Deceived (28 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“Mom? Did you say that you’re worried that something that you told Lisa could have been a factor in her death?”

Rose nodded. Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes.

Son of a bitch.

“But yesterday you said that you didn’t talk to her.”

She frowned. “Well, now that you’ve talked to Phillip Rorsch, I can’t keep denying the truth. I met with Lisa twice. Not only once, as I told you yesterday. The first time, I told her some things. The second time,” she drew a deep breath and held Brandon’s gaze, “I allowed her access to your father’s documents.”

His heart pounded. “She didn’t tell me. Not that I wanted to talk about it, but she didn’t even try to tell me.”

“I allowed her access on the condition that she never talk to my children about the documents or the subject matter until after her dissertation was final, after the material became public.”

Brandon drew in a deep breath. Well, hell. Rorsch wasn’t crazy after all.

Rose continued, “I lied after the fire, I lied your entire life, anytime you asked me about it, and I even lied yesterday. That fire took my daughter. It broke your father, and it turned Victor into something,” she paused, “something that scared me. Maybe he was like that before the fire, but, after the fire, I couldn’t deny it. I wasn’t going to let you delve into your father’s obsessions. I wasn’t going to lose you. The only good thing that the fire gave me was the ability to tell you children that your father’s documents were destroyed. So that is what I did, to protect you from your father’s obsession. I was scared that it would make you crazy as well.”

With the reality shift that came with his mother’s words, Brandon felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Where have the documents been all of these years?”

“Various places. In the beginning of this year, once my new office in the kennel was finished, I moved them out of a storage unit that I had kept for years.” She shrugged, “I was tired of paying rent. Victor came to visit in January, right after I moved the documents there. I kept them in locked cabinets. I didn’t think anyone, not you, Kate, or Victor, had ever looked at them, but now,” she drew a deep breath, “I think Victor looked at them in January. The second time that I met with Lisa, after Victor was here in January, I let Lisa take some of the documents. Victor was here again shortly after that.” She paused as tears dripped from her eyes. “He asked where the documents were. He always had a way of getting around a lock, you know. I didn’t tell him that I’d given them to Lisa.”

“Are you certain of that?” Brandon asked.

“I never mentioned Lisa to Victor.” Fresh tears fell from her eyes. “Three months ago, when I met her for the second time, when I gave her the documents, Lisa was eight months pregnant. I didn’t know anything about her circumstances. I didn’t know that she was carrying your child. She didn’t share her personal life with me. I wanted to be rid of the burden that your father’s work placed upon me. She provided an opportunity for the true story to be told. Maybe the truth was simply going to sit in a scholarly article.” She shrugged. “I didn’t care what the end result was. I just felt like there was a chance the facts could be aired by someone who was objective.” She drew a deep breath. “A few days after I gave the material to Lisa, Victor was there, and somehow, he knew that some originals were gone,” she shuddered, “and he was furious. I was worried. Worried that he’d try, some way or another, to get them from her, so I didn’t tell him who had the original. He left that night.”

“Victor’s last visit. When was that?” Brandon asked.

“Right after I met with Lisa. Almost three months ago. Something about him,” she shuddered. “He had aged. He was thin. It’s as though life has gotten the best of him, and he’s always had a dark side, even as a child. I wasn’t blind.” She drew a deep breath. “And he always behaved when I was around, but I knew that I couldn’t influence him. I knew that he tormented you, but that you never told me about it.”

Brandon hated that his mother looked so worried, but he had no words to make her feel better about Victor. His pulse beat fast as he asked, “Was there a letter, drafted by the first Andrew Hutchenson, that you let Lisa take?”

“Yes. Your father had an original. I gave it to Lisa. It had a raised seal. I have copies.” His heart pounded, as Rose gestured to the box that he had carried into the kitchen for her.

Brandon lifted the lid of the box, his eyes drawn to the handwritten, scripted words. The top document was a copy. It wasn’t notarized and it didn’t have signatures of witnesses. Maybe the original document’s raised seal would be an indicator of authenticity, but without a damn good handwriting expert, or an admission by someone who saw Andrew Hutchenson write the document, the copy would not be admissible in court as evidence.

“I gave the original to Lisa, but I kept the many copies that your father had made,” Rose said. “Victor was furious that I gave the original away.”

To the current members of the HBW Board, Marcus Morrissey, and Lloyd Landrum,

It is 1979. My death is near. I write of a heinous wrong that I and others perpetuated. In 1940, George Bartholomew Sr., Charles Westerfeld, and I panicked when the military wasn’t interested in purchasing the landing craft. At the time, HBW&M had no other designs under military contract and we could not keep our company afloat. Benjamin Morrissey wasn’t bothered by his lack of money. He was a simple man who was used to living in a lean manner. Bartholomew, Westerfeld, and I were facing financial ruin. We conceived a plan to sell the design of our worthless landing craft. We decided to use Morrissey’s name, the name of our least powerful partner, as it was plausible that he would have the information, and we did not want to sully our own names. At the time, we did not believe that Morrissey would be in jeopardy of being caught. However, because Morrissey had already designed the landing craft, his value was limited. He was expendable.

Bartholomew established communication with German spies who had infiltrated the Gulf Coast. When Bartholomew agreed to the terms of an exchange, we did not dream that the landing craft would become a military secret of the United States. We were simply making the Nazis believe that we were selling something that was priceless, when in reality, we were selling worthless plans for a boat that would never be built. Immediately after Bartholomew set up the exchange, the disinformation that we had attempted to sell became real contracts. We panicked. We contacted authorities with an anonymous tip that Morrissey would be meeting the Nazi spies. We did not know then that Bartholomew’s contact was really an undercover agent of the U.S. We only learned that fact after Morrissey was apprehended.

Once Morrissey was arrested, I was sickened over the fact that my actions would lead an innocent man to be convicted. I wanted to contact my sources in the Government and attempt to have the charges dropped, even if it meant confessing my involvement. Bartholomew and Westerfeld persuaded me otherwise by appealing to my greed and my pride. With Morrissey out of the way, we did not have to share profits with him. More importantly, the boat would be known as the Hutchenson Landing Craft. I would receive credit as the original designer. I wanted MY name on the boat that would ultimately be used to defeat the Nazis.

I allowed Morrissey to be blamed for our crime.

Although George Bartholomew Sr. and Charles Westerfeld have predeceased me, and did not breathe a word of this to anyone, I cannot go to my grave without telling the truth. I apologize to all who have suffered, and who will suffer, because of my lie.

May God have mercy on my soul.

“I hope the son of a bitch is burning in hell,” Brandon said. For the first time in his life, Brandon understood the depth of his father’s frustration. He handed the letter to Sebastian. In exchange he received Michael, who had finished the bottle. Brandon grabbed a soft yellow cloth from a basket that sat next to the pack-n-play, placed it on his shoulder, and held Michael in one hand, balancing him against his shoulder. With his free hand, Brandon looked through other documents. There were multiple copies of the Hutchenson letter and below those, there was correspondence between his father and Lloyd Landrum, dated in 1980 and 1981.

To Rose, Brandon asked, “Victor saw these letters to Lloyd Landrum?”

Rose nodded.

“Then it didn’t matter that you didn’t tell Victor that you gave the original Hutchenson letter to Lisa. These letters could have prompted Victor to go to Landrum, who could have told Victor about the Tulane student who was about to expose the Hutchenson letter to the world.”

She shook her head. “What are you saying?”

Brandon drew a deep breath, then decided to be as direct as always. “Victor would have figured out a way to profit from the Hutchenson letter, mom. I think that once he saw this letter, he planned to destroy those who kept the letter secret. He would have made sure that Lisa was incapable of making it public. He would have claimed the original for himself.”

Rose drew in a deep breath, but she didn’t try to tell Brandon that he was wrong. “I’m sorry, Brandon. At some point before now, I should have let you know about all of this.”

Yes, she should have, but she hadn’t. He reached across the table and gripped her hand with his free hand. “I’m glad that you told me today. I’ll figure this out, mom. Don’t worry.” He paused. “What about all of those drawings of the landing craft that dad had?”

She shook her head. “Those did not survive the fire.”

He swallowed back his disappointment, because the original drawings would be further proof that his grandfather had been the original designer.

“I need air,” Brandon said, as Anna returned with Jett. He handed Michael to Anna, then stepped into the backyard. Sebastian followed him. He turned to Sebastian. “If you wanted to destroy someone as powerful as George Bartholomew, what would you do?”

“Take his money.”

“What else? I mean really destroy him.”

“Go after someone he loves.”

Brandon held Sebastian’s gaze as he dialed Taylor. He glanced at his watch. It was a couple of minutes past seven.

Answer,
he thought.
Please answer.

It took three rings, but she did.

“My mother has a copy of the Hutchenson letter. She gave the original to Lisa.”

Taylor gasped. “Did Rorsch accurately describe the contents?”

“Yes,” Brandon said. “Exactly.”

There was silence as she digested the ramifications. “I’m shocked.”

“I know,” he said.

“I have to walk into the party,” Taylor said, “and I need to do it now. I’m sitting in my car, outside of my father’s house, and I’m late.”

“There’s more,” he said.

“It has to wait.”

“It can’t,” he said. “I’m worried that you could be in danger.”

“Brandon,” she said, as he heard a car door shut, “I don’t have time to talk about this. Besides, this party has security, and lots of it. The idea that I could be in danger here is preposterous.”

“Taylor,” he said, as his tension built, tightening the muscles in his upper back and neck. “This is more important than the damn party. Stop. Listen to me for a few minutes.”

“Right now nothing is more important than this party,” she said, “and I’m late. I’ll call you as soon as I can. Okay?”

Son of a bitch.
She wasn’t exactly blowing him off, but, well, she was.

As Brandon ended his call with Taylor, Sebastian leaned against the back door and shook his head, his blue eyes full of skepticism. “Do you really think that she didn’t know about the Hutchenson letter?” Sebastian asked. “She’s a Bartholomew, for God’s sake.”

“Taylor said today that she didn’t know of it and she sure as hell sounded surprised just now.” Brandon sat in one of the chairs that was at the pool. He breathed, deep.

Once.

Twice.

He had to calm the hell down, because frustration led to anger. He didn’t need to go down that road. He needed to think. Rationally. “Victor has to be using the original of the Hutchenson letter to profit. It was worthless if Lisa exposed it to the world, so Victor stopped her. Victor could be using it to extort the HBW Board.”

“Given what I know of your brother,” Sebastian said, “and given the personal stake that he’d feel with this information, I’m not sure that he’d stop with financial extortion.”

Brandon nodded. “That’s what I’m worried about. What if Collette’s death wasn’t an accident? What if he’s trying to send a bigger message to them? Like pay, or else others will die. Or maybe he wants to make them miserable, like they made my grandfather’s life miserable and my father’s life miserable. If I wanted to make George Bartholomew’s life a living hell, I’d go after Taylor. She’s his only child. Hell,” Brandon tried to shake off the foreboding feeling that he couldn’t contain. He was sweating, damn it, as he rose and paced along the side of the pool. His phone rang. When Brandon answered, Marvin said, “Yo. Tilly will be at NOPD headquarters in Joe Thompson’s custody in ten mins.”

“Thanks, Marvin.”

Brandon brought Marvin up to speed on the Hutchenson letter and his concerns about Victor. Marvin was silent for a few seconds, long enough for Brandon to wonder if he’d told Marvin enough about the historical angle for Marvin to grasp the potential importance of the facts to Lisa’s death. Marvin said, “That’s some crazy shit. So you think your brother went after Lisa so he could use the letter against the HBW Board, and that Taylor, she’s a Bartholomew, right?”