Protecting the Heiress

by Martha Kennerson

  “What...one of my cards was used?” Bill Morgan said, shaking his head in clear disbelief.

  “Yes and for some reason, as good as Bluebonnet is, they couldn’t figure out what was going on or find the person behind it.” Robert stood up straight and crossed his arms as he sat on the edge of the table. “At least that’s what they claimed. Yet it only took us a single day of research and a few phone calls to find out about Jergens.” His lips spread into a wide smile. “I know we’re good and all, but the breadcrumbs that Tiffany’s stalkers left were easy to find and even easier to follow.”

  “Which makes us wonder why they couldn’t, or should I say wouldn’t, resolve this issue a long time ago. There has to be a reason why,” Meeks explained.

  “I didn’t think...” Mr. Morgan said.

  “No, you didn’t,” Meeks said, not letting the man’s remorsefulness derail him.

  “I don’t understand. My relationship with Bluebonnet is a business one. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal...what I did. That is until...” Mr. Morgan said before falling silent.

  “Until what?” Meeks and Robert asked simultaneously.

  “Until the blackmail started,” he explained.

  Meeks and Robert looked at each other for a moment before focusing on Morgan once again. “That’s the ten-thousand-dollar-a-month payment you’ve been making to some mysterious shell company,” Meeks said more as a statement than a question.

  Mr. Morgan slowly nodded. “I’ve been making the payments for the last two years.”

  “Damn, man,” Robert said, crossing his arms. “What did they threaten you with?”

  “Everything. Somehow they found out about my relationship with Bluebonnet and that I borrowed money from Tiffany for the buy-in.”

  “Borrowed,” Robert sneered. He stood and walked to the other side of the room.

  “This can’t just be about your relationship with Bluebonnet,” Meeks said.

  Mr. Morgan sighed.

  “I may have borrowed more money from Tiffany’s trust fund a little more often than even I want to admit. I set up a few dummy accounts and funneled the money through them. I told myself that it was just a way to better track the money I needed to pay back.”

  “How were you contacted?” Meeks asked.

  “A woman called me—”

  “Wait, a woman called you?” Meeks asked, leaning forward slightly and noticing the slight shift in Robert’s stance. “How do you know it was a woman? Her voice wasn’t disguised?”

  “It was, but I’m still pretty sure it was a woman,” Mr. Morgan said with certainty in his voice.

  Robert dropped his arms and stepped closer to the table. “How?”

  “It was something she said the first time she called. It was right after Tiffany’s twentieth birthday.” Mr. Morgan brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I took her on a top-secret luxury shopping spree as a gift. It was something we used to do when she was younger whenever she achieved a goal. The caller said they’d hate to have to tell Tiffany that the luxury shopping spree that I had just taken her on to buy all those pairs of Christian Louboutin shoes, Prada bags and that Ralph Lauren luggage that wasn’t even in season yet was financed with her own money.” He looked Meeks directly in the eye. “Money I stole from her.”

  “Christian who?” Robert asked, frowning.

  “Exactly,” Mr. Morgan said, shifting his gaze to Robert. “Not many men know women’s fashion by brand. I certainly don’t, so I figured it had to be a woman.”

  “It tells us more than that. It tells us that the blackmailer was close,” Meeks explained.

  “How so?” Mr. Morgan asked.

  Robert checked his watch. “You said it was a top-secret shopping spree.”

  “Who knew about this shopping trip?” Meeks asked.

  “Just me and Tiffany...” Then he shrugged. “And of course her security person.”

  Robert shared a speaking glance with Meeks. “Was the security person from Bluebonnet?”

  “No,” he answered, frowning at both men. “You know her. Jasmine Black.”

  Chapter 23

  Francine made her way through downtown Houston and was heading toward the Museum District when she received a call from a private detective-turned-lawyer they often used when they didn’t want their agency publicly involved, usually for personal activities. Francine activated her Bluetooth when she read the name on her car’s video screen.

  “Fletcher Scott, that was fast. Tell me you found something,” Francine said.

  “I found something, but you knew I would,” he replied in that arrogant Southern drawl of his.

  “Yes!” Francine said, hitting the side of her steering wheel with the palm of her hand.

  “I still don’t get why you outsourced this job to me. Why not have your own people handle this, or your sister, for that matter?” Fletcher questioned.

  Francine sighed. “I told you, it’s a sensitive matter for all those concerned. So, what did you find out?” Francine asked.

  “All right, little lady, your call. Now I went over all the material you sent me and made a few phone calls. The board’s bylaws and policies and the company’s rules of conservatorship are clear. Even during your dad’s recovery period, he was still considered incapacitated. As such, he could no longer act as conservator of his assigned proxies, so his conservatorship was transferred to his executor, and he was never reinstated as required.”

  Francine stopped at a light and smiled at the crossing pedestrians. “English, Fletcher. I’m the triplet that didn’t go to law school,” she said to her screen as though she was looking into Fletcher’s face.

  “Oh, sorry. In a nutshell, when your dad got sick, he lost control over his proxies, and according to your company’s rules, that control went to his executor, which is—”

  “Me,” Francine said as she continued through the intersection.

  “Yes. I was surprised by that. I would have thought it would have been your mother.”

  “They made me their executor several years ago. Both my parents said that they knew if the time came, they would never be able to make rational decisions about anything when it came to their other half,” she explained.

  “So since your father never reinstated his conservatorship, and the proxies weren’t revoked, you still have control of them.”

  Francine pulled her car into an open parking spot she found. “Let me make sure I understand what you’re telling me. Because Dad got sick, he lost control over the three proxies he had, and because he didn’t have them reinstated, I have control over them.”

  “Yep...basically that’s it,” he said.

  “Wow, I never realized...”

  “Well, you have all the power now, that is, until your dad finally realizes what he needs to do to change things. You know...you could use this time to convince those board members to leave their proxies in your hands.”

  Francine laughed. “Thanks, Fletcher. Send your report and bill to my personal email address,” she said.

  “Will do, and when you see Robert, tell him to give me a call. I’ve tried to reach him but you know he stays on the move.”

  Francine laughed and promised to pass on the message before she disconnected the call and pulled back into traffic.

  “Well, well. I told you, Dad, don’t count those chickens.”

  * * *

  “Say that again,” Meeks said, slowly rising from his chair.

  “Jasmine Black was the security person we had with us on the shopping spree,” Mr. Morgan explained. “She’s been our freelance expert for a couple of years now.”

  Meeks and Robert exchanged a look that caught Mr. Morgan’s attention.

  “What?” Morgan asked with wide eyes.

  “We
thought this was the first time that Jasmine worked for you,” Meeks explained.

  “No, that’s why the studio invited her to be on the team. They know her, too,” Mr. Morgan said.

  “Invited,” Robert murmured to himself. “Why didn’t this come up before?”

  “Because Tiffany thinks of Jasmine as more of a friend than security,” he said.

  “Excuse us for a moment, Mr. Morgan,” Meeks said as he gestured with his head for Robert to follow him.

  Both men exited the room and moved into the hall, where Meeks began to pace.

  “What’s up?” Robert asked, reaching out to stop his friend before he could make another lap.

  “Something’s not right. Jasmine told me that this was her first gig with Tiffany. She lied to me. But why?”

  Robert shrugged. “Maybe she just didn’t want you in her business. You know how she is when it comes to that kind of thing. She damn near took your head off a couple of years ago when you offered her the seed money for her company, remember? She couldn’t accept you were just trying to be a good friend. You’d swear you were offering her money for something other than getting her business off the ground.”

  Meeks shook his head. “Right, I do know her. Think about it, man. Jasmine started working for Tiffany and her management company two years ago, and she had access to all the information she needed to blackmail Bill Morgan. We both know she’s smart enough and has all the contacts necessary to figure out who was stalking Tiffany and use it to her advantage. She’s an expert pickpocket so she could have easily lifted his credit cards.”

  “But why? The quarter of a million dollars in blackmail money? She’s smarter than that,” Robert said, shaking his head. “Besides, rumor has it she makes that on just one of her maintenance gigs.”

  Meeks held up his right index finger and shook his head and said, “Not two years ago, she didn’t.”

  “So you think that she wouldn’t take the money from you to start up her business, but she’d commit blackmail to get it?” Robert questioned.

  “Yes, I do!” Meeks declared.

  “Yeah, but still...if she’s behind this, there’s got to be another reason,” Robert agreed.

  Both men walked back into the room to find that Morgan had removed his jacket and was now leaning against the wall.

  “Mr. Morgan, you haven’t made a blackmail payment in the last two months. Why?” Meeks asked.

  Mr. Morgan straitened to his full height. “I got a call from the same woman as before.” He walked back to the chair and gripped its back with both hands. “Well, I assumed it was the same woman, and she said I was done, that I didn’t need to make any more payments. She said that she’d keep my secret, but that I really should think about keeping my hands out of the cookie jar. She said I’d never hear from her again, and I haven’t.”

  “Just like that and you’re done?” Robert questioned with a snap of his fingers.

  “What did she say...exactly?” Meeks asked.

  “That was it.” Mr. Morgan frowned and squinted. “Wait, there was more. She said something to the effect of, I should consider all the money severance that had been paid in full.”

  Meeks’s head jerked back, and his forehead creased. He took a couple of steps back as his mind traveled back in time. Mr. Morgan’s words took Meeks back to the last time he’d heard similar words.

  Meeks had already ended his relationship with Jasmine when she had shown up to one of his job sites wearing a low-cut, body-hugging green dress and a pair of black stilettos, claiming that they needed to discuss the lavish Caribbean vacation they’d planned.

  So, what should we do about the trip? she had asked, leaning against her silver Mercedes with legs crossed at her ankles.

  Why don’t you take it? After all, you planned it, Meeks had said.

  Yeah, but you paid for it, she’d said, flipping her hair off her shoulders.

  It was a gift, Jasmine, Meeks had said as he gave a nod to a couple of his men who had stopped to admire her assets.

  Well, I have an idea, she had said as she walked slowly toward him, her voice low and husky. How about we still go together? You know, friends-with-benefits style. Jasmine had placed her right hand over his heart.

  I don’t think so. You go...enjoy yourself, Meeks had replied, unmoved by her voice or her proposal. He’d plucked her fingers from his chest.

  Jasmine had thrown her head back and laughed. She’d pushed out a deep breath, stood and walked around to the driver’s side of her car. Before she drove away, she’d looked back at him and said, Oh, well, I guess I should just consider it severance that’s been paid in full.

  “What is it?” Robert asked.

  His question brought Meeks back to the present, and he walked out into the hall with Robert following close behind.

  “What is it?” Robert repeated.

  “It’s Jasmine,” he stated. “That severance crack is one of her favorite lines. Add that to everything else we know and you have—”

  “One big coincidence,” Robert declared. “But we need proof if we’re going to accuse her of being behind all of this.”

  “You’re right. Run her financials. I’m sure there’s more out there, but first we have to go tell the girls.”

  Robert gave Meeks a sideways glance and said, “Wow, someone’s changing. Usually you’d plow full speed ahead to take care of things first, and tell Francine about it later.”

  “Yeah, well, the art of compromise is a learned behavior.”

  “So I hear,” Robert said, laughing as he followed him toward the elevator. “What do you want to do about Old Man Morgan?”

  “Have one of the guys take him upstairs to one of the apartments and sit on him until we figure this thing out. Then meet me in Cine’s office.” Meeks hit the up button.

  Chapter 24

  Francine arrived at the Buffalo Soldiers National Museum, her last stop of the day, fifteen minutes early. When she had arrived at her prior stop, the Weinberg School, the team informed her that the school’s administration had provided them food for both lunch and dinner. With the school closed for break, they were allowed to eat at their stations, so her coverage wasn’t needed. However, since she was already there and wasn’t due to arrive at the museum for another hour, Francine had stayed to catch up with the team and get their thoughts on the personal security aspect of the business.

  Francine laid her head back onto the headrest of her Mini Cooper and closed her eyes. She thought back to the conversation she’d just had with two of the veteran agents on her team, Victor, a tall, fair-skinned man with colorful tattoos traveling down his arms, and Carlos, a Latino man who was a loving husband and father and had been with the firm almost from its inception. Francine was still surprised by their thoughts around personal security and working with celebrity clients.

  Ms. Francine, with all due respect, providing security for celebrities is a pain in the ass—excuse my French. They don’t follow instructions, and most of them think they’re better than everybody around them. It may be the new thing for agencies to do these days, but we’ve never been ones to follow a trend, Victor had said as he removed his hat and brushed back his sandy brown hair. I’m sure they bring in the big bucks, too, but—

  That’s not who we are, Carlos had said. Your dad said the security products we developed and sold along with our corporate system-monitored clients allow us to do pro bono work...and that I get. What I don’t understand is what these celebrity clients support, or why we need them. Blake & Montgomery has never been all about money. Carlos had been leaning against the table that sat behind the marble-and-glass security station at the school’s front entrance.

  Your old man taught us that. We help and protect people and organizations that need and want the help, even if they can’t afford it, Victor had explained.


  Like this school, Carlos had said, looking around at the shiny marble flooring, wall-to-wall tinted windows and the long hallway that led to lavishly furnished classrooms with the latest technology. When the church first got the grant to build a school in this up-and-coming neighborhood, they didn’t figure on needing any security.

  Yeah, until they had that break-in shortly after opening it, Victor said, swinging his hat around his index finger, which almost made Francine dizzy.

  Then they came to us for help, to your dad and Mr. Meeks. Carlos had swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Now I don’t know how much money you could be making from these folks, but it can’t be much. But we give them the same top-notch security we give our downtown clients. And they love us for it—the school, the parents and the community. We feel appreciated, and they feel safe.

  And no drama, Victor had said, putting his hat back on his head.

  And no drama, Carlos had agreed.

  The sound of a roaring engine brought Francine back to the present—in her car in front of the museum. She slowly opened her eyes and released a deep sigh as she sat forward. Francine had expected a little pushback from the elder statesman Carlos, but Victor’s words came as a surprise. Francine checked the time on her car’s dashboard clock. So much for being early.

  She grabbed the tablet from the passenger seat to check the name of the agent she was meeting. “Jimmy, he’s new,” she said aloud.

  Francine made her way to the side of the building to the staff entrance, where she found the door ajar.

  She called out as she entered and closed the door behind her. “Jimmy? It’s me, Francine Blake. Where are you? And why’d you leave the door open?”

  Francine had expected to see Jimmy waiting and chomping at the bit for her. Most agents were when it came to their dinner relief. Since she didn’t know this Jimmy at all, Francine didn’t really know what to expect.