Nox reached for my arms, gently holding me by my shoulders. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“Have you always told me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“All of the truth?”
His neck straightened as his chin jettisoned outward. “I told you from the beginning that I’d never lie to you. I also told you that I’d share things when I was ready.”
“When you were ready?” My volume increased with each word. “This wasn’t about you. This wasn’t about your past or your secrets. I’ve remained content to take what you’ve given me, even though I’ve shared more with you. Lennox, this was about my best friend. I was worried about her and you knew that she was in Savannah being me?”
His features scrunched in obvious confusion. “Being you?”
“HAMILTON AND PORTER, Natalie speaking. How may I help you?”
My hand trembled uncontrollably as I held tightly to the phone. “Natalie, this is Mrs. Fitzgerald.” I took a deep breath. “I want to speak to Stephen.”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald, it’s nice to hear from you.”
I closed my eyes in frustration; chatting wasn’t my intention. I needed to talk to Stephen. The last time we spoke he was checking on Montague Corporation assets. It had occurred to me that after all of this time, I had no idea how much money everything was worth.
If the codicil were about to go into effect, what would it mean? What was I willing to fight for?
“Natalie, I’m not feeling well. Stephen, please?”
“Ma’am, Stephen is no longer with Hamilton and Porter. Perhaps Mr. Porter can help you?”
“What?” I asked in confusion. “We had a meeting scheduled.”
“Ma’am, he left rather suddenly. Mr. Porter would be happy to meet with you.”
I fell back against the plush sofa in my suite. I was still wearing my dressing gown and it was after noon. Ever since the horrible migraine that I’d had nearly a month ago, everything seemed off. My appetite was nonexistent and my sleep patterns were shot to hell.
Even wine had lost its appeal. The only thing keeping me going was hoping that soon I’d figure out a way to make my father’s codicil go into effect. It was the first thing I thought about when I woke and the last before I went to sleep.
Alton claimed that my behavior was so unusual that he didn’t want to leave me home alone. He told me to travel with him. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I was any help. Most of the time I didn’t attend his dinners with investors or clients. The new medication Dr. Beck had given me to prevent the migraines had me too out of sorts.
Today was the first time in months that he’d left town without me. He would only be gone for the day, but I’d hoped to meet briefly with Stephen.
Though I hadn’t been happy about the Chelsea thing, Alton said it had helped in weakening the prosecutor’s case against Bryce. The last conversation I’d overheard was that Montague Manor was going to settle the civil lawsuit with Melissa’s parents. According to the attorneys at Montague, it was the respectful thing to do, in light of her disappearance.
From what I’d observed, Chelsea was getting better at fitting in with Bryce’s friends. There was something almost familiar about the way she now dressed and spoke. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she was worlds away from the young lady I’d met during Alexandria’s first year of college.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Natalie,” I said, concentrating on the phone call. “I’m just… disappointed. Do you have a number where I can reach Stephen? He was such a great help to me.”
“No, ma’am,” Natalie said. “Mr. Porter is available this afternoon at two-thirty. Will that work for you?”
I sighed once again. That would mean not only getting dressed, but also showering. “Yes, tell Ralph that I believe I can make it.”
“Wonderful. Mr. Porter will see you then.”
I disconnected the call and stood, bracing myself on the arm of the sofa.
Dr. Beck had run a few tests, one he called a metals test. The results took months, not days. I didn’t care what he did, as long as he figured out what was happening. I hadn’t had another excruciating migraine since the one he’d witnessed, but I knew things weren’t right.
I dialed Jane’s number, and like the reliable person she was, she answered on the first ring.
An hour later, with her help, I was presentable and walking out the door.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Jane said. “Brantley’s with Mr. Fitzgerald. Are you sure you can drive yourself?” Her big dark eyes begged me to say no.
“Nonsense. I’ve been driving myself around for years. I can do it today.”
“Ma’am, I need to go to town. I can drive you. My errand won’t be long.”
I shook my head. The shower had helped me feel better. “I’m not a child. Just because Mr. Fitzgerald likes to be driven doesn’t mean that I do.”
She nodded. “Yes. Could you call me…?”
“I’ll be home before dinner. Don’t you worry. Is the car out front?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I couldn’t understand what had happened to Stephen and why he’d left his internship so abruptly. By the time I reached Hamilton and Porter, my hands were back to trembling. The ostentatious office, established largely through the exorbitant billings of corporations and families like the Montagues and Fitzgeralds, was regally positioned in a historic district in downtown Savannah. It made for a beautifully constructed building with ornate craftsmanship but one terrible for parking. As I’d searched and searched for a space along the street, my nerves stretched beyond their already frayed state.
The autumn sun shone with new intensity, keeping the Georgia temperature pleasant while continuing its assault on my eyes.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Natalie greeted as I entered the main lobby and she looked up at the opening of the glass front door. “Are you all right?” she added with obvious concern as she rushed around her large reception desk toward me.
I steadied myself on a nearby chair my fingers sinking into the fabric. I stood taller, feigning the strength I wanted to possess as the room around me tilted. The polished oak floor was a fast-moving river, flowing beneath my precarious footing. I pulled my hand back. The furnishings were liquid and the walls alive. Rationally, I knew that wasn’t true, but their movement both fascinated and terrified me as I took off my sunglasses and blinked away the illusion.
Only seconds later, the wild carousel I’d been riding slowed, the music softening as Natalie’s words finally held meaning. “Yes, Natalie. I’m fine. Is Ralph ready to see me?”
I took another step, cautious to avoid the raging torrents.
“Yes, may I help you?”
I narrowed my gaze. “Help me? I’m perfectly capable of walking to Ralph’s office.”
“Yes, ma’am. Ice water?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, checking the river below my feet again. Was it icy or warm? Thankfully, rocks created a path that kept me dry.
When I looked up from my steps, Natalie’s eyes were narrowed.
“Sure, Natalie, ice water.” My answer seemed to bring her some relief. Maybe she’d been wondering the same thing too.
The office seemed uncharacteristically quiet as we rode the old elevator to the second floor. I breathed a sigh of relief as the iron scissor gate, which she manually pulled shut, stopped the flowing floor.
Isn’t there usually someone else who mans the antique elevator?
Ralph stood as I entered his office. It was exactly the same as it had always been. No liquid floors or moving chairs. Quickly, Natalie closed the door and left Ralph and me alone.
After shaking hands, I sat on the edge of the chair facing his desk. It didn’t seem that long ago that I’d done the same thing, demanding to see my father’s will. In reality, that had been nearly two months ago.
“Adelaide, you’re looking well.”
“Thank you, Ralph,” I replied. “Please
tell me about Stephen.”
“Stephen?” he asked with a questionable inflection.
“The intern from Savannah Law. The young man you had help me.”
Ralph shook his head. “Help you? I don’t understand. The last time you were in here, I helped you.” He laughed. “You know, we used to utilize interns, but found it was more problem than it was worth. As you can only imagine, we have confidential information within our walls…”
My stomach knotted as I stared at Ralph’s features. His lips moved like a movie out of sync, the sound of his words reaching me after the movement of his mouth. It was as if everything he said was delayed in a time continuum. Natalie entered, handing me a stemmed glass with water and just as quickly exited, leaving us alone.
“As I told you weeks ago…” he continued, “…I’m not able to share the documents of your father’s will with you.”
I moved my gaze beyond his face to his desk and tried to concentrate. “Ralph, we settled this. I was here. I’ve been here multiple times. My name is on the ledger for my father’s documents. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the will and the codicil.”
His brow furrowed. “Adelaide, can I get you something stronger than that water? Maybe something to settle your nerves… like whiskey? I know…” he said triumphantly, “…I have wine. A nice bottle of Montague Private Collection. It was a Christmas gift last year.”
“I don’t want wine. I have an entire cellar of Montague wine. I’m Adelaide Montague.” I stood as my volume rose.
Ralph came around his desk and reached for my hand, his lowered tone of voice no doubt attempting to pacify me. “Laide, it’s all right. I know who you are.”
“Of course you do! Get the ledger. Get the papers.” I pulled my hand away. “I know all about it. I’ve reread Article XII. Why are you looking at me as if I’m crazy?”
“You’re getting yourself agitated.”
“No,” I said convincingly. “I’m not getting myself anything. I want to see the ledger for my father’s papers, for his last will and testament.”
“All right. Have a seat. Let me pull it up on my computer.”
I sat back down as my heart beat in time with the keys of his computer, too fast, as he clicked and searched for the file.
“Laide,” he said, turning a large screen my direction. “Here it is. You see the last person to access the documents was your husband over five years ago.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true. I watched Stephen enter our names every time I was here.”
Ralph pursed his lips. “Perhaps I should call Alton? Do you have a driver?”
“Stop it!” I declared. “I was here.”
“Yes, of course. Now, you aren’t driving, are you?”
I narrowed my gaze. “Ralph Porter, I don’t know what you’re trying to do or to pull, but I want you to access those papers. I want to see them this afternoon.”
“They’re in storage and haven’t seen the light of day as I said, for years. It would take one of the paralegals at least a day to locate them.”
I clamped my lips together. “I’m not leaving.”
His head tilted apologetically to the side. “Laide, I would if I could. You don’t have access.”
“What do you mean, I don’t have access? I’m Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald. I’m joint heir to Charles Montague II with my daughter, Alexandria.”
“Dear, we’ve established who you are.”
“As I said two months ago, you will show me those papers or I’ll take Montague’s business somewhere else…” I tried to recall the name of the new firm in town. Surely they’d be happy to gain the Montague business. “Preston, Madden, and Owen.”
Ralph tapped again on his computer and the screen changed. I narrowed my eyes as I made out the top of the page. It was obviously a scan of a paper document. The first line read: Power of Attorney.
“What?” I asked again.
“Laide, this is why you don’t have access.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. We all know. Do as the doctors say. When you’re better—in a better frame of mind—I’m sure we can have the order reversed.”
“My state of mind is fine!”
Ralph touched a button on his phone and Natalie’s voice filled the room. “Yes, Mr. Porter?”
“Natalie, could you please call Mrs. Fitzgerald a cab? And then I’ll drive her car. I can’t in good conscience allow her to drive.”
I stood again, clenching my purse to my stomach. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m going.”
“Adelaide, I really must insist.”
When he stepped toward me, I backed away. “Do not touch me, Ralph. If you do I’ll leave here and go directly to that new firm and sue your ass for sexual assault.”
He lifted his hands, palms toward me. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? How did you make that document without my signature? I’d never give up my rights.”
Ralph leaned over the desk and reached for his mouse. Scrolling down the document, two maybe three pages later, he pointed. There it was—my signature. “You did. On this document and on the medical power of attorney. You understood that your husband is in a better state to make your decisions.” He took another step toward me. “Just as you did twenty years ago when you signed over your voting rights on the Board of Trustees of Montague Corporation. It’s what Charles wanted. He wanted someone to take care of you.
“Are you sure I can’t call Alton?”
My mind spun in confusion. “No.” I was less convincing than earlier. “Ralph, I’m perfectly capable of driving.”
“I don’t want to have to defend a DUI lawsuit where you’re deemed incapable of driving.”
“DUI?” I asked. “I’m not under the influence. I have not had a drink all day.”
His eyes went over to the conference table. My breath stuttered as I followed his gaze. On the table was an open bottle of wine. I recognized the label without reading it: Montague Private Collection. The bottle was open with two glasses sitting near, one empty but obviously used with my shade of lipstick on the rim. The other glass was nearly full.
“I understand that this is difficult on you,” Ralph said. “You know that we’re here for you?”
I shook my head slowly, but the tempo increased as I held tighter to my purse. “No! I didn’t have a drink. I didn’t.”
“Mr. Porter,” Natalie said from the doorway. “I’d be happy to drive Mrs. Fitzgerald, and then you can drive her car?”
I turned to Natalie. “Do you remember our conversation about Del Mar?”
She smiled, sweet and sad. “I’m sorry, no. But it is a lovely place. Have you been?”
“Adelaide,” Ralph said, “please give me your keys and we won’t need to mention this to Alton.”
I swallowed as I looked from Ralph to Natalie.
Alton. He’d be mortified that I’d made a scene, even if I didn’t remember making it. Also, he’d question why I was here and possibly learn that I knew about the codicil.
Looking back to Ralph, I said, “Please, please don’t say anything.” I handed him my keys.
Natalie reached for my elbow. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, I’m parked out back. I can take you so no one else sees us leave.”
I nodded as I took one last look at the table. The wine in the glass was red. It wasn’t six o’clock.
CHARLI WAS RIGHT. Not only did I know about Chelsea being in Savannah when she told me, but I knew a lot more. I also knew that my amazing girlfriend had shared more about her past than I had about mine. When Charli simply stared, I asked, “What the hell do you mean?”
“About which part?” she asked, bristling, “About Chelsea being me or your not telling me… anything?”
“Her being you,” I confirmed.
Charli’s lips formed a straight line as she stared at me.
I couldn’t help that I wasn’t ready to delve into my shadows. I hadn’t, not since that terrible night. As long as
she was content with what I gave her, why would I want to relive what happened—what I’d done. And if I did open that door and shed light on that past, what would Charli do with that knowledge? What would she do when she knew the monster that I had been?
“I mean,” Charli said, “Chelsea’s living my old life.” She spun from my arms toward the computer. “Here, let me show you some pictures.”
What the hell?
“Chelsea sent you pictures?”
“No. I went to Facebook. I’m almost never on there, but after Millie’s weird email, I had to see.”
She was dropping names like bombs in a war zone. “Charli, calm down. Who’s Millie?”
“She used to be a friend.”
Used to be?
Charli’s large golden eyes peered up at me as her sexy body leaned over the desk and keyboard. In that instant, I noticed how sensual yet sweet she looked. Though I knew she’d been upset, she’d calmed. Her hair was different with lots of long curls, and her face was clear of makeup. For only a second, I wondered why she normally wore it. She didn’t need it. I reached out to touch the auburn curls.
She pulled her head away. “Stop it. I never dried my hair. It looks awful.”
“You could never look awful.” I tried a grin as I pulled gently on one of the spring-like curls wondering if it would bounce. It did. “I like it.”
“Look here,” she said, ignoring my attempt to lighten the mood and pointing to the computer screen.
The picture was of a group of women about Charli’s age, seated in a semicircular booth. I narrowed my gaze as I scanned across the women. By their clothes and the background, it appeared as though they were clubbing. The one on the end caught my eye.
I pointed. “Chelsea?”
“Look at her! She’s never worn a dress like that or done her hair that way. She’s being me!”
I tugged Charli’s hand and pulled her back to me. “No one can be you. There’s only one you, and I’m lucky enough to have you all to myself.” I touched her hair again, petting the ringlets. “And she doesn’t look like you. I mean, look at you. You’re all fun and curly, and she’s all pinned back and stuffy.”