A Woman of Fortune (22 page)

30

L
ainie leaned her head against the bark of the oak tree. “How did you know?”

Max looked up at the sky filled with storm clouds, making the early evening atmosphere even darker. “The newsroom. An anonymous source.”

Despite her tough show at the table, Lainie's insides ached. “I know what Garrett said, but I don't understand. What is
substantial
assistance
?”

“When Dad forged Garrett's signature on those papers, the feds came after Garrett. All I heard is he remembered seeing an order for feed he knew had never been delivered. He must've put two and two together. Dad would make money selling fake cows, then charge the investors to feed them. He'd use those funds to place orders for massive amounts of grain in the futures market, and hedge the price by selling that same feed back with stop-loss orders in place.” Max lifted his chin. “All on paper, of course. Nothing in Dad's world was real. A great way to make a lot of profit until the markets turned and cash flow tightened.”

Lainie frowned. “But that still doesn't answer why Garrett would rat Dad out. Especially when he knew the information would blow Dad's earlier deal.”

Max closed his eyes, seeming lost in his thoughts. Finally, he answered. “Garrett got immunity.”

“Well then, I don't blame him, especially if Garrett didn't do anything.” Lainie stood and brushed off. A gathering wind blew her long blonde hair. “Dad sold us all down the river. Garrett had every right to protect himself. I just hate that he snuck around behind all our backs to do it.” She huffed. “That's so Garrett.”

“You're kidding, right?” he asked. “Did you see Mom's face? Did you even stop to imagine what this has done to her?”

She grabbed her hair and knotted it at the back of her neck. She didn't need her little brother pointing out the obvious. “Yeah? That doesn't mean we don't all have lives, Max. That we don't have to do what we can to survive this humiliation.”

She wasn't going to let him pull her moral ground out from under her. If she needed to get Pride back and secure a future by hooking up with Sidney McAlvain, she would. “I'm not taking Garrett's side here, but if I was facing prosecution, you better believe I'd do the same.” She started for the house, then turned back. “You know, Max, I love her too. But none of us did this to Mama—Daddy did.”

Claire followed Garrett into the front living area. Her mother trailed behind them, dogs in her arms. “I think the heat is getting to Nutmeg. She's dropping hair, and Yorkies don't shed.”

Claire turned. “Mama, could you give us a few minutes?”

Her mother frowned. “Sure,” she said. On the way out she bent her head to her dogs and mumbled, “They keep sending me out of the room, and then they wonder why I don't visit more often.”

As soon as they were alone, Claire moved to Garrett. She drew him into an embrace, noticing that he failed to hug back. “I'm your mother. I'll always love you, Son.”

He stepped away. “But you think what I did was wrong.”

“Not wrong,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just
don't understand why you didn't come to me—to Ranger. Maybe we could've figured out another way.” She bit the tender spot inside her lip. “Twenty years, Garrett. Even though what your father did was wrong, that's a long time.”

“My attorney urged me—”

“He's not your family,” Claire gently corrected.

Garrett moved to the massive window overlooking the front drive and gazed out. “Do you know what it was like, Mom? Always trying to live up to his expectations?”

Claire drew a deep breath and dropped onto the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and drew her legs up under her, all the while watching Garrett at the window. “I remember you being happy.”

But did she really?

Images of Garrett bent over his desk, studying into the wee morning hours, flashed in her mind. “Honey, it's late. You need to get some sleep. You have a big game tomorrow,” she'd said to the younger Garrett, ruffling his hair.

He never looked up. “I will. But I've gotta ace this test or else.”

Or else what? What did her son think would happen if he got a B on one lousy exam?

Claire remembered the disappointment in Tuck's eyes as he patted Garrett on the back after he'd lost a game his freshman year at school. “Don't worry, Son. With a few laps added to your daily routine, you'll pick up speed. You've got to be fast if you're going to quarterback on a college team.”

Garrett had added those laps. And he'd come within inches of adding a Heisman Trophy to the shelves in Tuck's office.

Maybe she should have noticed the pressure back then. But she didn't.

And then there was that time in Sun Valley, when Garrett pushed past his skiing ability and ended up with a broken leg.

Claire yearned to make sense of all this for her son, even when she didn't quite understand it herself.

“Garrett, your father meant well,” she offered, regarding her
son with compassion. “Tuck carried a lot of demons from his own childhood. He didn't have much available to him growing up, and sometimes I think he simply wanted us all to have the world. Especially you.” She felt the unexpected sting of tears and wiped her eyes. “He only wanted the very best for you.”

With a heavy sigh, Garrett looked up at the ceiling and put his hands behind his head. “Thanks for the pep talk, Mom. But you'll never understand.” He sniffed before dropping his arms.

Claire winced. She hadn't meant to sugarcoat his pain. “Garrett, what your father did was wrong.” She watched her son warily, checking to see if what she was saying had any impact. “But that doesn't mean he didn't love—”

The blaze in her son's eyes stopped her midsentence.

“The line between love and hate can become very narrow,” he said. “And I wonder—which side will he be on when he learns what I did?” What little color he had left drained from his face. His eyes dimmed with grief. “I took the only possible path. But I still can't look at myself in the mirror.”

Claire's heart thudded painfully. The sight of her boy standing there, his arms hanging at his sides in resigned despair, tore her apart.

Outside, rain spattered the glass.

She supposed in some ways they'd all followed Tuck down the same mountain. He'd taken unbelievable risks and raced toward destruction, leaving them all broken and unable to walk.

Especially Garrett.

More than a doctor would be required to heal their crippled lives. Her family would need a miracle.

31

B
y ten o'clock the following morning, every station in the Dallas area carried breaking news of Claire's new plight. Based on recent developments, the US Attorney's Office had reopened the matter of
The
United
States
v
.
Theodore
Massey
.

Claire's unanswered phone rang for the twelfth time in less than an hour. With remote in hand, she clicked off the ringer and tossed her phone on the bed, diverting her attention instead to the screen mounted on her bedroom wall.

Deputy Chief McAlroy and the lead prosecutor, Charles Jordan, stood at a bank of microphones, a large Department of Justice seal in the backdrop.

McAlroy was the first to speak. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for being here. I understand you have a lot of questions, but first let me make a few remarks, and then I'll open it up.”

He cleared his throat. “On May 14 of this year, a federal grand jury indictment was issued charging Theodore ‘Tuck' Massey with multiple counts of felony wire fraud, mail fraud, false representation, and criminal forfeiture. These charges resulted from a Ponzi-like cattle scam whereby Mr. Massey defrauded investors, creating massive financial fallout.

“Mr. Massey was remanded into custody, entered into a plea
agreement, and is currently incarcerated in the Federal Correction Center in Bastrop, Texas. In addition, pursuant to the plea agreement, authorities confiscated property and assets belonging to Mr. Massey—estimated value at half a billion dollars.

“Recently our office was made aware of another scheme prompting further investigation. This effort revealed a complicated commodities fraud where Mr. Massey manipulated grain prices through an intricate scheme of cooperative trading that created false profits.

“Yesterday at 9:00 a.m., Mr. Massey consented to plead guilty to additional charges. The amended agreement will include an extended sentence of twenty years, without the possibility of parole.”

Claire stared at the screen. She blinked several times, trying to focus. Hearing the news in a press conference somehow made everything more . . .
real
.

“First of all, let me reiterate that this office is committed to bringing justice in these kinds of situations, and all of us in the US Attorney's Office remain acutely aware that real people have been hurt. Grandmothers living on Social Security placed their savings accounts with Tuck Massey. Fathers and mothers invested their children's college funds. By not proceeding to a lengthy and expensive trial, restitution will be made much earlier, with more expediency and less burden on taxpayers.

“Now I'll open it up to questions.”

Claire pointed the remote and clicked off the television. She slumped onto the bed, struggling to form valid thoughts.

She had to remember to breathe.
In . . . out. In . . . out.
Her heart pounded.

Her eyes swept the familiar surroundings. Their bedroom with cream walls and gold sconces. The chintz settee and armchairs. The ivory fireplace opposite the bed—her and Tuck's bed.

A bed that would remain empty for twenty years.

An involuntary trembling began in the pit of Claire's stomach, extending through her groin, her legs, her arms. She couldn't stop shaking.

Her skin grew clammy—cold and hot all at the same time. Fear, unlike any she'd ever known, caused her teeth to chatter. The room grew milky.

Her hands grasped the bedcovers in an attempt to steady herself.

Suddenly, in a wild fit of panic, Claire rushed for the bathroom. She latched onto the sink and spewed her emotions in chunks, retching over and over.

Her hands gripped the cold, hard porcelain edge as she thought of handcuffs, hearings, and subpoenas. Her mind formed images of the judge, of television screens filled with angry investors spouting their hatred, of Garrett and Marcy getting in the car and driving away. She remembered the scene on the courthouse steps and felt the spit on her cheek, remembered telling the children about the additional crimes and the extreme pain in Garrett's eyes.

From deep inside, her stomach expelled pain until no more came and nothing remained but her emptiness.

Quietly she collapsed to the floor, exhausted. With her cheek pressed against the hard, cold tile, Claire tightly closed her eyes and tried not to think.

A hand pressed against her shoulder. “Mrs. Massey?”

She raised her pounding head. “Margarita.”

The buxom housekeeper folded to her knees and cradled Claire's dampened head to her chest. “Everything will be all right, Mrs. Massey.”

The maternal tenderness was more than she could bear. Her emotions broke and tears spilled. Slow at first, then turning to torrents of sobs. She cried and cried.

Margarita smoothed her hair. “There, there . . . let it all out. That's right.”

Several minutes later, completely spent, Claire swallowed and struggled for control. She pulled back and looked into the eyes of her trusted housekeeper. Her breath hitched from crying. “You know, Margarita,” she said, “at some point in our years together, Tuck became an essential part of me, like an arm or leg.”

Margarita's eyes filled with sympathy. “
Sí
,” she said, nodding. “Two became one.”

“Yes,” Claire said. “But in so many ways, our intimate connection was a lie. In truth, my husband was nothing more than a stranger.” She swiped the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “I've always treasured the notion of myself as strong and brave, but I'm none of those things, Margarita.” With a watery smirk, she added, “And I guess the life we built together is over. Everything is different now.”

“In these hard times, God will carry you, my friend.”

Hugging her arms tightly around herself, Claire dropped her gaze to the floor and said weakly, “I hope so, Margarita. Because I've never been this scared.”