Brad Emerson had come along at exactly the right time. He had worked with Stella’s father in the construction trade, and she had met him on several occasions when he had stopped by the house. After the tragedy Brad had been attentive and supportive, offering to take Stella’s brother under his wing in order to keep the authorities from placing him in foster care. Even though Brad was almost twenty years older and Stella was only eighteen at the time, she had found it easy to love someone who extended such generosity and kindness.
In the beginning she had been Brad’s little girl, scarred and wounded. She had willingly let him tell her how to dress, where to go, what to say. He had always been the one to organize their social life and pick their friends. How could she have been anything else back then? He had swept into her life like a guardian angel.
Now that she thought about it, she understood why Brad had finally soured and divorced her. Her devotion to Mario had always been a trouble spot between them, even before she began her career as an attorney. The bond between Stella and her brother was impenetrable. What they had shared was so intense, so tragic, that a person who had not been through it could never understand what they meant to each other. She had always promised Brad that as soon as she got Mario off to college, she would devote more time and energy to him. He was the type of man who liked to be coddled, who wanted to come home every night to a home-cooked meal and a wife waiting to please him. Stella’s career had taken off under Growman’s careful tutoring, though, and over the years she had blossomed into a confident and successful woman.
Grabbing Mario’s hand, Stella sealed it inside her grasp. “There’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “I’m going back to Dallas tonight and talk it over with Growman, see what he thinks we should do. Now that Randall is back in town to stay, we don’t have to rush into anything. We can pick through the case as long as we want. With Holly’s help, maybe we’ll find something to prove he was responsible for the fire.”
“Was Holly there today?” Mario asked, a guarded look on his face.
“Yes,” Stella said. “Why do you ask?”
“Will she be the one handling the case?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Right now it’s too soon to tell. I’m not certain we even have a case, Mario. The evidence is weak, and Randall’s trying to shift all the blame on me. The only way we can prosecute him is to come up with additional evidence and after this much time it’s doubtful if that’s going to happen. The house burned almost to the ground, so there’s not much to work with. That’s been the problem with the case all along.”
“You mean they’re going to let Randall get away with it?” Mario said, his face set in anger.
“Probably,” Stella said. “He’s gotten away with it all these years.”
“That’s not right,” he said.
“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “life isn’t always fair.”
Stella stood and asked Mario to drive her to the airport.
“Stay the night, Stel,” he urged. “We’ll go out to a nice restaurant, try to forget about all this stuff.”
“I can’t,” Stella said. “I have a meeting tonight with Brad and my attorney to see if we can work out the property settlement.”
Mario’s face softened at the mention of Brad. Even though Stella’s husband had been a stern disciplinarian Mario had always respected him and was grateful for the things he had done for him. “Tell him I said hello,” he said. “You know, if he comes to Houston on business, make certain he gives me a call.”
“Sure,” Stella said.
“Can’t you guys work it out?”
“I’m afraid not,” Stella said. “He’s seeing someone else, Mario. He was seeing her months before he left me.” Her shoulders rose and then quickly fell. “She’s twenty-four and beautiful, not a mark on her body. Now that he has her, what does he need me for?”
Stella used her brother’s phone to call Sam and ask if he could pick her up in Dallas. Once he agreed, they left, discussing Mario’s love life and his latest photography assignments on the drive to the Hobby airport. Before she boarded the plane, Stella reached up and tousled his hair. “So you’re dating a stewardess,” she said, smiling. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”
“Ah, shucks, Stel,” he said, smiling rakishly, I’m so ornery, I might never settle down. There’s just too many good-looking women in this town. I intend to work my way through every one of them before I put the skids on it and let some broad rope me into marrying her.”
Stella frowned. How had he become such a playboy? Mario walked off, turning around to wave as Stella headed up the ramp to the plane.
Samuel Weinstein’s offices were located in a complex near the Central Expressway and Mockingbird Lane, not far from the SMU campus and the Park Cities section of Dallas. The rooms were well appointed and spacious, the walls were covered with valuable art, and four neatly groomed women were clicking away at word processors and fielding phone calls. Sam, Stella, and Brad Emerson were in the conference room, where Sam had prepared identical folders listing the couple’s assets and liabilities, placing them on the table in front of each of their chairs.
Brad’s manner of dress made him look younger than his fifty-four years. Wearing a black silk T-shirt under a purple Claude Montana jacket, slim-legged pants, and a gold chain around his neck, he appeared to be in his early forties. Stella almost broke out laughing when she spotted the latest addition—a small diamond stud in his right earlobe. But regardless of his new mode of dress, Brad Emerson was one of those men who never seemed to age. Even though his hair was more silver now than blond, his face was tan and unlined, his body fit and lean. When he flashed a smile, women of all ages smiled back. He wasn’t a large man, but he was extremely strong, his body developed from years of working in the building trade.
“Mario asked about you,” Stella said while Sam left the room to take an important phone call. “I saw him earlier today. He said you should call him if you ever come to Houston.”
“Oh, really?” Brad said. “What were you doing in Houston?”
Stella told him about Randall surfacing, and Brad snorted and then looked away. “Now that he’s back in town. Brad,” she told him, “there’s a chance we can reopen the case. That means I might finally find out what happened that night and whether or not Randall was the person who set the fire.”
“Why can’t you let sleeping dogs lie?” he said. “Chasing after this Randall guy isn’t going to bring your parents back to life. Your biggest problem, Stella, is you invest too much in the past. It’s the future that should concern you. No matter what you do, you can’t change the past.”
Stella tensed. She’d heard this speech dozens of times. Brad had never understood her compulsion to find the person responsible for her parents’ death, her need to seek revenge. Did he expect her to just forget all the pain and suffering she’d been forced to endure, forget that her parents had died an agonizing death? “If your face was scarred,” she snapped, “I bet you wouldn’t be so willing to forgive and forget.”
“What’s Randall doing back in Houston?” Brad said.
Sam stepped through the doorway. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“He got a job as the football coach at St. Elizabeth’s,” Stella continued as Sam made his way to the conference table. “But let me tell you something,” she added, “I’m going to go all the way this time, and not you or anyone else is going to stop me. I have connections now, not just in Dallas, but in Houston as well. I’m not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore that no one will take seriously.” She pounded the table, wanting to convince herself as much as Brad. “Forensic technology is more advanced now, and our agency has an investigator who can work wonders. We’re going to dig through the evidence and put this case together if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“Happy hunting,” Brad said with a smirk. “Now that you’ve killed our marriage, you can become a regular Sherlock Holmes for all I care.”
&n
bsp; “You’re the one who killed our marriage,” Stella shouted. “You and your cheap little girlfriend. What is she anyway, a tittie dancer at one of those strip bars? Can’t you do better than that, Brad?”
“Maybe we should get down to business,” Sam said, seeing the sparks flying between Stella and Brad. He didn’t want the situation to turn into a screaming match. They were here to settle Stella’s affairs.
“I’m ready,” Brad said, glancing at his watch. “I didn’t intend for this to take the whole night, Weinstein. I have a dinner engagement.”
The attorney stated a sum that he felt would be a fair settlement and then leaned back in his chair and waited for Brad to respond.
Brad glared at Stella. “I don’t have that kind of money,” he spat at her. “That’s why my attorney isn’t here today. I can’t afford to pay some guy a grand to sit here and hold my damn hand. I’ve told you ten times that money is tight right now.” He shifted in his seat, trying to calm himself. “Business is off, see,” he said in a more reasonable tone. “I had to dip into our savings for operating expenses. I was going to put the money back as soon as I finished some of my new projects.”
“Isn’t it true,” Sam said crisply, “that you’ve been burying assets, and that in addition you removed the money in your joint bank accounts not to use in the business but to support your extravagant lifestyle?”
“You’re a damn liar,” Brad said, red-faced and furious. “What kind of fancy lifestyle do I have? I’m a builder. So, I want to dress up now and then after spending my life in sweaty work clothes.” He jerked his head to Stella. “Are you going to deny an old guy a few new threads? Shit, what else are you going to try to take away from me, my fucking business?”
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Sam said, assuming Brad had exhausted their savings buying costly gifts for his young girlfriend, maybe so he could take her on trips. “Not all the money went into the business, did it? If it did, there doesn’t appear to be any record to substantiate such a claim.”
“What’s your problem?” Brad said, directing his venom now at Weinstein. “You’re fucking my wife, aren’t you? You smug little piece of shit. You’re fucking my damn wife. I can see it in your face.”
The air was thick with tension. Stella looked down at her hands, while Weinstein tapped his pen on the table.
“You damn lawyers are all the same,” Brad said. “All you want is to get your hands on our money, bleed us until there’s nothing left.” He stopped and took a breath, and then said, “What kind of a name is Weinstein? You’re Jewish, aren’t you? Everyone knows you people don’t give a shit about anything but money.” Then he turned to Stella. “As soon as you quit paying this bloodsucker, babe, he’ll drop you like a hot potato.”
Stella scowled. “Let’s not get carried away, Brad.”
“Carried away?” he said, springing to his feet. “This asshole served me with a restraining order today like a common criminal while I was having lunch with my friend. Said I can’t get within a hundred feet of my own house or my own wife. Embarrassed the fuck out of me and made her think I’m a wife-beater.”
Her? Stella thought, knowing Brad had slipped. So, they had embarrassed him in front of his young girlfriend, made her think twice about what kind of man she was getting involved with. Feeling a sense of satisfaction, Stella then saw the vicious look in her husband’s eyes. “I’m the one who signed the restraining order,” she said, wanting to take the heat off Sam. “It’s customary in a divorce. Everyone does it, Brad. And you did knock me down and cause me to bruise my elbow that day. How do I know you won’t come over and shoot me or something?”
“Customary, huh?” he barked, his designer jacket now stained under the armpits with perspiration. “Well, I’m getting a restraining order on you, Miss Hotshot. How do you like those apples?”
“Fine,” Stella said. “If you feel that’s necessary, then go ahead. It’s just a piece of paper.”
Sam tried to regain control of the situation, wanting them to settle the financial agreement so they could move forward with the divorce. “Why don’t you both relax and look over the paperwork I’ve prepared for you? It’s a lot better to agree on a division of property rather than force the court to do it for you.”
“Fuck you,” Brad snarled, advancing on Sam. “I’m not giving anybody anything. If you want to take away a man’s last dime, then you’ll have to come and get it.”
Sam collected himself and stood, his face muscles twitching. “Is that a challenge, Emerson?”
“Yeah,” Brad said, throwing up his fists and flexing his biceps. “Come and get it, you slimy ambulance chaser.”
“I think you better leave now,” Sam said. “If you don’t, I’ll call the police and have you forcibly removed.”
“Stop it, Brad,” Stella interjected. “You’re acting like a fool. Sam’s just an attorney. This isn’t personal. If you want to slug someone, slug me. I’m the one you’re angry at, not Sam.”
Her husband’s fists fell and he stared first at Stella and then at Weinstein, his chest heaving. Then he pointed an accusing finger at Sam. “You’re fucking my wife,” he proclaimed, turning around and storming out of the conference room.
Sam took his seat and glanced down at the folder in front of him. “I guess we’re not going to settle this amicably,” he said, his voice trailing off in disappointment.
Stella broke out laughing. “Obviously,” she said, stifling another nervous giggle. For some reason, she found the meeting almost comical. She could see the earnestness on Sam’s face, and wondered how he had ever thought two people as volatile and high strung as she and her husband would sit down across from each other and calmly settle their affairs. He might be a good attorney, she thought, walking over and draping her arms around him from behind, but he had a lot to learn about human nature.
“He thinks we’re lovers,” Stella said, bending down and touching her lips to the top of his head. The attorney had been a godsend the night before. He had driven her home and tried to console her. He’d gone on to suggest that she fly to Houston and confront Randall, hoping this would put things in perspective. He’d been so kind, so concerned for her well-being. If she hadn’t been distraught at the time and self-conscious about her body, she would have been tempted to invite him into her bed. Sam had been somewhat aloof, however. Stella had impulsively kissed him, but he had made no attempt to take it any further. Instead of going inside the house, they had sat outside in his car and talked.
Sam reached up behind him and touched her hand. “Isn’t Brad referring to Growman, Stella?”
“What are you talking about?” Stella said, surprised. She circled around and took the chair next to him.
“You know,” Sam said, his voice strained. “Don’t you and Ben Growman have a thing going?”
“Absolutely not,” Stella said, realizing now why he had been so standoffish the night before. Why would you say that?”
Well,” he said, “everyone knows Growman’s a ladies’ man. I haven’t seen him with a woman in quite some time, but years ago I used to see him with a young blonde. I’ve met his wife, Stel, so I know it wasn’t legit.”
“You probably saw him with Holly Oppenheimer,” Stella answered. “Something went on between them, but that was years ago. Growman and I are close, Sam, but I promise you I’m not sleeping with him. He’s more like a father figure to me than anything.”
“Why did Brad get so upset, then?” Sam asked, tilting his head. “I thought he knew you were having an affair and he just wasn’t certain who the person was. Therefore, he assumed it was me.
He’s just acting like an ass,” Stella said, swinging her leg back and forth. “People have probably seen us out together. I don’t know where he gets off screaming at me, though. He was squiring this girl around town for months before he approached me about the divorce. It’s humiliating to think that my marriage was over, and everyone knew it but me.”
“Hey,” Sam said, leani
ng over and placing a finger under her chin. “I’m hungry. How about you? Since we’re supposedly having a torrid affair, I guess I should at least buy you a decent meal now and then.”
Stella laughed, feeling a wonderful release from the tension of the day. She was dead on her feet, but the thought of enjoying a nice meal with a man as pleasant and attentive as Sam made her feel revitalized. “What about Adam?” she said, referring to his son. “Don’t you have to get home?”
“That’s why God made housekeepers, Stella,” Sam said, smiling at her. “Lois has been with us for seven years.”
“I want to meet him one day,” she said. “I bet he’s a great kid.”
“Oh, you’ll meet him,” Sam said, issuing another smile. “But right now, let’s go eat. I worked straight through today without lunch and I’m starving.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, standing. “I skipped lunch myself. For the kind of money I’m paying you,” she joked, “don’t think you can get away with taking me to McDonald’s.”
“McDonald’s?” Sam said with a look of disgust. “I don’t even take Adam to McDonald’s. That stuff will kill you.”
“Just checking,” Stella said, giving him a playful shove as they passed through the doorway.
After leaving the restaurant at the prestigious Mansion Hotel on Turtle Creek Boulevard, stuffed from too much rich food and slightly tipsy from the wine they had consumed, Sam and Stella drove to her house in his black Mercedes. She leaned back against the headrest and inhaled the rich scent of new leather. “I was going to buy a new car next year,” she said, sighing as she thought of her ten-year-old BMW with eighty thousand miles on the speedometer. “Now I guess I won’t have enough money.” Seeing him come alive, Stella knew she had just hit the magic button. Sam might be an attorney, but he was also a money man, someone who considered financial security to be the most important asset a person could possess.
Trial by Fire Page 6
