Sins of the Father (6 page)

Zoey felt a chill run through her. “What have you said?”

“Nothing, love, obviously. No comment all the way. But I can’t swear that anyone at your rag will be half as decent.” There was a long pause. “And we’ll need to discuss the feature. About him, and AEGIS.”

She’d known that this was coming, but it still hurt to have Helen bring it up. “I know. I know I can’t do it now. But I’ll get you everything I’ve found so far.” She glanced in at Claire, and made sure that the girl wasn’t paying any attention to her. “There’s a lot more going on, Helen. I—I want to tell someone, but you can’t run with this until I give you the okay. Please. It could affect the safety of some little kids.”

Helen’s silence was long and drawn out, and Zoey crossed her fingers. Helen wouldn’t lie to her. If she said that she’d hold the story, she would, as long as possible. But there was no guarantee she’d wait. “I’m already hearing rumors about AEGIS today,” Helen said, finally. “Does it relate to the company itself?”

“Not directly,” Zoey said.

“Tell me,” Helen said. “I’ll prep something myself, keep the cat in the bag as long as possible, but—Zoey, if I think someone’s going to scoop us, I’ll post it. Deal?”

It was the best deal she was going to get out of her friend. The world of journalism had gotten cut throat in the past decade, ruled by news aggregators and click-bait headlines, but Helen did the best she could to stay true to a code of journalistic ethics that had meant more before either she or Zoey had been writing. “Deal,” she said. “I can’t give you anything specific yet, but I will when I can. Just—take a look at Arturo Soprano and Thalia Nicolaevna. Look for connections between them for me, and I’ll trade you more when I have it. Okay?”

“I know those names,” Helen said. Zoey could hear her friend clicking at her keyboard. “Soprano owned a construction company, right? And he suicided. So did Nicolaevna, but she was a society type.” There was a long silence, and more clicking of keys. “Are you saying they’re tied together somehow?”

“I have reason to believe it,” Zoey said.

Helen pushed out a long breath. “Zoey, love, you have got to go to the police with this. This isn’t some movie about the plucky Girl Friday who solves the mystery, yeah? You need to be protected.”

“I am protected,” Zoey said, without hesitation.

“Blankenship.”

“Yes.”

“How long do you think that’ll last?” The skepticism in the question hurt, but at the same time, she could hardly blame Helen for asking.

“I don’t know, Helen. But I’m not walking out just because the press has noticed us. If that were the case, I shouldn’t have even bothered.”

She could imagine Helen sitting still, rubbing at her temples with one well manicured hand. “I know you’re right, love, but I can’t help the worrying.”

“Worry about it if Mama finds out.”

“You think she’ll be upset?”

Zoey knew exactly what question Helen was asking, and she skirted it as neatly as she could. “That I’m dating a New Yorker, and not a nice Southern boy? I think she’ll be livid. Right up until she starts planning our wedding for us.”

Helen chuckled again. “Keep in touch, all right? And use your head about this boy. He didn’t get that playboy reputation by helping old ladies cross the street, you know.”

Zoey laughed, and disconnected the call. The thing was that while she knew Helen was right, and that Alex had earned his reputation fair and square, she also knew that rags like hers had done everything they could to make it all look more scandalous than it was. Thousands of articles, every time someone even semi-famous dared to show their face in public, commenting on their size, their status, whether or not they were coupled up yet. It never stopped. He’d been very clear with her that his numbers were a lot smaller than the media made them look. If she didn’t trust him to tell her at least that much truth, than why even bother to be here with him? In his house, eating his food, making friends with his sister?

Zoey slipped her phone back into her pocket and headed back into the penthouse. “Sorry, work stuff,” she said. “What’s your plan for the rest of today?”

Claire gave Zoey an under-the-eyelashes glance. “I’m actually thinking of nerding it up, telling my teachers I’m sick and getting my work so I can keep up.”

Zoey had to laugh. “Impressive.”

For just one moment, the soft lines of Claire’s face hardened into unbreakable stone. “I will not grow up and rely on anyone,” she said. “I’m my own. No one else’s.”

It was the kind of declaration that a person could only make at 17, when they hadn’t realized yet that it was impossible not to rely on other people, and that the trick was to make sure you only relied on the ones worth trusting. Zoey thought about pointing that out, but she had a strong feeling that it would just make Claire feel more upset, not less. “I hear you,” she said. “I do need to get some work done today. Want to crash in the den with me?”

“That sounds great,” Claire said. “I bet Sophia will show up with snacks within the hour.”

“She’s an amazing cook.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason Alex put in a bunch of gym equipment.” Claire forked in the last bite of tiramisu. “She’s really really good at dessert.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alex sagged back in the chair, emotionally worn through. He
’d spoken to about half the members of the board in the past few hours, and overall, he felt confident that he had no idea whether or not they’d support his plans for the company. He was quite sure that Olivia had gotten to the vast majority of them first. He’d gotten a variety of reactions as he’d reached out to the men and women he’d thought were most likely to support him. They varied from astonishment and anger to patronizing commentary on how hard it was to be the son of a great man, and how understandable it was to want to step out of that shadow. Alex wanted, more than anything, to scream.

He took several long, slow, deep breaths, closing his eyes, and running through this morning’s
kata
in his mind. It was an interesting practice that his sensei had introduced him to a few years ago, when he’d twisted his knee and needed to avoid the mat for a few weeks. Closing his eyes and feeling every motion of the form, just as carefully and precisely as he would have done it on the mat, was an exercise in meditation and focus.

He’d hoped, for all his talk to Olivia and to Cindy herself, that he wouldn’t need her support to make the changeover happen. Selling her to the board as a legal heir, based on the reading of Philip’s will—it was going to be rough at the best of times, and these were far from the best of times. Legal would likely get involved, even if they didn’t end up in court, regardless of what he and Claire agreed on. Because if they acted as if Cindy had shares and standing, and later it was decided that she didn’t, everything she was involved in would be called into question. It would be a nightmare to untangle.

He knew damned well that the next step should have been to pick up the phone and dial Legal, let someone know exactly what was going on. But he couldn’t shake the hope that he could gather enough votes to do this without Cindy’s help. Make the decision and introduce her, and just make everything go smoothly.

So when he picked up his phone again, the number he dialed was Cindy Walden’s.

The greeting he got, however, wasn’t what he’d expected. “What the fuck are you trying to do to me?”  She screamed into the phone.

Alex had to take a second to collect himself. “Last I knew, I was trying to help you. What’s going on?”

“I’m done with you,” she snapped. “I should have known better than to involve Philip Blankenship’s spawn in anything. You’re just as useless as he is. Power grubbing, money hungry—” and then there was the awkward silence as she disconnected the call.

Well. That hadn’t gone as he’d hoped at all.

His computer beeped at him, and he glanced at a message from Brianna. She’d sent him a calendar invite for first thing tomorrow morning. Emergency board meeting.

It was better than nothing. And at least he’d know what he was facing. He’d spend the night with Zoey, they’d gather all the information that they could, draw as many parallels as they could between AEGIS and the two companies—and he’d hope for the best. In the end, it was his company, after all. If he couldn’t run it, if he couldn’t convince the board of the right decision, then he might as well start looking for something else to do with his life, because this wasn’t ever going to work out in his favor.

He accepted the invite, and then he shut down his computer. He’d had enough of this place for one day. It was time to head home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It felt like a study group. To Zoey’s surprise, Claire wasted no time goofing around on her phone or flipping on a movie, like Zoey had to admit she would have done at seventeen. She pulled out a biology text, and proceeded to read about gene sequencing. Zoey, who had moved on to the part of her afternoon that involved writing click bait that she prayed her mother never read, but paid by the word. There was a not insignificant part of her that wanted to suggest nail wraps and facials, even though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d
had a spa day, or kept a manicure neat for more than a few hours. After a little while, Claire turned on music on her phone, and Zoey found herself being instructed in the finer points of high quality hip hop.

It was relaxing. It was calm. It was something she hadn’t had too much of in the last few days.

She kept waiting for her phone to start ringing with reporters, calling to ask how much tongue Alex had used outside of the restaurant, and what had happened after they’d gotten in the car. There were plenty of times she’d been the one making those calls, to get the story, paying off a friend or a disgruntled coworker to get someone’s cell phone number. She wasn’t sure if it spoke well of her that no one was calling, or poorly. After all, she was hardly the type of woman that Alex was usually paired with in the tabloid press. He was usually seen with women who were tall, busty, leggy, gorgeous, powerful—Zoey couldn’t pretend that she was any of those things.

But she was herself, and he seemed to like that fine. At least, he hadn’t called and told her to get out. That was a plus.

When Sophia found out that Claire was home, she clucked her tongue, but made both of them roast beef wraps, piled with hummus and cucumbers and radishes. They were amazing.

Shortly after that, Alex sent a text, asking if Claire was at the house. Zoey tried not to be obvious when she replied that the girl was there. It was still well within school hours. Alex didn’t respond, though, other than to say he’d be home in a few hours.

She liked that he said home. That part was pretty awesome.

Any word from Cindy?
She asked.

His reply was quick.
She’s very concerned,
he wrote.
Someone may have threatened her.

Should I call her?

Not sure if it will help.

Zoey thought about it for a little while, and then excused herself. Claire nodded. She’d moved on to calc now, and was lost in equations. She tapped Cindy’s contact, and waited for the call to connect.

It took all five rings for Cindy to pick up. Zoey was just composing the voice mail as the ringing stopped, and Zoey heard the quiet non-sound of the open line. “Cindy?” she asked, keeping her voice soft and quiet.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Cindy replied. She sounded nothing like the calm, collected woman that Zoey had spoken to that morning. “I’m sorry I ever brought anything up. Tell Alex, please, that I won’t ever make a claim on anything. I’m just—I’m going to vanish now. They won, okay? Everything’s done. Me, the kids—we’ll all vanish. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t ever hear from us again. Whoever he sicked on us, just tell them to stop.” The words tumbled out fast, blurring together.

“Hold on, hold on,” Zoey blustered, managing to get the woman to quiet down for a moment. There was a thickness to her breathing; she suspected that Cindy was crying. “He didn’t send anyone after you, Cindy. I promise.” Could she make that promise? Did she know him that well? She choked down the doubt and pushed forward. “I’ve been here all day, researching to find more ammunition to help the board make the right choice about how to move forward with AEGIS. You’re part of that.”

“I don’t care,” Cindy said. Her voice was cooler, more collected, but Zoey didn’t have to listen too hard to hear the terror. Whoever had gotten to her had done their job very well. “If I ever hear from either you or your fuck-toy again, Ms. Gardener, I will call the police and my lawyers. He’s not the only one who knows the police commissioner.”

The call dropped, and Zoey stood still for a while, staring at the phone. There had been so much venom in the woman’s voice, at the end. It made Zoey’s stomach flip over. Who could have gotten to her? What could they possibly have said? How would they even have known that there was a conversation to be had? Maybe someone had seen her in his car at the AEGIS building?

She shook her head, not sure what to do next, but as she turned back to the door of the den, she saw Claire standing much closer to her than she’d expected. The girl was barefoot, and she’d moved like a ghost—or else, Cindy had been screaming so loudly that Zoey hadn’t noticed anything else. Which meant that Claire might very well have overheard some of what was said.

The girl looked—not afraid, but certainly nervous. Certainly concerned. “What’s going on?”

Zoey started to sputter, and Claire held up a hand to forestall her. Zoey found herself staring at the narrow bangles that Claire wore around her right wrist. They tumbled down to her elbow, jangling against each other. Somehow, the detail fixed in her mind as she stared.

“Don’t tell me that I’m too young, or that it’s nothing to be worried about. You’re not Alex’s type, even with your smoking hot ass, but you’re here. He never brings people here, and I can count the number of his girlfriends that I’ve met on a closed fist, you know? There’s something a lot more going on than the two of you banging, and if it affects Alex, it affects me. I want to know what the hell is up.”

The girl was fierce, Zoey had to give her that much credit. Her chin was stubborn and strong, even though her eyes were nervous. “You need to talk to him,” Zoey said.

“He’s not here. You are.” The set of the girl’s chin got just a little more stubborn. “Talk to me, Zoey. Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that did Zoey in. She crossed her fingers that Alex would understand why she was about to do what she was about to do. “How much do you know about your dad?” she asked, leading the young woman back to the sofa where all their work was laid out.

“He was a jerk,” Claire said, without any of the sadness that Zoey would have expected from a young woman whose father had recently passed away. But then, given the way Alex talked about the man, it seemed like the press had, for once, characterized him properly as a scumbag. Just a very, very wealthy one. “He cheated on Mom all the time, and he wasn’t ever home.” Claire gave Zoey a long, level look. “Are you going to tell me I have a bunch of half siblings? Because I figured out the odds on that one a long time back.”

In a weird way, it was a relief not to have to explain that one detail to the girl. Everything else was easier, in its own way. “It may be true. It seems like someone thinks so. And it seems like someone may be targeting them.”

The girl nodded. “Is Alex in danger?” She didn’t ask about herself; Zoey found that interesting. She couldn’t think of too many seventeen year old girls who would have asked about their brothers before they’d asked about themselves. But then, Alex was the perfect age to have been Claire’s protector and hero throughout their childhoods, especially with their father absent and—as the girl had said—basically a jerk.

“I don’t think so,” Zoey said, truthfully. “And I don’t think you are, either.”

“And that’s why you’re here. To try and help him figure out what’s going on with these kids of my dad’s?”

“It’s part of it. There’s also some weird things going on at the company. It may be that the two weirdnesses are tied together somehow.”

Claire nodded, wearing the sage look that only teenagers were naive enough to pull off well. “Occam’s razor,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to leave when this is all sorted out?”

It was delightful, the idea that it could just all be sorted with a wave of a wand. “I have no idea right now, Claire, to tell you the God’s honest truth. Alex and I—this is very new.”

Claire snorted. “Yeah, no joke. The gossip sites are eating it up, too. He’s been seen a million times with a million girls, but he never makes out with anyone on the street.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed, actually.”

Zoey had to laugh. “I don’t know if I should say thank you or not.”

“I think,” Claire said, with a certain weight deliberation, “That you should show me your music.”

“What?”

“I think you can’t get to know a person until you know what they like to listen to. I played you mine. Show me what you’ve got on your phone.”

As acceptance rituals went, Zoey thought she could probably handle this one all right.