by Taylor Dean
This time, no one chuckles at his gallows humor.
“Zane has been a silent president up until now, but that changes immediately upon my death. Due to family strife, Zane was unable to operate in the company without interference. We both thought it best for his position in the company to remain silent, but ever-present. He will need to complete his commitments to the Army, but I assure you he can handle both. Zane, my son, my company is yours, along with sixty-percent of my estate. This keeps you as the majority stockholder, and therefore, in control. I know you can do it. I have faith in you.”
Debra rises to her feet, her chair hitting the wall behind her. “What? That’s not possible. He’s a thief. He’s the one who was taking the money. It was him!”
The two security guards standing next to Zane stand at attention, alert and ready to act, if necessary.
The lawyer pauses the video. “I suggest you take a seat, Mrs. Martel.”
“This is ridiculous. I won’t stand for it.”
Her lawyers whisper to her. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but she’s listening to them.
“Mom,” Ryker says. “Sit down. Let’s hear the rest before you object.”
“That would be a good decision. Shall we?” Mr. Hanover says.
Debra takes her seat. I swear, smoke is coming out of her ears, she’s so mad.
James unfreezes and comes to life again as the video continues.
“This brings me to my dear, sweet wife, Debra. I suppose you’re wondering at this point where your inheritance lies. I will tell you what you already know. It’s in a bank account in Switzerland, exactly where you placed it when you took money from Martel Investments and opened up a personal account for yourself.”
“What?” Ryker says loudly, his hands clenched into fists.
“I have no idea what you were planning to do with it or if you had decided to leave me, but you have more than enough to live quite comfortably for the rest of your life. Consider it your inheritance, my dear. By the way, if you hadn’t taken the money behind my back, you would’ve inherited a lot more. Ponder over that one for a while.”
Debra lets out an odd sort of wail, half shock, half outrage. Ryker bows his head, shaking it with disbelief.
“As for the house, it’s in Zane’s name. I’m sure he will allow you to continue living there. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he will show you the same kindness that you have always shown him throughout his life.”
Debra places her head in her hands.
“Mother?” Ryker says.
She doesn’t answer.
“Ryker, I call upon you to take care of your mother and see that she has all she needs. Debra, you have two options. You can accept your fate, or you can fight me on this and be escorted out of the room and arrested immediately for embezzlement. Your choice, my dear. I strongly suggest the first choice. Under the circumstances, it seems extraordinarily fair.”
Zane nods at the two security guards and they move to stand behind Debra.
The game just changed.
I study Zane for a moment. The prince has taken back his kingdom. He doesn’t look happy, even though he’s won. It isn’t a glorious victory for him. It’s taken a lot out of him. It’s the first time I notice how haggard he looks. His face looks ashen, even in this low lighting, and he has dark circles under his eyes.
“All right, that’s it in a nutshell. Zane and Ryker, I implore you to work together and take Martel Investments to new heights.”
The camera slowly pans out away from James’ face, and we see a small purple gun being held to the temple of his forehead.
The entire room gasps. What? Was he coerced into saying what he just said? Is this some kind of joke?
The camera continues to pan out, and we see Zane holding the gun. He presses the plastic trigger and water shoots out all over James.
They both break out into laughter. James leans toward Zane, wrapping his arm around his waist and hugging him tightly.
The camera pans over to Mr. Hanover. He shakes his head and laughs. “Their idea, not mine. I advised against it. But this is legal, I assure you.”
The camera pans back to James and Zane. They’re still laughing, James still has his arm around his son.
And that’s where the camera freezes as the video comes to an end. We’re left in stunned silence as we stare at the father and son on the screen, caught in an embrace, their laughter evident, frozen forever.
Debra turns and huddles in the corner, whispering with her lawyers. It sounds heated. I don’t doubt she’ll fight with everything she has to overturn James’ will.
“All right,” Mr. Hanover says. “Those were Mr. Martel’s wishes in layman’s terms, as he put it.” He addresses Debra’s lawyers. “Copies of the legal documentation are available for your perusal.” To Zane and Ryker, he says, “Gentleman, I have some documents that need your John Hancock, if you will.”
Zane and a dazed Ryker head to the front of the room. I imagine they’re going to be busy for a while. I head for the exit, my mind whirling. I look upon Zane so differently now.
He’s been the puppet master all along, the one pulling the strings. He was always several steps ahead of everyone else.
And he never told me one single thing.
No, he remained silent about it all and I feel betrayed. So many secrets. So many things he never told me. Honesty is so important in a relationship. He never lied to me, but he omitted a lot. It’s so much to process and I’m not thinking clearly. I only know one thing. I want to escape, to get away and never look back. I don’t know what I was to Zane, but it wasn’t what I thought. It makes me want to cry my eyes out.
Debra gets to her feet and turns her evil gaze on Zane. “The joke’s on you, Zane.”
I pause in the doorway.
“Is it?” Zane says coolly.
“Yes. I was only taking what was rightfully mine. I knew he’d give everything to you and leave me out in the cold. I’m not stupid. Did you think I wouldn’t cover my tracks?”
Her lawyers quickly whisper in her ear, and she seals her mouth shut. She just incriminated herself before she could catch her slip of the tongue. Oops. Until this moment, she could’ve claimed James was wrong, that it wasn’t her taking the money.
She lifts her chin and starts again. “You set me up, framed me, made your father believe it was me who took the money. I have all the proof I need to show that you’re the one who stole money from your father’s company,” she spits.
Her lips pull away from her teeth and she resembles Freddy Fazbear in ways that make me shiver.
“I took my proof to the board of investors and smeared your name. I’m here to tell you, they’ll demand your resignation. You won’t be president for long.”
I fully expect her to say, I’ll get you my pretty. And your little dog too.
Zane says nothing.
“By the way, I took the proof to your father as well.”
Zane can’t hide the surprise that washes over his face.
“Oh yes,” she continues. “I presented all of my evidence and I swore that if he didn’t do something to set prosecution in motion, I would. I told him I would see to it that you spent your sorry life behind bars. It’s irrefutable evidence, Zane. You don’t stand a chance. I will see to it that you go down. Hard and fast.”
Her eyes bulge as she speaks, like she’s about to burst if she doesn’t say what she wants to say.
“Would you like to know how your father responded to the news that I had the power to ruin his precious son’s life?”
“How?” Zane says. “Please share.”
“He responded with a stroke,” she hisses with vehemence.
Zane turns and faces her fully, his face white as a sheet. “Excuse me?” His voice is low and threatening. I wouldn’t want to be Debra right now.
“You heard me. A stroke, Zane. A massive stroke that led to his demise. I guess you could say the knowledge of your embezzlement scheme killed him. Sleep on th
at tonight,” she snarls.
“What?” Ryker says. “Mom, what are you saying? Why would you do that to Dad?”
Zane stands very still, like a predator about to pounce on his prey. I wouldn’t be surprised if he leapt through the air and attacked.
Instead, he nods to the security guards. “Escort the lady out immediately, please. To the door of her car and watch her drive away.”
“You can’t make me leave. I promise, I will fight this with every ounce of strength I have,” Debra screams, losing all self-control. “I have proof it was you! Your father knew I could destroy you!”
The manner in which she’d framed Zane must’ve been highly alarming to James—enough to bring on a massive stroke. Or maybe it was the shock that she’d go to such lengths to hurt Zane that upset James so much. We’ll never know.
Ryker’s expression says it all. He’s looking at his mother with new eyes, shocked eyes. “Mother? I don’t understand. What are you doing?”
I think Ryker is experiencing that devastating moment when he realizes his mother isn’t perfect. We all knew it would happen one day. That day is today.
It’s about time.
Debra continues with her rant, and I can’t listen anymore.
I feel so . . . betrayed. I know Zane’s been overwhelmed these past several days and I understand. I really do. But my life is in shambles too. I tried to reach out to him. I got nothing in return. I didn’t need much. Just a tiny crumb. A few words of reassurance.
I’m done.
I turn and slip out the door. No one notices. I didn’t expect them to.
The tears start before I even reach the elevator. The wait seems interminable, so I take the open staircase in the center of the building. Architecturally, they are amazing, but it’s not something I appreciate right now. I run down the stairs as fast as I can, my tears blurring my vision. I’m almost to the bottom when I hear my name.
“Mila, wait.”
It’s Zane. He’s actually coming after me. I’m surprised he noticed I left.
I keep walking as fast as I can. I just want to get away. I’m not in a good frame of mind and facing him won’t turn out well. My mind is a dangerous place right now.
I feel his hand on my shoulder, so I stop without turning around. “Mila, please.”
He walks around me until we’re face to face. “Mila, I’m so sorry. I’ve been facing twenty-hour days with everything that needed to be done and I didn’t want to disturb you in the middle of the night and . . . Mila?”
He cups my chin and gently pushes my face up. He seems surprised by my tears. “Tears?” He caresses my cheek. “Tears?” he says again. “Hey, everything’s okay. Please don’t cry.”
I’m finally with Zane, where I’ve yearned to be. I want to fall into his arms and let him comfort me like only he can. But I feel such a strange disconnect between us.
“Everything is not okay,” I say quietly.
He seems taken aback as he studies my face. “Are you all right?” he whispers.
I blink my eyes heavily, tasting my salty tears as they dribble onto my lips. I don’t answer his question.
“It’ll all work out. I promise.” He cradles my broken hand in his, running his fingertips over my cast.
“That’s not a promise you can keep.”
“Yes, I can. I can promise you happiness.”
Can he? I don’t know anymore. “Let me leave, please.”
“Mila . . . I know we need to talk. I’m sorry this week has been so crazy. I haven’t had a moment to myself, so much has happened, I . . .”
“I know. And I understand. I really do. It’s a lot to process, though. Please, I need to go.”
He remains quiet and doesn’t move. I look up at him and we share eye contact for a few moments. So much has happened over the past couple weeks, it’s like we’re strangers. We shouldn’t be. We should’ve been clinging to each other amidst the trials in our lives.
His expression changes as he studies me. “Hey, are you sure you’re all right?”
I’m still baffled that anyone can ask me that question and expect a positive answer. I shrug.
His posture rigid, he frowns. “Mila?”
Zane’s eyes wander to the right of me as a deep voice interrupts us. “Mr. Martel, you’re needed upstairs.”
“I’ll be right there.” He runs one hand over his face.
He searches my eyes, his expression clouding. “I’m sorry, I . . .” He lets out his breath, frustrated at being pulled in so many directions.
I need to let him go. Free him. “Please, I really need to leave. Right now. I have to be somewhere.”
I have an appointment with my apartment. It’s waiting for me to go home and cry, stare at the walls, and sulk. Because that’s my life now and I’m very, very busy doing it. Feeling sorry for myself is time consuming. His life is eventful. So is mine. In very different ways.
He doesn’t step to one side, so I walk around him and practically run out of the building.
I doubt I’ll hear from Zane Martel again.
chapter thirty-four
~
I FOREGO A taxi, and walk the streets of San Francisco, my head down, my sunglasses firmly in place.
The tears won’t stop. They. Won’t. Stop.
I don’t want to go home to my apartment. If I do, I’ll spiral even further into darkness and I’m not sure I’ll have the will power to escape.
I need to stay outside, keep walking.
I’ve never felt this way before and I don’t know what to do. I need help. I’ve known it for a while, but I’m finally admitting it to myself, head on. Not even the fresh air or sunshine can shake my mood. The Great Big Dark has taken me over.
After walking for over an hour, I pull out my phone and search my contacts. I know what I need to do.
Seek help.
My finger hovers over my general practitioner’s name. I’ve only seen her once when I had a sinus infection and needed antibiotics. But I’m still registered as a patient. Perhaps I can get in to see her today.
I make the phone call and I’m told she can see me today at three in the afternoon. I have a couple hours to kill. I find a restaurant and tuck myself into a booth, hidden from prying eyes. I force myself to eat and give my body the strength it needs.
I also force myself to think about everything that’s happened in my life recently. I have to face my future, figure out what I’m going to do next.
Zane has his own life to deal with and he has a lot on his plate. That’s the cold, hard truth. Time to face it.
I tried to stay here for him. I think that was a mistake.
Having Zane in my life is not the end-all solution to my happiness. I need to stop putting him in that category and take responsibility for myself.
I know what I need to do. I need to pack up and head for Idaho. It’s what I should’ve done in the first place. I need my family. I need their love, their comfort, and their support to pull me through this difficult time. It’s the only way out of the rut I’m in.
It feels good to think clearly.
I stopped taking my pain pills last night. I read that they can contribute to the Great Big Dark. It’ll take time for the medication to leave my system. Then I’ll see how I feel. It makes me wonder if I’ll pull out of this easily without them. Except I know I can’t put the total blame on the pills. Loss of a dream is a real downer.
Tylenol is doing the trick for my pain today, thank goodness. But I’m still groggy and out of whack. Emotional and weepy. I feel useless and invisible, like everything is wrong in my life and I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I can’t shake the feeling. Which is why I’m seeking help today, admitting my weakness. I shouldn’t feel ashamed, but I do. Mental health issues have a stigma attached to them, but they shouldn’t. It isn’t fair to expect people to take care of their bodies, but keep quiet about their mental state, as if it’s taboo.
At the appointed time, I grab a taxi and head for
the doctor’s office.
I don’t have to wait long before the doctor enters the examination room.
“Miss Westerman, what can I do for you today?” She pauses when she notices the cast on my hand. “Oh, what did you do to your hand?”
I look down at the cast like it’s an intruder. “I w-was involved in an accident and I b-broke it,” I manage to say through a few sobs.
I told myself I would control my tears during the appointment, that I would speak to the doctor calmly and logically and explain how I’m feeling.
But I can’t control anything. The tears flow down my face while my emotions make it difficult to speak.
“I see.” She glances at my chart. “I saw you perform with the Marin Symphony once. You were amazing . . .” She inhales sharply. “Oh.” She takes a seat, looking at me with new eyes. “So, how are you feeling?”
It’s the moment of truth and I can hardly spit the words out. “I’m still in a lot of pain.” Not what I meant to say at all.
“Physical pain?” she probes.
“Yes. But . . .”
“It’s more than that?”
She’s perceptive. But then, I suppose my tears make it obvious. I nod in the affirmative, still finding it hard to explain how I feel.
“Can you describe your pain?” When I don’t answer right away, she adds, “Take your time.”
I’ve come all this way. I’m here in the doctor’s office. Now is the time to spill my guts. I have to do it. I have to.
“I feel . . . horrible and . . . I can’t stop crying and . . . I don’t know what to do.” There. I said it out loud. It was harder than I thought it would be.
Her lips compress in a straight line. “Understandable. Tell me something, do you have a history with depression?”
