End Game

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “In other words,” she says, “it’s going to be a late night. Good thing I have absolutely no love life.”

  I read between Jessica’s well-defined lines. “What kind of Band-Aid do you want?”

  She doesn’t ask what I mean. She simply says, “Chanel.”

  “Use my card.”

  “What’s my limit?”

  “Seven thousand.”

  “God, I love this family,” she says. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to start making copies.”

  She exits the office and shuts the door. I immediately pick up the phone and dial Emily. “The contract is in.”

  “Yay! Do we drink that expensive whiskey your father gave us tonight?”

  “After we execute the reverse signatures.”

  “And then we drink,” she says.

  “And then we drink.”

  “And then we’re done with him.”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “And then we’re done with him.”

  We disconnect the line and I sit there, processing those words: And then we’re done with him.

  My fingers tap the desk. I should be celebrating those words, but the truth is, I’d still feel better if he were dead. I dial Seth, and a few minutes later we stand at the window, side by side.

  “I planned to kill Martina,” I confess. “After some time had passed and I’d distanced myself from him.”

  “Time and space is a necessity,” he says, never missing a beat. “And killing him might be too humane anyway.”

  I arch a brow. “You have my attention.”

  “My suggestion is a slow, calculated plan over the course of a year to eighteen months that includes bad press that won’t go away and gets him and his father the wrong kind of attention. Once his father turns on him, we slowly destroy his financial assets. He’ll be broke and broken.”

  “Broke and broken,” I say, my lips curving with the idea. “Make it happen.”

  Just the idea is a weight off my shoulders. Because when you have everything to lose, you want to make sure that anyone who would—or could—take it away is broke, broken, or dead.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The rest of the day and into the evening, Jessica and I work to bring together the signing of the contracts. By the time we call it a night, the documents have been delivered to the sports center investors. Couriers are scheduled to pick up the signed documents, as well as cashier’s checks, tomorrow morning, delivering them to me at the hotel. And we all know that by Monday, the deal will be finalized, effectively ensuring that everything Martina wanted from the Brandon family is now with Mike. Even my father is pleased, which I care about for one reason: he can get the fuck out of my face and Jessica’s.

  Everything feels on track, and come Saturday morning, life is beginning to fall into a sweet spot. The hotel staff is managing the packages I’m expecting, and to fight the cool morning mountain air, Emily and I bundle up in thick hoodies and walk to the coffee shop, fully intending to hurry back. Instead it’s warmer than expected, and we walk around the neighborhood, since Emily can’t run until next week, talking about my family, her family, work, and even a little play.

  We’re about an hour into the walk when my father sends me a text: Is it done?

  I text him back: You know it won’t be done until Monday.

  His reply is: Make sure it’s done.

  I show Emily the exchange and she laughs. “I’m sorry, but he’s like a cartoon character sometimes. Remaining on the topic of your parents … I tried to call your mother again this morning and she just won’t answer. Considering how she likes to be in the middle of everything, I’m concerned.”

  “Considering Mike Rogers’s stuff is still pending and about to close, it’s not sitting well with me either.”

  She stops walking and turns to me. “Should we drive to her house and see her?”

  “Maybe. Let me find out where she is right now.” I text Seth: Where is my mother?

  He replies by calling. “Believe it or not, she’s at home with your father,” he says. “On another subject, let’s talk about Emily’s brother.”

  “Hold on. She’s with me.” I point to a secluded bench, and Emily and I sit down before I place him on speaker.

  “No news,” Seth tells us. “That’s good news. We can make contact with the officials Monday and start bringing this to a close.”

  “But isn’t there an investigation into the woman’s death?” Emily asks. “Won’t that drag on indefinitely?”

  “The coroner’s report is going to show a drug overdose,” he says. “It should wrap up quickly from there.”

  “I see,” Emily says, her fingers curling into her palms. “I won’t ask for more details. I’m sure you found a way to make it reasonable that I would do that. Depression or something. So okay. Moving on. What happens if my real brother shows up?”

  “We’ll intercept him,” he says. “Before the Geminis do the same, but we’re not expecting him to show up, Emily.”

  “What about a funeral?” she asks. “Won’t something like a burial have to happen?”

  “We’ll have your brother, or rather, our man acting as your brother, request a cremation, and the remains will be shipped to his location outside the US.”

  The minute the call ends, Emily runs her hands down her legs. “Well, there it is. Cremated. And it’s over.” She stands up and I join her as she faces me and asks, “Should we go see your mother?”

  My hands go to her shoulders. “I can’t think of one damn word to say that sounds good in my head right now.”

  “That was the right thing to say,” she says. “Because it’s honest and it’s real. What did he say about your mother?”

  “You don’t want to talk about the funeral or your brother or—”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s strange to think that some woman I don’t know is being cremated in my place. But it’s almost done, and done is good. What did Seth say about your mother?”

  “She’s at home with my father, and I’d rather talk to her alone.” I glance at my watch. “And I really need to get home and check the status of the contracts. Going with your premise of done and over, I want this done and over.”

  * * *

  Once we’re home, I grab the packages we’ve already received from the front desk, and together Emily and I begin making stacks on the dining room table. By late afternoon I have every package expected but one: the one for Adrian’s consortium. I dial the manager I’ve been dealing with, and the call goes to voice mail. I repeat this several times before bed.

  I’m up early Sunday morning, skipping a shave and throwing on faded jeans, a Brandon Enterprises black T-shirt that somehow seems appropriate right now, and boots. I leave Emily in the bathroom doing what women do, which is absolutely nothing I understand, except that she smells really damn good after the fact, and make my way to the kitchen. Coffee comes first, then I head to the dining room and sit at the end of the rectangular table to stare at the stacks of contracts, my gaze lingering on the empty spot that should be filled.

  My fingers begin to thrum the wooden surface, my mind contemplating all the ways this deal might go wrong. I text Seth the same text message I sent him yesterday: Where is my mother?

  He answers with: She just arrived at Sweet Hill Bakery downtown and met an unknown man. When he leaves, we’ll follow up and determine who he is. Your father’s at his chess club.

  “You’re worried.”

  I glance up to find Emily standing in the doorway, her eyes a striking pale blue that matches the T-shirt she’s wearing, her loose-fitting black jeans accenting the fact that I need to feed her this morning. “You’re still too thin.”

  “You’re changing the subject,” she says. “You’re worried about the missing contract.”

  “Something doesn’t feel right. Mike has a lot on the line with his team if the wrong people control the complex.”

  “And your mother won’t return our calls,” she supplies.
r />   “It’s a concern.”

  “Seth’s people have been watching her, right? Surely they’d know if she was seeing Mike?”

  “She’s not seeing Mike now,” I say. “That doesn’t mean that won’t change.”

  “We should go see her, Shane. If she’s with your father, so what? Call Seth. Find out where she is right now.”

  “I know where she’s at,” I say. “A restaurant a few blocks from here, with a man who isn’t Mike.”

  “As in a date?”

  “We don’t know who he is, but I wouldn’t be surprised. My father was here with his mistress the night before last.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s very disappointing. I don’t know why, but I thought, with his cancer and Derek’s loss, that they’d find each other again. Why don’t they just divorce?”

  My cell phone buzzes, and I glance at the text that reads: He’s a banker with USA Bank. Roy Givens is his name.

  “Fuck,” I murmur, pushing to my feet, the name Roy Givens brutally familiar. A man who’s not only gone to war with my father on various occasions, he’s damn near won.

  Emily pushes off the wall. “What is it?”

  I stand up. “My mother’s officially a problem.” I hand Emily my phone to read the message, and her eyes go wide.

  “If he’s involved, he’s trying to steal the sports center deal out from under us and screw me and my father. While my mother, I assume, continues to screw Mike Rogers.”

  “But we have all of the signed agreements except Martina’s consortium.”

  “Maybe Martina decided to cut us out. Same result, but more money for him. We need to go see my mother.”

  “Yes,” she says. “We do. I’ll grab my purse.”

  She darts away, and I text Cody to alert him that we’re on our way downstairs. I step into the foyer and shrug into a lightweight black leather jacket as Emily rushes down the stairs, her purse in hand, a knee-length jacket already in place. “I’m ready,” she announces.

  As am I, I think: to have a little chat with my mother.

  * * *

  The restaurant is busy when Emily and I arrive, obviously a hotspot for weekend brunch that I’ve never frequented. Emily and I step through the door and are greeted by the hostess, but we don’t need her help to find my mother, who’s sitting at a small round table for two, facing us, her companion’s back to us. She looks up, her gaze landing on me and her anger is instant, palpable.

  “Maybe we should step outside and wait on her,” Emily suggests.

  My mother leans across the table and speaks to Roy and then stands up. Emily’s grip tightens on my arm. “Shane. We should step outside.”

  “We’re staying right here,” I say, tracking my mother’s path as she weaves through tables, her pantsuit a shade of innocent pink, which is almost comical right about now. Forgive me, she’d pleaded at the funeral, in a moment of guilt that wasn’t any more honest than she’s likely to be right now.

  My mother steps in front of me. “Shane,” she bites out, my name spoken like a parental scold before she steps around me and heads toward the door, clearly with the same idea as Emily: go outside.

  Emily releases my arm, and I pursue my mother out the door, where she smartly walks several feet from the restaurant, away from prying eyes and ears, before whirling on me. “Don’t tell me you showing up here was an accident,” she says. “We both know it’s not.”

  “Why are you with that man?”

  “Why? Why is your father with some twentysomething girl?”

  “That’s deflection. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  “You turned Mike against me,” she accuses, her voice cracking. “You took him from me.”

  “You were furious when you found out about his plans for a hostile takeover.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Unless that was an act?”

  “That’s insanity.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “I’m in love with your father,” she says.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I know you forbid him from seeing me.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes,” she says, folding her arms in front of her. “He told me that.”

  I consider the idea that she might really care about Mike, and if I believed that to be true, it would give me at least a short pause in my plans. Except for the fact that Mike walked away from her in a second, and it’s interesting to me that she’s with yet another man who has a tie to my father. “Why are you with Roy? You know that he’s Father’s enemy, right?”

  “I know that he’s not mine.”

  It hits me then that she wants my father’s attention to the point of desperation. “Divorce him.”

  “He needs me.”

  “He treats you like crap. And look what you’re becoming.”

  “What I’m becoming is the best me that I’ve been in years. You don’t have to understand that, Son. But you have to accept it.”

  “That man would destroy Father if he could.”

  “He thinks he is now, by being with me, which means he’s not focused on your sports center deal.” With that, she turns and walks to the door.

  I tilt my head and watch as she approaches the restaurant at the same moment Emily exits, the two of them pausing to talk, but I’m still focused on the exchange I just had with my mother. Did she just tell me she’s distracting Roy because he was targeting the sports center deal that I didn’t even know she knew about? And does my father know? Would he endorse my mother sleeping with someone for financial gain? My answer is yes, and it doesn’t change my opinion of my father, but my mother proves less the woman I once thought she was every single day.

  I set my fucked-up family aside and refocus on the sports center deal. I dial my father. “What does Roy have to do with the stadium deal?”

  “He heard rumors about a sale,” he says, not even bothering to play dumb.

  “And you did what? Distracted him with your wife?”

  “Does this call have a purpose?”

  “Is someone trying to outbid us on the stadium?”

  “It was a rumor we shut down. And you wouldn’t be asking this if the contracts weren’t signed. What the fuck is going on?”

  “The deal will be done Monday,” I say, ending the call, my hand settling on my jaw, stubble rasping beneath my palm, a bad feeling sliding down my spine. Why don’t I have that signed paperwork? I consider my options and dial Adrian.

  He answers on the first ring. “I wondered when you’d call.”

  That bad feeling officially punches me in the gut. “What’s going on, Adrian?”

  “We should meet.”

  “After the paperwork’s signed.”

  “That doesn’t work for me,” he says, confirming that he’s delayed the contract signing.

  “This deal is worth a small fortune to you.”

  “Yes. It is. I have the paperwork with me here at the restaurant. Signed. Come and get it.”

  “I will not step foot in that restaurant.”

  “You will if you want this paperwork. And, Shane, bring Agent Dennis with you.”

  He ends the call.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Aware that I am most likely being watched, I don’t give Martina the reaction he might be expecting. I don’t panic. I don’t rush to act. I slowly lower my phone and consider my options before I dial Martina again. He doesn’t answer, which isn’t a surprise, but I leave him a message: “If you want to see Agent Dennis, call him yourself. If you want to ask me about Agent Dennis, do it at a time and way that doesn’t fuck with my money. I will not be going to the restaurant. I will be going home, where I will first call the investor I had on standby for this deal, and then I will pack to fly out and get the deal done by tomorrow.”

  I hang up and dial Seth, who answers immediately and listens to my thirty-second rundown of what just happened. “He’s baiting you to see how you’ll react,” Seth says. “Looking for a reaction that tells him y
ou betrayed him. And you won this one. You came at him immediately. You showed no fear. You still aren’t showing fear.”

  “Your assessment of Emily’s safety?”

  “Going after a man’s woman is war. Even the mafia treads on that territory cautiously. But your mother might not be so off-limits. We’ll get extra protection on everyone across the board. Kill fifteen minutes there at the restaurant so I can add some layers.”

  “Understood,” I say, breaking the connection and shoving my phone into my jacket pocket.

  “Your mother acted very strangely just now,” Emily says, stepping in front of me.

  “Let’s go inside and get coffee and pastries to go,” I say. “You need chocolate.”

  “I do?” Her delicate little brow puckers. “I mean, yes. I always do, but isn’t that going to stir the pot with your mother?”

  I turn her toward the door at the exact moment the door opens and my mother exits, this time with Roy at her side. Roy is taller than my father by a good foot, a decade younger despite his salt-and-pepper hair, and wears his custom suit far better than my father does right now. And his hand, instead of my father’s, is at my mother’s spine, directing her toward the sidewalk.

  Roy, however, is not overly observant, especially considering he knew I was here. He never looks our way, nor do I sense he knows he’s being watched. But my mother does, her chin giving a defiant little lift as they cut right and depart.

  “No question they’re sleeping together,” Emily comments softly.

  “According to her,” I say, urging us into motion, “Roy got wind of the sports center deal and she’s distracting him to buy us time to close it. And my father endorses her doing so.”

  Emily gives me a disbelieving look. “I can’t even find words.”

  We reach the door and I open it. “It certainly validates my decision to sell off the hedge fund operation,” I say as we enter the restaurant and I scan our surroundings, from the clusters of tables and their occupants to the kitchen door in the far right corner, looking for trouble I don’t find.

  The hostess eyes us, and I motion toward the glass cases filled with pastries to our left as she greets us. Emily and I step to the register, ordering coffees. “And four of the chocolate croissants,” she tells the woman taking our order, indicating them through the glass.