by Sarah Andre
Harrison pressed his lips together and let more silence linger. “Your mother had a naïve streak a mile wide. She never believed he’d do that, and the more evidence the commission uncovered, the more excuses she found. That was the reason for the arguments. Initially, because I suspected an affair”—he waved his hand before Devon could react—“which was a knee-jerk reaction. But her belief in him was a betrayal to me, because if he wasn’t defrauding investors, then I was. And I may be a ruthless bastard, but I’d never cheat a client.”
Devon folded his arms and leaned back. “Again—why call your takeover a name you despised?”
“Tomorrow, Tucker plans to file a complaint with the SEC against Ashby Enterprises.”
A chill raced over Devon’s skin. “What? Why?”
“For fraud. Is your cousin in the office this weekend scrambling over paperwork?”
“Yes. Due to your impending takeover.”
“He’s lying. He’s in there covering as many tracks as he can.”
“Wha…” The rest of the words stuck in his throat. Cold sweat covered the chills blanketing his skin.
“Eric has taken you to the cleaners, son. Your reported results are bogus. He’s been siphoning off investors’ money and misrepresenting your company’s profits for months. The SEC will begin an investigation, and you’ll probably face prison time. Just like I almost did.”
Devon inhaled through his mouth. He still couldn’t capture enough oxygen. There was no way Eric would do this to him. To them. “How do you know all this?” And how did he not know?
“What aren’t you telling me, Eric?”
“Nothing. If Wickham Corp marches in on Monday, I don’t want us to get caught with our pants down. I’m buried in stacks, making sure everything’s in the right sequence and accounted for.”
“Call Sally in to help.”
“I know where everything is, and how to do it right.”
“Oh shit.” He palmed his face. “Oh shit, shit, shit.” Why would Eric do this? They’d been best friends since Devon had staggered off the damn Greyhound bus on Eighth Avenue… He’d taught Devon everything he knew, and together they’d taken their company into the stratosphere. Or they hadn’t. It was all a fraud.
“Your future father-in-law sniffed it out first and called me,” Harrison said, and Devon slumped back against the leather. “He had no idea I’d disinherited you, so naturally he still wanted the marriage to go through, and therefore, your reputation was as important to him as his own. I played along. We agreed if I purchased your firm, I could flush money back in to cover your cousin’s greed. No other investor would need to know; no one would file a complaint. I tossed in a little money at a time as Bryant, and during that same period Tucker took a vast withdrawal for wedding expenses. And we watched the rat scurry. Eric began squeezing some investors for more money, and delayed paying out requests from others to fund Tucker’s demands. Friday morning, your cousin had the bright idea to tell Tucker you’d been disinherited in an attempt to stem the cash withdrawals. Naturally, Tucker exploded and pulled out of our plan. He warned that if I didn’t take your company by the end of the day and flush money back in, he’d immediately file a complaint with the SEC.
“But you managed to convince that little runt Westcott to hold off, so I didn’t acquire you on Friday. And now Ken Tucker is out for blood.”
Devon inhaled a shaky breath. “My fiancée called the wedding off on Saturday.”
Harrison nodded. “No doubt Tucker was the puppeteer behind that.”
Probably not. Nicole, with that formidable talent of hers, must have seen through Devon’s Manhattan persona, once she got a glimpse of his behavior these last few days. Trying to emulate her and her father’s intimidating hold on social and financial power as the key to happiness was his biggest mistake. Second was the blind trust in his mentor and best friend. The thought was punctuated by another roar of thunder. The windows rattled at the reverberation. Had Frannie found Hannah yet? No doubt. He needed to focus and finish this.
The old man straightened in his chair. “Here were your two critical mistakes. Don’t look at me like that; someone needs to tell you. First, not signing a partnership agreement so you’d get principal buying power. Second, personally guaranteeing your mother’s inheritance to get the loan for Rogers Park. What a stupid risk.”
“The property was a steal,” Devon said through his teeth. “The inheritance was the only way to get the bank to green-light the loan that fast.” His defensive tone annoyed him. His father was not his boss. He inhaled and started again. “I had it written into the shareholder agreement that I’d get a higher percentage of the profit for taking all the risk.” Nope. No better.
Harrison studied him as a long roll of thunder roared overhead. The mansion shuddered and groaned as waves pounded relentlessly at the cliff. “Your project will be shut down during the investigation; no doubt the bank will call in the loan. Every penny of that trust fund is gone.”
Devon swallowed a hard lump. “I knew that as soon as you decided to take Ashby from me. So why, after all these years, would you save me from…whatever’s about to happen tomorrow?”
“Retribution for what Bryant did to me. Even after years of trials and appeals, the bastard never faced jail time. I never found the money. Our company declared bankruptcy. Our reputations were ruined. I started Wickham Corp with nothing but cutthroat ambition. This time I vowed to catch your cousin in the act and throw him to the wolves.” Harrison smiled without humor. “And the other reason was simple. You had a vulnerable company, and it was easy to take. I know you expect me to blather on about fatherly love and building a relationship from the ashes of twelve years ago, but kindness wasn’t the motive.”
Devon’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. His father sat lost in thought while Devon absorbed the shock of Eric’s betrayal, and his life’s work collapsing like a sinkhole. His instinct had always been to seek options, implement solutions, formulate contingency plan A, and back it up with B and C, but his mind was struck dumb. All he could think about was revenge.
He grabbed the flashlight and slapped it lightly against his palm. The metal felt wet, and when he raised it, a splotch of blood smeared his palm. Weird. Frannie hadn’t mentioned she’d cut herself. He glanced behind him at the door. She’d seemed fine in the foyer. He frowned at the smudge. Another strike of lightning. Another violent wave attacked the cliff, and the house shuddered once more.
“And then the unthinkable happened,” his father said suddenly. He waited a beat for the thunder to roll on through. “You actually came home.”
Devon rolled his eyes and wiped the blood on his jeans. This was going nowhere. He had to wrap this up and go search for Frannie and Hannah. He eased to the edge of the chair.
“Going somewhere?”
“I wanted to make sure Frannie’s okay.”
“She’s fine. Sit.”
With a sigh, Devon sat back, tapping a thumb on his jeans.
“I took one look at you striding into the living room, and your striking resemblance to your mother, and I knew I’d made a critical miscalculation.”
“You didn’t expect me to fight back?”
“I didn’t expect to care. I’d get the company and that rat cousin of yours, and Tucker would get a son-in-law whose reputation was intact. It was purely business. I didn’t anticipate the…regret.”
“Regret? For helping me?” Why was he surprised? Why did it still hurt, like he was a kid craving his father’s approval?
“No. For being such a horrible father.”
A crack of thunder covered Devon’s rush of breath. Surely he’d misheard. He stared at the old man’s overly shiny eyes in the mostly dark room.
As the rumbling died away, his father chuckled softly. “I’ve never let emotions sway me, but there it is. Who’d have thought I’d get so old and sentimental?”
“Sentimental? You’ve been nothing but hostile. Hell, you’ve demanded my arrest twice.”
“I had to be sure I could pull this off—an aggressive takeover, not a father bailing a son out. One is an advantageous business plan; the other is collusion.” He waved a hand. “Initially, my plan was to take the whole thing over, full stop. Screw Tucker and his greedy belief that you’d inherit. But after you stood before me, so proud, so like your mother, I altered my plan. If I’d gotten control on Friday, I would have wrapped the whole thing up next week and handed it back to you. All I can offer now is a low-interest loan to flush money back in to cover the fraud, and keep you from going to jail. I know the CEO of the bank you guaranteed your inheritance to; I’ll pull some strings and see if I can save any of it. But between the SEC investigation and Tucker’s wrath, there will be no hiding the news. Ashby Enterprises is a write-off.”
Anguish filled Devon’s chest, as piercing as a heart attack. His company. His partner. His inheritance. The potential of the Rogers Park development—all gone. The irony of his own role in fighting the takeover was not lost on him. Anger flooded in, as comfortable as an old blanket. His father may have attempted to help him avoid jail time, but the lies and deception these last few days had wasted valuable time. “Keep your sentiment and your money,” he said evenly. “I’ll figure a way out of this mess without you. We will never be friends, old man.”
“Ah, now that’s the son I raised.” Harrison’s mouth settled into grim regret. “You really have turned out like me. Don’t wait until you’re my age to realize life isn’t about how large you grow your company or how influential you become. It’s about family. Finding a wife who loves you, not your money.”
The hypocrisy was too much. Devon waited until the urge to shout obscenities passed. “Says the man who proposed to Honey.”
His father glanced away, shoulders almost bowing from the weight. Earlier in the week, Devon would’ve paid to see this, but now the tired, broken man he faced… Devon fought the foreign surge of pity. “Why would you make the oldest mistake in the book?”
“I—I was sure it was passionate love.”
Devon frowned. “You’re not that stupid.”
After a pause, his father continued, his voice smaller somehow, and Devon leaned forward to hear over the storm. “Even before you uncovered who she was, I became suspicious at that party. What heiress squeezes your arm like that, hearing she’ll inherit more money? I never did change my will—interesting in hindsight, don’t you think?”
Devon placed the flashlight between them again, and folded his arms. “I didn’t kill her. I don’t care whether you believe me—they took my DNA.”
“They’ve begun the process with the household; it’s only a matter of time.” Again his father emitted that dry chuckle. “There were so many motives for killing me after the birthday,” he said. “I almost expected it, and, you know, my money would have been on Rick. But when Honey was killed, all I could think of was that only you had the motivation and the courage to take the most important thing from my life, the way I did to you.”
The injustice of being force-fed the suicide lie flashed back. Devon squeezed his fists. “Are you talking about Ashby Enterprises, or are you finally confessing to my mother’s murder?”
Harrison’s residual smile turned haunted. His gaze flitted from Devon to the flashlight between them. A faraway look came into his eyes. “I hated you,” he whispered. “It’s a horrible thing for a father to say, but Francesca never looked at me with that much love.”
Devon used every ounce of willpower to remain expressionless. After all these years of knowing… It shouldn’t hurt this much to hear the words spoken.
His father folded his gnarled hands on the desk in front of him. “I was a bachelor when I laid eyes on her in Florence. She was twenty years younger, so fresh and beautiful. I fell for her and never stopped worshiping her.” He shook his head. A bemused smile lit his lips. “You can’t imagine how stunned I was when she agreed to marry me. So many men hovered around her—men much richer, much younger. More handsome.
“But she chose me, and it was so glorious in the beginning. I wanted to be the perfect husband, give her anything she ever wanted. And then you came along, and her love for you stunned me.” As if chiming in, a wave boomed up the cliff.
“I buried myself in work,” Harrison said, “because I could buy her things. But she only wanted to be with you children. And the more I stayed away and worked, the unhappier she got. And the unhappier she got, the more insecure I became. Clearly I wasn’t providing enough, so I worked even harder. I had to be the best, own the best, buy her everything so she would never leave me.”
Devon’s breath streamed out. Like me with Nicole.
The lines on Harrison’s face tightened, and his folded hands fisted. “The years passed, and she spent more and more time with you and Francine. I was bitterly resentful, especially of her special bond with you. I’m not proud of that, but there it is.” Tears sparkled in his eyes. “And then came that horrible day…” Devon’s breathing grew shallow. He didn’t want to hear anymore. “She was gone,” Harrison whispered. “Just like that.”
Lightning lit the office like prison yard floodlights. Devon bolted from the chair and stumbled across the room. His eyes stung. It was too much: Eric’s betrayal. The shocking change in his dragon of a father. And this final, mind-numbing blow. His mother had, in fact, committed suicide. She’d left him behind. Chosen death over her children.
His throat closed. No amount of swallowing relieved the pressure. He slumped his forehead against the rain-splattered window and stared into blurry blackness. The storm raged, and the surf roared. The house shuddered, and the window, cool against his fevered forehead, rattled. His father still spoke as thunder clapped, but it was difficult to hear the words. Devon couldn’t turn. Wouldn’t have been able to move even if the house burned down. The thunder rolled off in the distance.
“…and each of my marriages since has probably been to capture some part of her. Susanna loved art and music; Renee had a fiery personality. Honey…such breathtaking beauty.”
Another jagged bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the lawn with its tattered crime scene tape and bending trees. A tall form staggered against the onslaught of rain, lugging something toward the cliff. All went black, leaving spots before his eyes.
“Jesus,” Devon whispered. Thunder reverberated as his overloaded brain tried to process the nanosecond. The surf pounded, the foundation groaned, the window rattled.
“I know Honey didn’t—”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” He tore out of the office and pounded down the hall.
“Devon?” Harrison called.
Ahead in the foyer, a few staff held dripping raincoats. Rick, coat still on, was walking out of the dining room with a full glass of wine.
“Call nine-one-one,” Devon roared, racing past. The horrifying image played over and over. He closed in on the patio doors at a dead run.
The something being dragged had long hair whipping in the wind.
Chapter 29
Hannah fought to stay in the deep, dreamy warmth, but thousands of icy bees stung her cheeks, and her frosty skin sent panic signals that dragged her sluggishly back to the surface. She opened her eyes to more darkness, immediately squinting as freezing rain beat on her. Her head hurt so much she wanted to vomit, and every muscle shuddered from the onslaught of icy wind and soaking rain. The surf sounded like cannon fire. A few muddled seconds later, she realized a viselike grip dragged her backward. Whoever it was muttered unintelligibly. Frannie.
No—Joseph. Oh shit, she was being hauled toward the cliff! “Stop,” she cried. “Somebody help me!” The words chattered unintelligibly from her numb lips, and her voice was so feeble she barely heard it above the fury Mother Nature unleashed. Her head pulsed from the wasted effort. “Joseph…for God’s sake…stop.” She dug in her heels, scratched at the raincoat-covered arms that held her. Her skull throbbed where Frannie had struck her with the flashlight when she’d tried to convince Joseph of
the woman’s insanity. The fact that she was well on her way to certain death meant Joseph was as crazy as Frannie.
Hannah renewed her struggles, wriggling her torso, slapping any part of his hold she could, but the movement only made her puke on Joseph’s sleeves. He didn’t react. Nothing halted the old man’s slow, determined tug toward the sheer cliff and raging surf. “It’s me, Joseph. Please—I don’t want to die!”
Harsh breathing drew close to her right ear. “I’m sorry, Miss Hannah. It’s the only way.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” she gasped, thrashing violently. She shuddered through more rising bile. “I don’t care if Frannie killed Honey.”
“It’s for the best this way.”
Hannah sobbed, shivering uncontrollably. They traveled by inches through the soggy grass and mud, both gasping in their opposing efforts. Lightning lit the backyard and the imposing house. All went black.
Joseph began muttering again, and Hannah strained to make out the words. “You never meant to hurt anyone, did you, dear? I’ll take care of everything. Just a few more steps now, that’s it. It’ll all be over soon, my good girl.”
Did he think she was Frannie?
Another boom of the surf. Wind-whipped spray stung her. Christ, they were right at the ledge! She kicked and clawed in renewed frenzy. Suddenly the grip around her ribs slipped. She twisted violently and broke free, the right side of her face sinking into freezing muck. Endorphins burst through her. She was free! She reached up, clutched Joseph behind the knees, and yanked him to the ground. Thin whips slashed her. They were next to the weeping willow. It flogged them in a rage of its own.
