Throne of Lies: Prequel to Legacy of Lies

by Leigh, Tara

  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she mumbled, rubbing at her cheek.

  “Nina,” I grasped her knee, waiting until she looked my way, “what happened?”

  “Your father’s been so unhappy lately, we should have been better off. But that man, that thief, he’s going to destroy us all.” Her eyes flashed. “You need to cut all ties to the Montgomerys, Jolie. I mean it.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. Cut ties to Tripp?

  No. Just, no.

  There had to be a mistake. “But Nina, why would Mr. Montgomery steal? They have plenty of money.”

  My step-mother's laugh was a cackle. “Of course they do. But their wealth isn't really theirs. It's money Montgomery was supposed to invest but just decided to sit on and use for his own ends. And now it's all wrapped up in your father's side of the business, which was legitimate. Not that anyone will ever believe that.” She threw her hands up. “You know what, I don't even know anymore. Maybe they're both crooks.”

  It was like a knife in my heart. “No!”

  Nina seemed to realize that she'd gone a step too far and she opened up her arms. “I’m sorry, Jolie. Come here.” I fell forward, resting my chin on Nina's bare shoulder and breathing in her familiar perfume. “I didn't mean that, really. I married your father hoping to have a little girl as sweet as you are. Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans go wrong sometimes.”

  I draped my arms around Nina's neck and squeezed. Nina and my father had been trying to have a baby for a while now. I'd watched her try everything from acupuncture to yoga, swallowing pills and injecting shots that made her emotional and nauseous, and enduring procedures that kept her in bed for days afterwards. “You'll get your baby girl one day, Nina. And my dad will be cleared. I know it.”

  She rubbed my back for a minute and pulled away. “Why don't you let me wash up and rest my eyes for a little while? The lawyers want us back in their offices later this afternoon.”

  “Us?”

  "Yes. They're coming up with a strategy now and whatever happens, your dad needs to believe we support him one hundred percent. Do you understand?"

  I rose to my feet. “One hundred percent, got it.”

  I nearly made it to the door before Nina spoke again. “There’s something else.”

  I spun around slowly, already knowing what she was going to say. “Sure.”

  “No answering the phone. No talking to anyone, even your friends. Even Tripp.” She grimaced. “Especially Tripp.”

  I swallowed, nodding slightly even as I kept one hand behind my back, crossing my fingers. A childish gesture, but there was no way I could get through this without Tripp. He was the only one who knew exactly what I was dealing with right now.

  Ducking out of her room, I hurried down the hall and closed my door behind me, locking it before throwing myself back on my bed and reaching for my phone.

  A text was already waiting for me.

  Tripp: Hey, you okay?

  Jolie: Yeah. I just went in to talk to Nina.

  Tripp: Is your dad home?

  Jolie: No. Just Nina. He's with his lawyers. She told me I'm not supposed to talk to you anymore.

  Tripp: I guess we'll have to text instead.

  A relieved sigh escaped my throat. He was right. Nina didn't say anything about texting.

  Jolie: Works for me. Are your parents home?

  Tripp: My mom was, but she just left. She said that I should stay here, and not to go out or see anyone today.

  Jolie: So you can still text me, too.

  Tripp: Yep.

  Jolie: I guess that's one good thing.

  Tripp: I can think of another good thing, but it probably wouldn't work very well over text.

  My lips twitched. Thank god for Tripp.

  Jolie: Probably not.

  Tripp: Is she still mad?

  Jolie: About finding us in my room? Kind of. But she's pretty preoccupied with all this other stuff. Was your mom mad you stayed out all night?

  Tripp: No. I don’t think she even noticed.

  I yearned for the freedom of college. Soon, I told myself.

  Jolie: Did you ask her what's going on?

  Tripp: Yeah. But she didn't want to get into it. How about you?

  I hesitated. Did I really want to tell Tripp that Nina called his father a criminal and warned me to stay away from him? No.

  Jolie: Nina’s upset. She’s not making any sense.

  12

  December 2007

  Tripp

  Tripp: Turn on CNBC.

  I sent the text as a familiar view caught my eye. It was a live video feed of the exterior of my father's office building. A sick feeling churned in the pit of my stomach as I took in the police cars and vans lining the curb, men and women wearing navy windbreakers with various three-letter acronyms written across the back carrying cardboard boxes overflowing with paper from the revolving door into the vans.

  At the bottom of the screen, a caption read: PONZI SCHEME EXPOSED, HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS GONE.

  I raised the volume, even knowing I wasn't going to like what I heard. “Billionaire bankers James Chapman and Remington Montgomery are the alleged masterminds behind a Ponzi scheme estimated to have defrauded investors out of hundreds of millions of dollars. Estimates continue to rise, however, and the final tally could be well over a billion. Their plush Wall Street offices are being raided for evidence today. Charges have not yet been filed, but we expect to hear the exact nature and extent of their crimes soon.”

  A minute later, my phone buzzed in my hand. Instead of a text, Jolie had ignored her stepmother’s directive and was calling. I swiped my thumb over the screen. “Are you watching this?”

  “Yes,” she rasped, her throat thick with tears. “Do you think it’s true?”

  I stared at the television, the image compounded by what the reporter was saying. “I don’t want to.”

  “But do you? Do you believe our fathers have stolen all that money—that they’re criminals?”

  Hearing the pain in Jolie’s voice was a thousand times worse than listening to the reporter. “I don’t want to,” I repeated. It was the most honest answer I could give.

  A sound like a whimper came through the speaker, and then mumbles and gasps as she cried. “They have to be wrong. My father wouldn’t, couldn’t . . .” the words became indecipherable gurgles as she sobbed.

  I didn’t know how to comfort her. What was there to say? Jolie was too smart to believe that there wasn’t at least a kernel of truth to a story that had taken over an entire news network.

  Flipping through the other news channels, I realized the same story was being broadcast on every one. I returned to CNBC in time to listen to speculation on the specific charges, and how long of a sentence to expect for a crime of this magnitude, all while Jolie was softly sobbing in my other ear.

  It felt like we were on a sinking ship, the damn Titanic, awaiting our doom. That the end was just a foregone conclusion as Jolie and I clung to each other, the band playing “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”

  What I said to her earlier this morning still held. The court of public opinion wasn’t waiting for a jury verdict. It didn’t actually matter if any of the news reports were true. Our fathers were already guilty. Their business was as good as gone, their careers on Wall Street over, and their names destroyed.

  Which meant my name was destroyed, too.

  “Jolie, listen to me for a second, okay?”

  She sniffled. “Okay.”

  “We need to stick together. This is going to get worse before it gets better, and I don’t know what’s going to happen with our fathers. All I know is,” I took a breath, diving forward, “all I know is how I feel about you. I love you, Jolie. And that’s not going to change. Not today, and not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  She hiccupped. “I love you too, Tripp. So much.”

  “We’re going to get through this, together. We’ll be fine.”

  Jolie didn’t respond for several minutes. Wh
en she did, her voice was quiet. “I don’t think I’m going to be fine for a very long time.”

  God, I wished I could take away her pain. Our pain.

  I couldn’t. But I could give her forever.

  And I would.

  13

  December 2007

  Jolie

  “Daddy!” I rushed headlong into my father’s arms, tears streaming down my face. We were in the swanky midtown offices of his lawyer, although given the number of gray-haired men in suits filling the large conference room, his lawyer had been cloned a dozen times over.

  “Princess,” he whispered gruffly into my hair.

  “What’s going on? This is all so scary.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry for that. So, so sorry.” He pulled away, his hands firmly clasping me by the shoulders. “The truth is that I’m as confused as you are.”

  I gestured at the people surrounding us. “Are you saying this is all just a mistake? Some kind of crazy misunderstanding?”

  My fervent hopes were dashed with one slow shake of my father’s head. “No. The only mistake here is that I believed Remington Montgomery to be an ethical man. What you’ve read in the paper, what’s been reported on TV—I’m afraid it’s true. I’ve seen the evidence, some of it anyway. There is no defense for my lack of oversight on such a large portion of the business that bears my name. I’ve already agreed to help the prosecution. Hopefully, they’ll see fit to give me a lighter sentence.”

  “Sentence?” I clutched my stomach as a sharp pain sliced me in two. “You mean . . . jail time? That can’t . . . that makes no sense. You just said you didn’t do anything!”

  “Unfortunately, that’s the problem. I didn’t do anything. And because of that, Montgomery was able to steal from our clients, our friends, our family.” His eyes squeezed shut. “It’s unforgivable.”

  “Then Mr. Montgomery should go to jail—not you.”

  “Oh, he will. And they had better send us to different prisons. I don’t think I could stand seeing his face day in and day out. If I never hear his name again, it will be too soon.”

  Immediately I thought about Tripp, hating that he shared the same name as his father. Hating that, until this moment, I thought it was the most beautiful name in the world—one I’d spent the past few weeks doodling on the inside of my school notebooks, often preceded by Mrs.

  “Daddy, you have to tell them that none of this is your fault. You can’t go to jail. You just can’t.” Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks. “I need you.”

  Cupping my face between his palms, my father tenderly brushed away my tears with his thumbs. “Nina will take care of you if I can’t. You’re the daughter she’s always wanted.”

  “But I want you. You’re my father.”

  A suit appeared at his side, whispering into his ear. His arms immediately dropped to his sides. “Show me,” he said, already turning toward the conference table. A woman was seated on one end, an open laptop in front of her.

  On the screen was another picture from last night, taken during the Ball. This one was just of me and Tripp, happiness radiating from our faces as we waltzed around the dance floor. The photograph had been edited to make it look like we were the only ones in the room, which was fitting. In that moment, I’d felt as if we were the only two people in the universe. A smile crept onto my face, my shoulders loosening. As long as Tripp was in my life, I could get through this. I would be okay.

  Until she scrolled up to display the headline.

  PARTYING AS PARENTS SCAM

  My breath caught in the back of my throat as my father let loose a spring of expletives.

  “This isn’t the only one. It’s all over the internet, Mr. Chapman.”

  Like a montage nightmare, she toggled to other pictures, other headlines.

  WALL STREET’S GOLDEN COUPLE—EXPOSED

  HAVING A BALL AS VICTIMS LOSE EVERYTHING

  WHAT A SET OF BALLS!

  “I’ve seen enough,” my father said, his voice quaking.

  My hand flew to my mouth. “I’m so sorry.” My apology was barely audible, but my father grunted an acknowledgment before he pulled out a chair and practically fell into it.

  I hadn’t realized Nina was right behind us, but she positioned herself behind her husband and began rubbing his shoulders. “Obviously we need to distance ourselves from the Montgomerys as much as possible.”

  “But—”

  The woman who had shown us the news stories closed her laptop and spun around. “Of course. And that’s what I’m here for.” She stuck her arm out, shaking hands with Nina and my father. “My name is Alexandra Hutchins. I’ve been brought on to assist your case as an image consultant. My role is to monitor and shape public perception of you, Mr. Chapman, as well as your wife and daughter.”

  My father’s eyes flicked from Alexandra to me and then back again. “I’d prefer to leave my daughter out of this.”

  She gave a firm shake of her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. As I just showed you, the press is clearly out for blood, and they’re as willing to get it from your daughter as they are from you. And, quite frankly, her face will sell more papers than yours.”

  His skin reddened. “She’s just a kid.”

  “She is a beautiful teenaged girl. Almost eighteen. And a Debutante. The press is having a field day with her, and they’re not going to stop just because she’s still in high school.”

  “She’s right, James,” Nina said quietly. “So, what should we do?”

  “First of all, there can be absolutely no contact between your family and the Montgomerys.”

  “That’s not fair,” I cried out. “Tripp has nothing to do with this. Why do I have to stop seeing him?”

  The image consultant was unmoved. “In one word: optics. It simply doesn’t look good. Period.”

  Tears welled in my eyes again, and I looked down at my lap, fixating on the barest beginning of a hangnail on my pinkie. “But . . . I love him.” Even as I said the words, I knew it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t care.

  No one responded right away, and I glanced at the three adults surrounding me, wondering if they might somehow relent. But their focus had shifted to the man that had just walked into the room. His face was solemn, eyes hooded as he conferred with a cluster of suits standing on the opposite side of the room before breaking away from them and heading straight toward us. My father stood and they shook hands. “Mr. Chapman, I’m afraid I don’t have good news. It appears that Mr. Montgomery is accusing you of planning and executing the entire scheme.”

  “What?” Nina shrieked. “That’s, that’s—”

  “Impossible,” my father finished. “He’s lying.”

  “Obviously that’s something we’ll argue in court, but in the meantime, the prosecutor has retracted his plea deal and is planning on charging you both as co-conspirators. Your assets have been frozen and he’ll be filing an order of claim for the alleged victims.”

  “But I was willing to help them, and to testify against Montgomery.”

  “I know. But with Montgomery’s statement, they believe you are, at the very least, equally liable, and are planning on prosecuting both of you to the full extent of the law.”

  My father dropped heavily into the chair behind him, his face practically gray. “So that’s it then. Montgomery is going to pin this all on me.”

  Nina sank into the seat beside him. “The government won’t just take the business . . . they’ll take everything?”

  His grim nod offered no reassurance. “That’s how it appears. But we’re not going to let Montgomery get away with it. Everyone in this room is tasked with proving that you were not responsible for your partner’s crimes.”

  A dry cackle broke from his throat. “What’s the point? Whether I’m guilty or not, my reputation is ruined. And how long can I afford paying you to fight a losing battle? You said yourself that my assets are frozen and they’re going after every cent I have, plus seizing whatever isn’t na
iled down.” He cast sad eyes around the room. “Everything I’ve spent a lifetime working for—it’s all gone.”

  14

  December 2007

  Tripp

  “Chapman is saying what?” My father’s voice was loud and strident, echoing within the glass-walled conference room.

  “That your division of the company is solely responsible for the fraud, and he had nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s bullshit. Christ, it’s like he tipped off the reporter himself.” He rubbed at the back of his meaty neck. “You call that prosecutor right now—tell him this whole mess is Chapman’s doing. See how he likes that.”

  “Dad, is that really what happened?” I spoke quietly, but my question polluted the space around us with a noxious stench.

  “Leave us,” my father growled at the crowd of suits, his eyes boring into mine until the last lawyer left the room. “What the hell kind of question is that?” he bellowed.

  I drew back. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m paying a dozen goddamn lawyers for a defense, and no one gives a fuck what really happened. Not me, not them, and sure as hell not you. Do you understand?”

  Yes, the situation was becoming clearer by the minute. My father was willing to do whatever it took to get off, no matter who he destroyed in the process. I gave a curt nod, disgusted.