by S Doyle
I nodded. I turned to John. “Thanks, but I’ve got this covered from here.”
He laughed. “Fuck yeah, you do. Call me if you need me. I can at least be co-counsel.”
I stepped inside the limo, and both Entwhistle and Benfield followed. Comfortably, we sat on the deep leather seats while the driver moved us effortlessly into New York traffic.
“I’ve already notified the prosecutor who has your case to turn over all evidence to your defense team, but I can already see flaws,” Entwhistle said.
“Flaws sounds good,” I said. “Flaws sounds like freedom.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Entwhistle said sternly. “You did take the two thousand dollars. They can clearly follow that trail of money.”
“It was money I earned,” I insisted. “That was in an account in my name. The growth was from my investment strategy. It wasn’t Landen’s money.”
“Not according to the agreement you signed,” Benfield said.
“There was no agreement,” I said. “I was given an account and told to grow it.”
“It was there, trust me,” Benfield said, looking out the window at the passing city. “Somewhere in the paperwork you signed when you were first hired. It wouldn’t have been explained. You might have thought you were enrolling for the health-care benefit, and, the next thing you know, they’ve got you dead to rights. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? If I’m convicted of embezzlement, that’s the end of my career. My fucking life.”
Benfield pressed his fingers together in a triangle. “No, going to prison for ten plus years is the end of your fucking life. This is an obstacle to overcome.”
I didn’t agree, but I’d spent over a week in prison learning to stifle my emotions. Swallow them, suppress them, bury them so deep I was only left with numbness. This was no different. I was still a pawn in this game, only now there was a new king on the chessboard.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked him. “Why do you even care what happens to me?”
“I don’t care what happens to you,” Benfield said bluntly. “I care what happens to Arthur Landen. He’s a cheat and a thief. For a time, he made my life very difficult. I’m in a position now where I can repay that difficulty, and I feel you’re the tool, or shall I say weapon, that can make it happen.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to find the evidence that proves Landen is every bit the crook I say he is.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I asked, exasperated. “It’s not like he’s going to let me in the front door?”
Dean smiled blandly. “Then I suggest you use the back door.”
15
Landen estate
Ashleigh
Tap, tap... Tap.
I glanced up from the book I was trying to read but was mostly just staring at. The soft double tap at my door, followed by a pause and another tap, meant it was George. He didn’t have the key to open the door, but he’d been checking on me regularly.
He’d also been providing me with updates on what was happening with my father, Evan and Marc.
I knew the wedding had been moved up. I was to be re-married in a few weeks. Plans were being made. My father had brought in a dress and told me to put it on to see if it fit. I’d found a pair of scissors in my drawer and had cut it up into tiny pieces, shoving each piece individually under my door.
That had been the last contact I’d had with him.
“What’s happening?”
“Marc’s out on bail,” George said, through the door.
“What? How?” It had been my greatest frustration. Being trapped in this house, not having access to the money that could have freed him. The guilt felt like pressure wrapped around my chest.
But there was also a small part of me that thought maybe it was for the best. Maybe he was safer in a place where Evan and my father couldn’t touch him. It wasn’t permanent. I had to believe it.
These days, my father wasn’t all that clever. His brain being perpetually soaked in booze. I had to hope any phony evidence he’d planted would be easily ripped apart by a decent defense attorney.
My only struggle was how Marc would find that attorney, and I’d spent days searching the internet for a decent one I could afford. Now, it seemed there was another player in the game. A player I didn’t know, and I didn’t like that. Marc and I had George, and that was it. That was the sum total of people we could trust right now.
“He called me from Long Island. He’s staying at a house out there. Some former employee of your father’s who has a grudge against him. He’s helping Marc.
“The enemy of my enemy,” I muttered. But was he a friend?
“He told me to tell you not to be worried. To do whatever your father wants so as not to antagonize him, and that as soon as all this is behind him, he will come for you.”
“He doesn’t know the wedding has been pushed up,” I said, resting my forehead against the door.
There was a pause before George finally said, “No. I didn’t know what to tell him. What you wanted me to tell him. I wanted him to focus on his own problem instead.”
I nodded, even though George couldn’t see me. “That’s probably best. He can’t stop it, and I don’t want him thinking about me when he needs to be thinking about his case.”
I hated to ask it. I hated I was so weak I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“Did he say anything else? Was he mad? Is he angry at me for causing all this?”
Does he hate me now?
“You didn’t cause this. Your father did. Sanderson did. Peanut, tell me what to do. I can get you out of this room if you need me to. Take you some place and hide you.”
“No. It can’t be like that. They’re too powerful. It would be too easy to track our movements, and we don’t know what they’ll try to do to Marc if that happens. It has to…”
It has to be done right.
It’s what I’d concluded after weeks of being trapped in this room. Weeks to think and plan. Weeks to realize how restricted and limited my choices were—if there were, indeed, any choices to be made. Weeks to realize exactly how much of Marc’s future they were holding hostage.
We were connected, and, as long as we were, they could use each of us to hurt the other. George, too, for that matter. He had to act like everyone else was acting, like this was all totally normal. Because that was the only way we were going to beat them at their own game.
“If you speak to Marc, tell him to have faith. In me. I know what I’m doing. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix all of this.”
“I don’t know what that means, Peanut. How are you going to fix this? What are you going to do?”
I swallowed as tears threatened. But then I pushed them back. I needed to be stronger than this. I would be stronger than this if it meant saving Marc.
“I’m going to get married.”
Benfield Estate
Long Island
Marc
“Take the deal.”
I stared at Entwhistle after he’d laid out the evidence in front of me. It was all there. My account at the hedge fund. The withdrawal of two thousand dollars. The purchase of two plane tickets. The hotel bill. All of it.
“I earned that money.”
Benfield, who was sitting on another sofa in his living room, nodded. “You did, and quite impressively. When all of this is behind you, I might consider hiring you myself. I’m less squeamish about people with criminal records.”
Criminal record. I was going to have a criminal record for life.
If I took the deal Entwhistle suggested. He basically confirmed what the prosecution knew, which was the only money they could prove in a court of law I took, was the two thousand dollars. The records of my account showed a twenty-million-dollar deposit and a twenty-million-dollar withdrawal, but the money itself was never substantiated. Where it came from, where it went. Just a stupid line item in the account record.
>
A flimsy frame-up. One that coincided with me legitimately withdrawing two thousand dollars in an effort to save Ash. Which I failed to do. George told me when I talked to him yesterday.
Ash was getting married in two weeks, on Saturday.
“Take the deal, Campbell,” Entwhistle repeated. “We’re talking fifteen months in minimum security, most likely out in twelve with good behavior. I’m not saying it’s a cake walk, but it’s the best deal we’re going to get. It takes the unpredictability of a trial off the table. People hear twenty million dollars, and it doesn’t matter if we explain they can’t prove you took it, people will think you did it anyway.”
I looked at Benfield. “I do this, and that delays me from getting the evidence you want on Landen.”
He nodded once. “It does. But it also gives you plenty of time to come up with a plan on how you’re going to do it. A plan you’ll be motivated to execute as soon as you get out.”
“It’s not just Landen. It’s Sanderson, too,” I pointed out. “I’m bringing them both down.”
And somehow, somehow, I was going to save Ash, in the process.
“That’s fine,” Benfield said, taking a sip of the aged Scotch he’d poured for both of us. “Sanderson is the puppet master. Take him down, you take his puppet with him. He likes to pretend he’s a dangerous and powerful man. But he’s a man with secrets and secrets are always vulnerabilities.”
“What secrets?” I asked. Other than he was a psychopath. I already knew that one.
Benfield shook his head. “Not sure. There’s just talk around town that something is not right about him. However, given his money, his family background, no one looks too closely. It makes sense why he chose Landen’s daughter to marry.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she’s got an air of innocence about her. Purity. He’s using that to try to clean himself up. Will it work? Maybe in the short term.”
I had to force the words out.
“Are you going to the wedding?”
It was purported to be a major New York society event. Everyone who worked in high finance had received invitations. Benfield’s had come yesterday. Ash was getting married again in two weeks.
“To watch a young woman sacrifice herself for love? Of course, I’m going. It’s all very dramatic. You go to jail, she gets married. But how is it going to end?”
I looked back to Entwhistle. “That soon? Jail, I mean. Doesn’t this stuff take months to sort out?”
He shook his head. “Only if we drag it out, and there’s no point in waiting. We tell the prosecutors we’re taking the deal. They’ll schedule the court date, which, in all likelihood, will happen in the next week or two. I’ve already put together the list of prison recommendations. Then we’ll offer to surrender to custody as soon as possible.”
Prison recommendations. I dropped my face into my hands. What the fuck had I done? How had this happened to my life? Captain of the State Championship soccer team, top of my class, Princeton early graduate. Summa Cum Laude.
Now, my lawyer, who I couldn’t afford, was compiling prison recommendations.
Because of Ash. Because Ash had been in trouble and I couldn’t not try to save her.
“Fifteen months,” I said quietly.
“Twelve potentially. If you’re a good little boy,” Benfield reminded me. “It’s nothing, Marc. It’s a blip in your life. You’ll be, what, twenty-three, twenty-four when you get out? Then, assuming you can fulfill your part of our agreement, you’ll have my support when you get out.”
I shook my head. My part of the agreement. What he meant was using Ash to get dirt on her father. Now that she was actually going to marry Sanderson, she would probably be in good shape to get dirt on him, as well. A solid plan, only it meant putting her at risk.
“No doubt you’ll begin to resent that she brought you to this end, then start to hate her. By the time they let you out, you’ll be so happy to have what’s left of your life back, you’ll never think about her again.”
I’d thought a lot about Sanderson’s words. About whether I resented Ash. If I could ever grow to hate her. It didn’t make sense. Hating Ash would be like hating my right hand. She was a part of me. An integral piece of the makeup of who I was.
There were times I railed against her. Times I ignored her. Times I fucked her so hard I thought I would never not be deep inside her pussy.
Now, I was going to prison, and she was going to marry a psychopath. For anyone else, it would have sounded like the end of the story. Only, I knew it wasn’t. This was just another thing we both had to get through.
Like her father shipping her off to Switzerland. Had I known, had I listened harder, I might have kept her there despite the cold. At least there she’d been safe. At least then I wouldn’t have gone to work for her father so he could set me up.
There was no point in replaying the past. Nothing could be changed about the decisions we’d made. The only control we had over our lives was what we did going forward.
She would survive Evan. I would survive prison. And then we would go from there.
“Okay. You win. I’ll take the deal.”
Entwhistle nodded, satisfied. Benfield stood and walked over to slap me on the shoulder.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but this will pass,” he said.
I had no choice but to believe him.
Harborview Country Club
Two weeks later
Ashleigh
I stared in the mirror and thought maybe the reflection wasn’t me. Maybe that was someone else in this ridiculous white dress, with her hair slicked into a tight bun, which made my face look slim and waifish.
This wasn’t the dress I would pick for my wedding. This wasn’t how I would style my hair. The makeup was clownish. The flowers were roses. I didn’t particularly care for roses.
So maybe this wasn’t me.
There was a brief knock on the door before it opened. Evan walked into the dressing area without asking permission. I made a mental note when I moved into his home, I would need to make sure all the rooms had locks I could control. Just in case he decided to surprise me with his presence.
“Excellent,” he said. “You’re ready on time. I despise tardiness. You should know that when you’re expected to attend events with me.”
“Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” I said dully.
He smirked. “I’m not worried about my luck. They’ll be starting the ceremony soon. Your father is on his way to collect you. I just wanted to make sure there would be no surprises.”
“I told you there wouldn’t be.”
Shortly after I knew what I needed to do, I set up a meeting with Evan. The agreement was simple. I played my part docilely, and I earned a modicum of freedom. This included being allowed to visit Marc in prison. Having gotten what he wanted from me—my total obedience and willingness to turn a blind eye to any and all of his activities—Evan had agreed.
“It would be helpful if you didn’t look like you were marching to your death while walking down the aisle.”
Except that was exactly what I was doing. I was headed toward my inevitable death. I knew it, even if he didn’t.
“I’ll smile,” I assured him.
He looked like he wanted to say more, threaten more, but really, there was no point. He was getting the wife he wanted. Marc was in jail, or at least would be in a few hours. He was surrendering himself today at Fort Dix. The timing wasn’t lost on either of us.
George and his attorney were with him. I’d written him a letter that George would give to him. The thought of it, of him reading it in jail, broke my heart.
Tomorrow, George was resigning his position. Arthur would be furious, no doubt, but George would make it clear he’d only stuck around as long as he had, so he could watch over me.
If I wasn’t on the estate, there was no point for him to be. He planned to rent an apartment for the next year
so he could stay close to Marc. Then, once Marc was free, George would retire to North Carolina. He’d said I could leave Evan and join him there, which was sweet, but not nearly thorough enough.
No, leaving Evan had to be final.
Another knock on the door, and, this time, Arthur popped his head in. “They’re ready for you, Evan.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes, my dear. Remember, smile.”
I flashed my fakest smile and it seemed to appease him. He left, then it was just me and Arthur. From a few feet away, I could already smell the booze on him. I wondered vaguely if I was the reason he’d started drinking. If some semblance of guilt had driven him to it. It didn’t matter.
“You look lovely—”
“Stop,” I ordered him. “This isn’t a happy day. You are not my father. You’re the man selling me into slavery with that horrible person. There’s no point in small talk. Are we understood?”
He grimaced, but said nothing. I picked up my bouquet, forced my arm through his, and said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’ll never want for anything. Evan’s money, it’s endless.”
I turned my head toward the man who used to say that everything he did was for my protection.
“I want you to know the only good thing about this day is I’ll never have to see you again. So, when you see pictures of me smiling, know I was thinking about that.”
Then I bent over and spat on his shoes.
Another grimace, but he didn’t say a word after that. Not when he handed me over to Evan. Not when we had the traditional father-daughter dance at the reception. Not when Evan drove us away to his home in Harborview after the guests had started to depart.
I went to the bedroom Evan had declared was mine. As he’d told me previously, he had no interest in me sexually, so I wasn’t concerned about him trying to follow me. Still, I locked the door and laid on the bed looking up at the ceiling, wondering if Marc felt exactly like I did in that moment.
