Deception (Infidelity #3)(72)

“WHY MUST SHE come here?” I asked as I secured my hair in a French twist. Usually I was completely ready for dinner by the time Alton joined me. Tonight was different. Instead of being down in the parlor or in his study as he usually was when he came home from the office, he was in our suite, briefing me on our upcoming dinner from hell.

“Because, Laide, it’s part of the illusion,” Alton answered with a tone that suggested I was asking something of common knowledge, like why the sky was blue or the sea was green. “And,” he continued, “according to Bryce, she’s having trouble with this whole thing. The little whore was willing to take the money, but she never expected it to be from someone who had a history with Alexandria.”

I straightened my shoulders as I inspected my hair and makeup. “I never liked her, not when she lived with our daughter. But I-I…” I searched for the right words. “…never thought she was a prostitute.”

Alton was watching my response, his eyes narrowing with each of my words.

“I never trusted her,” I continued. “Do you think she was using Alexandria for her own benefit, encouraging Alexandria’s rebellion for just such an occasion as this?”

Alton tilted his head, thoughtfully, just before throwing back the two fingers of Cognac from the tumbler in his hand. Since the meeting in his office a few nights ago, he’d at least calmed over the whole subject.

He’d attended a few meetings with Bryce’s attorneys, the ones working the case about Melissa, and suddenly, Alton Fitzgerald was once again Bryce’s biggest advocate. Alton explained that the company from which Bryce had secured Chelsea’s companionship—which was just gentlemanly talk for ‘bought a whore’—was reputable and secure. The clients were mostly well-known names and the chance of it becoming public that Chelsea was anything other than a sincere girlfriend was minimal to nonexistent. Apparently, in the entire history of the company, there’d never been such a breach.

“Then it all makes sense,” he replied to my question. “It works. It all works as a grand plot brewing for years, substantiating Bryce and Chelsea’s long-term relationship.”

I walked to the highboy in our suite, my high heels sinking into the plush carpet and reached for the already-poured glass of cabernet. Swirling the dark red liquid, I tried to think of the right way to say what I was thinking, a way to question this plan without setting my husband off again. “Will you explain that?”

He huffed as he settled into a plush high-back leather chair and lifted his shoes to the ottoman. “Laide, for Christ’s sake, use your head. You just said it yourself. Think like the little slut. She found herself rooming with Alexandria Montague. She saw the potential. When Bryce went to California to visit Alexandria, Chelsea ran interference, telling Bryce that Alexandria didn’t want to see him and telling Alexandria to stay away from Bryce. She was in the perfect position to cause dissension.”

I sipped the thick wine that my husband had poured for me. There was something off about its flavor. I looked at the bottle. It was from our private collection. Maybe it was the year. Maybe it was that I’d been avoiding the cabernets, merlots, and other reds and drinking more whites lately, even more water.

Ever since learning about the codicil, I’d avoided the heavier alcohol, striving to keep sharp. Not only didn’t I want to accidentally let on what I knew, I was listening and taking in everything that was said and done around me.

For years—too many—I’d let the world rotate around me, content to stay blissfully dissociated and unaware, but no longer. Time was of the essence and by Alton’s reaction to Bryce’s plan, there was more happening than I knew. It was time to do as Jane did.

I didn’t mean manual labor. Heaven forbid. I meant listen. Jane said that was what she did, how she knew about the codicil. My guess was that she knew a lot more than she let on. I was following her lead.

I nodded in acknowledgment of Alton’s explanation.

He went on telling me exactly why I should accept Bryce and Chelsea’s cover story, while at the same time analyze her. He wanted to be sure she was believable before they went out into public together, before the vultures began to circle and questions were asked.

I listened as recent events infiltrated my thoughts. During one of Alton’s latest trips, I’d met again with Stephen, the young intern. Together, we’d looked closer at the ledger of views for all of my father’s documents. It appeared that when Charles was alive, it wasn’t uncommon for my father to meet with Ralph Porter and go over issues and legal papers. It wasn’t until weeks before my father’s death that Charles had met with both Ralph and Alton.

All that Stephen and I could decipher was that they were looking at the structure of Montague Corporation.

Even after digging, we weren’t able to pinpoint any specific modifications that were made as a result of the meeting. Most of the documents pertaining to Montague Corporation were held by the board of trustees. Legally, I was a member—the member with the most stock—yet I couldn’t exercise my rights, not without alerting my husband. Alton had been named my proxy in all matters Montague. Stephen explained that by legal recourse, I could get my rights back.

The only other time that Alton and Father had visited the firm together was prior to Alton’s and my wedding and I’d been with them. It was when we signed the necessary paperwork for the agreement to our marriage. Some may consider it a prenuptial agreement, but in reality it was the fulfillment of Article XII of my father’s last will and testament.