Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Pushing herself back, she faced the windows and watched the sun drop on the distant horizon. Where was he? She had to know. Her time was running out. There were barely three weeks left. She turned back and looked at her office. Remnants of Carlton's presence haunted the room, but she was also there. Her desk was a huge structure of carved mahogany. She felt comfortable behind it. The walls had pictures she'd chosen. The étagère in the corner held several of her awards and a collection of crystal figurines she'd been collecting for years. The desk held a new computer, something Carlton couldn't stomach and she couldn't live without.

  She loved it here, loved this company and her role in it. She'd loved it since her sixteenth year, when she applied for a job in the shipping department without telling Carlton. She hadn't wanted anyone to think he got her the job because of their friendship. She'd worked there for six months before he found out. She thought he'd be angry, but instead he'd begun teaching her things. She worked in every department from the ground up, and by the time she left for college she had worked there three years of valuable experience.

  Then she'd gone to California and stayed there, until Carlton called her home. She wanted to keep this company, run it the way she'd been doing since she returned. She wanted to keep it alive for Carlton. Of course, it offered her wealth, more money than she'd ever dreamed of having, and power. But beyond the wealth and the power, Graves Enterprises offered her the chance to prove that she could do the job. Now she didn't have Carlton showing her, sanctioning her decisions, or guiding her along as if she were his student. She needed to prove she could stand on her own feet. The only person she needed to help her was Carlton's grandson, and at the moment she was without clues as to his whereabouts.

  Erika pulled herself closer to the desk and picked up the phone again. The clock on the desk read seven o'clock, but she knew Steven Chambers would still be in his office.

  "Chambers," he answered on the first ring.

  "Hello, Steven, it's Erika."

  "Erika, what can I do for you?" His voice held the no-nonsense tone she was accustomed to hearing whenever she talked to the seasoned lawyer.

  "I need to know more about Michael Lawrence."

  "I afraid I can't tell you anything I haven't already." He sounded distracted, as if he wasn't really concentrating on her.

  "Steven, stop whatever it is you're doing and listen to me."

  She could hear his sigh. "All right, Erika. You have my full and undivided attention."

  "Michael left the cabin he was occupying in the mountains and I don't know where he's gone. He told me his father died when he was seventeen. Would you know if his mother is still alive, and where she lives?"

  "I'm afraid I don't."

  "Can you find out?"

  "I can put an investigator on it if that's what you want."

  An investigator. She hadn't thought of that. "Yes." She seized the opportunity. "I need information fast. I only have a few weeks left."

  She knew Steven was aware of that.

  "Do you think this investigator can find out where he is?"

  "If that is what you want him to do."

  "I do," she said.

  "All right. I'll have someone on it first thing in the morning."

  "Thank you, Steven." Erika hung up again. This time she felt better. An investigator. Steven knew her dilemma, knew she would lose everything, including his enormous fees for services, if the estate fell into the hands of Frank Mason. Who was he? She wished she'd asked Steven to have his investigator find out something about Frank Mason, too. But finding Michael was more important. She could concentrate on Frank Mason later, if need be. Poising her fingers over the keyboard, she typed in Frank Morgan’s name. It was a common name, but if she coupled it with Carlton’s she might find out why he’d named him as a contingent beneficiary.

  ***

  "How much did you say?" Michael asked. He stared at Malick Wainscott from across the dinner table at Bookbinders in central Philadelphia. He and Malick hadn't seen each other since the Mason trial. Always well dressed, Malick wore a dark suit over his custom-made shirt. His shock of white hair reminded Michael of the photo Erika had shown him of Carlton Lipton-Graves.

  "You might have lost weight, Michael, but your hearing is not impaired. Carlton Lipton-Graves's personal net worth, including pending stock options, is over forty-seven million dollars. If you want to know about Graves Enterprises, the pharmaceutical division alone grosses four billion dollars in sales."

  Michael lifted his brandy snifter and swirled the liquid before taking a drink.

  "No wonder she wants me to exercise the will."

  "I don't blame her—even if Frank Mason wasn't a contingent benefactor."

  Michael's hands clenched at the sound of Frank's name. "Why did he do it?" he asked, almost to himself.

  "Frank?" Malick asked.

  "No, Carlton."

  "Obviously, he wanted to get you off that mountain and this was a surefire way of doing it." Malick leaned forward, grasping his brandy in both hands. "He dangled a carrot in front of you, Michael. Granted, it's a forty-seven million-dollar carrot, but that much money can certainly change a lot of opinions."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you don't comply with the terms of the will, and Carlton's lawyers closed every available loophole, Frank Mason becomes the richest convicted mental patient in the world. It won't be long before some lawyer, smart, and extremely well paid, convinces a medical board and a court that Frank was only temporarily insane and he should be freed, that he was not responsible for his acts and he's truly been rehabilitated."

  Michael studied the window, staring at but not seeing the street outside or the neat rows of parked cars along both sides of it. His mind was on Frank. So much in his life had changed since Erika St. James walked into it, beginning with his father.

  After his call to Malick he'd gone to see his mother. He hadn't wanted to ask her about Erika's claims over the phone. From her reaction, maybe he should have. He'd tried to hold onto the belief that Erika could still be wrong, that his mother hadn't concealed information from him his whole life, but the expression of horror on her face told him in the first five minutes that everything Erika had said was the truth. Robert Lawrence wasn't his biological father. His father was a man named Kevin Lipton-Graves, and his grandfather was Carlton Lipton-Graves.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

  "Michael, I couldn't. It was so long ago and when I met Robert, he loved you. It didn't seem important."

  "Not important, Mom? Not important that I had a family and you concealed it from me?"

  "Michael, I wasn't trying to hurt you. Carlton didn't want me to marry Kevin. He didn't even believe you were his grandson. He had all those tests done when Kevin died. I hated him. I didn't marry Kevin for his money, and I didn't want anything from his father."

  Well, Carlton must have wanted something, Michael thought as he swirled the liquid in the brandy snifter. He'd wanted a part of Michael, even from a distance.

  "Did he ever attempt to see me?" Michael had asked.

  "A few times." Ellen Lawrence swallowed.

  "You refused him the right." It was a statement. His mother nodded.

  "You had a father," she said. "Our life was comfortable. There was no need to confuse you by introducing him into your life."

  "What are you going to do?" Malick's question brought his attention back to the restaurant.

  "Do I have a choice?" Michael frowned. "There's no way I'm going to let a person like Frank Mason wrangle an easy way out of jail."

  "What about returning to the law?" Malick asked.

  "Not a chance."

  ***

  Born in St. Peter's Medical Center thirty-seven years ago.. . .Erika picked up one of the reports and stared at it. She'd received them weekly from the private investigator Steven had hired on her behalf. She knew facts about Michael Lawrence, but the facts didn't tell her where he was. She checked her watch again. It was
after eleven o'clock on the final day, and though she'd gone to bed she couldn't sleep. She had returned to the library and these reports.

  If Michael didn't show up in the next forty-seven minutes, the entire estate went to Frank Mason. It looked as if Frank Mason would be a very rich man within the hour, and she would be homeless.

  She knew he didn't know yet. Steven had told her Carlton's instructions stated that Frank Mason was not to be informed until the expiration of the time limit, a limit that hovered close by.

  She'd tried, she told herself. She'd thought he would come. She also thought she'd have more time to try to make him help. But she hadn't figured he would leave without giving an address, or that he wouldn't call to let her know his decision. He knew her address. Carlton's law firm's address was printed on the papers she'd left with him. If he'd wanted to find her, he had all the information.

  Obviously it wasn't important to him.

  Erika dropped the papers on the desk and stood up. She wrapped her satin robe closer around her, feeling cold even though it was warm in the room. Why had Carlton played this game, she wondered. He was usually quite up front with his requests and beliefs. She knew Michael had held a very special place in Carlton's heart. He told no one about him, yet attended his ceremonies and vicariously basked in his glory. For some reason Michael had retreated to the mountain, and Carlton wanted him off of it. This was one method of getting his way. Only Carlton wasn't here to see if his plan worked. He was leaving it up to her to resolve, and she'd failed.

  "I'm sorry, Carlton," she said. "I tried." She just wished he'd told her what he was up to before he died. Erika felt beaten. Her shoulders drooped with the weight of the burden she'd carried for the last month trying to locate Michael, all for nothing. Tomorrow she would go to the office and make the announcement. Within a week she'd have packed everything, turned over the reins to the new president, and left.

  She was a little angry at Carlton for tangling her with Michael, although he hadn't left her penniless. If Michael refused to comply, she would still have a trust fund that paid her $100,000 annually until she died.

  It was enough to live on but it wasn't what she had, what she'd become used to and considered her own. She wanted Graves Enterprises, but that looked like something she wouldn't get.

  Erika paced the room, feeling lost and disconnected. She should be concentrating on what she would do tomorrow and the rest of her life. But she couldn't. She was too angry. People didn't just disappear these days. There were computers, credit cards, the Internet. How could Michael Lawrence leave a rustic cabin on a Maryland mountain and disappear into thin air? Why couldn't Steven's investigator get his law firm and his brothers to tell him where Michael was? He had to be somewhere.

  She walked back to the desk and slammed the file closed. Then, in frustration, she sat down. Ten minutes to midnight. The clock didn't make a sound, but Erika felt as if it were ticking her life away. Michael held her fate in his hands, and it meant nothing to him.

  Erika put the file in the desk drawer. She reached for the desk lamp and extinguished it. The darkness closed in around her, but she didn't move immediately. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness, waited for the images of furniture and lamps to settle into place. Finally she pushed her chair back and stood up. She knew this room as well as she knew all the rooms, and she'd be heartbroken to leave it. She walked through the room, neither touching nor bumping into anything as she went toward the splash of hall light spilling through the entry door.

  She noticed the time as she passed the grandfather clock on her way to the stairs. Three minutes to midnight. Stopping at the base of the huge staircase, Erika remembered sliding down the curving banister when she was nine. She remembered standing there to have her picture taken when she graduated from junior high school, and going through the front doors with a nervous date on her way to her high school prom. Tomorrow she'd leave a lot of memories behind.

  Erika started up the stairs. On the fifth step she stopped, sniffling, trying to hold back tears that were threatening to fall. At the top she turned toward her room.

  "Is it all right if I use this part of the house?"

  Erika whipped around, her heart thudding. The upstairs hall was long, branching off into two wings. The lights were off and she couldn't see anyone, but she'd heard Michael's voice. Her gaze searched the darkness. Did she really hear him? Was her mind conjuring him up? Then he stepped into the light.

  "Any objections?" he asked. Not waiting for a reply, he turned and disappeared into the darkness again.

  Her breath expelled, and her vision blurred. I'm going to faint, she told herself. Her knees went weak and rubbery and she gripped the banister to hold herself up. The clock chimed behind her. Tears clouded her eyes as Erika waited, counting the number of gongs on the clock until it reached twelve.

  Her body went numb. Mechanically, she continued up the stairs. She occupied the third room on the left, next to the one in which Carlton had died. She opened the door and fell against the wood panels as it closed. Her knees gave way, and she slid down the wall to the floor.

  He's here.

  Chapter 4

  The night passed. Erika remembered every hour of it as she filled her breakfast plate with eggs and toast. She'd wavered between elation and fear. He'd come. He had to be here to help her. There could be no other reason. What would he want changed? Would he try to usurp her position and take over the day-to-day running of the operation? He was a lawyer and they were presently looking for a legal counsel. Maybe he would be willing to take over that part of the business. Of course, the will said they shared everything. She would certainly discuss anything with him that he wanted to know. She wasn't planning to exclude him from anything. Carlton wouldn't have forced her to share the company with someone he considered unqualified. Then she remembered the Michael she'd met at the cabin. He wasn't the same man she'd seen in the upstairs hall last night.

  "Good morning," he said.

  She started, hitting her coffee cup, but luckily it didn't spill. His gaze went to that nervous act. She'd thought she'd be prepared for him this morning, but his presence sent her blood careening though her veins. He was clean-shaven and wearing a business suit. It fit his strong shoulders as if it had been custom-made. The haggard look about his eyes was still present, and in the shadow his eyebrows looked slightly sinister. Other than that, he was devastating, and every part of her body knew it.

  Holding herself erect she said, "Good morning. The coffee's hot and I alerted the cook that you would be here for breakfast."

  "That was nice of you." He went to the server and heaped food on his plate. "I take it I won't be enjoying any of your cooking while I'm here."

  Erika felt her face warm as memories of the cabin, and all that had happened there, flooded into her consciousness. A place setting had been set to her right. Michael slipped into the chair in front of it. The gesture was as comfortable as if he'd been doing it for the past twenty years.

  "I suppose we should discuss just how long you plan to stay," she said.

  "According to Mr. Steven Chambers, this arrangement must remain intact for twelve months. Apparently my. . .grandfather thought you and I should carry on after his death."

  So that's how he'd gained access to the house. Steven had given him the packet of information left for him, which included a key and the security codes for the alarm system. Unfortunately, neither of them had bothered to call her and let her know.

  "I believe we are to share everything, including this house," Michael said.

  "That's what it says in the will."

  "Twelve months from today we have the right to do whatever we want with the companies, the house, and our lives."

  Erika nodded.

  Michael bit into a crisp piece of bacon. Erika dangled like a puppet.

  "Have you agreed?"

  "I signed all the necessary papers. I suppose you'll show me around the offices, beginning this morning."

  "It wo
uld be my pleasure," Erika told him, but it was no pleasure. It took half an hour to get to the offices of Graves Enterprises. A company limousine picked her up each morning. She and Michael sat in strained silence during the drive to downtown Philadelphia and the corporate offices.

  She showed him the office she'd picked out for him, which adjoined her own and had been recently decorated. Anything he didn't like his secretary would have redone. Michael looked around approvingly and followed her on the office tour.

  "Graves Enterprises’ major business is pharmaceutical," she explained as they entered the accounting department. "We also own several cosmetics companies and a few hotels. We have our own fleet of cargo ships and use them to transport our products to manufacturing sites which are located in South Carolina, Georgia, Puerto Rico, and Germany. We have a full fleet of trucks that carry our manufactured goods to distribution centers all over the country. We also have marketing and sales organizations in twenty-seven countries around the world."

  Michael listened attentively, asking questions, smiling and shaking hands when she introduced him to people in the departments they passed through. He was good-looking and charming. Without turning to look behind her, she knew people were nodding their agreement that he'd make a good addition to the family of companies.

  "You appear to know a lot of people here," he observed when they were back in her office.

  "I've been here a while."

  "You never told me how you and my grandfather came to know each other." This time there was no hesitation when he referred to Carlton.

  "I was only eight," she told him. "One day I ran through the hedges and into him." She smiled. "He invited me to tea and we became very good friends."

  Erika didn't tell strangers about her childhood. Michael didn't yet qualify as a trusted friend.

  "And he didn't tell you about me until—"

  "Until the night he died," she finished for him. "He had me bring him the photo album. He pointed you out, called your name, and died." Erika swallowed the lump that formed in her throat whenever she talked about Carlton. "His last words were about you. I thought you were a small child until the will was read. After that I looked through the album and found a full history of your accomplishments."