Digging a Hole

  “So what do you want?” I mutter. “Because I’d love to know.”

  “What any man wants: To enjoy the fruits of his labor. To have a legacy.”

  “So that means…?”

  His eyes shift from side to side, checking to see who’s listening. He must be bonkers because there’s no such thing as privacy when you’re in jail.

  But those guards aren’t the ones he should be worried about. That person is sitting right here in front of him, and she’s finally figured out that being underestimated is her weapon.

  “It means,” he winks, “that I am always ten steps ahead. Don’t you ever doubt it, Georgie. Daddy knows what he’s doing.”

  I lean away from the glass, wondering if this is all some scam. Of course. The insanity plea could only work if he did something truly insane. Like kidnapping your own family and starting a naked yoga cult. He’s likely going to avoid any real jail time for kidnapping us, and the FBI hasn’t bothered him with any of this pharmaceutical bullshit. Why would they when he’s already locked up and only going to plead insanity? For the moment, they have bigger fish to fry.

  “This was your plan all along,” I conclude.

  He shrugs. “Maybe I knew something you didn’t. Maybe I did what was needed to ensure I live to fight another day and keep my empire intact with the right people by my side.”

  He knew. He knew the FBI was onto him and PVP. I can’t help jumping to the absolute darkest thought possible. He took us away and left Henry behind to be in charge. Henry, the son he couldn’t tame or control.

  “You set up Henry to take the blame, didn’t you?”

  My father flashes a sinister smile that touches his eyes, and I’m suddenly ashamed of every one of my body parts that looks like him, right down to my green irises. He seems all too happy that Henry is taking the fall, which only confirms my suspicions: my dad has no soul. He loves no one but himself. Which is why Henry never wanted anything to do with him or the company. He just wanted to play football, which my father was staunchly opposed to. I’m guessing Henry’s rejection of the whole Chester Empire made Henry disposable. And the ideal scapegoat for my father’s actions.

  The rage starts to bubble over. Henry is the nicest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. Elle is the sort of woman—strong, compassionate, and intelligent—that people like me look up to. But to a greedy pig like my father, they’re fodder for his greed machine.

  I clear my throat, finding myself and my voice. “Well, Dad, I have some very bad news for you. We’ve decided to sell it all off. Every oil field, every production plant, every company. Mom, Michelle, Claire, and I have decided that we don’t want anything to do with Walton Holdings. Or you. So whatever plan you had is over.”

  He narrows his green eyes. “You’re not so good at bluffing, Georgie. I can see right through you.”

  “You think I’m bluffing? I’m not. Because the moment I walk out of here, I’m going straight to the press. I’ll go to any network who’ll hear me that my father almost killed his own family just to convince a judge that he’s insane because the FBI found out he was selling lifesaving drugs to the highest bidders on the black market. And instead of taking the blame, he set up his own son to take the fall. Hell, maybe my dad even worked out a deal with Craigson to testify against Henry in exchange for a tidy sum. Because we all know the money on PVP’s books was just the tip of the iceberg. There has to be billions more because it’s the only way so many executives would do something so heinous to dying people—mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons. And when that gets out, which I will ensure it does, there isn’t a soul on this planet who will believe you’re insane, because it’s just too damned evil and complicated.” I slap my hand on the counter. “So I’ll ask you once, Dad. Where are all of the PVP formulations kept?”

  He bobs his head approvingly. “I’m proud, Georgie. You’ve finally grown some balls. Maybe you’ll amount to something someday.”

  I can’t believe this man is my father.

  “So,” he continues, “what do I get if I tell you?”

  “What do you want?” Besides a painless death when I’m done with you, which you won’t get. Prison cafeteria shit-on-a-shingle and E. coli-covered romaine are the best he can hope for if I have any input. I might even throw in Mitsy.

  “You need to testify at my hearing and do what my lawyers say. Down to the letter.”

  Ohellno. I’ll tell the truth. I’ll tell the world about Sam’s wife and his now motherless daughter. I’ll tell everyone about the crazy BS my father did to cover his ass. I don’t care if I’m digging my own grave because I’m a Walton, too, and our wagons are hitched by name and blood. This can’t go on.

  “So,” I say with a timid voice I’m actually faking this time, “you want me to convince a judge you’re crazy.”

  “Whatever my lawyers tell you to do.”

  “And the holdings company?” Dig that hole, Dad. Come on.

  “Once you all sign a contract relinquishing your rights to sell Walton Holdings, then I will give you what you need for your humanitarian, bleeding-heart bullshit.”

  “We can’t wait that long, Dad. And I don’t think I can convince Michelle and Claire to agree to your deal unless you prove we can trust you. You almost killed us, and the pilot died. Then you held us prisoner and threatened to marry us off to some naked beach bums.” Of course, I mean “bum” in the butt sense.

  “No one died, Georgie,” my father says dismissively with a flick of his wrist. “The pilot was rescued hours before we were, and the cult members were just well-paid actors. I would never allow such inbred scum to touch a Walton.”

  I look up and my mouth falls open. “Wow. You are worse than a raging case of herpes. That has crabs and tapeworms as best friends.”

  “Very descriptive, Georgie, but do we have a deal?”

  “Where’s the PVP stuff kept?” It can’t be somewhere too crazy because the VP of manufacturing has to have access to everything on a fairly regular basis.

  “The server for Algae-Tech.”

  Of course. No one would think to look for it at another unrelated company.

  “Thanks, Dad. You’ve taken the first step to saving your soul. Sadly, I can’t help you with the rest of your pathetic, shitty, shallow life. But I’ll always love you. Not because you deserve it, but because I’m a damned good person who prefers that over hating you.”

  I stand and pull my earpiece and mic from behind my ear, which I had covered up with my long hair and threaded under my shirt. I tuck the wire into my pocket, where my cell phone has been recording every word. Like I said, always being underestimated can sometimes work to one’s advantage, and today, it saved my family.

  “You fucking little bitch,” he growls.

  “Goodbye, Dad.” I turn and leave, hearing the sounds of him attacking the glass and guards yelling.

  I could say I feel vindicated in some small way, but there’s nothing but pain in my heart. I had hoped to hear a denial or rational explanation for this fucked-up, callous crap. Instead he exceeded my worst suspicions. Not only had he orchestrated the plane crash, but he constricted the supply of a drug that could help a lot of people.

  He’s a monster. I slide into the black sedan waiting in the prison parking lot with Palmer.

  “You get what you need, Miss Walton?”

  I nod. “Sadly, yes.” Though, I’ll wait for the right time to hand over the recording. I have a feeling my family will need the leverage.

  “Sometimes we have to make choices.” He pats my hand. “And we’ve got to take comfort in the fact we’ve done our best.”

  I’ve never heard truer words. “You’re right. And now I have work to do, starting with you telling me how to make sure my father goes to a real prison for a long time along with the PVP executives who helped him.”

  Palmer’s phone rings. “Hello?” He listens intently and nods his head. “Excellent news. I’ll let her know.” He ends the call and looks at me. “The FBI wants
to make a deal.”

  “Good. Because so do I.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Though I am dreading seeing Sam again, I’m also eager to get this over with, so the two days it takes for Palmer to set up the meeting with the FBI is torture.

  Elle has been let out on bail, but Henry was considered a flight risk due to his potential access to cash.

  Ridiculous that he’d leave the country. He would never abandon us. Sadly, he’s Chester Walton’s son, so people automatically assume the worst.

  The good news is that today might be the turning point if it goes right. Elle and I have agreed to an interview that could result in a favorable plea bargain or charges being dropped. I’m hoping for the latter because I’ve done nothing wrong, though Palmer says I’m leverage against Henry. If we don’t reach a deal today, then they’ll likely pressure Henry to take the blame in exchange for me and Elle going free.

  I’m not having it.

  The other news is that we found the PVP formulas, and the wheels are in motion as we speak to get production moving. Elle’s made sure, as have the lawyers, that the people put in charge will run product until all demand has been met. Our salespeople will charge the minimum price possible starting immediately. Still, those are just Band-Aids. Word has gotten out about the scandal, and the public is in an uproar. My family is officially one of the most hated in the world. “Cancer patient killers,” “The demons of death,” “America’s biggest billionaire buttheads.” That last one came from this morning’s tabloid.

  We walk into a large conference room situated downtown at the bureau’s satellite office. Both in suits and blouses, Elle and I sit together. Our five meanest-looking lawyers on the planet, including Palmer, sit on either side of us. With this much legal action flanking me, I feel like a big-time criminal. Or a butthead. Either-or.

  As we wait, my blood pressure spikes, and I can’t help squirming in the hard plastic chair. I’m moments away from seeing the man who’s broken my heart, systematically lied to me, and who slept with me while stabbing me in the back. I’ve never met a crueler person, besides my father, but at least good old Dad never hid what he was. Sam went out of his way to make me trust him.

  Did he, though? Sam repeatedly said he was an asshole. Then I repeatedly ignored him. Honestly, I have no one to blame but Georgie Walton. I dug myself into this hole. And now I’m going to dig myself out.

  The door opens and in walk two gentlemen in white shirts and blue ties, whom I’ve never seen before. No Sam?

  The men sit, Palmer greets them, and I instantly get the feeling this isn’t going to go well. Elle senses it too because she reaches under the table for my hand and holds it.

  “Thank you for coming,” says the shorter man, with dark hair and glasses, sitting on the right. “I’m Agent Wilson. This is Agent Peekles.”

  Peekles? I snicker. I can’t help it. “Sorry. Nerves.”

  Wilson frowns and continues, “As you’re aware, very serious charges have been brought against your clients, Mr. Palmer.”

  I guess you could say we’re in a…peekle? I try not to laugh. The stress is definitely getting to me, but at least I’m not turning green. Just a case of the giggles. I mean peekles.

  He continues, “Our purpose here today is to interview your clients and determine if a plea can be reached. Of course, we’re only willing to offer one if we’re convinced that they can be of use in convicting Chester Walton, Henry Walton, and the eight Palo Verde Pharmaceuticals executives, all under indictment for the illegal sale of regulated substances, violating ten antitrust—”

  “Excuse me,” I say, “but where’s Agent McDaniel?”

  Wilson and Peekles—oh, God. How is that his name?—exchange glances, but Wilson speaks up. “Agent McDaniel resigned. He is no longer with the bureau.”

  He quit? “Since when?”

  Wilson’s beady brown eyes flicker. “We are not at liberty to discuss that, nor are we here to do so. This meeting is to determine—”

  “Yeah,” I cut in, no longer laughing, “but this was Sam’s investigation. It was important to him.” For Sam to dump his job when he was so close to vindication doesn’t make sense. I mean, this man went undercover for six months. He literally wore the “meanest boss in the world hat” as a cover.

  My heart quickly wants to believe he left because of me and that he had nothing to do with our arrests, but my mind kicks me in the backside and reminds me how trusting him in the past hasn’t turned out so awesome.

  “Like I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss Sam McDaniel,” Wilson says.

  My mind reels with speculation. Sam said he thought Elle and Henry were innocent. He certainly didn’t believe I had anything to do with this PVP mess. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have touched me. Not when his wife died because of all this. Yet he slept with me. And then I was arrested, but they never found a thing, did they? And maybe they got into Henry’s safe. Maybe they didn’t. But Henry said there wasn’t anything in there.

  I’m guessing they’ve got nothing because there is nothing. They can only go after Henry and Elle because they were in charge, but that’s not really evidence of wrongdoing. And now their only hope is to back Elle or me into a corner and get a plea with our agreement to help convict my brother, Dad, and the PVP executives. Well, I’m all for punishing the real culprits, but not at the expense of falsely accusing Henry. Or by admitting to a crime I didn’t commit.

  “I’m sorry.” I stand up. “This was a mistake.”

  “Miss Walton, where are you going?” Palmer asks, his hard blue eyes warning me not to do anything rash.

  “These gentlemen are wasting our time.” I look at the faces across the table. “You don’t have anything on Henry, Elle, or me because we haven’t done anything. In fact, I think that’s why Sam quit. When you came up empty-handed, you insisted on arresting us based on an assumption, but now the clock is ticking and you’re going to have to drop all the charges unless we give you something. Well, we won’t.”

  The two men don’t blink.

  “Miss Walton,” says Palmer, “as your attorney, I strongly recommend you cease talking and we reconvene—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I crinkle my nose, “because I’m guessing if I call Sam right now, he’ll tell me I’m right. Isn’t that so, gentlemen?”

  They say nothing, but their snarling faces are a dead giveaway. I’m right.

  “See. You all know we had nothing to do with what those pigs were up to. But I can tell you this: we are willing to help, but not at the price you’re offering. So if you want Chester Walton, I can give him to you. I can testify about what he told me when I went to see him the other day—the fake insanity, the plan to have Henry take the blame. I may even have made a recording you can use. But you’ll get nothing from me unless you drop all the charges against the three of us.” I smile. “This witch hunt is over.”

  I turn and walk out. Elle catches up to me quickly. “Jesus, Georgie. What was that?”

  “I’m right. I know I am.”

  “I sure hope so because this is our lives we’re talking about.”

  Sam would never quit when he was so close unless he had a reason. All he wanted was justice for his poor wife. He didn’t want to hurt me or put me in jail. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my entire life.”

  “Who are you?” Elle says with a smile. “And where have you put our little Georgie?”

  I push the elevator call button. “She grew up.”

  As I’m on my way to Sam’s house, my cell phone starts buzzing and ringing off the hook. I hit the button on my steering wheel, praying that I didn’t make a mistake back there. “Hello?”

  “Henry is out!” Elle tells me. “Charges against the three of us have been dropped. And I just spoke to Palmer; he told me they’ll be setting up another meeting with the FBI to interview you and Henry. To support their case against your dad, of course.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Well, they’re not
getting squat until they issue a statement clearing all our names.”

  “Good thinking,” Elle says. “Hey, you really should get your law degree. You were a pistol today, Georgie.”

  I kinda was, wasn’t I? Oddly, it was almost the same feeling I had when I first stood up to Sam. “Injustice and assholes seem to be the magic antidote for my shyness.”

  “Where are you now?” she asks.

  “I have something to take care of.”

  “Is it removing the stain from my comforter?” she asks.

  I wince. “I’m so sorry about that. Please just burn it, and I’ll buy you a new one.”

  She laughs. “It’s no big deal, but I think Henry will want to burn the bed. He’ll never be able to achieve an erection in it again.”

  “Elle! TMI! He’s my brother, remember?”

  “Oops. Sorry. I keep forgetting that you’re not just a friend, but my sister-in-law, too.”

  My eyes tear up. Her friend? I admire Elle so much, and the fact she thinks of me like that is humbling.

  “Georgie?” she says.

  “Yep?” I sniffle.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Nope.” I sob.

  “Oh, honey. What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Nothing. I’m just—I just really love you guys, that’s all. And I’m so happy we’re all a family.”

  “Awww…me too, Georgie. And lucky us, our family will be all together when the baby’s due in December.”

  Baby. I can’t wait to see it, hold it, love it. I never knew I was a baby person, but I’m beyond excited.

  My mind drifts to Sam and Joy. “Do you think there’s room for more?”

  “Ohmygod,” Elle says. “Are you pregnant, too?”

  “No. I’m—I’ve found the man I want to be with.”

  “Oh, I’m so happy for you, Georgie.”

  “Thank you.” All I have to do now is make sure he wants to be with me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  As I knock on Sam’s front door, a million things are running through my mind. Never in a gazillion years would I have imagined that I’d be the one pursuing this man, a man who once terrified me. Now the only thing that terrifies me is not having him in my life.