by Louise Clark
"Gerry, are you trying to make me believe that an audit of the trust's finances is going to affect Jamieson stock prices?"
Samuel Macklin jabbed a finger at her. "No, but your divorce of the Jamieson heir will!"
"What?" Christy stared at him. Macklin liked to shout and intimidate, but he usually made sense. This time she hadn't a clue where he was coming from.
"The audit," Macklin snapped. "You wanted the audit because you plan to divorce Frank. Right?"
Gerry shot Macklin a warning glance. "We are concerned about the public reaction. If you divorce Frank, people will start asking questions."
"People are already asking questions," Edward said.
Christy stared at Gerry, slowly remembering the Big Excuse—divorce from Frank—she'd used when she set up the audit. She looked around the table. "Is that what this is all about? You don't want me to divorce Frank?"
Samuel Macklin said, "Personally, I wish you would. I'd be very happy to see the last of you, but I do not think it is advisable."
Ellen Jamieson's voice was hard as she added her agreement to Macklin's. "You are tearing the Trust apart with your demands for an audit! Sam is right, Frank—all of us—would be better off without you. But as long as Frank is away, the company needs a public face." She stopped, smiled maliciously. "That can be you. Or it could be your daughter."
The shot came out of nowhere. "Excuse me?"
Edward smiled, contempt in the expression, then in his voice. "Noelle is the true heir of Jamieson Ice Cream. As she is a minor, we have been allowing you to assume her responsibilities as well as care for her. However, if you cannot instill the proper respect for family—for her family!—we will have to revisit that arrangement."
Outbursts of fury were not normally part of Christy's make up. At this moment, with the person she cared most for under threat, outrage consumed her. She grabbed on to it, holding it fast, using it to help her through a situation that was a mother's worst nightmare. She looked around the table, glaring at each of the trustees in turn. Finally she settled on Edward. "I am Noelle's mother. There are no arrangements to revisit."
Bidwell seemed to be taken aback by her assertiveness. "Well, there are social responsibilities. You don't do a good job at that."
With Bidwell floundering, Ellen weighed in. "You insisted on withdrawing Noelle from the select private school where she was enrolled in order to place her in the local public school—"
"The Trust couldn't afford the fees at her old school and still have enough left to send her to university! I had a choice. A fancy K to twelve school, or a good university. I chose the university. Noelle won't have the option Frank did of wasting his life in shallow social events. There isn't enough money. Noelle will have to work. She'll need that university degree."
"You've missed my point." Bidwell's voice was strained, his mouth curled down in a frown.
"I don't think so," Christy said. "I think you each care more about your reputations than you do about Noelle. Why else would you be so anxious I remain married to Frank? If I sue Frank for a divorce his assets will have to be assessed. That means a much more extensive audit of the Jamieson Trust."
"Exactly," Gerry said. "We can't have that, Christy. We can't have the negative publicity a divorce will generate. We were all hurt by the reports of Frank's embezzlement. We don't want it brought up again, but the press will jump on it as if it was fresh news. They'll repeat it over and over until your divorce is complete. We're professionals here. We have reputations to protect. Frank is gone! Why do you need to divorce him?"
"I need to get on with my life."
"To run to that fellow you've been consorting with?" Macklin said.
"No! Where do you people get off? I don't need an excuse. My husband is a drug addict who deserted me. That's enough."
Gerry cleared his throat, almost apologetically. "Actually, it isn't, Christy."
"That you would think it was proves to us that you lack a basic understanding of the responsibilities of the Jamieson name," Ellen said.
"If you sue for divorce, the Trust will act on behalf of Frank," Edward said.
Samuel made a disgusted sound as he waved his hand dismissively. "Let the girl divorce Frank. She's showing us the kind of trouble she's capable of with this damned audit. Let her go and good riddance." The others all looked at him in surprise. Macklin grinned. "But we keep the kid. We'll fight her for custody on Frank's behalf."
"And we'll win," said Edward.
* * *
Christy was numb as she walked out of the conference room. She would never have imagined that Frank's trustees could turn on her so viciously, and even now she could not comprehend it. She walked down the hallway on autopilot. Her mind absorbed the rich golden patina of the paneling that covered the walls, the thickness of the plush carpet on the floor, the muted sound of keyboards. That was all. She couldn't think. She couldn't feel. If she allowed herself to do either she'd shatter into a million little pieces here in this elegant bastion of moneyed good taste.
When a hand grasped her arm, she jumped. Like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a coyote, she turned huge, bewildered eyes on her predator.
It was Gerry Fisher. "Christy."
She tugged against his hold. He let her go. "Yes, Gerry?" She should have snapped something smart, something rude, something cutting. Heaven knew she wanted to hack and slash.
He studied her, his expression grave. "I think we got carried away in there."
Christy waited silently. There was nothing for her to say. She agreed with him totally.
He drew a deep breath. "The others... I understand how they feel about a divorce. Frank's dad, Frank senior, would have been appalled at the idea of divorce in his family. We were all his friends. Ellen was his sister. We care about his legacy. The others are just trying to make sure it isn't tarnished."
"The others? You hold yourself apart from them?"
"To some extent," he said. "Christy, none of us wants to take your child from you, but extreme actions result in extreme measures. The Jamieson legacy is important and we are the guardians of it. If you forget about a divorce and drop this investigation you've started, including the audit, I think I can safely say that Noelle will remain in your care."
She stared at Fisher's narrow, aesthetic face, into eyes that were the cold gray of hammered iron, and shivered. Was this what blackmail looked like? Or was this the face of compassion and compromise? Whichever it was, she had little choice but to bend and agree. "I would do anything to keep Noelle safe."
Gerry's hard, gray eyes bored into her. Finally he nodded. "I knew you would understand."
Christy swallowed. It galled her to be forced to abandon something she knew was important, but she could not jeopardize Noelle. She gave Fisher a quick, jerky nod of agreement, then turned away. She wanted out of there.
Fisher followed her down the hall. As they neared the reception area she could hear the sound of voices.
"Nice digs." Roy was speaking. He sounded thoughtful. "Opulent. I like the color scheme. That green on the walls, what would you call it?"
"I don't know." Quinn's voice, amused, comfortable. "Dark green."
"Humph. How about forest? Or pine woods?"
"Sounds like an air freshener."
Roy sighed. "Okay, I'll note it down as dark green, with a crisp white chair rail and wood paneling below. What kind of wood do you think it is?"
There was a pause. Christy could visualize Quinn crouching down to give the paneling a closer look.
"Walnut."
"It's mahogany," Gerry said to no one in particular. "Doesn't he know anything? Who the devil do they think they are, dissecting our reception area?"
"Carpet's nice, too," Roy said. "How would you describe it?"
"Thick," Quinn said.
Roy laughed. "Quinn, boy, what kind of journalist are you anyway? How do you illustrate where an interview takes place, if you don't know basic descriptors?"
"My interviews don'
t usually take place in fancy reception areas."
"My stories don't either," Roy said, "but I've got something new, something entirely different, boiling around right now and this reception area is just perfect for it."
Gerry grabbed Christy again, whirling her around to face him. His expression was furious, his gray eyes as bleak as a November sky. "He's a reporter?"
"Journalist," Christy said.
Gerry's face flushed then paled. "Bad enough that you've hooked up with a damned environmental activist! But the man supposedly helping you find Frank is a reporter? Are you crazy? Or are you just stupid?"
"Neither." Christy heard her voice. It sounded scared and guilty. It probably sounded the same to Gerry because those cold steel eyes flashed with contempt and he dropped her arm as if she was diseased.
"He's been investigating us, hasn't he?"
There was nothing to say. Christy stared mutely into Fisher's eyes and knew he found this unforgivable.
He drew a deep breath. "We'll talk later, Christy. Now is not the time, not with your snitch here. Good-bye."
He turned and walked away, back to the conference room. Christy knew a kind of fear that was so deep, so powerful, that it consumed her. Gerry Fisher had made his feelings very clear. He saw her search for Frank as a betrayal. If she continued, the trustees would take Noelle from her. This wasn't blackmail. It wasn't spite. It was power, wielded ruthlessly.
She had two options. She could continue with the investigation and hope that she proved Frank was dead. That would straighten all this out. Or she could stay home, pretend her husband was still alive, and wait for him to contact her, just as the trustees demanded.
She knew which she would prefer to do.
She knew what she had to do.
And it wasn't what she'd prefer.
Chapter 17
I cannot believe you allowed that to happen.
There was disdain in the voice. Roy slanted a glance at the cat. Stormy was prowling the Armstrong living room, his blocky tiger's muscles flexing with fluid grace. Fury and outrage emanated from him, all wrapped up in impotence. Roy knew how he felt. He was pretty pissed at the moment himself.
She says she won't continue the investigation. How could you let them terrify her so badly that she would retreat like that?
Good question. When Christy emerged from that hallway, Roy had taken one look at her pale features and guessed she was about to faint. He'd have done something, but Quinn had leapt to her side as soon as he saw her. Christy had smiled, but shaken her head to his offer of help. She'd walked out of that office on her own. Alone, without help, uttering not a single complaint.
Quinn was prowling the room too, in the opposite direction from the cat. Roy watched them both, two souls needing action. Being forced to do nothing was tearing each of them apart. He waited a few more turns while he assembled his thoughts. Quinn was not going to like what he had to say, but that couldn't be helped. He could only guess how the cat would react.
He sank deeper in his chair, thrusting out his legs. On one side the cat abruptly stopped. Facing him on the other, Quinn stopped too. They both looked at Roy. In their eyes were identical expressions of frustration. He smiled.
"Seems to me that both of you care for Christy." He pointed to his son. "You, Quinn, like her despite yourself, and you're mad as hell that she's being bullied by those cheating trustees." To the cat he said, "Frank, I hope you loved her when you were alive. It's what she deserved. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you did. Now that you're back, you want to help her, but you can't."
"Give it up with the reincarnation bit, Dad! This is serious!"
He's narrow and arrogant and his mind is closed. What does she see in him?
"You two are bickering like brothers fussing over a shared bedroom. Grow up! Quinn, you're thirty-two. You should know better. Frank, you're dead! You have no more claim on her. We need to work together to make sure that whatever is going on here doesn't harm Christy and Noelle." He glared at each of them in turn, very much the father figure, despite the shabby jeans and long hair tied in a ponytail. "Got that?"
They both glared back at him, pushing the limits, testing his resolve.
The cat caved first. He sat and curled his tail, before carefully cleaning his front paws. I did love her. And I do love my daughter.
Roy nodded. "Quinn?"
Quinn looked down at the cat, then at his father. The expression on his face was impatient. "Dad, you're asking a hell of a lot. How am I supposed to believe a cat can talk to people?"
"Because I'm the one talking to the cat," Roy said quietly, his gaze level.
"Have you been smoking anything?"
"Not today."
Too bad. I could use a joint right now.
The cat's voice was wistful. Roy laughed. "Later. Right now we need to strategize."
Quinn sighed and sat down in a deep wing chair that had been his mother's favorite. "What do you think they said to her to make her decide to forget the investigation?"
They must have threatened her. Put her down. Told her she wasn't good enough. They probably yelled at her too. Macklin and Fisher are good at that. Bidwell would freeze her out, then make his point in a soft voice that is really scary. Aunt Ellen would be shrill and sniff a lot.
Roy frowned as he passed the information on to Quinn. "Is that how they were with you when you were growing up?"
"Dad! I can play along with this to a point, but come on!" Quinn said. "We're not here to analyze a dead guy's childhood. What we need to know is the threat they used so we can counter it."
The cat glared at Quinn. I don't want my childhood analyzed either. Back off!
Roy sighed. "Let's go at it from another angle. They're probably upset about the audit. What would be the best way to convince Christy she shouldn't continue?"
"They probably told her they would cut off her money," Quinn said. "Having an audit done is costly and they'd assume Christy is paying for it herself."
Good call. There was surprise in the voice. Every time they wanted me to stop doing something they threatened to withhold my allowance. They couldn't though, because of the terms of the trust.
"Frank agrees with you. He says that's a typical ploy they use. Now here's the thing, he also says the terms of the trust will not allow them to cut the recipient off. So what we have to do is convince Christy that what they threatened, they can't do."
Well, old man, you're pretty good. So who gets to do the persuading?
"She won't go for it," Quinn said, rather gloomily. "She's too stubborn."
Christy? Nah, she's a pushover. She's into people and emotions. All we've got to do is tell her we'll handle everything and she'll be happy.
Roy looked at the cat as if he'd just produced a fish from his pocket. "You poor man."
"What?" Quinn said.
Stop staring at me like that old man. The voice was defensive.
"You don't know, do you?" Roy turned to Quinn. "Frank thinks Christy will just rollover and do what we tell her."
Quinn laughed. "She's changed, cat." He closed his eyes briefly. "I can't believe I'm having a conversation with a dumb animal." Then a wicked little smile curled his lips. "Or is it a dumb husband I'm talking to?"
The cat stood in a sudden lithe movement. His lips curled back in a snarl and his tail lashed as he glared at Quinn.
Roy interrupted before battle could be joined. "We know quite a lot at this point." He lifted up his hand to tick the items off on his fingers. "To start with, Frank is dead, not disappeared. He did not embezzle from his trust fund—three of his trustees did. Probably because he was blackmailing them." Very much in parental mode, Roy fixed the cat with a disapproving look. "Not the smartest move, Frank."
The cat hunched a shoulder and didn't reply.
Roy continued on. "Frank's friend Aaron is a pusher and is somehow involved in his death. So is Crack Graham, Aaron's dealer. Graham has been impersonating Frank to make it seem that Fran
k is still alive." He cocked his head toward the cat, who was glaring at Quinn. Neither responded. "The question is, why is it necessary to make it seem that Frank is still alive?"
So the jerk or jerks who ripped off my trust fund could keep on stealing from it until they'd drained it dry.
"Follow the money," Quinn said. "The audit showed that the biggest chunks of cash were moved after the day Frank disappeared. If a man has skipped town with his girlfriend, it's not surprising that he's also going to move his money somewhere he has more access to it."
"Endicott said the money that was embezzled after Frank died was transferred to a bank in the Far East. After that it was sent to a numbered corporation in Brazil and the trail ended there," Roy said.
The cat hunched his back and his hair stood on end, adding an impressive volume to his bulky frame. That's a lot of money to disappear into the ether. All the cash assets and the proceeds of the sale of the mansion. Whoever did it must have a pretty good understanding of the banking business.
Roy passed this information on to Quinn, who frowned. "Macklin is the obvious choice."
He likes to bully people, but he's a coward at heart. There was a sneer in the voice. He's got a good life, and he's afraid of getting caught, so he doesn't stray far from the straight and narrow.
Roy thought about big chunks of cash. Visualizing the process of money transfer in his mind, he said, "But maybe the trail didn't end. Maybe we're just looking at it the wrong way."
Quinn learned forward. "What do you mean, Dad?"
Roy struggled with the ideas forming in his mind. "What good is money in a bank in Brazil if you're not living it up in Mexico with your bimbo?"
I wouldn't know. The cat stood up and started to prowl. I never got a chance to find out.
"Exactly!" Roy said.
"Dad! Stop talking to the cat. Fill me in."
"The money disappeared into the bank account of a company in Brazil. We don't know what happened from there. Everyone has been assuming that Frank has been using it to fund a fancy lifestyle in Mexico, but we know Frank is dead. Further, we know he never got to Mexico. Would anyone who stole millions of dollars be willing to leave it in Brazil forever?"
