Gathering her long brown hair away from her face, she nodded to a white binder sitting on the coffee table. “There’s a lot in there, so it might take you some time.”
My ears throbbed as I lifted the binder from the table. Pacing the open living room, I drowned out the sound of The Tudors rerun Pen had playing on a low volume and flipped the cover open.
What I found inside were pages upon pages of financial reports. I’d never been a numbers girl, and all the digits seemed to meld together in a dizzying wave of black and white. “Where did you get all these?”
“Some from her laptop, others from the papers you took from her home office, and several from August. By the way, when Emerson & Taylor is yours, you should consider hiring us. We’re good at this.”
Pausing in front of the flat screen TV, I tossed her a dark look and she sighed. “When you brought home that stuff from Finley’s car—it got me thinking. That’s when some of those numbers started to click in place,” she said and motioned for me to sit near her.
Complying, I slid down on the area rug by the chair. She set her computer aside and took the binder from me. Holding it to where we both could see, she pointed to various figures she’d already circled.
“For starters, in the last year alone, she’s skimmed close to eight million from the company.” Ignoring my gasp, she added, “And all these five and ten thousand dollar a plate charity functions she’s hosting? The proceeds have gone into her pocket—” She paused for dramatic effect, and I swallowed down the pain in the back of my throat, figuring out exactly what she planned to say next.
“Her pocket and the Scotts?” I whispered, picturing Michael and Finley’s faces in my mind. “God, what the hell are they doing with all that money?”
“That’s what I wondered. So ... I had August dig around a little. You know how they spent the last year in Italy?” When I moved my head up and down, she said, “All their spending can be traced back to Margaret.”
“She’s paying for them to live.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, and I looked straight ahead. “How in the hell is that possible?”
Behind me, Pen let out a frustrated noise. “Apparently, nobody has picked up on this, which seriously makes me question what kind of idiots she has handling her shit. Well, you know, if they’re not along for this crazy ride.”
Embezzlement. Although the word made me shudder, it also took my breath away as I came to terms with what Pen’s discovery meant. “When this comes out, she’s going away for a long time.”
“Yes.”
“And this is where we have to get Linc involved, isn’t it?” I whispered, and she nodded.
“He’ll be out here the week after next. It’s going to suck to tell him, but by then I’ll have more answers. August and I are still digging, and I have a few theories, but I just wanted you to know this is almost over.”
Answers. Theories. Almost over.
Those were bittersweet words, and I turned around abruptly, wrapping Pen in a tight hug that left her wheezing. “You are amazing. You know that, don’t you?” When I released her, I stood and gave her a meaningful look, and she responded with a smile.
“I’m glad it’s almost over—for your sake.” Handing me the white binder, she pulled her laptop back in her lap. “We were hired to dig for information on some rich guy. It’s proven to be more difficult than I imagined, but I think I’ve made a breakthrough in that, too.”
“I ... wasn’t going to ask.”
“Yeah, but with everything going on, I didn’t want you to worry about what was going on with me.” Tilting her screen down, she twisted her lips to the side. “Are you seeing Oliver tonight? I wanted to make sure I’m not around because I’m always terrified I’ll screw up and say something I shouldn’t. He has that effect on people.”
Tell me about it, I thought. To Pen, I replied, “He’ll be here in an hour, but he’s leaving for business tomorrow.”
She patted the book I held close to my chest. “Good, then we’ll have plenty of time to go over all this this weekend.”
*
True to her word, Pen was gone when I came out the shower half an hour later. As I’d washed my body, the full weight of what was inside the binder had finally hit me, and it left me a trembling mess. It seemed like there was one surprise after another when it came to Margaret, and I prayed we’d just reached the final one.
Donning a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, my stomach pitched violently as I caught the reflection of the white book on my bed.
I reprocessed Pen’s words. Margaret had moved around over eight million dollars from Emerson & Taylor in the last twelve months. And the Halloween ball she had me harass an event planner over was nothing but a farce. I wondered if my father had realized what a fucked up woman he married?
If he’d known what a piece of work his attorney was?
My doorbell rang, and I stepped away from my dresser, rubbing shaky hands over my damp hair as I walked into the foyer. Keep it together, I told myself, opening the door for Oliver with a soft smile that belied the storm within me.
Dragging me to his warm body, he cupped the back of my neck. “I’ve thought of nothing but this perfume all day, and it made work very distracting,” he growled against my temple.
“Which must have been the reason you spent all day emailing me. Margaret left me with a Christmas list longer than my arm to take care of while she’s away.”
“You didn’t have to email me back,” he pointed out, leading me to my living room where he sat on the couch. He glanced around inquisitively. “Your roommate isn’t here?”
“She’s never here. Give me twenty minutes to finish getting dressed, and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Twenty minutes.” Rubbing his hand over his mouth, he nodded his approval. “After that I’m coming in after you.” As I headed toward the hallway, his voice followed me. “By the way, you look beautiful today, Gemma.”
My heart soaring in spite of everything, I called out, “Since you put it that way, I’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 19
It wasn’t until my hand was on my bedroom door that I reexamined precisely what Oliver had just said to me.
“By the way, you look beautiful today, Gemma.”
Ice rushed down my spine, freezing me where I stood. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. With everything going on, my mind had officially started playing tricks on me, and I was hearing things—things I wasn’t prepared to listen to coming from Oliver’s mouth.
That was it, right?
Breathing in through my nose, I returned to the living room to find him leafing through the copy of Stardust I kept on the coffee table. Although he didn’t glance up, his self-assured grin instantly put my fears to rest, and I relaxed my shoulders.
“Thought you were getting dressed,” he said.
“I am.” Holding the nape of my neck in an effort to scrub away the uneasiness crawling over my flesh, I forced a laugh. “I’m just an exhausted mess and hearing things. Give me a few.”
“Wait.” He laid the book on the table and moved forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You weren’t hearing things, Lizzie. I called you Gemma.”
Someday, when I thought back on this moment, I’d immediately recall how I felt as if my heart had stopped, how we both seemed to be made of glass as his words flitted between us.
“Gemma,” he repeated, creating the first chink in my fragile armor.
I dug my fingernails into my skin. “Another ex-girlfriend, Oliver?”
“I know who you are. Gemma.” His words caused another crack, this one larger than the last, and I squared my shoulders.
“You should leave. It’s fucked up to come in here calling me another woman’s name.” But my voice faltered, and I had to fight every instinct in my body not to turn and go myself. “Leave!”