Leslie LaFoy (48 page)

Jack, sensing that the ripples were turning into waves, asked, “Does Ben know about the shell game?”

Vanderhagen nodded. “Being an intelligent and perceptive man, he caught the pattern of our activities soon after his employment, and it was necessary to bring him into the project.” The lawyer smiled wryly. “And while Richard and I did it against our wills and better judgment at the time, we've had to admit that he's proven himself to be an extremely valuable asset over the years. He's very good at devising ways to debilitate businesses without doing harm to any individual life or limb. It has never been our objective to hurt anyone physically.”

“Just businesses,” Jack felt compelled to add.

“Yes, Mr. Stennett. They were made unprofitable, sold to the phantom companies, rehabilitated, sold again, and the final profits invested in various other business enterprises. All of them—and there are twenty-five—along with a dozen accounts in American and foreign banks make up the trust Richard established for Lindsay. She may draw from the trust as she wishes and can assign it to her heirs as she deems appropriate. As of the last quarterly accounting, the trust was worth in excess of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Jack clenched his teeth as realization after realization hammered his brain. He'd been as wrong as wrong could be about Richard Patterson. Otis Vanderhagen, too. And Ben Tipton. He hadn't read a single person in this mess right. He'd been wrong about every goddamn thing all along. Lindsay wasn't going to be left poor. She was rich beyond even the wildest of any man's dreams. She didn't need him for anything. There wasn't any reason for her to go to Texas with him. In fact, she'd be a damn fool if she did. He had nothing to offer her that she couldn't buy for herself ten times over.

“You are a very, very wealthy young woman, Lindsay,” he heard Vanderhagen say. “And you have Richard to thank.”

“And you,” she whispered. “And Ben.”

“Our parts were small and only in support of an objective that was born of Richard's basic decency and good conscience.”

Anger, raw and white-hot, shot through Jack's veins. “Well, if I might intrude on the glorification of Richard Patterson for a moment,” he growled, “I still have some questions I need answers for.”

Vanderhagen nodded and smiled. “I'll do my best to provide them.”

The man's easy manner only added to Jack's ire. “Let's start with who writes the letters for the phantom companies.”

“It occurred to Richard and myself early on that Lindsay needed to become involved in the daily operations of the MacPhaull Company in order to learn the skills necessary for her to ably oversee the trust she would eventually inherit. We took every precaution to see that she had no reason to wonder about the legitimacy of the paper companies we'd established. To that end, we looked for and found a person skilled in the art of forgery. Havers is the one and only author of the correspondence for all four companies.”

“And who went to the various cities, found the simple-minded children, and set up the correspondence shams?” Jack demanded.

“How do you know about that?”

“We've seen it play out in Boston,” Lindsay explained quietly, serenely. “The weekly rent money sent by Abigail Beechum; the return letter sent inside the packet and put right back into the postal carrier's hands.”

He looked back and forth between them, his brow cocked. “You two have been very busy people, haven't you?” he asked in a manner that reminded Jack of a schoolteacher who'd caught little boys being naughty.

“Yep,” Jack all but snarled. “Who set it up?”

“Richard,” the attorney supplied. “And then he came back and enlisted Abigail Beechum's assistance so that if the project was discovered, there was less of a chance of his being immediately implicated in the whole thing. It was theft, you know, and he could have been imprisoned for his actions.”

“He used Abigail and didn't tell her that she was being involved in a criminal activity,” Lindsay observed, a bit of censure in her voice, but not nearly enough, to Jack's way of thinking.

“Essentially,” Vanderhagen agreed, managing to look chagrined on a dead man's behalf. “If it helps any to know, he felt great remorse for that in the years afterward. In part, the structure and amount of her trust fund is something of Richard's atonement. That and his regret for not marrying her. By the time he came to realize that was the course he should have taken, it was too late to pursue it. He regretted the decision the rest of his life. He made amends as best he could and in other ways.”

“Blessed be Richard Patterson,” Jack groused, not knowing whether he was madder at Lindsay for being so accepting or Vanderhagen for being so damn smooth at making theft and irresponsibility sound honorable. “Who arranged for me to get the chopped-up rat and the note?”

“You posed something of an initial problem, Mr. Stennett,” the lawyer said, his chagrined smile still in place. “As you might well imagine, the first consideration was that in examining the books of the company you inherited, you might discover what Richard and I had been doing all these years and file criminal charges against us. I knew that we had some time to both cover our tracks and ascertain your abilities and intentions. I'm sure Richard also understood the ramifications of your unexpected ownership, but he clearly didn't react well to the development.”

“No kidding,” Jackson commented dryly.

“With Richard's collapse, the project was left in my hands to manage with Ben's assistance. It was his opinion, as a result of having several private exchanges with you, that you were suspicious of the books and that it would be in ours—and Lindsay's—best interests to drive you away. I reluctantly agreed and left the matter in his hands.

“By the time it became obvious that he'd misjudged both your resiliency and your tenacity, it had become equally apparent that you were interested in Lindsay in a romantic sense.” He paused to give Lindsay a condescending smile. Jack clenched his teeth and fisted his hands at his
sides, trying to decide whether he ought to punch out the bastard's teeth now or later.

“We concluded,” the attorney went on, “that even if you did unravel the conspiracy, you wouldn't take any actions that would jeopardize her future financial health. Given that, we decided that eliminating you was no longer a necessity.”

“Did it ever occur to you that in trying to ‘eliminate’ me, you might have inadvertently hurt or killed Lindsay?”

“We were very careful to see that that didn't happen. Your carriage accident was just that, an accident. Neither Ben nor I had any part in it. Lindsay was never endangered by actions we took. What danger she was ever in was the result of her own actions in the situation.”

Calmly, quietly, apparently oblivious to Jack's turmoil and anger, Lindsay said, “I have a question or two, if you don't mind, Mr. Vanderhagen.”

“Certainly, Lindsay. Ask me anything.”

“Can Henry challenge, in any way, Jackson's inheritance of what remains of the MacPhaull Company?”

“No,” the attorney answered firmly. “With Richard having formally and legally acknowledged Henry—and Agatha—as his offspring, neither of them meets the legitimacy requirements of your father's initial Will. Which was made immaterial by his second Will leaving everything to Mr. Stennett. You, as a legitimate heir, could challenge it, but Henry doesn't—as we say—have a legal leg to stand on. The estate is Mr. Stennett's to do with as he pleases.” He looked up to meet Jack's gaze and smiled. “And I understand that it pleases him to put a great many properties up for auction. Everyone in town is talking about it. Interest in acquiring seems to be running high.”

“A very personal question, Mr. Vanderhagen,” Lindsay went on. “If you're uncomfortable with it, please don't feel as though you have to answer it. Do you have any idea of whether or not my father knew that Henry and Agatha where Richard's children and not his?”

Vanderhagen sighed, pursed his lips for a moment, and then replied, “Richard confided in me that your father did eventually discover the truth. It apparently led to a
significant confrontation between your father and your mother. Your … ahem, creation … was a consequence of emotions that got out of control. The business relationship between Richard and your father continued—albeit extremely strained—until William left for Texas. But as you might surmise, the personal one ended at the point when William discovered that he'd been cuckolded.”

“Thank you. It explains a great deal about my family that I've always wondered about.”

And, Jackson silently added, it explained why Billy had left for Texas and never looked back. How could he have been sure Lindsay was any more his child than Henry and Agatha were? Jesus. Now he understood why Billy had left the MacPhaull Company to him. It was vengeance, pure and simple. It all made perfect sense. Sick, twisted sense.

“When am I free to begin drawing from my trust?” he heard Lindsay ask.

“You've had access since the first day Richard and I established it. While, as usual, there are a number of bank officials officially serving as your board of trustees, your single vote outweighs theirs combined. The books are in a safety deposit box. I'll get them and bring them to you whenever you want to have them. Today, if you'd like.”

“Tomorrow or the day after will be soon enough, Mr. Vanderhagen.” She turned in her chair to look up at Jack. Her eyes were bright with happiness as she asked, “Do you have any further questions?”

Could you be this happy loving me?
“Not at the moment,” he managed to say, fighting the urge to take her into his arms and demand that she try.

“Mr. Stennett?” the lawyer said. He waited until Jack met his gaze before continuing. “Given the circumstances, I can understand how you might wish to secure the services of another attorney, but I want you to know that I am willing to supervise the transfer of title for those properties sold at tomorrow's auction. Ben, despite whatever feelings you may have about him, should be the one on hand to provide the new owners with any relevant and necessary bookkeeping information.”

“Doesn't matter to me which lawyer or which bookkeeper
handles the details,” Jack declared, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “All I'm interested in at this point is getting the money I need and going home. The quicker and cleaner, the better.”

The words reverberated through his mind and sent waves of realization crashing through his body. He couldn't breathe and his knees were suddenly so weak that he grabbed the doorjamb to keep himself upright. Desperate, he dragged air into his lungs and willed steel back into his legs. But there was nothing he could do to stem the torrent of his thoughts.

He loved Lindsay. He'd spent the last couple of weeks trying to solve a business puzzle, never realizing that with every minute of every day and night he was falling in love with her. Despite his determination, despite knowing better, despite his certain, rational declarations otherwise, he'd fallen in love with her.

Jesus. Sweet Jesus. He'd asked her to go to Texas with him so that he could help her find a husband. He was the biggest, blindest idiot God had ever turned loose.

Jackson scraped a trembling hand over his face and tried to marshal his thoughts. What was he going to do? If he told her he loved her now … if he asked her to marry him now … now that she was wealthy beyond even the wildest dreams… how could she believe him? Why would she think he was any different from all the others who saw her only for what she could give them? If only he'd had the sense to understand yesterday. Or the day before.

“Jack?”

He blinked and looked down into Lindsay's bright blue eyes. As he watched, the brightness faded, dulled by the shadows of troubled questions. She'd look at him just like that if he was stupid enough to tell her he loved her. She'd always look at him like that. She'd always wonder whether his love had been bought with MacPhaull Company money.

Tears swelled his throat, choking off words and all conscious thought. Instinct surged into the void and he obeyed, desperate to escape it all, desperate to find a hole in which
to hide, to find a way to pretend this hadn't happened. He heard her call his name as he walked away, heard the confusion in her voice. He couldn't help her. Not now. Not anymore. He hurt too hard and too deep to help anyone. He couldn't see past it. If he was lucky just once in his life, the pain would kill him.

God, he hated Billy Weathers. He'd been set up, thrown into the lion's den. A naive lamb who only thought he knew something about lying and cheating and who thought honesty and right could triumph over greed and treachery. Billy had known exactly what he was sending him into. He'd been set up and made a fool of. And Lindsay had had a front row seat for the whole show. He'd never forgive Billy for that humiliation.

L
INDSAY, HER HEART RACING
,watched Jack vault down the front steps of Vanderhagen's office and stride down the walkway. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She'd never seen that look in his eyes before. Anger and hurt and something she thought might be fear. Panicking, she darted after him, pushing her way through the throng of pedestrians to reach him. Breathless, she caught his arm and pulled him to a stop as she asked, “Jack, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “Everything's worked out to be righter than rain, hasn't it?”

“Are you angry because you were wrong about Richard?”

“Yeah,” he drawled sardonically, “I'm not nearly as noble as I've pretended to be. Having to apologize—even to a dead man—rubs me wrong.”

“Actually, you were right, Jack,” she offered. “He
was
stealing the company assets. Just not for the reason you thought.”

“All hail Saint Richard,” he said flatly, pulling away from her grasp and starting away again.

“Jack!” she cried, planting herself squarely in his path. “Why are you being so hateful? Richard left me a fortune; a fortune out of which I can easily write you a bank draft to cover all the debts on the land my father left you in Texas.”