The Last Invitation (7)
“Tell me about it. I’ve buried my parents and a sister. Now my brother.” Liam leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second. “Damn, it’s just me now.”
Gabby had known the three Fielding kids, Baines, Liam, and Natalie, for decades. They’d lived on the same street growing up. Natalie was the middle child. She used to say she’d drawn the unlucky Fielding straw. She dealt with learning difficulties and devastating anxieties that left her unable to handle open water, most animals, some food, elevators, or crowds. As an adult, she’d rarely left the house and depended on her brothers and an inheritance from her author aunt to survive.
Until the fire.
“I know. I’m . . .” Gabby sat down next to Liam. Their thighs touched, and she reached over to put a reassuring hand on his knee. The closeness immediately wrapped around her, suffocating her. Clearing her throat, trying to think about anything other than Natalie’s death and the long history between their families, she shot to her feet to put a bit of distance between them. “I know this isn’t the right time to talk about Baines. I’m not sure if there is one. Who knows how—”
“Gabby.”
Right. Not the time for babbling. She skipped right to the hard truth. “They’ve got this all wrong. The police, I mean. Baines didn’t kill himself.”
Liam blew out a long breath as he settled deeper into the sofa cushions. His gaze was unreadable. It was as if he barely saw her. “The medical examiner said suicide.”
“Listen to me.” She slid onto the coffee table and sat in front of him. “Someone was in that room with him when I walked in there. I felt this—”
“This story won’t change anything, you know. No matter how many details you suddenly remember. I’m not saying that to upset you. It’s reality.”
They’d always been close. Talked, shared . . . ganged up on Baines when needed. But she wasn’t understanding him now. “What are you talking about?”
“His assets.”
The words hit her like a hard smack. So cold and out of place. “When did we start talking about money?”
“Do we ever stop?” Liam asked.
“Your family? No.” The elder Mr. Fielding had been obsessed with get-rich-quick schemes and died without a dollar to his name. “I’d also point out that money never mattered to Baines. Not before the business took off.”
“First, money always matters.” Liam shrugged. “It just does. The difference is back then we didn’t have any, so there was nothing to lose. That’s not the case now.”
“Which is why you should listen to me. What happened had nothing to do with Baines being despondent or suicidal. We both know that’s true. He compartmentalized. Kept his emotions separate from the business.” He hadn’t always been that way. He’d been driven. Determined to give Kennedy the financial stability he’d lacked growing up, but at some point a switch clicked and he changed. “Not sure when he learned that skill, but he’d refined it by the time we divorced.”
“I’m talking about you, Gabby.” Liam’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “The alimony stops.”
The words sat there, heavy and damning. She hadn’t read the support or other financial provisions in the divorce agreement in months, but she knew some of them would matter now. She just hadn’t had time to figure out how they worked together or what they mean for her now. “You can’t think—”
“The insurance policy he bought to protect the alimony in case something happened to him, a provision your attorney insisted on, has a self-injury clause for the first two years.” He hesitated before continuing. “The clause was in effect for forty-one more days. His suicide means you don’t get ongoing support. No alimony. No insurance that protected the alimony.”
Her brain scrambled. The reality of that loss ran right up against her frustration that he thought she cared about the money right now. “And because of that you think I’m making up the story about the intruder?”
“Honestly? It would be better for you financially if someone had killed Baines.”
Chapter Nine
Jessa
Jessa wasn’t sure why she’d been pulled into an emergency meeting with a few of her bosses. She’d hoped, after being an associate for an embarrassing number of years, and on a hamster wheel of obscene billable hours, that they’d called her in to talk about finally making partner—a position she should have achieved at least five years ago, but switching firms had temporarily derailed her.
Looking around, she saw a group of people, all at the top of their field. None of them smiling. Nothing telegraphed congratulations.
Shit.
She mentally ran through her caseload and never-ending to-do list. Exhaustion pulled at her because she’d stayed in the office until almost midnight last night, finishing discovery responses and documents before they were sent to opposing counsel this morning. Messing up and missing an important filing deadline was more than unforgivable. It amounted to malpractice and likely a one-way ticket out of the profession.
She thought about the agreements she needed to write and the draft order a judge wanted to review tomorrow. Every t had been crossed, as far as she knew, but just barely. “Is something wrong?”