When Empires Fall (38 page)

She glanced up then as Win wandered into the restaurant, looking much too cheerful for a man whose father just died. She eyed him indignantly as he slipped into the seat across from her, earlier traces of her dark humor fleeing, replaced only by disdain.

“Good morning,” Win greeted, smiling as he lifted the white porcelain coffee pot that rested on the table and poured himself a generous cup.

“Stop acting like you just won the goddamn lottery, Win,” Charlene scolded in a harried whisper, sneering at him. “Your father just passed away.”

“I know, it’s great, isn’t it?” Win took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I’m finally free.”

“What you are is a disgrace,” she shot back, removing her reading glasses so she could glare at him. She made sure to conceal the worst of her anger from her expression, and kept her voice low so no one nearby would hear. Though for breakfast,
Cherir
was filled mostly with business professionals from the nearby high rises and guests at the hotel, and none of them were paying her or Win any attention. “First you get drunk and publicly accuse your own father of murder, leaving me no choice but to bring you back here where I can keep an eye on you. And now, before this detective has even had the chance to speak to you or to Cyrus, he offs himself and you’re chipper about it. I won’t have it, Win, I just won’t have it.”

“Calm down, Char,” Win told her, avoiding her eyes and reading from the menu, his smile still in place. “Everything’s going to be fine now.”

“How so?” She scowled, clutching her royal blue linen napkin in her lap to keep from throwing something at him. “You and Cyrus have potentially destroyed everything this family has worked so hard for. Our reputation is at stake, and if we get swallowed up by this scandal then we will not only lose market share, we will also lose our standing in New York and our prestige as one of the last family empires of this country. So tell me again how everything is going to be just fine, Win?”

He said nothing for a moment as the waiter approached and interrupted them, taking the menu and Win’s order. As the young man walked away, Win folded his hands carefully in front of him on the table and hunched over, lifting his eyes to meet his ex-wife’s. What he saw there brought back a quick bite of panic to his gut, but he pushed it back as best he could. He was safe now, he just had to get used to the idea. No one could hurt him anymore.

“When the detective comes today I’m going to tell him the truth. He’ll probably believe me since the suicide shows my dad was guilty, and so he’ll close the case and this will all be over.”

“And what of the negative press? The damage is being done as we speak to our reputation, and it can take several years if not decades to recover from something like this. We could lose everything, Win. That means no house in the Hollywood Hills, no luxury cruises to the Caribbean, no barely legal tarts with more breasts than brains, and no Lamborghinis for you to cruise the boulevard in.”

“You know, I was thinking that maybe I wouldn’t go back to all of that anyways,” he said then, meeting her eyes once more. The hope and poetic idealism she saw in his features took her alarmingly by surprise. “I thought maybe I could start over, ya know? Here in New York. Get an apartment, maybe work at the hotel or something. I’ve been away for so long, but now that he’s gone I can finally come home.”

Charlene blinked once, speechless. She barely started breathing again when Marshall suddenly came up beside her and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Good morning, Charlene. Win,” Marshall mumbled, clearly distracted and stressed. Charlene nodded wearily and watched Marshall slide into the booth beside his brother and pour himself some coffee.

Win beamed at his brother and patted him jovially on the back, startling the older man. “Hey man, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Marshall’s lips pressed together to form a tight, disapproving line as he finished pouring his coffee and set aside the pitcher. “It’s raining outside. Again.”

“So what? A little rain never hurt anybody.” Win grinned, pausing as the waiter delivered his plate of strawberry crepes and took Marshall’s order. As the waiter left, Marshall hefted a heavy sigh and frowned over at his youngest brother.

“The detective should be here any minute. I hope you are prepared.”

“To what? Tell the truth?” Win asked, aloof to Marshall’s weariness and frustration. “I can’t wait to tell him, to be honest. Then this will all be over and I can move on.”

“It may be over for you in one sense, brother. But this will not be over for the family for some time.”

Win’s smile faltered and he glanced over at Charlene questioningly. “That’s what Char thinks too, but c’mon. Once the case is closed, no one will care anymore.”

“Americans always care about a scandal and one of this magnitude will not pass us by without causing irreparable harm.” Marshall took a tentative sip of coffee to shield the emotion from his voice, his grief insurmountable. Not only for his deceased father, who he had loved and respected, but for the beating he knew was coming for his family, for his nieces and nephews who he considered to be his own children. It was up to him to protect all of them, and yet he worried he was too tired and too old to be able to do enough. And sensing defeat after a lifetime of success and triumph was breaking his entire soul to pieces.

Charlene noted the sadness in Marshall’s calm blue eyes and her lips curled in anger. Win was always destroying everything, and now Marshall, the man she should have married in the first place, was grieving and Win could care less. It was just so typical.

“Just before you arrived, Marshall, Win was informing me that he would like to relocate back here to New York. He said he wants to work for the hotel,” she said conversationally, watching Marshall closely so as to gauge his reaction. The flash of shock and fury that passed over his face did not disappoint her.

“Damnit, Win,” he grunted, turning to face his brother accusingly. “You can’t just avoid responsibility for a lifetime and suddenly expect to be included. Any position you may have qualified for has instead been passed on to your children, who are doing a better job than you would have anyway.”

“But Marshall, you know now why I stayed away, why I didn’t want to get involved,” Win reminded him, his brow creasing with frustration. “I was scared of him. He was evil. Don’t you see that?”

Marshall’s gaze hardened as he glared at his brother, his temper rising furiously within him to mix dangerously with the grief. “The man has barely been dead fifteen hours and you have the audacity to speak ill of him when nothing has yet been proven? I for one am not inclined to believe anything you say until the detective confirms that it is the truth. For all I know, you made it up just to punish him, to punish all of us for ignoring you.”

Win paled to a ghostly white, staggered. “You don’t believe me? You have to believe me.”

“Why? Because you’ve been so goddamn honest in the past?” Marshall growled, tossing his napkin down and rising to his feet angrily. “You can’t even be honest with your own little girl on why you had to miss her high school graduation.”

“She doesn’t hold that against me.”

Marshall shook his head slowly, disgust rising in his gut. “You said that about all of them, Win. And each time you were wrong.”

“Hey, mom. Marshall,” Linc greeted as he suddenly walked over, his voice gruff from lack of sleep and his eyes shadowed by dark circles. He leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek and patted Marshall on the back, attempting a small smile as he met his uncle’s eyes. He had been watching the exchange from just outside the restaurant and knew he had to intervene.

With obvious disdain, he turned his attention to his father. “The detective is here. He went upstairs to speak with Grant first but he’s expecting you up there in about twenty minutes.”

Win stared hopelessly at his youngest son, regret and guilt pounding through his brain from Marshall’s words. Did all of his kids really hate him? “Okay, Linc. Hey, you know, maybe when I move back to New York we can hang out or something. Maybe make a fresh start of the mess I’ve made of things.”

Tucking his hands into his jeans pockets, Linc grit his teeth furiously. “Who said you are allowed to move back to New York?”

Win froze, confused. “I…”

“Let me put it this way,
dad
,” Linc said, an edgy smile curving his lips. “You were dead to me the moment you decided to fuck my girlfriend. That was when I officially wrote you out of my life. Granted, you had done a lot of shitty stuff to deserve being written off before that, but this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Don’t you ever wonder why Grant, Madison and I don’t bother to talk to you? And Kennedy won’t be far behind, trust me. She’s been pissed off at you ever since she found out the real reason you dodged her graduation.”

“How did she find out?” Win stammered, eyes wide.

“You think I don’t have access to your expense account? You think I can’t put two and two together when you’re reserving a hotel room in the Caribbean, buying two sets of overpriced lobster dinners and ordering a five hundred dollar bottle of champagne and chocolate strawberries that you’re not with some woman? Well, now she sees you for what you are and it’s done. You’ve successfully lost all of us. Congratulations.”

“Linc, wait-” Win tried to reach frantically for his son across the table as Linc stalked away, furious. As he watched his son disappear into the lobby, Win felt despair and misery wash over him. He settled back into his seat and stared numbly at the table.

Marshall left without a word, having seen and heard enough. He had his own grief and anger to deal with and seeing his brother in pain was doing nothing to help.

Charlene remained where she was, replacing her reading glasses carefully as she returned to her to-do list, immeasurably proud of her youngest son.

“It’s like you said, Win. Everything is going to be just fine.”

“I’m sure you
are wondering why I came to see you first,” Detective Don Hughes said, his voice solemn and discreetly businesslike as he met Grant’s eyes. He sat in one of the chairs in front of Grant’s desk, just as he had weeks earlier when he had first come to tell the family about the letter. Funny how so much had changed in that short period of time.

Grant frowned, casually leaning back in his chair and eyeing the detective thoughtfully. In his hands, he held his great-grandfather’s fountain pen and he passed it between his fingers idly as he spoke. “I suppose I am curious, detective. My father is the one who has the testimony you need to close this case.”

Don considered Grant’s words for a moment, a manila folder containing all of Rosalie Owens’ documents in his lap. He ran his hands over its surface, pondering just how best to explain the disturbing truths that lay inside.

“I still intend to get your father’s statement, Mr. Vasser,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But before I do so I wanted to share with you the rest of the information that was included in Rosalie Owens’ letter. Now that your grandfather is dead, there is no longer a need for me to hold out the details from your family.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the pen he held tighter. “What sort of
details
have you been withholding? And for what purpose?”

“I needed to find out if anyone in your family could corroborate what Rosalie Owens claimed. Luckily for me, your father is a witness, and a man by the name of Wyatt Bailey came to me to confirm that your father had not just recently made up his eyewitness account.”

Grant stiffened, anger hardening his face. “Wyatt Bailey, detective?”

“Yes, he said that your father told him about what he had witnessed seven years ago. Mr. Bailey was very specific, so I am inclined to believe him.”

“So that’s why he was in town,” Grant murmured to himself, remembering Madison telling him that Wyatt had come to see her. Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away. “So what was this information that you saw fit not to share with us?”

“Fairly extensive proof, Mr. Vasser, I must say.”

“Proof of what, exactly? That my grandfather murdered his father? I think we can assume that his suicide confirms his guilt.” Grief flashed briefly in his eyes to mix with the resentment he felt.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Vasser, there is more than just the murder of your great-grandfather that Cyrus Vasser was accused of committing.” Don lifted the manila folder so Grant could see it, but he did not open it. “In her letter, Rosalie described how Winston told her about what had happened in the war and how Cyrus had come back a hero. But three of his brothers had not been so lucky.”