Convicted (66 page)

Pushing the door ajar, he scanned the room. Overall, it was the same—the same cherry paneling, trim, and bookcases. His mahogany desk, which mimicked Nathaniel’s, stood facing the doorway, yet there were subtle differences—picture frames, light colored draperies, and flowers. His masculine domain had taken on a feminine hue. The door to the attached bath was closed. Slowly, he approached the barrier and laid his head upon the wooden door. The only sound he heard was silence. Tony opened the door to find an empty bathroom—Catherine wasn’t here.

As he eased himself into
his
chair, behind
his
desk—he assessed
his
mission. Suddenly, the pictures on the desk caught his attention. There was one of Nathaniel and Marie. He stared at his grandfather’s likeness; if someone didn’t know better—they’d think it was him. Tony had never seen the photo before, but then again, he couldn’t recall ever going into Catherine’s suite. There was another picture—one that Tony recognized. It was of Sophia as a young girl. Obviously, Catherine had found all the information he and Nathaniel had accumulated and knew that Sophia was her daughter.
What kind of game was she playing with Sophia? Was it as dangerous as the one she played with Claire and him or with the Vandersols?

Eric said that the Vandersols had come to get some of Claire’s things.
Would they be in the suite he’d shared with Claire or in her old suite upstairs? Had Phil scanned each monitor and found their location?
There were many cameras and each image was relatively short-lived as the monitors rotated their feed—scanning each frame took time.

As these and many more questions raced through his mind, the door to the office suddenly opened. Catherine casually entered, oblivious to her unexpected company. She didn’t even notice Tony until she looked up. Her initial expression verified her surprise as an audible gasp escaped her lips. Tony instantly knew that Eric
could
be trusted—he hadn’t set a trap. Quickly, she closed the door behind her. Tony remained silent as Catherine Marie straightened her shoulders and appeared to gather her thoughts. After a prolonged silence, she glared in Tony’s direction and said, “Anton.”

The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding
.

—Albert Camus

Tony incredulously stared, wondering what he’d planned to say. Thoughts formed fast and furiously as he rose from the chair and walked slowly toward her. With each step forward, he watched Catherine analyzing his expression. She wanted to know his thoughts, and if he knew her master plan. Striving to keep his gaze indifferent, he stopped inches in front of her. “Good afternoon, Catherine.”

She exhaled and brought her hands to her chest. “Oh, thank God. I was afraid you were dead. Tell me, where have you been! Did you find Claire?” Each statement came a little quicker than the last.

He turned and walked back to his desk, contemplating his plan. Shaking his head, he sat and pointed to one of the chairs next to the desk. Her lips tightened into a flat line as she walked toward the seat he’d just assigned. Tony waited for her compliance. Once she was seated, he answered, “I’ve searched everywhere—it’s like she fell of the face of the earth.” Leaning back, he purposely hesitated and furrowed his brow.

Taking the bait, she asked, “What is it?”

“She stole our money.”

“What?”

“I went to Geneva, and the money Nathaniel left—for us”—he paused—“for you and for me—the bulk of it was gone. To the best of my calculations, she took somewhere over 200 million dollars!”

“How? How did she know about it? And how have you been able to survive? I mean, when they wouldn’t say if you were alive or dead—I assumed you were using that money for your search.”

Tony explained how he made it to Geneva and found the almost empty safety deposit box. The only documentation inside was to a savings account, in his name, with merely half of a million and an unsigned note.

“Oh, what did the note say?”

Tony lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “It said,
this time,
I’m not walking away empty handed.”

Catherine gasped. “Oh, Anton, she
did
leave you. So the reconciliation was bogus—nothing but a sham for your money”—she shook her head—“I’m so sorry. Did you keep looking?”

Blood rushed to Tony’s cheeks as he fought his emotion—fought to continue the charade—as he fought the red. Although Catherine probably assumed the rage that threatened to erupt was meant towards Claire—the true recipient was a mere few feet away. Pounding his fist against the desk, he replied, “Of course I did! She’s alive and took my money!”

Catherine leaned toward him, her voice only a whisper, “Anton, lower your voice.”

His tone softened, yet remained equally determined, “I’ll scream from the damn rooftops if I want.”

“I have guests. You don’t want anyone to find you, do you? Last I heard, if you’re alive, then you’re a wanted man.”

Enunciating each word, he asked, “Guests? Who Catherine? Who’s here?”

Catherine glanced toward her hands. As she hesitated, he took in the woman before him. When she first entered the room, he’d been preoccupied, now he saw her—really saw her. Just like his office—she too had changed. The transformation wasn’t dramatic, not one stark difference; however, it was like the picture Roach showed them months ago. Her hair was shorter, more stylish, and the color was lighter—she wore more make-up than before—and her clothes were nicer than he’d ever seen her wear. Without a doubt, the changes made her appear younger and more confident. She no longer gave the air of house hold staff—Catherine looked like the lady of the manor.

When she finally raised her eyes, he saw a familiar gleam—one he remembered from years before. It was a look she had when she was working on Nathaniel’s vendetta. If she’d had it when she entered his office, he’d missed it; however, he recognized it now.

Tony deepened his tone, “Catherine, I’m sure you remember—I don’t like to repeat myself.”

She pulled her shoulders back. “Well, you see, in your absence there have been some changes. You may remember that you named me executor of your estate.”

“I remember.”

“As such, I’ve modified and altered a few things.”

Tony looked toward the pictures and flowers. “I see.”

Moving to the edge of her chair, she explained, “Not just appearances Anton,” Catherine went on to say how she hadn’t been sure if he’d return. Even if he were alive, she figured as long as he was suspected in Claire’s disappearance, he’d need to stay hidden; therefore, there were matters she decided to deal with herself—the first was Sophia.

Catherine’s eyes brightened. “Anton, you were right—when you told me my daughter would need me! She’s so beautiful, and I’ve wasted too many years not knowing her. I should’ve listened to Nathaniel—and to you.” Before breaking their gaze, she added, “It’s a shame you’ll never have this experience with your child.”

The pencil he’d been holding splintered in his grasp. The loud crack caused Catherine to jump back in her chair. He didn’t respond to her last comment; instead he confirmed, “So your guest is Sophia? She’s here and knows you’re her mother?”

Catherine shook her head. “She’s here. I haven’t told her of our relationship. The time hasn’t been right. In time, she’ll understand how much she needs me.”

Tony contemplated;
if he pressed about additional guests, then she may become suspicious.
“You don’t want her to know I’m here—in
my
house?”

“Anton, you can’t tell anyone you’re here. The FBI will arrest you.” Furrowing her brow, she asked, “Why are you here?”

“As I just stated—it’s
my
house.”

“Yes, of course it is. Do you plan on staying?”

“I plan on ending the Rawls—Nichols—Burke vendetta once and for all.”

Catherine’s serious expression morphed—her whole guise brightened, from her gray eyes to her round cheeks, as her smile extended from ear to ear. Tony suddenly wondered how Nathaniel had loved her—the smile combined with the coldness behind her expression made the bile in his stomach rise, leaving a foul taste as he worked to swallow.

“I want that too—I want to be done!”—she leaned closer—“and we can—Anton, we can! Our goals are in sight. The end is so close! We must hurry, before there are more. I know we don’t know where Claire and the child are, but we can find them. We can finish this once and for all!”

Claire and the child?!
Tony sprang to his feet; the poor chair sailed helplessly backwards until it crashed against the cherry bookcase. “No, Catherine!”—He towered over her—“No, I’m stopping it from going any farther. It’s over—now!”

“Anton, we can’t stop—not now.” Her voice mellowed as she reached up and caressed his cheek. “You look so much like your grandfather. He had eyes—”

A cold chill ran down his spine as he recoiled and every muscle in his body tensed. It was as if her touch were from the devil himself. Tony seized Catherine’s hand, and by the pained look on her face, he was squeezing too tight—Tony didn’t care. His words came slowly, through clenched teeth, “Do—not—touch—me—ever!”

It was then he noticed the white gold cross with the large pearl hanging from a fine chain around Catherine’s neck—Claire’s grandmother’s necklace—Emily’s grandmother’s necklace! Releasing her hand, he grabbed the pearl and tugged the delicate chain. He’d broken the damn thing before—he could do it again. Once it was free, he shoved the necklace deep into the pocket of his slacks.

Catherine gasped and reflexively touched her neck. “How dare you! It isn’t like Claire will ever see it again.” Again, her features morphed. Standing defiantly, Catherine brushed invisible debris from her expensive clothes, and walked toward the open room. When she turned, her eyes displayed both hatred and vengeance. Tony remembered that look when she used to talk about his parents. As their proximity decreased the distain in her voice increased. “Are you so
love sick
over the woman who played you for a fool that you want the necklace as a memento?”—She’d never spoken to him in this tone—“That’s fine. Who knows, they may even let you keep it in prison. If not”—she sneered—“I could always send it to you. I hear they deliver
boxes
all the time. ”

All coherent thought forgot to register—the grand office was a hue of crimson. Though Tony didn’t know what he was about to do, he knew, without a doubt, it was about to happen. He took two steps toward her, and Catherine’s gaze didn’t waver. He took one more step—when suddenly, the phone on the desk rang breaking the deafening silence. They both turned and stared at the source of the ring, as if it were an alien life form infiltrating their private storm. Finally, their eyes met. The phone which was ringing was the estate’s
private number
, known only by a few people. On the fourth ring, Catherine asked condescendingly, “Mr. Rawlings, would you like to answer that?”

Clenching his jaw, he took a step back and motioned toward the phone. Although seconds earlier they’d both been visibly upset, as she answered the call, her voice held no indication of unease. Tony stood and listened.

“Yes, this is Ms. London.” “I see.” “When did this happen?” The menacing smile from earlier reappeared as she replied, “That
is
terrible.” Walking around to the other side of his desk, Catherine sat and reached for a paper and pen. “Can you please give me that information one more time?” He couldn’t see the words as she scribbled on the blank page. “Thank you, for the information. I’ll pass it on to Mrs. Burke. Please, keep me informed.” “Goodbye.” When she hung up, she leaned back against the soft leather and shook her head. “Tisk, tisk—It’s such a shame.”

Her words, combined with her expression, sent shivers down his spine; nonetheless, Anthony Rawlings had never backed away from a challenge—today wouldn’t be an exception.

“I believe you’re in my seat.” Ice dripped from his words.

“I believe I am”—she stood and motioned toward it—“Please, enjoy it while you can. I believe it would be better for you to hear this news while seated.”

He didn’t move forward; instead, he stood taller, towering over her with every bit of his six and a half foot build. “Why? What have you done?”

“Yes, it’s always me, isn’t it? Mr. Anthony Rawlings never got
his
hands dirty! We all know how important it was to
appear
innocent.”

“Catherine?”

She lowered herself once again to his chair and explained, “As executor of your estate, I’m kept abreast of pertinent Rawlings Industries information.”

He nodded.

“It seems as though one of Rawlings’ private jets has gone down.”

Tony’s knees buckled as he fought to remain standing. “Down?”

“There was a distress call, and shortly after, the plane disappeared from radar. The FAA is investigating—it’s assumed the plane has crashed. There’s no information regarding survivors—none are expected.”

“Why, Catherine? Who’s on that plane?”

Before Catherine could answer, they heard a knock at the door. Turning toward the sound, they both stared in silence. The second knock echoed as they waited. Finally, deliberately, Catherine walked to the door and opened it—at first, only she could see the person on the other side.