Текст книги "Truth "
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 40 (всего у книги 42 страниц)
For the last two days Isabelle reviewed Catherine’s specific instructions regarding the hidden fortune. She also practiced her Italian and used it whenever possible. According to Catherine, Nathaniel’s money was hidden at an institution in Geneva, Switzerland. She said Tony had accessed the money for different things throughout the years. Nevertheless, Catherine believed it had accrued nicely since Nathaniel’s death. According to the documents, there was a safety deposit box within the institution which could only be accessed by two people: Anton or Marie Rawls. Catherine provided Claire with Marie’s information. And Phil supplied her with identification under the same alias. Sometime during their fateful late night talk, Claire asked Catherine, “Were you still with the Rawls when Nathaniel remarried.”
“I was.”
So many questions came to Claire’s mind: Nathaniel’s second wife was the woman Tony protected, the woman Patrick Chester thought was Samuel’s sister. She was the woman who killed Samuel and Amanda. But that was a long time ago, and Tony said the woman was still alive. Claire asked, “Was she younger than Nathaniel?”
“Yes,” Catherine answered and then asked, “You are younger than Anton. Do you think that’s wrong?”
“No, I’m just trying to figure things out.” Claire wanted to ask more. However, she needed to concentrate first and foremost on her escape. Besides, Claire had the feeling her questions made Catherine uncomfortable.
As Catherine described the financial institution in Geneva, Claire remembered the place. Near the end of her European journey, so long ago with Tony, she’d met him at the same institution before they went for lunch. Claire remembered being early and waiting patiently for him to emerge from behind the gated area. This time she’d be the one behind the gates.
Catherine provided Claire with the number of the safety deposit box, as well as a copy of the required key. Both were necessary to access the safety deposit box. The moment Claire saw the key Catherine placed in a small envelope, she recognized it. It was the odd shaped key Tony used to roll from finger to finger when agitated. Years ago, Claire hated that key. Its presence meant her day had just taken a turn for the worse. Now, its replica would unlock her and her baby’s future.
Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many. The intelligence of a few, perceives what has been carefully hidden.
—Roman poet Phaedrus
Chapter 58
One week after Claire’s disappearance:
Derek held his wife’s hand admiring her strength. Bravely, she faced mourner after mourner, as each offered their condolences. No one mentioned Carlo’s recent mental state. It wasn’t as if everyone didn’t know. The unsaid tragedy was that he’d taken Silvia with him. They all pitied Sophia, losing both parents at once.
When Derek arrived in New Jersey from Taiwan, Sophia had already faced too many things alone. She’d visited the morgue. Fortunately, the coroner hadn’t allowed her to view her parents’ remains. After striking the tree their Camry burst into flames. She did identify some of their possessions. Her parent’s wedding rings, though charred, survived the inferno. Sophia recognized them immediately.
Although she grieved their loss, Sophia reasoned it was better for them to be together. She couldn’t imagine consoling her mother if her father died alone. Derek embraced his wife as she rationalized the tragedy. It was late one night while holding her trembling body, she uttered the words he never expected to hear. Though muffled by tears, her resolve was steadfast, “I’ve lost my only parents... I never want to go through this again.”
He understood what she was saying. She didn’t want to find her birth parents. He whispered, “Anyone can give birth... a parent is the person who loves you every day without condition.”
Sophia nodded into his chest. “Mine were the best. Please don’t let me forget that... if I ever change my mind... please remind me.”
He hugged her tight and promised.
*****
Other than the meal she’d shared with Tony at the French restaurant in Palo Alto, Claire hadn’t had the opportunity to practice her newly acquired languages. Nonetheless, as she traveled through Italy and Switzerland, her Italian came back with a little more than a hint of an American accent. That didn’t seem to matter. She spoke well enough to gain access to the locked vault in Geneva.
Appearing with short-dark hair and gray eyes to match the ID with the name C. Marie Rawls, Marie entered the vault with a bank official. Her hands trembled as they approached the safety deposit box once opened by Nathaniel. According to the ledgers, it was regularly accessed by Anton Rawls, usually twice a year. Claire signed the same ledger: Marie Rawls and presented her identification. The officer never flinched. He asked, “Seniora Rawls, la sua chiave?” (Ms. Rawls, do you have the key?)
“Si, signore, grazie.” (Yes, sir, thank you) She prayed the financial executive couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart or sense her wet palms. She placed the small replicated key in his outstretched palm. Marie smiled when he gently closed his fingers around her petite hand. The man was less concerned with her identity and more interested in her proximity. She responded boldly, “Signore, ti ringrazio per il vostro aiuto.” (Sir, I appreciate your assistance here)
“Forse più tardi?” (Maybe later?)
“Prima la mia missione.” (First, my mission)
He released her hand with a friendly, “Si, naturalmente.” (Yes, naturally)
With his invitation momentarily dismissed, the officer inserted a key from his large ring. Next, he took Marie’s key. When he fumbled momentarily, her breathing stopped and her heart forgot to beat. Then, all at once the metal key breached the archaic lock. The tumblers turned; he slid the long box from its home. Remembering to exhale, Marie worked diligently to maintain her stoic expression as she followed him to a private room.
Once alone, Claire opened the lid and gasped. She’d come this far, she’d given up her life, listened to Catherine’s advice... all for a virtually empty box. However, virtually was not entirely. Slowly Claire removed the documents. In the next forty-five minutes she read all the information.
Nathaniel planned everything to a T. His original intention was for Marie or Anton to tend to his fortune. He left specific instructions about maintaining an overseas cache. The money was to be constantly rotated, moved, and secured. All pertinent information regarding the accounts was to stay locked in this box. Only the person in possession of these documents could access the monies. Being as he didn’t know for sure which heir would maintain his secret, everything was accessible with a numeric code. No names were associated with the financial accounts. This layer of security also aided in concealing the true ownership. Tracing the money to a Rawls, or anyone in the United States, was virtually impossible. The Switzerland financial system specialized in maintaining hidden fortunes. Only in the case of broken laws would they share information with the United States government.
In nineteen seventy something, when Nathaniel created his hidden treasure, it probably seemed very James Bond. Claire wondered if Tony changed the rules or had gotten more high tech? She would need to find-out. She’d gone too far to turn back.
Currently there were seven different accounts. The last time monies were transferred was six months ago. It really was time for a transfer. She wondered why he hadn’t done it while recently overseas.
Claire wished for Phil’s assistance; he’d be joining her in another day. However, this was something she needed to do on her own. Feigning confidence, Marie Rawls took the documentation to the front of the institution and requested a representative.
Over the next ninety minutes Marie watched and scrutinized computer screens. Her months of required attendance in Tony’s office paid off. She frowned at unsuccessful investments and discussed better reserves for better returns. If ever a time to wear a mask, this was it. As the afternoon progressed, she systematically moved and invested over 200 million dollars. The monies were once again dispersed throughout the world market with a portion liquid and accessible. The only difference was that now she was the only one holding a means to their access.
By the time she feigned reinserting the documentation into the box, a presumed action based upon prior transactions, she was ready to faint. Tony’s personal reserve was now hers. It wasn’t stolen out of spite. Her desire for vengeance was gone. Claire willingly admitted her feelings of hate were only a close cousin to the love she now felt. And she knew Tony loved her. But thankfully, Catherine helped her see the truth. No matter how much he loved her and their child, his need to fulfill his promise to Nathaniel would always prevail.
Claire couldn’t live with that. Besides, didn’t their child deserve to live like a Rawls? With a heavy heart, Claire justified she didn’t steal his money – only reappropriated it – to his child.
With the papers in her purse, Marie Rawls disappeared and Isabelle Alexander stepped onto the bustling Geneva sidewalk a mega millionaire. Faces didn’t register. While in the heart of Geneva’s financial district, Isabelle didn’t notice the magnificent blue waters ahead or the grand snow covered Alps around. As she walked from the bank to her hotel, not even the phenomenal shopping within the sleek cosmopolitan buildings beckoned her.
While the slender heels of her Luciano Padovan sling-back platform pumps clicked along the sidewalk toward Lake Geneva, Claire’s self-absorbed thoughts filled every fiber of her being. How many times had she told Tony his money didn’t matter? How many times had she shunned the idea of wealth? Nevertheless, she’d just done the unthinkable. If it weren’t for the uncomfortable gray contacts, she’d surrender to the tears threatening to flow. She fought the impulse. Isabelle Alexander needed to be strong, just as Marie Rawls had been moments earlier.
The documents inside her purse were the key to over $200,000,000. More than anything, she longed to throw them in the nearest gutter. The only thing stopping the growing compulsion was the child moving inside of her. Never in Claire’s entire life had she hated herself as much as she did at this moment. Thankfully, her love for her baby overpowered her self-loathing.
Claire’s common sense demanded she go directly to her hotel and secure the documents inside a locked safe. Nevertheless, she was tired of listening to her mind. She needed to know what was happening in the USA, in Iowa, and at Tony’s estate. She had so many questions. And over the past week she’d formed many more: First and foremost... who was the real Marie Rawls? Tony admitted to seeing her since she killed his parents. Catherine admitted to being with the Rawls family when Nathaniel married Marie. This woman existed. Why hadn’t she turned up in any of their research?
The vibrant sky and tall limestone buildings disappeared beyond the sea of sidewalk tables and happy tourists. Isabelle politely intermingled and scanned the landscape. Slipping into an internet cafe, she ordered a tall tea. No question, her Italian was improving with each passing day. She settled into an available swivel chair next to a computer, logged onto the Wi-Fi, and transcended the ocean in search of information.
Information began to materialize: Parrott Press Wins Battle Against Rawlings Industries – Representative Promises Claire Nichols’ Rawlings Memoirs Published By October First. Claire’s heart sank... was there any way to stop this mess? Next story: Palo Alto Police Question Iowa City Police Regarding Lack of Cooperation with Anthony Rawlings. As of yet, no charges had been filed or restrictions placed on Mr. Rawlings’ travel. Mr. and Mrs. Vandersol have requested his passport be seized. Marcus Evergreen, Iowa City Prosecutor, was quoted as saying, “Mr. Rawlings is an upstanding law abiding citizen. Until we are convinced otherwise, he is free to live his life. He has a home and multibillion dollar business empire. We have no reason to assume he is a flight risk.”
Claire exited the current stories and began searching New Jersey records – nothing on Marie Rawls. She remembered Nathaniel was incarcerated in 1987. Claire wasn’t sure when he married Marie. However, if he married her while in prison, that would have been in New York. Claire entered Marie Rawls into the data base of Marriage Licenses – New York State. She narrowed the search to 1986 – 1989.
Claire held her breath as the small sentence surfaced:
February 25, 1988, Nathaniel Rawlings and Catherine Marie London– license of marriage.
Claire stared at the screen... Catherine Marie London.
She wasn’t sure how long she stared; a minute, an hour, a day, maybe ten? Claire’s world once again swayed from its axis. Catherine is Marie! Marie is Catherine! What does that mean?
She closed her eyes and reviewed. The nausea from her early pregnancy returned. The stress at the bank was nothing compared to the mayhem in her mind. It meant Catherine killed Samuel and Amanda Rawls. It meant Tony paid Patrick Chester yearly for Catherine’s freedom. It meant Catherine loved Nathaniel. According to Tony, Nathaniel loved her, too.
Despite the damn gray contacts, Claire’s tears of fear, rage, and sadness swelled behind the pigmented disks. She didn’t want to believe the thoughts and theories flooding her mind. She loved Catherine. The woman sustained her during the time of Tony’s domination. Claire reassured herself: Catherine is protecting me again.
However, she had to wonder, was this truly protection?
Catherine knew Claire’s greatest fear – her biggest terror. She knew it was isolation. Catherine provided money – lots of money. However, suddenly Claire questioned – how was this kinder than thirteen days sequestered in her suite? She and her baby would have every need met. Yet, when all was said and done, Claire’s need for love and companionship would remain unsatisfied for the rest of her life.
She laid ten Swiss Francs on the counter and stepped out into the bustling cosmopolitan city. Her hotel was only blocks away.
Claire, no Isabelle, entered the Hotel d'Angleterre in a mental fog. Her mind whirled with new and old information. The concierge’s greeting caught her off guard. “Buon pomeriggio, Seniora Alexander. Senior Alexander è qui, ti aspetta.” (Good afternoon Mrs. Alexander, Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.)
Mr. Alexander? She thought. “Grazie, dove?” (Thank you, where?)
“Egli è nella vostra suite, seniora.” (In your suite, ma’am)
Claire nodded and tried to smile. Panic from years before bubbled from the depths of her soul. The past few months with Tony held no hint of domination, yet she knew it existed. And now, if he were upstairs in her suite, what did that mean? Did he think she’d left him for his money? Did Catherine tell him? Was this all just a set-up, a test? Had she just failed? Claire decided company would be beneficial, “Mi sembra di aver smarrito la mia chiave, potreste aiutarmi?” (I seem to have misplaced my key, could you help me?)
“Si, seniora.” The concierge accompanied Seniora Alexander to the third floor suite. As they rode the elevator in silence, Claire’s mind spun with questions. When the doors opened, anticipation prevailed. She prayed, Please let Tony be here, and let us work this out.
She foresaw anger. But she’d seen it before. Claire squared her shoulders and stiffened her neck. Once his impending tirade was complete, she’d explain. She wanted to face the man she’d just left.
The concierge inserted the key and penetrated the lock on the polished wooden door.
Before he pulled the opulent lever, the door opened. Instead of brown darkness she saw intense hazel. Flecks of gold shimmered within her husband’s gray-green eyes while his white hair lay casually over his forehead. Claire sighed as Phil beckoned her into the suite.
“Il mio amore!” (My love) He pulled her hand toward him; her body followed. Instantly his lips were on hers. She fought her urge to fight, knowing the concierge was watching their show.
Claire lifted her hands to Phil’s shoulders and pushed, “Lei mi sorprende.” (You surprise me)
In English, “Didn’t they tell you I was here? I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
The concierge stood faithfully near, in the open door. Phil immediately reached into his pocket, removed some Swiss Francs, and thanked him for his help. When the door closed Claire freed herself and retaliated, “They said Mr. Alexander was here, my husband. I didn’t know who to expect.”
“You seem disappointed?” Phil questioned. “I had to be your husband, to be allowed entry.”
Grasping her arm, he directed her to the main room. The doors of the balcony were open to the lake below. For moments they stood silently and watched the docks as yachts came and went. The hum of people below filled the silence as the sun made its way toward the Alps elongating the shadows below.
Claire’s mind tried unsuccessfully to prioritize her myriad of thoughts. After a time Phil’s arm surrounded her shoulders. She turned toward him; her words harsh, “The concierge is gone – the show is over.”
He removed his arm, “Did you complete your transaction?”
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“I had to get to you. I’m scheduled to return to the United States early tomorrow morning. I have an appointment with the ICPD. They want to discuss the disappearance of a woman I was hired to trail.” His eyes twinkled, “You know, there is a $100,000 reward!”
“So you’re here to turn me in?”
His hazel eyes closed, jaws clenched, and head shook. “No, Claire, I’m here to make sure you completed your little endeavor at the financial institution today and to set up a meeting to move you to your permanent residence. Where will that be?”
Claire’s neck straightened. She walked onto the balcony and peered over the wrought iron rail. Phil followed closely behind. His words were a mere whisper against the sounds of the blossoming nightlife below. “You know, the last time I followed you on to a balcony, you played me for a fool. Is that your intent tonight?”
Claire turned toward him. “You know it isn’t. Things have changed.”
“Some things.”
“In San Antonio I was protecting someone.”
“In San Antonio you out smarted me. I can’t tell you how much that impressed me.” He stepped closer. “Until that trip,” his breath bathed her cheeks, “I had preconceived ideas about you.”
Claire stood her ground and looked up into his eyes, “Preconceived?”
His gaze searched her contact covered eyes, “I researched you, you know?” She didn’t answer. “From the beginning of my assignment with Mr. Rawlings, I read all about Claire Rawlings Nichols and made assessments based on that research. I predetermined you to be this woman who tried to kill her multibillion dollar husband – a gold-digger. I assumed he hired me to keep an eye on you, to let him know if you were getting close. I assumed he was afraid you might try it again. Then I saw you for the first time; you were walking down that street in Palo Alto. The wind was blowing your hair.” He reached out, removed the dark wig, and loosened strands of her once again chestnut hair from the confines of the hair pins. She shook her head allowing the trusses to fall free. “I knew Mr. Rawlings wanted you, not because he was afraid. He wanted you. His insistence at knowing your every move proved he wasn’t willing to give you up. Then, you tricked me in San Antonio.”
He stepped away. Slowly Phil settled at the wrought iron table, leaving Claire against the rail as the glow of the setting sun framed her beautiful face. She smiled at his reference as he went on, “I learned that week, you were so much more than a beautiful woman. You’re smart, strong, sneaky, and conniving.”
“If I recall, you called me a bitch.”
A grin filled his face. “I assure you, it was meant as a compliment. I find those qualities very endearing.” He leaned forward, “I immediately became enthralled. From that moment, I’ve fought an intense desire to have you for myself.”
Claire lowered her eyes. Although she didn’t want to encourage him; she needed his help, “Thank you,” she said demurely.
“For what?”
“For all you’ve done.”
His head tilted sideways, questioning her.
She went on, “Thank you – for your kind note in San Diego, for saving my life in Palo Alto, and for wasting your talents babysitting me for months on end.”
“Clair... Isabelle,” he corrected, “I wish I could’ve been there sooner, in Palo Alto.”
Her smile turned bashful; she walked back into the suite. Phil rose and followed her within. “You, Harry, Tony, and the security guy all saved me.” She turned her intense gaze on him, “Right now, I’m nervous. Phil, I have so many questions – things aren’t adding up.” His gaze stopped her. She needed to collect her thoughts. Exhaling she said, “I’m going to go get these damn contacts out. Help yourself to the bar.”
Phil smiled, “Good, I like your eyes much better green.” He turned and walked toward the highboy containing bottles of fine liquors. Phil poured himself two fingers of Cognac as Claire disappeared into the bedroom.
When she returned, wearing a casual pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt, and no contacts, she saw Phil’s intense glower. As their eyes met he said, “I’ve watched both of you.” He finished the Cognac and added more to his glass. “I realize this whole thing is to hurt your ex-husband,” he shrugged his shoulders, “which could work out well for me. But... I have to say, I’ve watched a lot of people. Love and hate are both strong emotions. You’ve sacrificed everyone you hold dear to hurt Anthony Rawlings. You could’ve gone on living in California. The governor of Iowa wiped your record clean. Yet, your anger, your crusade was continually met by him. You told me it was a game to him. I think it was a game to both of you, a real life chess game. Every move you made he countered. In order to get his king, you sacrificed your queen, a bold move. One I believe will work. But at what cost?”
Claire stood dumbfounded. She didn’t understand Phil’s words. “What are you saying? You think I’m here to hurt Tony?”
Phil swallowed the remaining contents of his tumbler, “That’s what Ms. London said. She said you wanted away from him. You were afraid to leave him, of what he’d do... so this was the plan.” Claire tried to follow. “Pretty creative; you exploited Mr. Rawlings’ obsession with you, his Achilles heel, to penetrate his invincibility.”
Claire didn’t speak, she couldn’t. Her mind swirled as the cyclone of thoughts became a category five hurricane. Phil took her silence as an invitation to continue his notion. “I read your theories of retaliation, for sins of past generations. I’m not saying they aren’t true. Nonetheless, don’t you find it odd? The only person who continues to survive is you.”
Claire stuttered, “You... you read my theories? Where?”
“On your laptop – of course.”
Claire involuntarily took two steps backward. Her legs hit the sofa and she crumbled into the soft cushions. “You found my laptop?”
“Yes, the night you were attacked. It was in Patrick Chester’s hotel room.”
Her eyes flashed, “And you gave it to Tony?”
He shrugged as he poured another two fingers, “I tried. He was preoccupied – with you. Actually, he was in the air when I found it. I reached Ms. London instead. She’s the one who told me your plan, very ingenious.” He tipped his glass in Claire’s direction.
Claire realized the liquor was helping his honesty. “What exactly did she say?”
“She told me to bring it to Iowa; I did. You were still in the hospital.”
“So Tony never got the laptop?”
“She told me she’d give it to him. He contacted me after you woke. He told me you were going to Iowa, and my job was done. He wasn’t happy with me. I think he blamed me for Patrick Chester getting to you. Honestly, I don’t think we ever discussed the laptop.” Phil cocked his head to one side, “Your ex can be difficult.”
She lowered her head near her knees; the fullness of her midsection restricted her motion. She straightened. “Yes, a very ingenious plan; however, I can’t take credit.” Claire leaned toward Phil, “You told me before, you work for money. Who’s paying you – now?”
“You – Ms. London gave me the starter money, but you’re paying me for everything else. Did your transaction work?”
“Are you still reporting to her?”
“No, not since I told her you were out of the U.S. She didn’t want to know more – plausible deniability.”
Claire pointed to the house phone. “Would you call for some dinner? I have many questions and would prefer to not spend this evening in public.” She softened her tone, “If that is all right with my husband?”
Phil smiled, “That’s fine. I enjoy the privacy.”
Claire smiled a tired smile. She was suddenly exhausted, mentally and physically drained.
After their dinner arrived, Phil and Claire settled onto the wrought iron table on the balcony. She needed more answers before she could decide her future or that of her child’s. Their discussion continued as the shadows turned to twilight and darkness prevailed. Though sitting in the center of nature’s beauty, Geneva’s abundant artificial radiance impeded the stars. Manufactured glitter extended everywhere, even onto Lake Geneva as the reflection added illumination to the night.
Phil informed Claire, “Due to your family’s insistence, Mr. Rawlings is currently being pursued by the police and media as a person of interest in your disappearance.”
Claire frowned, “That wasn’t supposed to happen. If anyone should be considered a person of interest, it should be the person who sent me the scary things and tried to run Clay off the road.”
Phil looked at Claire quizzically, “Well, that would make it difficult for me to help you, then. Wouldn’t it?”
Her hand suddenly trembled as she sat her water glass upon the table and stared. “What are you saying?”
Phil saw Claire’s sudden fear and casually covered her hand, “I never intended to hurt you.”
Her eyes widened as she retrieved her hand, “I don’t understand?”
“Claire, Ms. London said you were involved. It all led to this escape. I would never have sent those awful packages or pushed your car if I didn’t think you were behind it.”
“Did Ms. London explain my plan when you delivered the laptop?”
“Well, afterwards. I received text messages telling me to travel around and mail different things. She was very specific about what to do.” Claire’s complexion paled as she listened to Catherine’s complex scheme – one that reduced both her and Tony to pawns in the ongoing game of chess.
“So, you had no intentions of hurting me or my baby?”
Wrinkles surrounded Phil’s hazel eyes. “I work for money. However, I believe I’ve already revealed my true feelings on this subject,” his eyebrows rose, “in San Diego?”
Claire held her breath.
He once again covered her hand, “I’d never hurt you.”
She exhaled. Patrick Chester didn’t have an accomplice. The sudden relief was intoxicating. Her expression mellowed. Instantaneously, the relief evaporated. There was another culprit – one Claire would have willingly allowed total access to her child. The thought nauseated her. Could Catherine have made Nathaniel the same promise Tony made to him?
If she did, now that she no longer needed Tony to keep Patrick Chester silent, wasn’t Tony too a child, of a child? After all, Samuel helped convict Nathaniel...Catherine killed Samuel...Tony is Samuel’s son. Everything was coming together...
Claire leaned closer – their faces only inches apart. “Phil, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For what you’re about to do. I promise – I’ll make it worth your while.”
His hazel eyes questioned, “The next step is getting you settled.”
Claire turned her hand palm up and closed her fingers around his. She inhaled and exhaled as a devious smile overtook her face. “Senior Alexander, let’s enjoy the beautiful view and discuss the next step.”
Her plan shocked, surprised, and disappointed Phil. She truly was much smarter than he’d initially given her credit. Now with the fortune she’d successfully acquired, the combination was impressive. And although his role was different than what he’d hoped, he was more than willing to accommodate.
Phil said, “I don’t think you should stay here too long. Where do you want to go?”
With her tired eyes lingering on the vista before her, she thoughtfully replied, “Back to Italy, I’ve been thinking about Venice. I’ve never been.”
“Then let’s decide on a hotel. I’ll meet you there in a week. By that time, I should have more information and some permanent destinations for you. Tell me your requirements again.”
Claire shifted and met his expectant gaze. “You’re worried about my plan, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’ll feel better when you’re settled and safe.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know someone’s worried about me.” She said as she sipped her iced water.
“There’re many people back in the states worried about you.”
Claire sat tall, her expression strong. She couldn’t allow herself to think about those people, not yet. Now that she knew the truth... she was the one putting them through hell, not Tony, not Catherine. Nevertheless, it was Catherine’s impending hell that forced her moves. Placing her hand on her mid-section, she knew winning this game was truly the difference between life and death.
If she was a child of a child, and Tony was a child of a child... their baby was doubly doomed.
Her voice held no hint of emotion. “I like tropical, secluded, and remote. I truly don’t care about amenities. Just give me warmth, water, and sunshine.” She gazed over Lake Geneva and turned back to Phil, “And medical care needs to be accessible.”
Claire looked at her watch, 12:02 AM. She glanced to Phil, “I’m going to do it.”
He nodded. “It’s a little after five there, Wednesday evening... he may not be in his office.”
“I have to try.” Claire rose and went into the suite. Her disposable international phone was on the table. She reached for it and called information in Iowa City. “I need the office number for the Prosecutor for Iowa City, please.” Moments later, “I would like to speak to Marcus Evergreen.” “I’m sure he’ll talk with me.” “Tell him it’s an out of work weather girl.” Claire waited a moment and then smiled at Phil. Her heartbeat quickened.
