Here Comes Trouble

by Anna J. Stewart

  “No, you don’t,” Malcolm said, his voice sounding so calm, she couldn’t believe he’d spoken. “I’m not giving you one. I can’t. Not when I can’t offer you what you deserve. Kids, decades, the whole package.”

  “For the love of . . . Nobody gets the whole package, Malcolm. And nobody knows how much time they have. What matters is what we do with what we’re given. Guess what? If you’d asked me, I’d have married you tomorrow. If you’d asked me, I’d have said bring it on, everything, sickness and health, rich or poor, I’d have been right there at your side. Because I love you. I have always loved you. More than you love yourself, obviously, because this, to me, what you’ve planned, sounds like an excuse for you to slink away, give up, and die. Is that what you’re going to do? Give up?”

  “Of course not,” he said, but the lack of strength in his voice had her shaking her head.

  “I don’t believe you. But I guess that’s not my problem anymore, is it? Mission accomplished, Malcolm. If you leave, if you turn away from what we could have, for however long we might have it, you’re not only proving you don’t care about yourself, you’re proving you don’t love me, either. The man I love would never walk out on me when he had the choice.”

  “Sheila.” He grabbed for her arm as she walked past him, but she wrenched away and stalked up the stairs.

  “Just go. Please. I can’t do this anymore tonight. But do me one favor?” she called from half way up. “Before that story runs in the paper tomorrow, respect your grandmother and brother enough to tell them the truth. Give them the choice you never gave me.”

  Every ounce of love for him squeezed into the center of her chest, lodging there with the pain, with the anger, with the hatred of the disease he was fighting. That he was choosing to fight alone. She stumbled into the wall, hearing the door close as if from a mile away before she walked into the bathroom and fully clothed, stepped under the water he’d left running as her tears mingled with the spray. She sat down on the tile, curled her knees into her chest as the water pounded, drowning out her sobs. “You should have told me.”

  ***

  “So what’s your plan?” His brother shoved a plate of overcooked scrambled eggs and burnt toast in front of him as Alcina sipped her morning tea at the kitchen table. Malcolm felt as if he’d been on a two-week drunk. Showing up at his grandmother’s at four this morning had been a calculated risk, but neither she nor Ty had gone to bed.

  He’d taken Sheila’s advice and told them everything and then wondered why he’d ever thought she needed to be protected. Sheila. His warrior. Morgan and Veronica—and now Sheila—were right. He was an idiot.

  “Same plan as ever, I suppose.” Malcolm picked up his fork and flipped the eggs around. “Go home. I did what I came here to do. Oliver Technologies is under my control. Dad’s where he should be. Sorry, Gran.” He cringed.

  “He made his own bed,” Alcina said, but she was pale this morning, her eyes heavy, clear she hadn’t slept. “I won’t turn him away, however. I love him.”

  “I never expected you to,” Malcolm admitted. “Is there any coffee?”

  “Yeah.” Ty grabbed a mug and filled it for him. “And for the record, I was talking about Sheila. What are you going to do about Sheila?”

  “I’m supposed to go in for a treatment consult on Wednesday—”

  “Sheila, Malcolm.” Alcina rapped her ring on the table, startling him. “We already know you’ll do whatever treatment they propose. And we will be there as much as you need or want us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If you leave, don’t come back,” Ty said, handing him his coffee. “Not because I’m pissed as hell at you for not telling us about any of this for the last five years. If you’re going to kill her hope in the future, make it a clean break. Give her some chance at recovering.”

  “Leaving would have been easier if she hadn’t found out.” But he didn’t have to look at the envelope those photos had arrived in to know who was behind it. He should have paid closer attention to his father’s warning at the beach house.

  “Would it?” Ty asked.

  The doorbell rang. “That’s for me,” Malcolm said. “My lawyer. Paperwork and such.”

  “Damage control is more like it,” Ty said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Malcolm.” Alcina reached across the table and took his hand. “You shouldn’t be alone. I know things don’t look good between you and Sheila right now, but . . .”

  “I have you, Gran.” Malcolm said, squeezing her fingers. “And Ty. And . . .” He pointed at Veronica as she strolled into the kitchen behind his brother, sharp red suit and pointy shoes even Sheila might have resisted. “Her.”

  “Have I mentioned how much I love this town? Explosions, now robberies and art forgeries. And did you hear that the museum across the street from the gallery had a gold crown go missing around the same time? Tell me I can stay a while longer, Malcolm, because this place is aces. Good morning. You must be Malcolm’s grandmother, Alcina. I’m Veronica Harrison.” She reached across the table to shake Alcina’s frail hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you.” Alcina slid a sideways glance at Malcolm.

  “What news do you bring?” Malcolm asked. “Coffee?” Like she needed more caffeine.

  “Please.” Veronica smiled at Ty. “Whatever your father was hoping for by leaking that story about your diagnosis, has officially backfired.” She pulled out her notebook computer and tapped online. “Thirteen of your fellow CEOs, along with your own board members, issued public statements in support of both you and TIN. With the story breaking on a Saturday—poor planning if you’re trying to cause a stock to collapse by the way—we’re anticipating a minor hit to the stock. Coupled with your plan to nominate an interim CEO on Monday, I’m betting we get out of the entire thing with barely a scratch. Provided we’re moving forward with your plans for Oliver Technologies.”

  “You know what my plans are.” Malcolm smothered a yawn. “I’m going to leave you to fill Ty in, get him prepared for what’s coming down the road.”

  “What’s coming down the road?” Ty asked, coffee half way to his mouth, but Malcolm was already heading upstairs to one of the guest rooms.

  “Malcolm.” His grandmother’s voice stopped him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. That girl will be there for you through anything. She’ll stand. She’ll not crumble. She’ll not wilt. And no matter what you do, she will love you until the day she dies. I know, my boy. I know. Don’t rob yourself of what could be. Don’t rob her.”

  ***

  To say watching his father being escorted into a police interrogation room Saturday morning was satisfying was a massive understatement. If only he could enjoy it more. “Sleep well?”

  Chadwick pulled out the chair across from him, sat, and leaned his arms on the cracked Formica table. “Was your lawyer able to get you one of the better bunks?”

  The smile on his father’s face invigorated Malcolm further. “You think any of these charges are going to stick? Art forgery? Fraud? You had something to do with this, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, how I wish I did.” The lie came so easily. “But somehow over the years you managed to piss Nemesis off all on your own.”

  “Nemesis.” Chadwick chuffed. “My lawyers will have me out of here in—”

  “Five to ten, from what I’m hearing. Three to seven if you cut a deal. But that’s for the art. Let’s talk business for a few minutes.”

  “We’ve already cleared the air on that topic.”

  “Yes and no.” Malcolm pulled out his phone so he could play back their recorded conversation from the beach house. When he stopped it, he looked at his father. “Each of your stockholders has received copies of this conversation. Not illegal, by the way, since it’s not a court of law, but they are all writing letters of compl
aint to the SEC stating you gave them false information regarding their investment in Oliver Technologies. That, coupled with the fact you knew someone was buying out the company, doesn’t make you look so good. But that’s neither here nor there. Oliver Technologies is in the hands of someone who cares about the company now and they’re already inquiring about doubling their investments now that Ty’s in charge.”

  “You’ll still take a hit where TIN is concerned, now that everyone knows you’re sick with cancer for a second time. Yeah, that’s right. That pretty new company you built, all those people who work for you, those stock prices, they’re all going to come crumbling down the second the story breaks about your illness.”

  Malcolm continued to stare. Continued to let his father dig himself deeper.

  “You think what happened to Apple after Jobs died was bad? It’s going to be a pleasure watching TIN go under while you try to bail out a sinking ship.”

  “Your concern for my health aside.” Malcolm folded his hands on the table. “TIN isn’t going to sink. Not with the endorsements and support we’ve been getting since your story broke. A Saturday, Dad? Really? Oh, and by the way, I’m no longer CEO. I’ve taken a leave of absence so I can get healthy and then, when I return, I’m going to be better than before.” He flipped open the folder. “And so will Ty. Speaking of which, I think the SEC is going to be very interested in seeing his statement regarding the contract he didn’t sign five years ago.” He pulled out another folder and showed him the contract Ty had located in his father’s password-protected computer. “You need to learn to vary your passwords. Because this signature, while it’s close, it’s not Ty’s after all. It’s yours. It’s a forgery. So let’s circle back to those paintings of yours and ask ourselves if you selling fakes is that far out of the realm of possibility.”

  His father’s face was flushing as Malcolm shifted to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Lastly, I had a nice long conversation with those three gentlemen you introduced me to last night. Mr. DeLuca, Mr. Aiken, and Mr. Dubrov were very distressed not to be able to recoup their, shall we say, investment from you via those paintings you hoped to pass off on them. So you know what?” He shoved the paper toward his father. “I bought the marker on your gambling debts. I own you. Or at least two million dollars’ worth of you. Just with this tiny little piece of paper. Pretty isn’t it? Sheila suggested I have it framed. Good idea?”

  Chadwick’s fists clenched on the table.

  “And all this is on top of you trying pass along fraudulent art to, of all people, the wife of a U.S. Senator. You are the gift that just keeps on giving.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Every one of those paintings was genuine.”

  “If that’s true, then why did they find the real paintings in your private office vault about thirty minutes ago, Dad?” He leaned forward and whispered, “I asked the investigating officer if I could be the one to tell you. And that lawyer you’ve been so fond of these last couple of decades, you might want to check in with him, because I think he’s withdrawing his representation.” Malcolm got to his feet and gathered up his files.

  “You think you’re so smart. You still end up with nothing. What do you think is going to happen when Sheila finds out the truth about you? A woman like her—”

  “She got your message, Dad.” He leaned his fists on the table and brought his face in close. “And you know what? I was the one who walked away. I’m the one who didn’t want her to have to deal with my illness. So guess what? I win after all.” He walked over to the door, hands in his pockets, and felt Sheila’s bracelet that he’d found that night in his father’s office. The bracelet he’d been carrying around ever since.

  The bracelet with the charm he’d given her all those years ago. When he’d first fallen in love with her. Sheila.

  “You know, Malcolm,” Chadwick said, and when he faced his father for what he hoped would be the last time, he didn’t like the amused gleam in his eye. “Walking away from the only woman who’s ever meant anything to you? I wouldn’t call that winning, would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” He closed his eyes, the doubt and fear lifting. She’d been right. About everything. He was scared of what was coming, of being sick, of the treatments he’d have to endure, but he was more scared of losing the one thing that ever mattered. The laugh escaped on its own, strong, amazed, life-affirming. Sheila. “I never thought I’d ever say this, but thank you, Dad.”

  “For what?” Chadwick growled.

  “You wouldn’t understand. Not in a hundred years. But thank you.” He closed the door behind him, leaving his father and his past finally behind him.

  Five steps into the hall he had his phone out and dialed Nathan. “Hey, can you do me a favor and meet me at your father’s house?” He took a deep breath and smiled. “And give me Theresa Juliano’s phone number?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sheila rang Morgan’s doorbell, regretting her unannounced visit when she heard the squeals and laughter coming from inside. Saturday morning, what was she thinking? She was heading back to her car when Morgan flung open the door and blinked dazed, sleepy eyes at Sheila. “Good morning. What’re you doing here?”

  Obviously her sister hadn’t read the morning paper yet. Sheila didn’t have the energy to talk or explain. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. She’d sat on the shower floor for over an hour before finally going to bed, only to be reminded of Malcolm when she smelled him on her sheets. A run on the treadmill had done nothing but piss her off, so she’d pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, climbed into the car, and just drove. Ending up here. After stopping for donuts. “Can I come in?” She held up the pink box. If she didn’t have to squeeze into some designer dress later tonight for the gala she might have scarfed down all its contents.

  “Of course. Yum.” Morgan stepped aside and licked her lips. “I’m hesitant to ask what triggered the sugar rush, but I’m not going to refuse it. Come on in.” She rubbed a hand down Sheila’s back as she maneuvered her through Gage’s bungalow-style house into the kitchen. “Gage, coffee, please.”

  “Sure.” He folded the paper and set it aside. When he stood up, she saw he was wearing jeans and her sister was wearing his shirt.

  “Ah, jeez. I knew it.” Sheila spun around, but Gage stepped in front of her and planted his hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re family. You’re always welcome and Morgan and I can have sex when you leave. Sit.” He pushed her onto the stool he’d vacated and set a mug in front of her. “Talk.”

  Tears welled and Morgan, standing on the other side of the island, jerked straight. “Oh, God. What’s wrong? Is it Dad? Nathan? Did something happen with Malcolm?”

  “Dad’s still acting weird, Nathan’s fine, but Malcolm— Dammit, Malcolm’s sick.”

  Morgan laughed, pressing a hand against her heart. “Jesus, scare a girl why don’t you? No, he’s not. His tests were just fine. He told me—”

  Sheila stared. “He told you when?” Her tears evaporated under the heat of anger. Her sister knew about this?

  “The other night at the center after he got a . . .”

  “Morgan.” Gage pushed the morning paper into her hands and Sheila watched as her sister skimmed the article about the buyout, about Malcolm being the CEO of TIN and the announcement of his leave due to illness.

  “N-no. No. This can’t be true. I talked to him after he got the call.” Morgan crumpled the paper in her hands. “He said everything was fine, that the tests—” She looked at Gage, then Sheila. “He lied to me.”

  “Join the club.” Sheila stared into the swirling brown mist of coffee. “He’s, um”—she pressed her fingers into her forehead—“he’s heading back to the Bay Area to start treatment. He’s leaving on Monday.”

  “The hell he is. Give me that phone.” She snatched at the cordless as Gage moved it out of reach. “Gage.”

  He
held up a finger and Morgan went quiet. Ever the voice of reason, he asked, “What did he say, Sheila? Why didn’t he tell you?”

  “Some crap about protecting me. That he didn’t want me to have to take care of him, or watch him die. Would it be hard? Of course it would be, but I’d be with him.” She pressed her hand against her heart. “And that’s all I want.”

  “Of course it is.” Morgan said.

  Gage shook his head and wrapped an arm around Sheila’s shoulders, drawing her against him as she blinked a new batch of tears free. “He’s a proud man, honey. And he’s used to being on his own. But this isn’t your decision. It has to be his.”

  “I know that. And that’s what scares me. What if he doesn’t love me enough—”

  “This can’t be Sheila Tremayne talking,” Gage said with a rough hug. “If there’s one thing I know about you Tremayne women it’s that you always get what you want, no matter how you have to get it. Or how long you have to wait.”

  ***

  “I don’t know about this.” Sheila twisted and turned in front of the full-length mirror in her bathroom. “It’s a little . . . pure, don’t you think?” The ivory structured gown wouldn’t have been her first choice for the gala, but when Veronica and Morgan had come knocking on her door two hours before, followed by Gina, Liza, and a stack of pizzas, she’d acquiesced and agreed to try it on. Strapless, fitted, and sublimely elegant with a narrow crystal belt, the design reminded her of her mother’s exquisite style. “I know I said I didn’t have a chance to pick out a dress for the gala yet, but really?” She flipped half her hair over one shoulder, the gentle waves settling softly. “You don’t think it’s over the top?”

  She found all four women in various states of dress in her bedroom, Morgan with a napkin tied around her neck to protect the emerald green gown she’d brought. Veronica went with basic black and all Sheila could think was “Wow” while Gina and Liza went a little less formal with a sundress and cocktail frock, respectively. “What do you think?”