Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  He didn't have to wait long. The first car was a low compact job, its rear bumper so low to the ground that Frank would have had to drag himself. He waited. The next vehicle was a minivan. He could have jumped on that, but the driver traveled so fast Frank would have killed himself trying to get a grip on the back.

  A quarter hour passed before another car came by. This time there were four in a row, and no time to come out without someone seeing him in a rearview mirror. Frank settled back to wait. Then he heard it. One of his night sounds. The engine labored on the hill, out of sight. He knew it was the bus. The bus that brought patients to the hospital and sometimes transported visitors to the facility. It didn't run on a schedule, and came at odd hours. During the day, with other noises, it was difficult to hear it until it turned into the driveway. At night, with the crisp air magnifying the sound, Frank could hear the engine missing as the driver shifted well-worn gears.

  The blue and white bus had long ago lost its fresh paint job, and the mirror on the passenger side had never been replaced after it was broken.

  Frank waited for it to completely round the curve before he left his hiding place. Jumping on the back fender, he held on, his fingertips in the crease created by the rear door. Frank rode along the road, following the wall until it ended. When the bus turned onto the connecting road and stopped, Frank jumped clear. He walked to the next road and hitched a ride with a tractor trailer driver.

  He was free.

  ***

  The steady and monotonous droning of cold rain awakened Erika the next morning. Despite her lack of sleep and the promise of a grey, dreary day, Erika felt wonderful. She had enjoyed swimming with Michael. Yesterday she had dreaded his company, been unsure about his presence on a daily basis. This morning she knew everything was going to be all right. She had help.

  Carlton must have known that when he wrote the will. She smiled, pulling a red suit from the closet and dropping it on the bed before heading into the shower.

  Several minutes later Erika walked into the breakfast room to find the table set for one. She wondered where Michael was. Wasn't he having breakfast this morning?

  "Tess, isn't Mr. Lawrence having breakfast this morning?" she asked when the maid came in to bring coffee.

  "Mr. Lawrence ate earlier and left, Ms. St. James."

  Erika didn't ask why, or when he had told them he was leaving. She felt a little awkward that Michael hadn't told her. They'd swum for nearly an hour, then talked a while before going back to their rooms. The clock had chimed three o'clock as Erika put the light out. Had Michael still not been able to sleep? Had he gone for good? Erika nibbled on her toast and sipped her coffee, trying to remember if he'd said anything to let her know he wasn't satisfied. She could think of nothing.

  At the Graves Enterprises corporate center, Erika checked his office. It was empty, and no one had seen him that morning. She shrugged, still not understanding, but then the pressures of the day required her attention and she didn't have time to dwell on Michael's absence. She found herself thinking of him over and over. Why hadn't he told her he wouldn't be in today? Why had he acted so friendly last night and then disappeared this morning?

  At three o'clock, as she prepared to go to a meeting, Erika knew he wasn't going to show up at all. She phoned the house and was told he had not returned or called. Earlier she had been angry, but that was slowly turning to concern. Had something happened to him? He could have been involved in an accident, and no one had notified her.

  They hadn't been partners long enough to be responsible to each other. They had set no rules about accounting for their time. It was truly none of her business where he was. However, he was supposed to share this business with her, and during business hours she didn't consider it too much of an imposition to expect him to tell her when he would, and would not, be available.

  Erika gathered her folder and walked to the door of her office. She opened it and stopped. The room was full to capacity.

  "Ms. St. James, is it true you share this company with the man who won the custody battle for the Mason children?" a woman in a grey suit asked. Flashing camera lights blinded her. Questions hit her like bullets. She'd been through this before. Bill Castle came to mind, and she wanted to shrink back into her office and slam the door.

  "Ms. St. James, where is Mr. Lawrence?"

  "Ms. St. James, is Mr. Lawrence in Philadelphia?"

  "Ms. St. James—"

  Erika didn't hear any more. She turned to her secretary. "Call security," she shouted. "And call the police. I want this office cleared."

  ***

  "Michael! Michael Lawrence!" June Ferrell unplugged her headset and came around the receptionist's station at Lawrence, Barclay, West, and Lawrence. "How have you been?" she asked, catching him in a bear hug.

  "Fine, June," he told her. "It's good to see you." June Ferrell had been receptionist at the law firm since Michael and Evan Barclay began it only three years after graduating law school. Michael liked her immensely. "I see you've changed—lost weight, less grey hair. There must be a man in your life."

  June laughed. "Don't I wish?"

  "Is my brother in?"

  She nodded, going back to her station and plugging into the phone system. "Won't he be surprised? He’s hoped you’d come back for a year now."

  "Don't call him. I want to surprise him."

  June smiled conspiratorially. "Go on. I'll see you soon."

  Michael passed his own office on the way to his brother's. Several people gaped at him in open-mouthed surprise. He smiled and waved, but didn't stop to chat. As he approached his brother's secretary, her eyes opened wider and a smile split her face. Michael put a finger to his lips to keep her from calling his name.

  "How have you been, Margaret?" he asked when he was within whispering distance.

  "I'm just fine. But look at you. You've lost weight, but you still look good enough to eat. Are you coming back?" Margaret always got straight to the point. “We could use you around here and Bob would be thrilled to have you rejoin us.”

  Michael shook his head before she finished the sentence. "I just need to talk to Bobby."

  As if on cue a soft buzz sounded from her phone. They both looked toward the desk.

  "He's calling me," Margaret said.

  Michael smiled and went through the door to his brother's office.

  "Margaret, I need the Bennett file. I just talked to him and he'll be in tomorrow at four." Bobby hadn't looked up when the door opened and closed. He'd continued making notes on the yellow pad and begun giving instructions. "Also, would you call Mrs. Anglender and ask her the status of her Case Information Statement? We'll need to get that into the judge's office by the end of the week. And I need—"

  Michael interrupted his list. "I don't think I'll be able to help."

  Robert Lawrence stopped in mid-sentence. His head snapped up and his gaze turned from dreamlike confusion to astonishment.

  "Michael!" His brother shouted and jumped up from his chair. The two hugged, patting each other on the back, then shook hands and smiled. Bobby wasn't prone to outbursts of emotion. He was the calm, controlled lawyer, able to quickly analyze the situation and act. What Michael had just witnessed was a side of his personality he generally hid from the world.

  "I'm so glad you're here. You're coming back," he stated. "We've been so busy since you left. It will be good to have another hand to carry the load."

  "Bobby," Michael stopped him. "I'm not returning. I have something else to do. Maybe after it's done I'll consider returning, but for now I have no plans to practice law again."

  Bobby's shoulders dropped, the exact same way their father's had when he was disappointed. Michael stared at his brother. He could see a lot of his father in Bobby. He'd never liked to compare how much they looked like their parents. However, when Erika entered his life, she caused the foundations on which he lived to crumble. Ironically Frank Morgan had had the same effect on him. Michael discarded all thoughts of Fr
ank. He was here for a reason.

  "How long is it going to take?” Bobby asked. “We could really use you here, even in a non-practicing capacity."

  A pang of guilt ripped through Michael. "It's a year contract." Apparently, their mother had said nothing to her second son. Otherwise he'd be aware of where Michael was living, and the details of the will that had been left by his grandfather. "How about hiring another lawyer if there is work to keep another one busy?"

  "Actually we have been discussing that, but so far we haven't really had time to interview anyone."

  "You will," Michael assured him. "I really came by to talk to you and Peter. I had hoped Mom would be around."

  "She's up visiting Aunt Irene in Boston. It was a spur of the moment thing. She called about a week ago and left the next morning. I asked if everything was all right. She said she hadn't seen her in a while and wanted to go."

  Michael well knew why. His mother didn't want to deal with him. He'd seen her once when he confronted her about Carlton Lipton-Graves and his true parentage. After that she'd obviously packed her bags and headed north.

  "Can you spare a few minutes for lunch?" Michael asked. "Peter's agreed to meet us at The Pub." Michael checked his watch.

  "I suppose I can spare time for a brother I haven't seen in a year."

  Bobby grabbed his suit jacket from the office closet and pushed his arms into it. He took a moment to let Margaret know where he was going. Moments later they were on the street, walking toward the restaurant. Peter met them at the door with a friendly handshake and a wide grin.

  The more outgoing of the three, and certainly the best looking as he liked to tell them, Peter worked in the newsroom of a local cable company.

  The Pub was an old building in downtown New Brunswick. The inside was dark and the seats wooden and hard. The tables had the marks and indentations of the names of hundreds of college students who'd attended Rutgers University only a few blocks away. Miniature trains ran around a track mounted overhead. Their father used to bring them here as children on Saturday afternoons for lunch. Michael remembered those times.

  When they were seated and the waitress had taken their order Michael asked his first question. "Have either of you talked to Mom lately?" None of them lived with their mother any longer. Bobby was married and Peter lived with his girlfriend. Before Michael left for Maryland, he'd lived in his own condominium in East Brunswick.

  "I talked to her this morning," Peter said. "She seems fine, enjoying Aunt Irene's cooking."

  Michael looked at Bobby. "Last Sunday," he said. "We called her."

  "Did she mention anything about me?"

  The brothers looked at each other, then at Michael. Each shook his head.

  "Have either of you ever heard of a man called Carlton Lipton-Graves?"

  "Sure," Peter said. "I reported the news of his death about a month ago." Peter anchored the New Jersey News. On weeknights at six he could be seen on WNJN. "His substantial holdings in this state prompted the station to do a story on his passing," Peter went on to explain.

  "How about Erika St. James?"

  "I believe she was Acting CEO while the old man was alive." Peter paused, seeming to pull his memory into focus. "If I'm remembering correctly, she walked off with the lion's share of Graves Enterprises."

  "The pharmaceutical company?" Bobby asked.

  "That's the one," Peter told him.

  "I remember this now," Bobby said. "What's all this got to do with whether we talked to Mom recently?"

  The waitress arrived with their lunches. Michael waited for her to set the plates out and leave before answering his brother. "What I'm about to tell you I've already told Mom. I thought she might have let you know, but I will admit when I left her I was pretty angry. I wanted to put as much distance between her and me as possible. Later I regretted it, and returned to apologize."

  Peter and Bobby stared at him. He knew he wasn't making much sense. "Michael, what are you talking about?" Bobby asked.

  Michael took a sip from his water glass and began. "About a month ago a woman came to see me. Her name is Erika St. James."

  "You let her on that mountain, when you wouldn't let any of us come and talk to you?" Bobby asked.

  "You haven't met Erika." Michael remembered the picture of her that day, straight, tall, and representing a past he didn't want to confront. Her words and the will she delivered had taken his choice away from him, and he was back. "I didn't let her come and talk to me. She took that initiative herself."

  "What did she have to say?" Peter asked. His attention was fastened on Michael, and the playfulness of his tone was completely gone.

  "What she told me has a direct effect on all of us." Michael stopped assessing their expressions as he would a witness in court, memorizing what the look was like so he could compare it to the look that would come when he finished his interrogation.

  "Come on, Michael," Peter said. "Stop keeping us in suspense."

  "Yes," Bobby agreed. "What does the Lipton-Graves heiress have to do with us?"

  "Erika St. James isn't the sole heir to the Graves legacy," Michael said.

  "You're not going to say he left part of it to us?"

  "No," Michael smiled, feeling a little of the tension leave his body. He went on to explain the exact terms of the will and the news of his true parentage. He told them everything, from Erika's first visit to his day at corporate headquarters.

  When he finished, his two brothers hadn't eaten a bite, and were looking at him in amazement.

  "Mom knew this?" Bobby asked.

  Michael nodded. "I told her about the will a couple of weeks ago."

  "In all these years she never said a word to you? Never told you you had a living grandfather?"

  "She said it didn't seem to matter. My real father was dead. I had no memory of anyone other than Dad. So she just let it go." Michael paused. "I don't blame her. What would have been the reason to tell me? She'd never received anything from Carlton in the way of support, emotional or financial. From what she told me, Carlton didn't believe I was his true grandson. He had unauthorized blood tests performed in an attempt to prove I wasn't part of his bloodline."

  "That must have gone over well with Mom," Peter said.

  Michael nodded, knowing his mother's explosive nature when one of her children was in danger. She'd have gone up against Carlton Lipton-Graves and his millions if the need had come, but apparently it hadn't.

  "You said he had a photo album of you," Bobby said, unconsciously retreating to the confuse-the-witness technique that all lawyers used. "Where did he get these pictures?"

  "I don't know. According to Erika he could have been there, taken them himself."

  "What do you think?" Peter asked.

  "I'm not sure. I don't think he would have left me half his estate if he'd never laid eyes on me."

  "Did Mom say anything about him wanting to see you?" Bobby asked.

  "He'd asked to see me a couple of times. Her reasons for refusing made sense, but he never demanded any familial rights, and he never acknowledged that I was his grandson."

  "At least, not until the will came to light," Peter commented.

  "Mom thought it best to put everything behind her and go on, and there was Dad, providing everything we needed, never treating me any differently than he treated you two."

  Michael thought of his father. He could never replace Robert Lawrence, Sr. with the figure of any other man. He'd loved him as a son, and even the knowledge that he had not fathered him didn't change the important part of his life that he'd given him—time, guidance, emotional support. Looking at his brothers, he knew his father would be proud of them all. He didn't know what he would think of Michael's retreat to the mountains, but he would certainly be supportive of his decisions.

  "Michael," Peter said. "What are you doing about the conditions of this will?"

  "I've given up the cabin in Maryland," he began. "I'll have to stay in Philadelphia for a year and co-m
anage the companies Carlton left."

  "After that, you become one of the most eligible bachelors in the United States not to mention one of the richest and you're free to do as you wish?" Peter sized up the situation

  "Yes." Michael nodded. "Only you would put it like that."

  "Why hasn't this been reported in any of the papers?" Bobby asked.

  "All the details of the will were not disclosed, but I have reason to believe they might be soon." He remembered Erika's mother and her veiled threat to go to the papers. But even without her as a motivation, he thought his brothers should know. They had grown up as family, and he didn't want them to find out through the local news.

  "Damn," Peter said. "I feel bad.

  "Why?" Michael asked.

  "All those times I said you weren't my brother. Now I find out it's true."

  Peter's words were refuted by the wide smile that creased his face. Bobby joined him with a grunt that turned into a laugh, and soon the three brothers were laughing, hilariously.

  "It doesn't change anything between us," Bobby said when they could speak again.

  "So tell us about her," Peter said. "According to the reports she'd worked at Graves Enterprises for years and had been running it solely for the last year. How did she take to you suddenly having a say in things?"

  "We haven't clashed over anything yet," Michael hedged. "We're working out which one of us is responsible for what, so we can make this a good relationship."

  "Is she as beautiful as she looks?" Peter asked. The smile on his face showed definite interest. "Even the newspaper pictures were good."

  "Why should you care? You have a girlfriend."

  "Not any more," Bobby told him. "Peter and the beautiful Cassandra parted company six months ago." He paused to glance at his brother. "Our dear brother here is on the loose - again."

  Peter smiled. "Maybe I'll come stay with you for a while."

  "The commute to make the six o'clock news might be a little steep," Michael told him.