A Woman of Fortune (20 page)

“I see.” Mr. Jordan shifted the financials to the court reporter. “Could you mark these as Exhibit A?” He turned his attention back to Claire. “Now, who fed these cattle? The ones held for later sale?”

“What do you mean? I suppose we did. Until they shipped.” Claire scowled. “We had two feed lots—I think one was west of Lubbock and the other a bit south of San Antonio. Truly, I'm not sure about any of this.”

Mr. Jordan pressed on. “The ranch operation grew hay?”

“Yes.”

“But feed was also purchased, isn't that correct?”

Claire didn't want to guess, but this line of questioning was a bit ridiculous. Of course Tuck bought feed.

Mr. Jordan handed her another document. “Perhaps this will help. Can you identify this document for the record?”

She frowned. “No, I've never seen this before.”

Mr. Jordan had the exhibit marked. “Ms. Massey, are you familiar with the Chicago Board of Trade, also known as CBOT?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“How about the Chicago Mercantile Exchange—the CME?”

“No.”

The jurors darted looks at each other, then stared back at her, waiting. Claire could sense the tension in the room building.

“Were you aware you were listed as an officer of a grain cooperative?”

She didn't like where this questioning was heading. “No.”

“You didn't sign these Articles of Incorporation?”

She peered at the neatly written signature, one that clearly was not her own. Her heart hammered inside her chest. “No, I didn't sign that.”

Mr. Jordan pulled the document back, but not before Claire noticed Garrett's signature on the document as well. Her scalp turned damp and her throat chalky. She reached for her water.

Oh, Tuck, no . . .
What have you done?

“Ms. Massey, do you know what the term
hedging
means?”

“No—no, I don't.”

“How about
stop-loss orders
? Are you familiar with that term?”

“No.”

Claire drew a deep breath, trying to ease her churning nerves. Even the court reporter seemed engaged at this point.

Mr. Jordan displayed three sheets of paper before her. “Now, Ms. Massey, have you ever seen any of these documents? Not these exactly, but perhaps documents like these?” Mr. Jordan rubbed his chin. His eyes sparkled ever so slightly. “One is a bill of lading, the second is a shipping manifest, and the third is an invoice.” He flipped the third document around and checked it. “To an investor, for eighty hundred weight of grain.” He turned to the jurors. “We've blacked out the name. The identity isn't necessary to this proceeding.”

Claire's head now pounded. She was unsure where this line of questioning was going, but clearly it was nowhere good.

She answered Mr. Jordan's questions as best as she could. She was unfamiliar with the documents.

Finally, Mr. Jordan smirked. “Fine. That's all we need.”

“I'm done?”

He nodded.

Claire stood and made her way from the room. Before reaching the door, she passed the woman who had been taking notes, and Claire couldn't help but wonder whose coffin her testimony had just nailed shut.

Tuck's . . . or her son's?

27

C
laire pushed through heavy glass doors into the sunlight with a myriad of questions swirling. Before she could ponder a single one of them, her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her bag and held the phone to her ear.

She slipped her sunglasses in place and listened as Ranger questioned her about her testimony. “Jordan is asking about hedging and stop-loss orders,” she said. “And about feeding cattle that didn't exist.”

“Well, we should know very soon what all this is about,” he said. “But I'm not going to sugarcoat the situation. This line of questioning does not bode well. The US Attorney is onto something.”

Tell me what I don't
know
, Claire thought. She may not have understood how to protect losses in the commodities market with hedging and such, but any dummy could assume the feds had discovered more wrongdoing.

It appeared her husband had thrown his entire family under the bus. Perhaps even their son. And for what?

Like a simple fool, she had initially stepped right into the role of “stand by your man.” What had she been thinking, for goodness' sake?

She hadn't been thinking—that's what. While she struggled to
keep a stiff upper lip, hoping for the best given a horrible situation, Tuck sat on yet more secrets. More deceit.

Anger roiled up inside and the emotion became too much. Claire wanted to hit something—smash it to pieces.

Why, Tuck?

Tuck had bilked innocent investors of millions, their church even. Ripped her mother of her security and taken her best friend's retirement account. Now he may have put Garrett in jeopardy.

Ranger cleared his throat. “The terms of the plea agreement were clear. In exchange for a lighter sentence, Tuck was to cooperate completely. All indications are Tuck failed to disclose all the elements of his crime.”

Claire felt familiar dread return. “So what happens now?”

“Well, you won't be involved in what happens going forward unless they try to include you and allege you were complicit. We'd fight that, of course.”

“The prosecutors don't think I was involved?” Claire's hand instinctively went to her chest. “I—I had nothing to do with any of this.” She didn't know which made her feel more sick—the thought she'd face criminal charges of some sort, or the fact her own husband had placed her in this precarious situation.

“You have little to worry about,” Ranger assured her. “If necessary, we'll hire a handwriting expert who'll prove you did not sign those documents.”

Feeling dazed, Claire headed for the parking garage.

At least Ranger was on her side.

The truth? She was as surprised as anyone at what Tuck had done. She certainly wasn't a part of any scheme that involved hedging and stop-loss agreements. And she felt sure Ranger would prove that, if it became necessary.

After some thought, she was almost certain Garrett knew nothing of all this either. Claire's gut told her Tuck had also forged their son's signature, an act that took Tuck's desperation to a brand-new low.

She opened her bag and fished out her parking stub. She could take the elevator to the third floor, but after sitting all day, she headed for the stairs. The exercise would be good for her. She could walk off some of these angry feelings.

She climbed the first series of steps and rounded the landing, thinking for the first time she was glad Marcy's dad had convinced Garrett of the need for separate counsel so early on. At first Claire felt he'd intruded and pulled her family apart in the process. But clearly Tuck had no compunction about risking both their well-beings. She could relax somewhat knowing Garrett's legal matters were in good hands.

This time, Tuck deserved whatever came his way.

Out of breath, Claire reached the floor where she'd parked and pulled the heavy stairwell door open. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the concrete to where she'd left her Escalade.

She was thinking she needed to walk the river daily, like she had before Tuck put in the gym, when her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her bag and glanced at the face.

Max.

“Hi, baby.” Did her voice give away how emotionally exhausted she felt?

“Mom, we need to talk.”

With her free hand, she fished in her bag for her keys. “Yes, I know. Where are you?”

“My appearance was just canceled. I'm heading for the Stockyards.”

She moved past a row of cars. “Canceled? You don't have to testify?” What could that mean? Regardless, she was thankful her younger son had been spared that stress.

“Why don't you meet me at Riscky's?”

Claire reached the third row of cars and turned. She walked past a little green sedan and then a dark blue Suburban blocking her own car from view. “I suppose I could be there in about an hour.”

She stopped, stunned. “Oh!”

Max's voice came through her phone. “Mom, what is it? What's the matter?”

Claire swallowed and walked slowly forward. “Someone—uh, somebody egged my car.”

The attractive young black woman holding the clipboard was better suited to a pretty dress and some bling, Claire thought as she watched the uniformed police officer scribble on the report. “So, what happens next?”

The officer scowled. “Now, you're sure you don't know who might have done this to your car?”

She shook her head. “No idea.”

A second officer, a short guy with stubby legs, stepped forward. “The guy at the entrance confirmed there are no security cameras. He provided a list of license plates from cars entering this structure in the hours since you arrived.” He nodded. “Probably, though, somebody just walked up the stairs.”

The woman clicked her pen shut. “We've taken down the information. That's really all we can do at this point, unless a lead develops.” She ripped off a copy of the report and handed it to Claire. “Massey—now why does that name sound so familiar?”

The short guy scowled. “Hey, wait a minute. Ain't you that rich lady I been seeing on the news? The one with the crook husband who weaseled all those people outta their money?”

The female officer cocked her head. “What's this?”

Claire confirmed she was Tuck Massey's wife. “I suppose this could be the work of a disgruntled investor.”

The short guy agreed. He looked at her with scorn. “My grandma bought into your family's scheme . . . lost everything.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I'm sorry. I . . .”

The female officer made an additional note on her copy of the report. “This is certainly relevant. Unfortunately, these facts still don't identify the perpetrator. Like I said, we'll get in touch with
any leads.” She looked at Claire. “Better get yourself to a car wash before that mess dries. It'll ruin your finish.”

After texting Max she'd be a bit late, Claire headed for the nearest car wash. She slowed and read the instructions on the sign, then aligned her front tire with the metal railings where indicated. A heavyset woman with wiry hair and thick glasses stepped forward.

Hoping no reporters were parked with zoom lenses pointed in her direction, Claire lowered her window. “I'd like a wash, please.”

“You want wax?”

She confirmed she did and passed her last twenty-dollar bill over to the woman, who adjusted her earphones before providing change and a receipt.

The woman tilted her head and looked at the mess on the car's exterior paint. “Looks like somebody was mad at you or something. You want to ride through?”

“Huh? Oh yes—that'll be fine.” Claire had not been through a car wash in over ten years. She raised her window. The pulleys caught and she felt the car jerk forward. Water sprayed the sides of her Escalade. Out of another nozzle, water jetted onto the windshield, temporarily blocking her view.

Claire pressed back against the headrest, hoping the rhythm of the conveyor and the spraying water would lull her away from all that had transpired.

Regardless, her thoughts still drifted back to Tuck.

No matter how she tried, she couldn't reconcile this new knowledge of Tuck with the husband she'd lived with all those years. She'd believed him when he said he'd gotten in over his head with the cattle investments, felt pressure, and cut some legal corners. Never intending to defraud anyone but hoping to buy time until things turned around.

But now? What was she supposed to think now?

The same guy who'd lost that grandma's money had rocked her babies to sleep. The man who forged her name, and Garrett's, to legal documents had sat with her in church more Sundays than she could count. He was an elder, for goodness' sake.

He'd lied. Not only to investors, to his family . . . but to the court.

Nothing about this made sense.

When given the chance, he could've come clean. The judge had made that requirement completely clear at the sentencing. What would Tuck's reckless decisions mean for all of them now?

Soap squirted the windshield and mixed with the egg, creating little yellow rivers running down the glass. Through the blur, a yellow light flashed.

It was true. She almost hated him for what he'd done. But another emotion also churned. She couldn't help herself.

With little effort, Claire recalled her husband's nightly touch. Like the flutter of butterfly wings, his fingers stroked her cheeks, swept downward against her bare skin, to places only he knew.

An ache formed, one she'd felt often since his arrest.

Big rollers of fabric strips beat against the windshield.
Slap, slap, slap.

She missed his smell, the way she thrilled when his eyes met hers across a room with the promise of what awaited when he finally got her alone. There were times she'd give anything to feel him against her again, his breath hot on her neck.

Helpless, Claire closed her eyes against tears.

She hated Tuck.

And, heaven help her, she loved him.