Cin leaned up and kissed my chin. “That’s you, my grumpy old man.” We held each other for a moment, then she added, “I’m sure, what with Patrick’s tricks and games, everyone will know everything soon enough.”
***
Cin was right, and within a few days I knew more than I had ever wanted to know about Sam’s past, relationships and otherwise.
Beth had decided that the best course of action was to fight fire with fire, and organized a press conference of her own to rebut Patrick’s claims. Even though I very much doubted how a second conference would help matters, especially since the first had been nothing but a publicity nightmare, Cin and I drove back down to the city to show our support. Imagine my surprise when we arrived at the law firm, and saw Sam’s parents waiting in the hall outside Beth’s office. They were both outfitted in full military dress and matching neutral expressions.
“Tom, Laura,” I said, since the four of us couldn’t really stand there and stare at each other all day. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“We flew out this morning to support Sam,” Tom said as he shook my hand. “I had to bring along a few records for him too.”
“Records,” I repeated. “Like his old music collection?”
Laura laughed nervously. “Not exactly.” She glanced at Cin’s midsection. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with your situation. I hope everything works out for you.”
“It will,” Cin said brightly. She’d never been one to hold a grudge or stay angry; well, except at me. For everyone else Cin was the Queen of Forgiveness. “Patrick’s been served the initial divorce paperwork, so the ball is now in his court.”
Before any of us could speak again, the conference room door opened and Beth stepped out into the hallway with us. “Looks like the gang’s all here,” she said. “I want you all on the stage with Sam and Britt, but in the background. We need to show that Sam’s family loves and supports him.”
“We do love and support him,” Laura said, her military calm cracking. “He is our son.”
“I know you do,” Beth said. “We just need to show it to those watching the show as plainly as possible. The media already favors Britt and Sam, despite Patrick’s side show antics. We just need to stack the deck a bit more to our favor.”
“Are the kids here?” I asked.
“Yes, they’re waiting in my office,” Beth replied. “We thought it best for them to stay out of sight until the conference began. We don’t want to run the risk of anyone getting misquoted.”
“No, that would ruin everything,” Cin mumbled.
Beth ushered us into the conference room, and the four of us wended our way among the reporters with their cell phones and tablets as they gossiped and checked the latest news leads. We took our places at the back of the stage, a few feet behind the podium but still in clear view of the audience. I saw some cameras, and wondered if we would be on live television.
“There have to be four times as many people here as there were at Patrick’s conference,” Cin said. “That has to be a good sign, right?”
I squeezed her hand. “I hope so.”
Beth stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you’re all aware of Nash Williams and his brother’s ongoing legal troubles, along with my clients, Britt and Sam MacKellar’s, involvement in the matter. And I’m sure that even if you weren’t at the press conference that was held last week by Mr. Williams’s attorney, you’ve since heard all about it.”
Beth paused for questions, but the reporters were content to hear her out, at least for the moment. “During that press conference Attorney Sullivan made some pretty interesting statements regarding Sam MacKellar. Now, I believe that Sam is an honest, straightforward man, but he wanted the chance to prove himself to all of you. Without further ado, here’s Sam, and his wife, Britt.”
A door on the opposite side of the stage opened, and Sam and Britt made their entrance. Britt’s mouth was pressed in a thin line, and her hands trembled at her sides. Beside her, Sam looked as cool as a cucumber. He stepped up to the podium, and smiled at the audience.
“Morning, all,” he began. “I’m Sam, and this is my wife, Britt. Wait, Beth—I mean Attorney Marconi—she just told you all that, didn’t she?” There was a bit of laughter from the audience. Sam swallowed hard, then continued, “All right, let’s get on with it. I imagine you all have some questions in light of that press conference Mr. Sullivan had a week or so ago.”
“Is Sullivan really your wife’s stepfather?”
“That he is. Can’t go choosing your relations, now can you?” Sam cleared his throat, and continued, “Those images he showed you of me weren’t altered in any way. They were pictures of me and my ex, one Michael DuFresne.”
“Are you bisexual?” a reporter called out.
“Ah, no?” Sam shook his head. “Well, maybe I am. I never really thought about it. That’s why I’m here today, to explain a few things about myself. Set the record straight. See, while I let the world at large believe that I was gay, I was really hiding—repressing, maybe that’s a better word—some things that had happened to me when I was a kid.”
Sam paused for a moment, then he launched into a horrific story of abuse, all of which had happened at the hands of his aunt. He’d gone to stay with his Aunt Sophia when both of his parents had been deployed overseas, and the abuse had only ended when they returned stateside. The real kicker was how when Sam wasn’t interested in her advances, she called him gay. According to Sam, her disgust at him being homosexual was the only thing that made her stop going after him.
I glanced at his parents, and saw tears streaming down his mother’s face.
“I had no idea,” I whispered.
“We didn’t either,” Tom replied, his gaze never leaving Sam. “She had him convinced that if he told anyone, Laura and I would be punished, lose our jobs, even.”
“How old was Sam when you two were deployed?”
“Ten. He was ten years old, a fucking kid.” Tom clenched his fist. “If Sophia hadn’t died last year, I’d kill her myself.”
I understood and appreciated Tom’s position. Sam finished his speech, and Britt wrapped her arms around his waist.
“What does your aunt think about your claims?” a reporter asked.
“She died last year,” Sam replied as he untangled himself from Britt. “Left me a ton of money too.”
The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam said. “Pretty convenient how I’m laying all of this on a dead woman. For the longest time I thought that there wasn’t any kind of proof to corroborate my story, just my word against hers, but then my mother remembered the shrink I used to see as a child.” Sam turned toward his parents, and Tom handed him the folder they’d brought from Iowa. Sam cleared his throat, and opened it.
“After everything happened with Sophia, I had some terrible nightmares. They went on for years too. Got so bad I’d sneak coffee into my room, try to stay awake all night. My parents took me to the doctor, who referred me to a psychologist. I told him everything.”
“Why didn’t he report your aunt?” asked that same reporter. “I thought that doctors were required by law to report abuse, especially child abuse.”
“I don’t know,” Sam replied. “Maybe because the abuse had ended? Doctor-client privilege? I will say this, he wasn’t a very good shrink. Eventually the nightmares stopped, but I don’t think that had anything to do with the doctor. My parents, the two most loving, supportive people I know, are who helped me remember all that’s good in the world. They are the ones who convinced me, each and every day, that there are more good people than bad. That life is a beautiful thing, and worth living.”
Sam bent his head, and shuffled through the paperwork in the folder. “Still, it was hard. Real hard. I could hardly even talk to a woman, let alone date one…so I dated men. Men were safer, men hadn’t hurt me
. In time, I got over some of my fears, and I learned how to talk to females other than my mother, teachers, and other safe people. Then I came to New York, and got a job working for Nash Williams, the hottest photographer around. I was working a cover shoot one day, and this beauty wandered in.” Sam hooked his arm around Britt’s shoulders, and pulled her close as he kissed her temple.
“I’ve said it before, Britt laid me bare in more ways than one. She forced me to be a better man, to confront my past and start living in the present. With Britt in my life, my nightmares were finally over.”
“What does this have to do with the defamation case against you?” a reporter asked.
“Nothing, and everything,” Sam replied. “Here’s what it boils down to: I’ve lied. I’ve lied a lot. But all of those lies were about me. I’ve never told a single untruth where Britt was concerned. My hope is that now I’ve explained why I did what I did, you will understand that I could never be involved in what Nash and his brother had going on.”
“Sam’s a good person,” Britt said, leaning toward the microphone. “The only person he ever hurt with his lies was himself.”
Sam and Britt smiled at each other, then he continued, “Anyway, in this folder there are copies of my treatment notes. It was hell getting them, but it helps having friends in high places. And military parents. If any of you want to fact check the specifics about what I’ve told you, it’s all here. Just contact Beth—I’m sorry, Attorney Marconi—and she’ll get you whatever you need. Thank you.”
Sam and Britt turned away from the microphone and retreated through the side door. Once the door had shut behind them, Beth stepped up to the podium.
“Now that you understand why Mr. MacKellar has done the things he’s done, think back to the images Attorney Sullivan unleashed into the world last week,” Beth began. “He took Sam’s painful past, twisted it around, and used it in a lame attempt to help defend his clients. Clients who stand accused of the very same heinous acts that Sam endured as a child. What self-respecting person would do such a thing?” Beth paused, her gaze scanning the audience. “A desperate person, that’s who. A desperate attorney who knows that his clients are guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt, yet has no qualms about dragging his own stepdaughter and her husband down into the muck.
“Also consider that this is a one-sided suit. Mr. and Mrs. MacKellar—Sam and Britt—haven’t sued the Williams’s for a single red cent. They want those criminals behind bars, and aren’t looking to profit from this incident in any way. Sam and Britt want to see two criminals get the punishment they deserve, and then move on with their lives.”
Beth collected up the paperwork Sam had left on the podium. “Thank you all for coming. Any inquiries or requests for quotes should be directed to my office. Good day.”
Beth turned off the microphone, then she retreated through the same door Britt and Sam had. All four of us parental units followed her.
“That was good,” Beth announced once the door had closed behind us. “Very good. How are you holding up, Sam?”
“Fantastic,” he said. “It’s good to get those lies untold, you know?” I got the feeling that Sam would have said more, but his mother rushed over to him and hugged him. Once they parted, I stepped up.
“Sam,” I began, and stopped. What could I really say that wouldn’t make me sound like an ass? In the end, I said, “You’re a brave man, Samalot. I am proud to call you my son-in-law.”
Sam grinned, then he pulled me into one of those awkward man hugs. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”
“Me too,” Britt said, looping her arm through mine. “You looked pretty green after Patrick flashed those pictures of Sam and Michael.”
“I was, but I got over it,” I said. “What’s the next move, Beth?”
She perched on the edge of a conference table, and tapped a pen against her thigh. “I think our next move is to convince Sullivan that a divorce is in his future.”
“About that,” Laura said. “When I glanced over the prenuptial agreement, I noted that several clauses call for the dissolution of marriage if you were ever found to be unfaithful to Sullivan.” Laura looked at Cin and frowned. “Since you have obviously violated that condition, why is he holding on to you so tightly?”
“Maybe because no one else is foolish enough to marry him?” Cin offered. “I was so blind, I didn’t even know he was impotent until our wedding night.”
Laura made a face, and Tom coughed so hard Sam thumped him on the back. While the MacKellars got themselves under control, Britt said, “It really makes you wonder what else he’s hiding.”
“What do you mean?” Beth asked.
“It’s like he’s worried about what will come to light during the divorce,” Britt replied. “And the man has serious trust issues. The surveillance on the house is tighter than Fort Knox, what with the cameras and guards. I could never figure out what he was protecting.”
“Guards?” Beth repeated. “Like bodyguards?”
“Yeah,” Britt replied. “They were always swarming around the property, and following me and Mom wherever we went. They were armed too.”
Beth grabbed a notebook and started scribbling. “Go on.”
“I mean, the house is nice and all,” Britt continued. “But when you get down to it, it’s just a five-bedroom Colonial with a big backyard in New Rochelle. The place didn’t even have a pool.”
“But it does have Patrick’s office,” Cin said, “and his records room.” She looked toward Beth and elaborated, “Over half of the finished basement is devoted to Patrick’s records. The place is set up like a panic room, with a steel door and this high-tech lock that’s straight out of a spy movie.”
“What’s in there?” Beth asked.
“I have no idea,” Cin replied. “I’ve never even seen the door open. Whenever Patrick would go down there, he locked the basement door behind him so he could have full privacy.”
“Pardon my asking, but what does it matter?” I asked. “So he’s got a locked room. Unless there are actual skeletons in his closet, I don’t see how the contents of this room could help Sam, Britt, or Cin’s divorce.”
“Maybe it can’t,” Beth said, “but maybe it can. In my experience, a regular old corporate attorney doesn’t need armed guards or panic rooms. There’s something here, and I want to know what it is.”
“I agree,” Laura said. “If you don’t mind, I will conduct my own investigation into Sullivan’s business dealings. I will, of course, share my research with you.”
Beth nodded. “All right. Let’s agree to talk in a week’s time.”
While Beth and Laura checked their schedules, I drew Cin close and whispered, “Hear that? We’re gonna take down the big bad wolf.”
Cin grimaced. “It’s about time someone did.”
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Sean
Present Day
After Sam’s press conference, our collective legal troubles calmed down for a short time. Cin and I went back to Northampton, and Britt and Sam resumed their lives, with Britt modeling and Sam on his endless quest for the perfect studio space. Since reporters had been directed to send all their inquiries to Beth’s office, even the media was leaving us alone. Call me cynical, but I knew the calm wouldn’t last.
It was the middle of the second week after we’d returned from New York, when I got another call from that 712 area code. “Isn’t it early where you are?” I greeted, assuming it was Sam’s father on the other end.
“It is, but I’m in the habit of getting up with the sun,” replied a woman’s voice. “Decades in the military has that effect.”
“Laura,” I said. “Good morning. What can I do for you today?”
“I’ve been looking into Sullivan’s firm,” Laura replied. “Has Cindy even mentioned anything being off about it?”
“She’s never really talked about his work,” I replied. “At least, not to me. Why? Did you find something?”
“Maybe.” Laura was quiet for a moment. “Now, I don’t know what the firm’s average annual income is, or what Sullivan’s share in the profits is. But I do know about how much attorneys and mid-sized firms tend to earn, and Sullivan’s lifestyle just doesn’t match up.”
“How so?”
“Well, there are his expenses, for one. Britt gave me a rather detailed description of the house’s security system, which included video and audio surveillance as well as bodyguards. That kind of hired muscle doesn’t come cheap.”
“I bet,” I said, remembering the thug that had been following Cin when I picked her up in Connecticut. “Cin said one of them used to be a SEAL.”
“Wow.” I heard scratching, and assumed Laura was writing that down. “You see, that’s exactly what I mean. Based on his firm’s clients and public caseload, he is living a millionaire’s lifestyle. Only the way I figure it, his income can’t be much over two hundred fifty thousand.”
“That’s still a lot of money,” I said, remembering everything I’d done with my lottery winnings.
“It certainly is,” Laura allowed, “but let’s just think about the surveillance. Bodyguards like that would cost about one thousand dollars per day—and that’s one thousand dollars per bodyguard. According to Britt and Cindy, there were always three armed guards on the premises. The expense for the guards alone would be over one million per year. Add to that the personal chef, the other household servants, and the rest of Patrick’s extremely extravagant lifestyle, and it just doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s the cars too,” I said, remembering something else Cin had shared. “Patrick always bought his cars in cash, and always from the same dealer. High end foreign cars too, like Mercedes and Audis.”
I heard more scribbling. “I’ll see if I can find the dealership. I’m going to request the firm’s tax returns, as well. Hang tight for a few days, and let me see what else I can dig up.”
“Laura, what do you think he’s into?” I asked.
Changing Fate (Changing Teams Series Book 3) Page 18
