Into the Devil's Underground (25 page)

Emilie’s mouth barely worked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your grandparents were neck deep in illegal activities, and I think their lies have come back to haunt you. If you’re right, and the man in the picture is the same one who’s after you, it’s their fault.”

Red spots danced in Emilie’s vision. How dare she? How dare she come all the way here to condemn the one person who made Emilie feel loved and wanted, a woman who could no longer defend herself against her daughter’s ridiculous accusations.

“Get out.” Emilie finally managed to speak.

“What?”

Emilie balled up her fist. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth Mémé. You hated her for loving me, for leaving me with the truth of your lies, and now you’re here to play games.”

“You’re talking about your father. Yes, that was a mistake. I should have told you the truth, but that’s not what this is about. This is about your life and maybe mine…”

“Still a liar, Claire. Get out of my office before I have security remove you.”

Claire’s entire face turned puce. “How dare you speak to me that way. I’m here to help, you ungrateful little—”

“I’m ungrateful?” Emilie rose from her chair and leaned across the desk, bringing her face within an inch of Claire’s. “You lied to me. I thought my father didn’t want me.”

“That’s in the past and has nothing to do with what’s going on. And I did what was best for you.”

“Bullshit.” Old rage fueled her words. “You did what was best for Claire, like always. You lied to Mémé and Grand-père. And when you were finally caught, you manipulated my father into not seeing me. I was only two. He and I could have had a relationship.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emilie could see the entire staff of the bank watching. She didn’t give a damn. Her business with Claire would be finished today.

“Nothing has ever been good enough for you.” Emilie’s anger swelled with every word. “You had two parents who adored you and gave you everything they could. Wasn’t enough. You had a husband who loved you and wanted to spend his life with you—again, not enough. You tossed his love away like garbage. You had a daughter who just wanted affection, a little girl who didn’t care about your faults and cruelty. Yet you resented her very existence. You’ll never be satisfied, Claire. No matter how much plastic surgery you get or how much of Sam’s money you spend, you’ll always be a bitter, old shrew.”

Emilie stood to her full height and looked down at her mother. “One last time: get out before I call security. And don’t attempt to contact me again. My life is better without you, and despite whatever may have happened since I left Portland, getting away from you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

She walked to the door and pulled it open with a flourish. “Have a nice life, Claire. May you live to be a bitter, lonely old hag surrounded by the money you so love.”

Shocked into silence, Claire strode out of the office. Emilie followed closely behind, ignoring the stares of her coworkers. Claire stopped short at the entrance and faced Emilie.

“I never should have come here. Let him have his way,” she hissed. “He can correct my mistake.”

“What’s that, Mother? Giving birth to me?”

“Yes. You never should have been born. You ruined everything.”

Emilie waited for the expected rush of pain and the resulting tears, but instead she felt only pity for her mother. “No, Claire, you did.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Your black soul ruined your own life. Maybe one day you’ll be able to hold yourself accountable.”

Claire stepped back as though she’d been slapped. “I shouldn’t have said that. But you’re so difficult, and you need to listen to me. If you change your mind and want to know why this man is after you, you’ll contact me before I leave town tomorrow. I’m staying at the Hilton.”

“I know enough about him. The rest I can learn on my own.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know nothing. Nothing at all.”

She disappeared out the double doors, leaving Emilie’s head swimming. Had that just been a last ditch attempt to get into her head, or was there more to the story?

“Well, well.” Lisa’s snide voice cut through the heavy silence. “That was like an episode of All My Children. Thanks for the afternoon entertainment, Emilie. I can’t imagine how humiliated you must feel, growing up so unloved and then having your mother curse you in front of all your coworkers.”

Emilie gripped the door handle. Pain shot through her clenched jaw. “Lisa, if you don’t have anything better to do than eavesdrop, why don’t you take the rest of the day off without pay?”

Lisa started to argue, but Jeremy cut her off. “That’s enough—everyone back to work. Lisa, go home. Em, are you all right? Do you need anything?”

“Just some air.”

Emilie pushed the door open and stepped out into the afternoon heat. She took a deep breath. The smell of cigarette smoke assaulted her. She turned toward the direction of the scent. At the end of the block, her mother leaned against a rented Cadillac, a plume of smoke surrounding her.

“Thought you’d come out here.” Tears smeared Claire’s thick mascara. “Curiosity got the best of you, huh?”

“I hoped you’d be gone.”

“Just giving you one last chance.”

“For what? To hear more of your lies?”

“To let me help you before it’s too late.”

Emilie rolled her eyes to the bright, blue sky. “After all the things you’ve said and done, why should I believe you want to help me now?”

Claire waited for a group of businessmen to pass by. “Yes, I cheated on my husband and got pregnant with you. He left me. I never forgave you. That made me a lousy mother. I never took responsibility for my actions, and that’s something I have to deal with. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m pleading with you to listen. Let me tell you the real reason we left New Orleans when you were little.”

She’d never seen her mother like this. Claire was a good actress, but over the years Emilie learned to spot her insincerity. Either she had some new tricks or meant what she was saying. “Fine. Why?”

Claire glanced around. “Get in the car. I don’t want someone overhearing.”

Emilie didn’t want to be trapped inside such a small space with her mother, but she couldn’t turn away now. She needed to hear whatever Claire had to say.

Her mother waited until they were both settled into the leather seats and the air conditioning blasted in their faces. “Your grandparents were thieves, Emilie.”

Emilie burst out laughing. “What?”

“Don’t you remember how their store always looked the same? How my mother always complained about merchandise never moving?”

“It’s a slow business.”

“And yet they left you a nice inheritance,” Claire sneered. “Because they didn’t make their money selling antiques. Not legally acquired ones.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Warning notes clanged in Emilie’s head. She should get out now.

“My parents and their partner floated among New Orleans’s high society. Their partner was the antiquities expert—he worked for a major antiques store in the city. He verified the antiques, cozied up to the owners, and chose the pieces. Eventually he would steal the pieces, and that’s when your grandparents stepped in. They sold them on the black market and split the costs.”

Impossible. Sweet Mémé, with her wisdom and chocolate chip cookies. She would never…
“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” Claire said. “After my father died, the partner took more of an active role in the shop. Mother thought he was wonderful, looking out for us. You loved him. He used to take you for walks in the park.”

Emilie tried to think straight. “The man in the picture?”

“Yes. I only knew him as Jay. Mother never told me very many details about him—for my own safety, she said. My father got involved with Jay years before, and they really couldn’t find a way out. So they embraced their roles and the money that went with it.”

Emilie didn’t want to believe it. But she’d forgotten how the shop never had many customers and how Mémé still had the best of everything. As a child, she’d never questioned it. And the man…there were vague memories of the park, but they were so fuzzy Emilie couldn’t tell if they were real or a dream.

“And after she died?”

“Jay came to me assuming we would pick up where they left off. I’d sell the antiques using my parents’ connections, and he would search out items. I didn’t want any part of it.” Claire drummed her fake nails on the steering wheel. “He threatened to take you. Said I would never see you again unless I did what I was told. He went from being a gentleman to vicious in seconds.”

Emilie didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry. She swallowed hard. “And what did you do?”

Claire’s mouth twisted into a hard smile. “I was always good at manipulating people. I made him believe I was on board. I took a business trip to Portland and met Sam. Conned him into marrying me, and then because I was trustee of your inheritance, we had everything transferred to a Portland attorney. I told Sam I had a stalker. He moved us to Portland no questions asked.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“You were little and mourning your grandmother’s death.” Claire handed her an envelope. “These are records my parents kept. Proof of some of the big merchandise they moved. And the paperwork transferring your trust.” She sank into the seat. “I’ve gone through everything I brought from New Orleans. There is no other name for Jay.”

Emilie’s hand shook as she dug the Polaroids out of her purse. She’d felt stupid for carrying them around until now. “Is this him?”

Claire took the picture, her lips curling into a sneer. “Yes.” She handed the pictures back.

“Why would he be after me now?” Emilie choked. “Is this about revenge?”

“Money,” Claire said. “He told me if I stopped working with him, then not only would he take you, but he’d get your inheritance too. He claimed he had connections, and he could take all of that money out of the bank. I didn’t know if I believed him or not, but I was young. And he was the scariest person I’d ever seen.”

“He thinks my inheritance belongs to him?”

“It’s more than that.” Claire touched the shining bell around Emilie’s neck. “There were several pieces of jewelry he wanted back, including this piece. He claimed they held personal value, and my mother never should have taken them. I promised to get them out of the safety deposit box. And then I had Sam move it all.”

Emilie rubbed her throbbing temples. None of this made sense, least of all the timing. “But why now?”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. Sam went to great lengths to hide your identity, and I guess that protected you. Until he saw you at the gallery. Your story about the painting probably confirmed his suspicions. And Jay was never a man to accept defeat.”

“I was wearing the necklace.” Emilie thought she was going to throw up. She dropped her head to her hands. “I had no idea.”

“I should have told you.” Claire spoke quietly as if she were talking to herself, staring at her reflection in the window. “But like I said, I wasn’t capable of mothering you. She was. I didn’t want to ruin that. And I thought you were safe.”

The sadness in her mother’s voice sent Emilie over the edge. She needed to escape the confines of the car. Escape her mother. “I have to go.”

“Take the envelope to the police. Maybe they can find something I can’t.”

“Yeah.” Emilie staggered out into the blazing day. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Will you?” Claire sounded hopeful. Emilie wanted to run. She didn’t know how to process a real connection with her mother.

“Yes. Just…” Emilie took a deep breath. “Give me some time.”

She slammed the car door and rushed back to the bank.

23

A
SHOUT CAME
from inside the house, followed by a series of rapid bangs. Nathan’s footsteps were feather-light on the recently repaired front steps. Despite the humming of an overworked air conditioner, an upstairs window had been opened. Male voices argued over a blaring radio.

The front door was unlocked. Nathan inched it open. What the hell was he doing here, especially by himself? He should know better than to attempt something like this alone. Things would likely end up worse than before.

A burly man in paint-splattered jeans and a sweaty red T-shirt ambled down the staircase. He paused on the last step, gripping a heavy blade.

“Can I help you?”

Shit. “Yeah, I’m looking for Sean Madigan.”

“Who’re you? Building inspector?” He held up the circular saw he was carrying. “Cause I can assure you we got all the permits.”

“I’m his son.”

The man wiped his brow and squinted. “I see it now. You look like him.”

“Is he here?”

“Upstairs. Redoing a bathroom. Head on up. Second door on the right.”

Nathan waited until the man had disappeared and then began to climb the steps. Since his time in the tunnels, Angel’s words had weighed heavily on his mind. Would approaching his father make any difference? Could he be persuaded to forgive Nathan, or did he want to go on pretending like nothing was wrong?

He reached the top of the stairs. Old, busted tiles were strewn outside the bathroom door, resting on paint-stained drop cloths. He heard Sean’s voice, a deep tone that had once represented comfort and safety but now only induced nervous tension.

“Sid, you promised me you’d have this toilet out today. I can’t get anything done in here if that thing is in the way.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” came the response. “Some douche-bag amateur—probably the previous homeowner lookin’ to spare a buck—installed the thing and the system’s all screwed up. Give me another half an hour and I’ll have it out.”

“You’d better.”

Sean Madigan stomped out of the bathroom. Seeing his father was always a glimpse into the future. Their physical features were so similar, Nathan expected to inherit the same wrinkles and peppered hair one day.

“Dad?”

“Nathan? What are you doing here? Are Aunt Kay and Kelsi all right?”

“Everyone’s fine. I uh…I was in the neighborhood. It’s been a while so I figured I’d stop by and say hello.”