“You can’t talk to me like that.”
I sat down on the concrete steps. “I can and I am. You’re in a ton of trouble and I wouldn’t count on Brayton going down on a murder charge to keep your name out of all this.”
“I need you to come to my office. We need to talk about this and I don’t like doing it over the phone.”
“I’m on my way.” I cut the connection before he could respond.
The cell phone buzzed again before I could even think about putting it away.
WHERE R U?
Bran.
My fingers paused over the tiny keyboard. I had to tell Bran but I had no idea how to even start to approach the subject. Honey, I love you but I might have accidentally participated in the murder and cover-up of your father’s secret lover and the kidnapping of your half brother.
Didn’t roll off the tongue.
STILL WORKING. BE HOME SOON.
WHERE ARE U?
DOWNTOWN AT MTNG. GOT 2 GO. LUV YOU.
I wondered if there was a special confession rite for lying through text messages.
Chapter Five
It took me a few minutes to flag down a cab and direct him to the Hanover Investments complex, after which I sat back and searched for Ian Hamilton, using the cell phone’s built-in web browser.
I could get used to this sort of investigating.
A plethora of Ian Hamiltons popped up in the results page, thinned slightly by adding “construction” to the search criteria. It was a page long but it was a start.
As we stopped in front of the tall glass needles I saved the details and tossed the driver a twenty before heading for the front doors.
The security officers watched as I approached the desk for the second time, my messenger bag flapping against my hip. I signed in again and flashed my license to the same senior officer I’d seen on my first visit.
“I’m here to see Michael Hanover this time.”
“Fifteenth floor.” The supervisor checked his clipboard. “I don’t have you on his list of appointments today.” He eyed me over the clear plastic. “We need to call upstairs. Are you expected?” The tone in his voice told me he was used to turfing surprise visitors.
“No but he’ll see me.” I looked at his clipboard. “You may want to call a few of those and tell them he’ll be running late.”
Michael Hanover had his own floor and private receptionist, both of which looked extensively reworked to look expensive. The young blonde woman smiled at me while offering Godiva chocolates and freshly brewed coffee or tea as I waited.
Interns rushed back and forth while I lounged on the black leather couch, stretched out and chomping on square after square of mouthwatering dark chocolate. I played with the wrappers, wishing I knew enough origami to turn them into tiny cranes or unicorns. I settled for a large foil ball.
It was after five in the afternoon, the usual quitting time for most of the world, but the floor showed no signs of clearing out. Instead it seemed to get even busier with more frantic interns dashing in and out of rooms with wild silent gestures to each other and nervous, sweaty faces.
“Rebecca.” Michael waved me over, standing in the doorway of his office. He sounded like he was about to order pizza.
Hanover had gone all out on the decorating, unlike Brayton. I felt like I’d stepped onto the bridge of a pirate ship.
The dark wooden panels covering the walls held picture after picture of Hanover with what I assumed to be important people. Shaking hands, cutting ribbons, digging a hole with a golden shovel.
There were no photographs of his family. Bernadette appeared in one or two in the background but there were none of Michael with Brandon catching fish or playing ball.
The oak desk was larger than most small cars, the polished surface covered with papers and folders, fat stone paperweights with fossils embedded in them holding down thick wads of reports. A tiny computer sat on a smaller desk with the screensaver running—a display of old tall ships ranging from the USS Constitution to the more recent ones used for racing.
He gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk while he wandered around to his luxury seat.
I sat down and crossed my legs.
“Rebecca,” Michael started then caught himself. He leaned on the desk, his arms pushing aside file folders and piles of Post-it notes. “Believe me when I say I have nothing to do with this.”
“On the contrary. You have everything to do with this.”
Michael nodded. “True. I am sorry I pulled you into all this. I didn’t foresee this being such a complicated affair.”
“Death usually is.” I pointed at the parade of photographs on the wall. “Is Molly Callendar in any of those? Might want to hide them when the cops come to visit.”
Michael frowned, the tufts of white on his temples twitching. “Why would they be interested in me? I already spoke to Detective Attersley and explained I gave your name as a favor to Brayton. Aside from that I have nothing to add to this whole horrible affair.”
Now it was my turn to lean forward. “You don’t think Brayton is going to keep his mouth shut forever about this deal? That you’re the one who had the affair with Molly, not him?”
He didn’t flinch. No blinking, no emotional change of any kind.
I’d hate to face Michael Hanover across a poker table.
“What makes you say that?” The cold reply chilled my bones.
“I saw the baby.” Time to roll the dice—but not to show all my cards. “He looks a hell of a lot like you. And Bran.”
He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “All babies look the same. Cute, adorable, blah blah blah. You haven’t told the cops this insane theory, have you?”
I studied his face. So much like Bran’s but with an inner hardness that would shatter diamonds. “And if I have?”
Michael leaned back, touching his fingertips together. “I think you haven’t. Because there’s no proof.” He spread his hands. “Without proof, well...the police tend to nitpick about such things. And so do lawyers.” He tilted his head to one side. “Have you shared your theories with Bran?”
I mentally squirmed.
He studied me for a second before continuing. “I see.” Michael looked over at the photo gallery. “I’ll make this brief because I have to get back to work. Brayton isn’t going to say anything about me to the police because there’s nothing to say. If you mention this wild theory I’ll not only continue the investigation into your family and make it public, I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the classic threatening phrase.
Michael frowned. “I’m not joking. As for your relationship with Bran, his mother and I will be having a discussion with him as regards his future in general and specifically with you. While I realize you played a part in his...rehabilitation, you have to understand the Hanover name stands for security and safety. Having a loose cannon spewing rumors and theories in the family wouldn’t be good for us. Or you.”
“You’d make him choose between me and you?” I smiled. “Really?”
“Bran has had the best of everything up to this point. Schooling, training, access to anything and anyone he’s wanted.” Michael touched his fingertips together. “True, he turned his back on honest journalism for a bit but he relied on the family name for his rent money. What do you think he’ll do if I tell him to choose between staying with you and utter poverty?”
“He’d choose me.” I had no doubt in my heart.
“Really.” Michael smirked. “You might want to reconsider what you know about my son.”