Champagne Brunch: The Stiletto Sisters Series

by Ainsley St Claire

  I nod. “Me too.”

  He leads me down to a waiting room. “Marci’s going to tell you this, but today is only a formality. The case will start in early January in Portland. You will most likely be one of the first witnesses about six months from now.”

  Walker holds the door open, and Marci cuts him a nasty look. For a half-second, I imagine that their sex life must be explosive. They grew up together and got married earlier last year. He has his eye on political office and even made arrangements for our poker group to meet at the White House to play.

  “I hope you’re not talking to my client without me present,” she says as she urges me into the utilitarian, government conference room.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve had many conversations with Mia over the years without your presence, dear wife.”

  “Here, you can address me as Ms. Peterson. I’m Ms. Couture’s counsel, and I suggest you remember that.”

  Yep, explosive.

  I look at Walker, and the corner of his mouth curls. He holds his hands up. “We’re all on the same side on this,” he gently reminds her.

  She narrows her eyes. Not much gets past her.

  He looks at his watch. “Let’s meet in forty-five minutes in the main conference room.”

  “Fine. We’ll expect our escort no sooner than forty-four minutes from now.”

  Walker smirks. “See you then, sweetheart.”

  Marci rolls her eyes. “Sometimes the man can’t help but piss me off. I swear he likes it.”

  I have a feeling they both like it.

  Jim joins me in the room, but Peter and Jennifer remain outside to make sure no one interrupts us.

  Marci points me to a seat. Jim pops what looks like a garage door opener on the table and smiles at me.

  “We’re free to talk,” Marci says. “What did Walker say to you?”

  “Just that the case will be moved to Portland and to expect that I’ll be an early witness.”

  “Nothing else?” she presses.

  I look at Jim, and he shakes his head.

  “No, nothing else. Do you know why all the press is outside?”

  “Slow news day.” Marci sighs. “This is going to get crazy for a while.”

  “I understand.” I look out through the metal blinds toward the gray buildings of downtown. “Cecelia was pretty amazing, and people want to know who her friends were and who knew her killer. It’s all gossip.”

  “Exactly.” Marci smiles.

  We spend the next forty minutes reviewing what we went through yesterday, and then there’s a knock at the door.

  Peter sticks his head in. “Mr. Clifton is here to walk you down to the deposition.”

  Marci rolls her eyes. If this didn’t seem like such a precarious event, I might find the way Walker is poking at her entertaining, but given that she’s my attorney and his office has requested this interview, I’m nervous.

  Walker walks next to me as he leads me to our meeting room. “We’re going to Jackson’s wedding at the end of next week. Do you need a ride?”

  I shrug. “I might. It depends on how my new app is doing.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Marci interrupts.

  They both were at the launch, and I would think my friend Walker would be the one asking. But I know Marci wants to remind me this is a formal conversation.

  “Let us know if you want a ride,” Walker continues. “I hear your new boyfriend has the line on Jeremy Hamilton.”

  “Not much gets by you, does it?” I say, dripping in sarcasm.

  Walker opens the door, and I’m faced with eight attorneys. My heart races, and I try to not show any emotion.

  “This is Abram Frieman, the US Attorney for Oregon,” Walker says.

  I reach my hand out and nod.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Couture. Let me introduce you to my team.” He introduces six men and one woman, and I won’t remember any of their names. They all look alike—dark suits, white shirts. The men wear dark ties; the woman doesn’t.

  Walker takes a seat next to the US Attorney of Nevada on the attorneys’ side of the table, while I sit in the middle of the other side, flanked by my legal team. A dark-haired young woman enters the room with her stenograph machine, and we make official introductions for the record.

  “Ms. Couture, please tell us how you knew Cecelia Lancaster,” Mr. Frieman says.

  I smile. That’s a softball question, but one I’m happy to answer. “I was first introduced to Cecelia while in Las Vegas for a party given by Sullivan Healy Newhouse.”

  He cocks his head and studies me. “A party? Who was at the party?”

  My eyes go wide. “Probably two thousand people, give or take. I can’t be sure. I wasn’t taking the RSVPs.”

  He smiles, and it turns my stomach. This is going to be painful.

  “Was this one of the poker tournaments you play in?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “The first time Nate pulled together a group of us to play poker was, I believe, two years later.”

  He studies a blank notepad. “And is that where you met Viviana Prentis?”

  “No, we knew each other before playing together.” We’d spent a lot of time together by then.

  “Why were you two the only two women playing in this tournament?”

  How would I know? That’s a question for Nate and Mason. Today is going to be a long day if I let him get to me. I force a smile and push on. “I believe several women were asked, but only Viviana and I were interested.”

  “What was the buy-in?” he asks.

  “Each time we played, we each donated at least five hundred thousand dollars to various charities chosen by the winner.”

  He writes something on his pad that I can’t make out and then studies me again. “Was that ever difficult to come up with?”

  I’m not sure what he’s asking. “The money?”

  “Yes. Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  I smile. So naïve. “No, it wasn’t hard to come up with.”

  He nods and writes something else down. “When did Cecelia Lancaster ask to meet with you the first time?” he asks.

  “She contacted me after the first time the group played poker, and we made plans to meet for lunch.”

  He looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I’ve answered his question. “And the reason Cecelia Lancaster wanted to meet with you?” he finally adds.

  “She was starting a foundation.”

  He looks at me expectantly waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he asks, “Why would that matter to you?”

  “It was a good cause.”

  “Did you donate?”

  I take a deep breath and look at Marci. She nods for me to continue. “I pledged to donate anything I earned that exceeded ten billion dollars.”

  He looks up from his notes. “And how much is that?”

  “The first year it was just over seven billion, and each year since I’ve donated close to five billion.”

  He pales. “That’s a lot of money.”

  I look down at my hands and chuckle. “Sometimes people are lucky, and I’ve been very lucky.”

  “I’d say. So how much have you donated to the foundation in total?”

  “I believe at last count it was approaching twenty-five billion dollars.”

  A sharp breath whistles through his teeth. “How did you get your money?”

  “The old-fashioned way. I earned it.”

  “Did you have any help?”

  I try very hard not to be insulted by this question. Would he ask this of Jackson Graham? What about Nate? They’re both self-made billionaires. Most people who know my dad assume that he helped me. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I did it all on my own.

  “I had venture capital investment from SHN.”

  “All of your assets come from your company?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Nothing from your parents.�
�

  “Will you be asking Nate Lancaster those questions, or are you asking them because I’m a woman?” I fire back.

  His head snaps up to look at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never heard of you or Diamond Analytics.”

  “Then I suggest you do better research, Abram,” Marci admonishes.

  Reaching for the coffee carafe, he pours himself a cup and offers one to me. I shake my head. “You met Viviana Prentis at an SHN party, is that correct?”

  “Yes.” I sit back and cross my legs at the ankles.

  “What can you tell me about the event?”

  “Each year they have a large event for their staff and the employees of all their investments. They were having a carnival down on the peninsula, and Mason Sullivan and Dillon Healy introduced us. They were a new venture capital fund, and they’d just invested in both of our startups. We hung out together some, but they also introduced me to Claire and Landon Walsh, Ryder Brady, and Jackson Graham that same day.”

  “But you and Viviana hit it off.”

  “I suppose. We agreed to meet for drinks and invited Claire Walsh and Toni, er, Antoinette Lo to join us.”

  “Did you know of any ties between Viviana and the Russian government?”

  “Never.”

  “When did you and Viviana become close?”

  “It happened gradually. We all became close, and then Viviana and I started playing in Nate’s poker tournaments.”

  They spend the next two hours grilling me. They ask about Nate, Mason, and others, and then out of nowhere, they circle back and ask a question about Viviana. Often they’re asking the same question over and over, but each time in a different way.

  Finally, we break for lunch. Marci has our meal delivered because the press is outside, so we eat our salads at the conference room table. I don’t think Peter and Jim are that excited about the food, and I can’t blame them.

  After our lunch break, the attorneys ask me another four hours of questions.

  Toward the end, I’m tired and becoming annoyed.

  Finally, Marci interrupts. “That was your last question. You haven’t asked anything new in the previous two hours, and Ms. Couture has not wavered in her answers.”

  Marci stands, as does her team, and I join them.

  “Thank you for coming today, Ms. Couture. We expect that today’s conversation remains within these walls.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “Please let my office know if you have further questions,” Marci tells them. “I assume you’ll be subpoenaing my client for the trial of Ms. Prentis.”

  “That is our plan right now.”

  We walk out of the room and ride down in the elevator. We stand in the lobby, just inside the doors, waiting for Bash to arrive with the car.

  “You did fantastic today,” Marci says. “I’m really happy, and you should be, too.”

  “They didn’t go much into any breaches at Diamond Analytics.”

  She looks over at Jim. “That was surprising. Also, once the government releases its witness list, you may be called for an interview by Viviana’s attorney, Tatyana Turgeneva. If you’re subpoenaed, please call me immediately, and I’ll do the same.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  We get in the car, and I want to crawl into bed as soon as I get home. I plan on sleeping until the Prospectors are back in town for their game on Thursday night.

  Bash turns news radio on for Jim, and after a moment I realize the reporters are talking about my deposition. My breath catches. I haven’t told anyone what was said—I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone. “You know I didn’t say anything,” I tell Jim in the front seat.

  He nods. “I’m positive no one from Marci’s firm did either.”

  In short order, he gets on the phone with Marci. They agree I can still go home, and she plans to register a complaint that confidential testimony has been shared.

  “I’m going to put someone in your living room tonight,” Jim informs me. “I’m sorry.”

  “I get it.”

  When we arrive at my house, the police have cordoned off my street. Bash rolls his window down and explains who he is. I’m asked for my driver’s license, and we’re told that the police are at my house and in the alley behind.

  The police hold off the crowd, and Jennifer and Peter follow me into my home. They shut all windows and secure the perimeter while I walk upstairs and climb into the tub. I soak for several minutes while my phone rings off the hook. It’s a new number that I got after Viviana was arrested. I can see the callers are my friends, but I don’t have the energy to talk to them. Once the ringing stops, the text messages begin to chime.

  I send a group message to my friends—including Axel—so they won’t worry about me.

  Me: I’m fine but exhausted. It was grueling and I’m not allowed to discuss any of it, but suffice to say what’s been reported was an accurate account of my day. The press is all over the house, but I’m here with two people from Clear. I’m safe and I’m going to bed for the next 36 hours. I love you all. XOXO

  I immediately turn my phone off, pull myself out of the tub, and walk into my room. I put on a Yale T-shirt and a pair of cotton boy shorts and crawl into bed. I fall immediately into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Axel

  Waking up with my morning wood on Thursday, my thoughts immediately go to Mia. We’ve traded a few texts over the last couple of days, but I currently wish she’d spent last night here. She’s had some long days at work, and I know she’s exhausted by the situation with her friend. I would have gone to her place, but I’ve stayed at mine to be with Jeremy, and I keep meaning to look into the reporting she mentioned, but today is his fastball debut at home, and we’ve avoided watching the news. He’s required more of my attention than usual, but I know he’s nervous and a little out of sorts since he’s stuck at my place.

  My phone rings and I hear “Urgent” playing. It’s the middle of the night in Australia. This isn’t a morning call I’m going to like.

  “Hey, baby sister. What’s up?” I’m more alert than I want to be.

  There’s noise in the background. “I’m at the police station here in Cairns,” Alana says, her voice ragged.” I need help.”

  Cairns is on the Great Barrier Reef and has incredible waves for surfing, but I can’t figure out why she’d be that far north. The tour is long past Australia.

  I sit up in bed. Alana’s been crying, and I can’t help but wish Australia wasn’t half the globe away. “What do you need?”

  “I need to borrow money to pay for some damage Marco did so I’m not arrested and the kids put into foster care. And I need plane tickets for me and the boys to come back to California.”

  “Of course. Where do I send the money for the damage?”

  “If you can transfer it to my bank account in the US, I can move it over. The boys and I can be ready to leave as soon as you can book tickets.”

  “You don’t want a ticket for Marco?”

  “No. I’m already paying for the damage he did last night. He can figure out how to get home or what he wants to do, but I want nothing to do with him right now.”

  I’ve walked over to my home office and stand at my computer, looking at the Qantas website. “What time is it now?”

  “It’s almost two a.m.,” she whispers into the phone.

  “Okay, there’s a flight out of Cairns just before seven your time to Sydney, and there are five seats on the two p.m. flight out of Sydney, which arrives here in San Francisco at eight a.m.—about twenty hours from now. Can you manage that? I can delay a day or two or whatever you want.”

  I close my eyes. I want her home, and I feel like if she waits, she’ll find a way to get out of it.

  Alana is quiet a minute. The tickets are ten grand apiece, but if she wants to bolt, I don’t care what it takes to get her and the boys here.

  “These are nonrefundable tickets, Lan,” I add after a moment. “I would love to se
e you. Tell me what you want and need.”

  “I want to come home.” She breaks down in tears.

  A new voice comes over the phone. “Hello? This is Officer Fields.”

  “Hello, this is Axel Remington, Alana’s brother. I’m sending her money for the damage, and I want to fly her and the boys home on a flight that leaves Cairns just before seven . Is that possible?”

  “I’d say so, mate. I’ll help her get there.” The background becomes quiet. “Your brother-in-law went on quite the bender. Your sister is in pretty bad shape.”

  “I have five first-class tickets for her and her boys. If they don’t have any suitcases, we’ll get them things here.”

  “We’ve got some time. I’ll make sure she has her things. Her husband will be remaining in custody for a while.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Marco has been part of my life for a long time, but I’ve been unhappy with him and his substance issues for a while. “I want him out of her life. I’m sending money so she can pay for the repairs, but if he did the damage on his own, I’d like him to figure out how to pay it back.”

  “Right. What time’s the flight again?” the officer asks.

  “It’s a Qantas flight leaving at six fifty-five and landing in Sydney at ten-oh-five. She has a four-hour layover before her next flight takes off for San Francisco. I’ll be here to meet her.”

  “I’ll make sure someone meets her plane in Sydney and helps her transfer to her next flight,” the officer confirms.

  A wave of relief flows through me. I click to buy the tickets without a second thought. It’s time to get my baby sister home. “Can I talk to Alana again?”

  “She’s right here.”

  “Hi.” There’s no emotion in her voice, and I can tell she’s barely hanging on.

  “I know you’re tired. I booked you five tickets. I’ll be waiting for you outside customs once you land here. The police officer is going to help you get your things. How much money do you want me to transfer? Is ten grand enough?”

  “I hope so,” she breathes into the phone.

  “Let me know if you need more.” I move money from my savings into her account. I know I’ll never see it again, but I would do anything for her and her boys.