. She leans down to pick up her flashlight and sighs with defeat. Taking a step back, she crosses her arms and leans her body into mine. “Étienne?”
“Yes?”
“We’re not going back to Belgrave, are we?”
“I don’t think we are.” Draping my arm over her, I give her shoulder a squeeze. “Why don’t we go to the hotel and get some sleep? The wind’s pickin’ up, and you’re startin’ to shiver.” Her minor protest comes in the form of a slight headshake as we begin walking through the tall grass toward the driveway.
“We can keep looking,” she persists.
“Keep lookin’ where precisely? There’s no home. No buildin’s left. It’s in shambles. We have our memories and each other to hold on to.” I meant my words to soothe, yet they came out as blunt and far too direct. If it were anyone else, they might crumble, but Serene isn’t just anybody else. Fear isn’t in her repertoire. She craves underestimation simply to prove the world wrong. I don’t have to shine my flashlight on her face to know her eyes are lit with fire.
“You are right, Étienne. But you’re forgetting the past is in complete shambles. Your sister thinks you disappeared, and she never got a chance to say good-bye. Livingston dies in the war. We need to act now before it’s too late.”
“What happens when we continue to investigate and come up empty-handed?” I ask.
“I don’t know. We’ll be too busy searching for answers.”
I can say no, but Serene will simply travel around Charleston on her own, and that will not do. There are times this woman drives me utterly mad.
“You’re far too stubborn,” I mutter.
“I prefer to believe I have a strong will,” she teases.
I don’t laugh back; her last word lingers in my head. Then I think about my companies, Nat, and my family’s graveyard, and an idea begins to take shape. “There’s one place we haven’t checked that I just thought of …”
Serene pulls away and tilts her head back to stare at me. “Where?”
I hold my hand out to her and tilt my head toward the direction of the gates, away from Belgrave. “This time, I need you to follow me.”
One night, over dinner, I watch Oliver out of the corner of my eye. Since I found the letter from the private detective in Étienne’s office confirming Old Serene’s still alive and Asa’s and my conversation, I’ve felt time slipping away.
I know I need to talk to Oliver. But first, I have an important question to ask. Oliver isn’t hard to talk with, and he is a fair and just man. I’m fairly certain when I explain to him the dilemma Étienne’s company and the shipping company potentially face, he will help.
At least I used to believe that until I found out the truth about him.
Placing my fork on the edge of my plate, I wipe the corners of my mouth and clear my throat.
Oliver stops mid-drink and looks in my direction expectantly. He looks shocked, almost as though he forgot I was there. Tonight’s dinner has been … quiet. Oliver was gone for about eight days before he came back. He claimed it was so we could celebrate Independence Day together, but I knew it was to check on me and to pursue potential buyers interested in Lacroix House. Oliver was polite to Livingston, and in return, Livingston gave him a chilly reception, staring at him with narrowed eyes as though he knew or saw something no one else did. Tonight, Livingston took his meal upstairs. He claimed he was tired, and that could very well be the case, but after my brother’s rousing game of chess with Rainey this afternoon, I’m skeptical.
“There’s somethin’ that’s been weighin’ greatly on my heart,” I say slowly.
“Has your brother taken a turn?”
“No, Livingston is still … on the mend. However, because he’s restin’ and Étienne is gone, we need to discuss Étienne’s will.”
Oliver holds a hand in the air. “Is that why you’re so anxious tonight?” He reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Darling, there’s no need to worry. I’ve looked the document over.”
“You have?”
“Of course.”
Slowly, I pull my hand away and sit up straighter in my seat. Is Oliver finally going to tell me the truth? “When?”
“When I arrived,” he replies, his voice even.
A wave of overwhelming anger sweeps through me because the Lacroix family is instinctively private. I knew what Oliver did, but it was my brother’s documents. I attempt to keep my voice light as I speak as if I’m hearing this news for the first time. “And what did you discover?”
Oliver places his napkin on the table and pushes his chair back a few inches so his linked fingers rest on his stomach. It’s impossible not to notice he’s sitting in the very chair Étienne has sat in for years. And before Étienne? My daddy used to sit there.
I remain the picture of calm and collected. But my hands are curling into my fists, and my nails are digging into my palms, breaking the skin.
Belgrave isn’t his.
To some degree, I think Oliver realizes that. He’s simply attempting to assert his control. I just don’t understand why now? Is it because Étienne isn’t here to stop him? And Livingston isn’t in his right mind to tell him no, either?
The answer will never be clear.
“I discovered I will inherit Belgrave, the shipping company, and EAL Corporations,” he says, finishing his words with a small shrug.
In the span of six seconds, he described nearly sixty years of hard work, determination, and memories. In six seconds, he’s reduced my family’s legacy to a mere shrug of his shoulders.
Do not kill him, my conscience whispers. Killing is a sin.
I breathe through my nose and keep my voice neutral. “At what point were you goin’ to tell me?”
Oliver angles his head. “Come now, Nat. There’s no need to question me in such a manner. I did what any good husband would do. I’m protecting you and the life we’re creating. And I hate to say this, but I cannot feel remorse for your brother if he did not prepare better for a situation such as this.”
“He did prepare. He has a will,” I say.
“Be that as it may, I am needed elsewhere. My work isn’t in Charleston. I have no desire to remain here. I have no memories or attachment to Belgrave.”
“I do, though,” I confess, my voice breaking.
“I understand. Would you rather an endless stream of my money goes toward the upkeep of this plantation; a plantation that’s not even in operation, I might add?”
I bite my tongue, knowing it’s not my place to remind him Brignac House is no longer an operational plantation either. In fact, most plantations in the South have sadly floundered. It’s the way of life. My thoughts are futile anyway because Oliver continues to speak.
“You must remove your emotions from the process and be practical. If your brother Étienne does not come home, perhaps something has happened.”
Happened.
The meaning of happened in this conversation quickly translates into died.
I cannot let the suggestion be placed into existence without speaking on Étienne’s behalf. “My brother will come back,” I say vehemently.
“You’re not being practical,” Oliver says in his neutral tone that suddenly feels insolent. “Hopefully, you’ll come to realize that, but by then …” His words fade, and he looks away.
Unable to help myself, I lean forward. “By then you’ll finally succeed in findin’ a buyer for Livingston’s home?” I prompt.
When Oliver flinches, I know I’ve struck a nerve.
“You believe me to be simpleminded and naïve, but you are mistaken. I listen to everythin’. People talk in Charleston, Oliver. And you’re forgettin’ their loyalty will be to me.”
“People or Asa?” he counters.
When I suck in a sharp breath, Oliver smiles. It seems
the both of us know far more than we let people believe. Finally, something we have in common.
“But to answer your question, I will sell Belgrave and your family’s companies because I cannot and will not bear the weight of so much responsibility.”
“Perhaps your small shoulders cannot handle the bigger burdens my brothers carry. Perhaps that terrifies you. Perhaps bein’ responsible scares you.”
“Perhaps you should place your business elsewhere. Where it’s needed because you’re my wife, not my secretary. And if you must know, a friend from Columbia has shown interest in buying Étienne’s corporation.”
I try to search his gaze to see if there’s a hint of remorse. But he refuses to look my way and stubbornly stares at his plate. After a few seconds, he picks up his fork and begins eating as though the conversation is over. As though he didn’t obliterate my entire life in one fell swoop.
Many emotions course through me but not a single one can describe how I’m feeling. My breath feels shallow. Tears blur my vision, and furiously, I blink them away. When I lie or I’m angry, my face turns red. It was something Livingston and I inherited from my daddy. The fury of Lacroix or la fureur de Lacroix as it’s affectionately known in my home.
The sound of the grandfather clock and Oliver’s fork scraping against his plate are the only sounds heard. I can’t be in the same room as him.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire for the night.” Without waiting for Oliver’s reply, I scoot my chair back from the table, place my napkin on the table, and walk out of the room with my head held high. Ben remains at his typical spot as I enter the foyer and turn toward the stairs. He dips his head in my direction. And while my smile is polite, I’m seething inside. I realize it does not matter to Oliver if my family’s hard work crumbles because he was not a part of the hard work. I’m beginning to see the selfish side of Oliver.
If I have to falsify my own power of attorney so Oliver cannot get his hands on Étienne’s companies and Belgrave, I will.
I never believed there would come a day I would hold so many secrets. Apparently, that day is now.
As I take the driver’s hand and step out of the car, I take a deep breath. The sun shines down around me. Immediately, I open my parasol. More for the sake of anonymity. My heart pounds in my chest as I keep my head down and hurry toward Étienne’s business. I’m not naïve enough to believe word won’t get back to Oliver that I was spotted in town walking into Étienne’s business. And when that time comes, I’m prepared to lie to my husband. I’m becoming very adept at that.
I slow my steps when I see EAL Corporation emblazoned on the window. The door opens. I see Asa’s solemn face and tell my feet to hurry to get inside so I’m not seen, but not because of him.
Upon entering, he shuts the door behind me. I close my parasol and remove my hat while giving the space a thorough once-over. Nothing has changed in Étienne’s absence. Every item is still in its correct place, but without his presence, the energy feels wrong. His associates may be here, but the confidence in how they speak has waned. It seems as though every sentence ends with a question mark. Even they are hesitant on how to proceed without my brother’s guidance.
“How are you this mornin’?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“I’m well, all things considerin’. And yourself, Mr. Calhoun?”
“I’m doin’ well, too. Thank you for askin’, Nathalie.”
Leave it to Asa to place heavy possession on my name as I try my hardest to be cordial and distant. My heart soaks up his words just so I can repeat them in my head late at night when I can’t sleep.
Asa lightly places a hand on my lower back and gestures toward the two men quietly speaking to one another behind the desk. “You remember Prescott Legare, don’t you?”
In unison, they stop speaking and lift their heads toward Asa and me.
Prescott smiles at me. He’s a friendly man of average height with the blondest hair I’ve ever laid my eyes on and lashes to match. “Hello, Mrs. Claiborne! It’s wonderful to see you.”
Beside me, Asa flinches at the sound of my married name.
I feign indifference and smile at Prescott. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
Prescott gestures to the man standing next to him. “I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet my brother, Beaumont. Beaumont, this is Nathalie Claiborne. Nathalie, this is my younger brother, Beaumont Legare.”
Some people are so beautiful they make you freeze in place and your heart stutter. Beaumont’s olive skin tone causes his dirty blond hair to appear lighter than it is. His eyes are the brightest shade of blue and hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles. He’s freshly shaven, revealing a square jaw. Beaumont towers over Prescott, and by all appearances, he seems to be the older brother.
“Y-y-you can c-call me Beau, M-Mrs. Claiborne.”
His stutter is endearing and offsets his perfection. On principle, I find myself smiling at him. He frowns slightly before a blush spreads up his neck toward his cheeks. My God, this man doesn’t realize how handsome he is. He would be perfect for Rainey.
“Lovely to meet you, Beau. If we’re on a first-name basis, you can call me Nat.”
“Very w-well.”
“Is everyone ready to get started?” Asa cuts in, his tone blunt.
Prescott, Beau, and I nod. With his lips in a thin line, he points at Étienne’s will on the desk beside Prescott. “Per our request, Beau looked through your brother’s will. I also explained the delicate situation you have found yourself in, and how time is of the essence.”
“H-he did. My deepest apologies, N-nat.” I was uncertain whether he was referring to Étienne’s disappearance or Livingston’s attack. Perhaps it was both.
I merely dip my head, and say, “Thank you.”
Beau grabs the will from the desk. “I- I realize this is a delicate matter, so I took extra care in readin’ over the will. This is very much legal, a-and his is very specific as it should be.” When he speaks about what he knows, his confidence grows, and the stutter fades. His kind eyes meet mine. “Because of that, it’s ironclad. Do you mind me askin’ if you k-know whether there’s a power of attorney?”
“No. I’m the last person to ask.” I look at Asa. “Do you know?”
Asa crosses his arms and stares at Étienne’s will in Beau’s hands. “I consider Étienne a close friend, but he never mentioned legal wills or power of attorney.”
My face falls. For once, why did my brother have to be so impossibly private?
“As of now, w-with your brother in the position he is in, and if there’s no power of attorney, all legal decisions go to your husband, Oliver. Includin’ businesses and properties. Livingston would keep his portion of the shippin’ company until he either decides to sell or otherwise.”
It’s the same answer Asa gave me not so long ago. I’m not ready to give up and relinquish everything my family had worked so hard for.
“Is there a possibility my husband could take control of Livingston’s shares of the company with my brother still alive?”
“Y-yes, it’s possible. H-however, Livingston’s health has to be determined by a doctor to be unfit before Oliver could take control.”
“Livingston has amnesia from an attack,” I argue. “He’s not unhinged! When my parents passed away, the shippin’ company was split between the two of them. No one can take that decision to sell away from him.” I argue as though I’m back at the dinner table, facing the betrayal of my husband once again.
Beau dips his head in acknowledgment. “I understand he’s not … unhinged. However, if it’s taken to court, it might not be presented that way.”
“That’s true,” Asa confirms.
Beau looks back and forth between Asa and me. “T-the reason I inquired about a power of attorney is if he does, it would revoke Étienne’s will. Upon death of course.”
My back straightens at Beau’s words. I turn my attention to Asa. “Do you think Étienne does?”
Beau peers at the paperwork. “I-I know his lawyer. He’s well-known. It’s a guarantee he has a POA, but we cannot ask. There’s attorney-client privilege to think of.”
Defeated and devastated, I nod. “And if we find one, and his power of attorney lists Livingston and my husband?”
Beau’s kind blue eyes fill with sympathy. “Then I-I’m afraid y-you’re at the mercy of time.”
The foreboding weight of his words settles around me, causing me to shiver. There’s no time to wait and watch my family’s world crumble around me. I’ve spoken with my husband, and he’s made it quite clear how he feels in regard to this situation.
With all the question said, an uncomfortable silence descends around the four of us. Clearing his throat, Beau places Étienne’s will onto the desk and takes a step back. “I-i-if you h-have any more questions, l-let me know.”
I give him a weak smile. “Thank you. I will.”
Asa and Beau shake hands while I scramble to think of ways to keep Beau here. It seems to be a waste to let his knowledge slip out the door. My mind is barren. Empty of all thoughts. Asa escorts Prescott and Beau toward the front door while I stay behind.
My eyes drift to the will. I stare so hard the words begin to blur. I desperately want something, anything to make sense out of all these legal phrases, so Étienne’s company and Belgrave aren’t left to the mercy of Oliver.
The front door closes at the same time a large crash reverberates throughout the office. My palm settles on the surface of the desk for balance as my heart races with uncertainty. I know I’m not the only one who heard it because when I lift my gaze, Asa’s frozen in place, looking just as shocked as I am.
“What was that?” I say.
“It came from Étienne’s office.”
Asa peers outside and watches as people stroll by, oblivious to the noise that just occurred. How did they not hear it? Asa looks over his shoulder at me as another noise sounds, this one quieter, almost akin to footsteps. It’s isolated, though, and easier to locate.
All sense of tension between Asa and I disappear as my eyes shoot to the closed door. Someone is in there. As quietly as possible, I rush toward Asa. “We’re not alone,” I whisper.
