"We can't let them hound us. I know what it's like. . .and hiding doesn't work. It only intrigues them more. If you're not up to it, I'll handle it alone, but I'd really like to have you there."
Erika stared straight at him. She hated the press. There were things Michael didn't know. If she went to that conference they'd drag her through the Bill Castle story again. She'd have to sit there and go through the humiliating questions. She'd have to remember that her fiancee married another woman. Bill Castle was as famous as some of the rock stars he represented. His name was a household word. How could the press let her get away without asking for every intimate detail of her relationship with him?
"Why can't we just issue a press release?" she asked, knowing it wouldn't be enough to satisfy the hungry mob.
"If I thought that would work I'd suggest it, but after seeing them as I left this morning I know that won't keep them from following us around. The only way to get rid of them is to give them what they want."
"They want blood!" she told him, anger stealing into her voice. Mine, she added to herself.
"It's not going to be easy," Michael said. "They're bound to bring up Frank Mason."
Frank Mason was nothing compared to William Castle. Erika let out a sigh. When Carlton died she'd avoided the press, but it didn't deter them. They'd hounded her until she finally granted an exclusive interview to a lesser known reporter whom she figured wouldn't have the gall to ask her about Bill.
She'd been wrong.
"More than likely, they're also going to remember your California incident."
She stared at him. "You know about that?" Her throat was dry. A pain lodged in her chest.
Michael shook his head. "My brother mentioned it yesterday. I let him think I knew what he was talking about."
He waited for her to explain. She'd only heard a few questions yesterday about Michael and Frank Mason having a history together. She didn't know the truth of it. But he was asking her to tell him why she'd left California.
"I was engaged to Bill Castle." She checked to see if he recognized Bill's name. Anyone who knew popular music knew of Bill Castle.
"I've heard of him," Michael confirmed.
"He ran off and married my secretary," she said without emotion. Her stare never left his face. She couldn't see any change in his features—pity, concern, or judgment. "The press followed me everywhere. I became a prisoner in my own house. Every time Bill made the news, someone tried to interview me." Erika dropped her gaze to the desk, remembering the hounding nature of the unrelenting press. "They'll ask intimate questions, pry into my life as if they had a right. I'm not sure I want to go through that again."
Michael admired her. She didn't say she couldn't go through it, just that she didn't want to. He didn't want to go through it again, either, but he knew neither of them had a choice. The press was an estate unto itself. Like the army, it would continue to come. The longer the two of them avoided the media, the more people would be assigned to find out the truth.
If they didn't want a small story to escalate into front page news, they had to go through the bad and get it over with.
"This time you won't be alone, Erika," Michael said. "Carlton left us everything to share. We can begin with the press."
She looked at him with hardness in her eyes. Michael held her gaze until it softened.
"Neither will you," she said.
***
Michael squeezed Erika's hand as they stood outside the seminar room where the reporters had assembled. The Graves Enterprises public relations people and legal advisors joined them.
"The lions are at the gate," she said.
He took a deep breath and nodded. Michael wasn't looking forward to this, either, but he'd run away before and he refused to do it again. He knew they'd ask questions about Frank Mason and Abby. As much as that would bring back memories, he had to get through it.
“Sometimes the gladiators win,” he replied.
Erika grasped the doorknob and turned it. The door swung inward and she walked through. He followed her. Conversation, which had been at a thirty decibel level, deceased to zero. For the space of a moment no one said a word. Then they all tried to speak at once. Michael couldn't make out any questions, but he could hear his name and Erika's being shouted from the sea of suits, cameras, and microphones. Without a word he and Erika took seats in front of the crowd and waited for them to be seated. The room returned to order and Michael spoke.
"Good morning." He cleared his throat, adjusting the microphone. "I'm glad so many of you could make it on such short notice." A ripple of laughter went through the room.
He glanced at Erika. Her expression was professional, giving nothing away as to how she really felt—which, Michael knew, was as scared as a kid on her first day at kindergarten. He felt much the same way, knowing that behind more than one of the many faces in the audience lurked the questions he didn't want to answer.
"I'd like to say something before we answer your questions," he went on. "You all know the terms of the will, if today's papers can be believed." Another ripple of laughter. "I have confirmed to my satisfaction that Carlton Lipton-Graves was my grandfather." He expected a reaction, but all he saw was the nodding of a few heads. "His legacy to Ms. St. James and myself is that we share the running of Graves Enterprises. We have discussed this." He looked again at Erika. Her gaze met his this time. She nodded her confirmation. Somehow he thought her actions reflected a well orchestrated script. Maybe she was relaxing. "Ms. St. James and I plan to fulfill the outstanding contracts of Graves Enterprises and to lead this corporation with the same or greater levels of corporate governance as Mr. Lipton-Graves would want."
Erika turned to look at him. Questions were in her eyes. Michael didn't have anything more to say. He knew he should defer to her, but he wasn't sure she was ready, especially after the way she looked at him. He'd called this conference. He had time to prepare for it. She'd only had ten minutes before she had to go on.
"I'd like to add something," she said, surprising him. He kept all expression off his face, as if they had decided beforehand how to handle the press. "Mr. Lawrence and I have not completely worked through all the details of responsibility, but like any growing organization we'll find the right fit."
She’s a trooper, Michael thought. Her voice was controlled, authoritative, and calm. She spoke as if she gave orders, and knew how to get results. Any uncertainty she may feel was not evident in the confident voice or calm demeanor Erika projected. At that moment Michael added a greater respect for the woman he’d held in his arms less than twelve hours ago. She was cool under pressure. She looked her opponents directly in the eye and spoke without any hesitation. Her thought processes were logical and chronological.
"Now, if there are any questions concerning the business and our roles in it, we'll be glad to answer them," Erika was saying when Michael turned his attention to the group.
He almost smiled. She was good, cunning. She'd told them to stick to the point. Of course, he knew they wouldn't, but it would give them a way of deflecting unwanted questions. For as much as she'd feared this arena, Michael somehow didn't think Erika was.
She nodded at a man with his hand raised.
"Did you and Mr. Lawrence really inherit over forty million dollars?"
Erika smiled, a wide grin that reached her eyes. The first question generally set the tone for the rest of the meeting. Michael was grateful to the man.
"Our lawyers are still determining the exact amount of the estate. However, I'm sure the company is in sound financial condition. The third quarter reports will be available to you in a few weeks, and we're expecting to post a profit for the year."
Deflection One, Michael thought.
"Mr. Lawrence, you're a lawyer. Are you taking over the legal affairs of the company?"
"While there is a position available for a general counsel, the requirements are those of corporate law. My expertise in law is in another area." Michael thought h
e did well, but he knew there was a gaping hole in his answer. If there was a smart reporter out there, he or she had a perfect opening to ask him the Frank Mason questions.
They didn't come. For half an hour the questions were business oriented, and Michael began to feel they were going to pass this without running into any problems.
Then a man rose from the back of the room. "Ms. St. James, did you know that Bill Castle's marriage is on the rocks, and he's mentioned you in several recent interviews?"
"Prior to Mr. Lipton-Graves’s funeral, I hadn't seen Mr. Castle in over a year." She paused. "He attended the funeral and left for obligations he had in Los Angeles. And, as you probably already know, Mr. Castle didn't keep me informed of intentions when we were. . .an item." Many in the room laughed, and Erika cut the reporter a look that said he should not pursue that line of questioning.
Unfortunately, the door had been opened, and the entire room seemed to pour through it. Question after question dragged out details Michael was sure she would just as soon forget. But she kept up with them, never flinching, answering the questions with wit and professionalism, managing to keep them from making her look like a fool.
"Were you surprised to find Mr. Castle had married your secretary?"
"No, Mr. Lahey." She obviously knew this reporter. "I usually discuss the marriage plans of my fiancés when they decide to marry other women."
Uproarious laughter spread through the room. Erika also smiled. Michael wanted to laugh out loud, but he controlled it.
His turn came as soon as the laughter abated. A pretty, young reporter in the front row rose and looked directly at him. He could tell. She was the smart one he'd thought of earlier.
"Mr. Lawrence." She looked directly at him. He held her stare, knowing this was his turning point. He'd either get through the rough part or he'd crash and burn right here. "Did Frank Mason know he was a contingent beneficiary?"
"I have no idea," he answered truthfully.
"Have you had any contact with him?"
"Not since that last day in court."
"Frank Mason vowed to make you and everyone else pay for sending him away."
"I heard that," Michael said. "I never saw Frank in person after his children. . .died." Michael couldn't help the slight catch in his voice.
"We're getting a little off the mark," Erika interjected. "Could we bring the discussion—"
"Did you know," the woman interrupted Erika, "that Frank escaped his prison and is on the run?"
Michael's heart missed a beat. How could he escape? He was psychotic. Why wasn't he watched every moment, awake or asleep? He appeared normal, logical, even rational, but he wasn't. He was the most dangerous man Michael had ever come across, and he'd met some beauties.
Frank had been in and out of court with some of the lowlifes of society, men who beat their wives and girlfriends, women who abused or neglected their children. But when Michael met Frank, he believed the man was sincere. Michael took his custody case, because he appeared to be genuinely in pain at the loss of his marriage and the forced estrangement from his children. Michael fought hard for Frank and won, but Frank had duped him in the worst way, and now four people were dead. Frank told him lie after lie, and Michael drank them in like a smooth cognac. The man seemed sincere, charming, but it was an act. His true colors were shown two weeks after Michael had successfully petitioned the court to give him full custody of his three children. He'd taken them away from his crying ex-wife, and at their first visitation meeting he'd put bullets through their heads. Weeks later, in a state of depression, Abby using a full bottle of sleeping pills had joined her children. Michael was left to deal with the aftereffects of his actions.
How the hell could Frank have escaped?
Chapter 7
Champagne, caviar, crystal wineglasses, diamond rings—the accoutrements of the rich and famous. Well, the rich and famous died exactly like the poor and destitute. Frank Mason refilled his glass and dropped the empty bottle into the brown paper bag next to him. He sat on the boardwalk, far away from East Brunswick, where he'd completed his task. The place was practically deserted. The T-shirt, souvenir, and food stores were closed for the season. A few hardcore money-grubbing places were open, hoping enough of the casino gamblers would come out and buy enough to make it worth them paying the heat and light bills.
Frank was alone, remembering the Gilfords. Angela and Jason Gilford. Angela had been Abby's lawyer. She'd said some pretty horrible things about him, brought out all the terrible things that had happened in his marriage. He couldn't forgive her for that. So he’d made her pay. She sniveled and prayed to a deaf god for mercy.
She'd pleaded for her life, begged him. Frank smiled. She'd been wearing a purple sweater, looking regal and aristocratic, just as she'd looked in court. Well, she'd gotten hers, and that husband of hers, too. They both lay in their East Brunswick house with the high ceilings and walls of glass in the entryway, dead as scared mice, while he sat here, drinking their champagne and eating their caviar.
Frank dropped the crystal glass into the bag. It clinked against the empty Dom Perignon bottle and broke. Frank pushed the paper bag down until the plastic one covered it completely. Then he tied the end of the plastic bag and stood up. He'd throw the bag in a river. It was already weighted down with stones. The ocean wasn't as good as a river. A river didn't have waves, or adhere to the changing tides. The ocean could throw it back, wash it ashore, but in a river it would sink for all time. And even if it were found, he'd be safe. He knew fingerprints were mostly water, and that water would wash them away, but he hadn't left any. There was nothing in the bag to connect him with Angela and Jason Gilford. He headed for his car and his next target.
***
"Who's Frank Mason?" Erika asked the moment she and Michael were back in her office and the doors were closed. She recognized his name as the contingent beneficiary, and had made a note to find out more about him while she was trying to find Michael last month. When Michael had shown up she'd forgotten about Frank.
"I'd rather not talk about him," Michael said.
Erika glanced sideways at him. Michael had visibly stiffened when the reporter interrupted her and told him Frank had escaped. She hadn't known Michael very long, but she recognized the tight posture of a man who was retreating into himself. She didn't want that to happen.
Who was Frank Mason and what did he have to do with Michael? Where had he escaped from? What had happened in court?
Michael went to the adjoining door leading to his office. He closed it after going through. Erika stared after him. He was closing the door on more than the office. He was shutting her out of any discussion regarding a man that Carlton had chosen as a contingent in the will. Why was Michael so tense? He walked as if every nerve in his body had coiled into a tight spring. Erika wondered if she should go to him. She thought he needed someone to talk to, but she didn't know if she should interrupt or let him work it out himself. It would have helped her if he'd told her what he and Frank Mason had in common. And why the mere mention of his name could change everything about Michael.
Erika picked up the phone and called Carlton's attorney, Steven Chambers.
"Steven." She smiled when his voice came over the line. "It's Erika St. James."
"How are things going?"
She knew he was asking how she and Michael were getting on. "We're slowly becoming comfortable with each other," she lied.
"Great. What can I do for you?"
Steven was great at coming to the point. He didn't have time to waste, not even on clients who paid him well.
"I wonder if you could hire that private investigator again."
"What for?"
"I want to find out about Frank Mason."
"Frank Mason?" he repeated.
"He was the contingent beneficiary in Carlton's will," she said, hoping Steven would know something and volunteer the information she was seeking. "Do you know who he is?"
"I was surprised whe
n Carlton wrote him into the will, especially after what happened."
"Steven," she said, trying to keep the agitation out of her voice. "What happened?"
"Michael Lawrence was Frank's attorney in a child custody suit. The case went on for weeks, and was quite notorious in this part of the state." Steven went on to relate the events of the case. Erika listened in open-mouthed horror as he related the reasons that had caused Michael to escape from the world and retreat to the Maryland mountains.
"So you think the will was Carlton's way of getting him to return to the world he'd rejected?"
"He never told me that, but what else can I infer?"
"Frank's escaped."
"My God!" he said. "When?" Steven was nearly as surprised as Michael had been.
"I don't know. A reporter told us this morning at a press conference. Michael didn't take the news well."
"I imagine he wouldn't," Steven said. "The press hounded him after the children were killed. Some of the not so ethical papers had blaring headlines blaming Lawrence for what happened to the Mason children, and to Frank's ex-wife."
Erika remembered her own moment of notorious fame. She couldn't blame Michael for retreating to the mountains. She'd done practically the same thing in returning to Philadelphia. Her return had been after the press stopped pursuing her, but she gathered Michael had bailed before that.
"Erika," Steven said, calling her back. "Do you still want me to hire an investigator?”
“I guess not,” she said. Steven had told her what she needed to know. "Thank you." She hung up and stared at the door to Michael's office. The information she'd just heard told her a lot about the man behind that door. He felt deeply about what he'd done, so deeply that he'd turned his back on his profession and his family and retreated to a mountain where he could be alone.
For a year he was there with only his thoughts and the nightmares. Since the storekeeper, Mr. Hodges, had told her Michael kept to himself, she knew today's news must have hit raw nerves. In the mountains he'd been alone, but now he was on the other side of that door with his thoughts of Frank Mason and what his actions had led to, however indirectly.
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