Remind Me
Page 27
“Miss Sinclair?” Detective Green prodded.
“Oh, um, no. Usually it’s just my mother and the housekeeper.” Allie gasped.
“She’s fine,” Detective Green assured her. “She was out running errands until just a short while ago.”
“I assume you’re taking her statement as well?” Mr. Weiss asked.
The detective nodded. “We’ll need confirmation from the medical examiner, but it looks like this all took place shortly after she left. If that’s the case, the perpetrators may have waited for her to leave, assuming no one else was in the house.”
A flash came from the dining room, and without thinking Allie turned toward it. Flash. A photographer stood with his back to her, his camera pointed at the mirrored wall. Allie watched his reflection as he focused his lens on the blood splattered across the wall right behind the spot where her mother had last stood. Flash. He stepped closer, his lens telescoping, and she knew he was capturing details of the images she’d seen when she’d first stumbled into the room; blood and gray matter mixed with shards of mirror and bone. Flash. A moment later he squatted beside the blood that had pooled on the Aubusson rug, photographing her mother’s face, her eyes open and frozen in fear.
Allie tasted bile in the back of her throat and for a moment she thought she might throw up. This was not her life. This was some horrible dream, the result of watching one too many police procedural shows. It had to be.
“Why are they doing that?” she whispered, not really meaning to say the words out loud.
Detective Green looked up from her notebook. “Doing what?”
“Why are they bagging her hands?”
The detective’s eyes darted to Mr. Weiss, then back to Allie. She hesitated for a moment, but when she answered her voice was level. “To preserve any physical evidence that may have resulted from a struggle.”
A commotion by the front door drew Allie’s attention. Two men in black jackets wheeled a gurney across the marble floor. “Coroner” was printed in white lettering across their backs, and when they turned toward the library, she could see a long black bag stretched the length of the bed.
Oh God . . .
An involuntary sob escaped her lips at the thought of her father being zipped into a vinyl bag.
Mr. Weiss offered her his handkerchief and she took it.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get Miss Sinclair home,” he said, his voice tight. “She’s been through quite an ordeal.”
Detective Green regarded Allie for a moment, then stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her wool pants. “I’ll need to take a more detailed statement in the morning.” She held out her business card. “But in the meantime, if you think of anything else.”
Mr. Weiss took the card. “Thank you, Detective.” Before she walked away he assured her his office would call to set up an appointment.
“I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home,” he told Allie once they were alone. “And for private security to be stationed at your brownstone tonight.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Just as a precaution,” he quickly added. “Right now the police think this was nothing more than a home invasion gone wrong, but I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
Allie nodded.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
Hudson.
His was the first name that came to mind, just as it had repeatedly for the past few hours. She needed him now more than ever. Needed the strength of his arms around her, holding her up when she felt too weak to stand.
But she wouldn’t let herself call him. She couldn’t. Not after the way he’d deceived her. She had to keep moving forward. No looking back.
Hudson Chase was out of her life. For good this time.
“I’ll call my friend Harper,” Allie said.
“She’s not a redhead by any chance, is she?”
“Yes, why?”
“She saved you the trouble of a call.” He smiled weakly. “She’s been raising hell at the barricades for the past hour.”
Yep, that would be Harper. “Would you mind bringing her around back to the garage and having the car meet us there? I really don’t want to deal with the crowds out front.”
“Of course. And I’ll see that both your cars are returned to the city in the morning.”
Allie stood. “Thank you for . . .” Her voice trailed off. She knew she’d never get through the rest of that sentence.
His eyes crinkled and he gave a quick nod. “There is one more item we need to discuss before you go.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not. Although I imagine some of the press corps will leave once they realize you’re no longer in the house, a few will remain until a statement is released. I can have the PR department draft something from the company as a whole, or you can certainly write your own if you’d prefer. There’s also the matter of an internal memo to your employees, but we can address that tomorrow.”
“My employees?” What in the world is he talking about?
He met her confused expression with one of his own. After a moment the crease in his brow relaxed. “Forgive me, I thought you realized.” His voice was soothing yet firm. “As you know, both your mother and father were both heavily invested in Ingram.”
This wasn’t news. In fact, for decades the company her maternal grandfather built from the ground up had been privately owned. It wasn’t until a rough patch in the late seventies that her father had been forced to take the company public; but even then the family had retained controlling interest.
“As the sole heir to their estate, those shares are now yours. Alessandra, you are the new majority shareholder of Ingram Media.”
Allie rubbed her forehead. She hadn’t even considered the effect her parents’ deaths would have on the family business, let alone what role she’d play. Hundreds of questions raced through her mind, but the pounding in her head was making it hard to focus.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re tired. We can hold off on everything else until tomorrow and just release a statement from the company tonight. I’ll have the PR team draft something, and if you prefer I can run it by Mr. Chase.”
Allie’s head snapped up. Hudson? Why in the hell would he run it past him? She realized the answer just as Mr. Weiss began to explain.
“Over the past few months there have been various investment groups quietly purchasing shares of Ingram. It wasn’t until recently that we realized these purchases were on behalf of one individual.
“How this will impact day-to-day operations remains to be seen. A substantial percentage of shares are still held in smaller quantities by numerous individuals, but Mr. Chase’s most recent acquisitions make him the second largest shareholder outside of the Sinclair/Ingram estate.” He exhaled a heavy sigh. “We can discuss this more at length after we get through the next few days. I don’t want to overwhelm you right now.”
Too late. “Okay.”
“I’ll go find your friend.” He gave her arm an awkward pat before turning toward the door. A question popped into her mind as she watched him walk away. It seemed ridiculous in light of what was happening all around her, but for some inexplicable reason, she needed to know.
“Mr. Weiss?” she called out before he reached the foyer.
He turned to face her. “Yes?”
Allie took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe she could limit their interactions. “What’s the margin?”
“Pardon me?”
“The difference in stock percentages, between me and . . .” Her voice caught on his name. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What’s the difference in stock percentages between . . .”
Damn it. Why couldn’t she get the words to come out of her mouth?
“Between you and Mr. Chase?”
She nodded.
“One percent.”
The weight of the day crashed down around her and Allie sank to the couch. On top
of everything else, it seemed Hudson Chase was her new business partner.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Though thousands of miles apart, Ann Marie Walker and Amy K. Rogers are in constant contact, plotting story lines and chatting about their love of alpha males, lemon drop martinis, and British supermodel David Gandy. You can find them on twitter as @AnnMarie_Walker and @Amy_KRogers.
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