Dare to Dream

by Donna Hill

  Chapter 40

  Carl’s driver was waiting for him when he landed at JFK Airport.

  “I’m going straight to the office,” he said without preamble. He settled himself in the car and contemplated his next move.

  He’d lost his perspective, he thought, as the Belt Parkway opened out in front of him. He’d allowed raw emotion to drive his decisions and he’d made one mistake after another as a result. He didn’t realize how single-minded, power-driven and greedy he’d become until he saw himself through Desiree’s eyes that night. The fear and disgust that lashed back at him haunted him in a way that none of his other under-the-table dealings had ever done.

  He knew that he’d crossed the line—his own line—and he couldn’t look himself in the face knowing what he’d become.

  What he’d almost done was reprehensible, but what Desiree had done was more startling. She hadn’t reported it. That much he knew from his contacts in the police department. It was when he’d gotten the call from Jake about the turmoil back home that he finally realized that Desiree had inadvertently given him a chance—a chance to do the right thing or keep living the way he’d been living.

  Carl reached into his jacket pocket and took out his cell phone. He dialed Jake Foxx.

  “Just listen and don’t ask questions.” He laid out what he wanted done.

  * * *

  “Are you sure it’s the same one?” Lincoln asked as he weaved in and out of midtown Manhattan traffic.

  “I know my own work,” she snapped and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take your head off.” She patted his thigh, then bit down on her thumbnail. “But you know there’s something not right, Linc.” Her brows knitted together. “Cynthia had to know that statue was in her bedroom in plain sight and that I’d see it and know it was mine. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.”

  “Okay, let’s think about this. Cynthia has the statue, which she must have gotten from that woman. And the woman just happened to come to the gallery the very day that it burns down.”

  Desiree pressed her lips together and nodded slowly, allowing the pieces to fall in place. “And Cynthia wanted me to see it and connect the dots.” She turned to Lincoln. “That says to me that Cynthia is not the guilty one, but she knows who is.”

  “And she doesn’t want to tell you directly.”

  “Because that person is—”

  “Her mother,” they said in unison.

  “Turn around,” Desiree said. “I want to go back.”

  Lincoln threw her a glance even as he checked traffic and made a sharp U-turn. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”

  * * *

  Carl walked into the conference room. The management team and the accountant were all present as requested.

  “Thank you all for rearranging your schedules on such short notice.” He walked to the head of the table, adjusted his navy blue pin-striped jacket and sat down in his executive chair. “There have been a lot of rumors and innuendos running rampant through the company. My name and the reputation of the company have been dragged through the mud in every paper in the city.” He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “The things you’ve heard are true. Hampton Enterprises is in financial trouble, serious trouble, and has been for quite some time.”

  Loud murmurs and looks of disbelief ran around the table. The accountant worked his tie back and forth to loosen it as if he were being strangled.

  “As of today, I’m resigning as president and CEO of Hampton Enterprises and immediately filing for bankruptcy.” His voice cracked but he continued. “I’m going to dissolve all of my personal assets to try to offset the debt.”

  There was another series of shouts and banging on the table.

  “What about us?” one of the managers shouted over the others.

  “Quiet down!” Carl slammed his fist on the table. “Do any of you think this is easy? This is my company.” He poked at his chest and glared at each of them in turn. “I built this company from nothing, gave some of you jobs when you still needed to have your noses wiped.” His voice lowered. “I came into this business full of energy and idealism. Over the years I allowed greed and power to control me, to replace the very things this business was built on.

  “Hampton Enterprises owes millions more than it’s taking in. And the loans are long overdue.”

  “Is there any truth to the rumor about the fire?” one of the other managers asked.

  The room fell silent.

  He looked at each of them. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I know now. Yes.”

  * * *

  Desiree clasped Lincoln’s hand as they stood in front of Cynthia’s building waiting for her to answer the door.

  It opened and Cynthia stood in front of them with a look of acceptance in her blue eyes.

  “I knew you would come back,” she said in a monotone. She turned and walked inside. Desiree and Lincoln followed.

  When they entered the living room, the damning statue sat in the center of the coffee table.

  Lance rose from the couch. He stretched out his hand toward Cynthia, which she took.

  Desiree looked from one to the other and tried to figure out where Lance fit into all of it.

  Cynthia read her thoughts. “Lance is here to make sure that I don’t do anything stupid, like I’d intended to do. And what was that? Take the blame for something my mother did,” she said, answering her own question.

  Desiree lowered herself to a chair, relieved that her hunch about Cynthia had been correct, but pained for the angst that Cynthia must have gone through and was going through to come to this moment.

  Inhaling deeply, Cynthia told them about the fight she and her mother had, her knocking over the statue on the way out, how Jackson’s questions made her really think about it, her trip back to her mother’s apartment and bringing the statue to her own apartment.

  Cynthia turned briefly to Lance. “Some stupid part of me wanted to take the blame for everything, knowing that my mother was somehow behind it in some way.”

  “Why, Cynthia?” Desiree asked, totally perplexed.

  “I thought that if I did, it would show her how much I loved her and maybe she would love me back.”

  “Oh, Cyn,” Desiree said, empathy and hurt welling in her voice. She got up and went to her side, taking a seat next to her. “Sacrificing yourself, your beliefs for the approval and love of others will never give you what you hope to gain.” She looked at Lincoln for a long moment and her own life and decision came into crystal-clear focus. “I wasted five years of my life and countless others trying to be the person my family thought I should be. I lost Lincoln and a part of myself in the process. But like you, I got the chance to make my life right and do what was right for me. It’s hard, but you won’t regret it.”

  Cynthia blinked back tears and gripped Lance’s hand a bit tighter. “I hope not.”

  Lincoln’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stood and walked out into the hallway and listened with disbelief and fascination to what Jackson had uncovered.

  * * *

  Allison Wakefield’s byline appeared beneath the headline: NEW YORK SOCIALITE AND PROMINENT BUSINESS TYCOON BEHIND INSURANCE SCAM—POSSIBLY LINKED TO ATTEMPTED MURDER OF LOCAL ARTIST. The article went on to outline Eleanor Hastings and Carl Hampton’s longstanding business agreements spanning a decade. Hastings provided seed money for many of his enterprises through intermediaries such as Sylvester Ward, according to information obtained by investigator Jackson Trent. According to Trent, Hastings recouped her investments from nonpaying clients by torching their buildings and obtaining the insurance money. There were indications that yet another unidentified woman was also involved.

  Desiree put the paper down on the kitchen table
after reading the article to Lincoln.

  “What makes a person that greedy, that evil?” she asked.

  Lincoln stretched out his long legs beneath the table. “Money or lack of it has toppled everything from marriages to corporations to whole nations. Money is equated with power, and power can corrupt even the best of us. I’m just glad that Cynthia wasn’t involved.”

  “So am I. I feel so bad for her and what she was willing to sacrifice.”

  “Cynthia is a tough girl. She would have to be to have a mother like Eleanor Hastings. I’m sure she will be fine.”

  Desiree sighed. “Yeah, she will.” She pushed up from the table. “Well, if we plan to get to Sag Harbor anytime today we need to get moving. And I want to stop by Rachel’s place to pick up some things.”

  “I thought you had everything here.”

  “Almost everything.” She smiled. “I think when we get to the shore I might feel like painting.”

  Chapter 41

  With each passing day, as summer slowly turned to fall, Desiree spent the daylight hours on the beach, in the center of town, or perched on the stones behind her cabin—painting.

  It was as if the floodgates had opened and all the creative energy that she held inside for so long flowed from her. Her images were sharp, brilliant and filled with life, one outshining the next.

  Eleanor and Carl had been indicted and their trial was set for early the following year. Cynthia and Lance were doing well and she’d talked about opening a small shop of her own in the Village. Desiree was happy for her.

  She put the finishing touches on a landscape that she’d been working on and set it to the side. She looked out toward the main house and saw Lincoln’s Navigator pulling into the drive. She smiled and fingered the diamond on her left hand. Lincoln had kept the ring, and one week ago, over dinner on the beach, he’d asked her to marry him—again. This time, she was sure, this time she knew she was going into it with her mind and her heart wide open and ready to receive the love he had to offer.

  She watched him as he made his way up the walk toward her, and her heart filled with warmth. She loved Lincoln, loved him with every fiber of her being. Fate brought him back into her life, but it was Lincoln who challenged her to face her fears, to open herself to possibility, dare to dream.

  Desiree put down her brush and wiped her hands on her smock, and she wondered if tonight when they lay together it would be a good time to tell him about another dream that had become reality. She pressed her hands to her stomach and waited for her man.

  * * * * *

  ISBN: 9781459227088

  Copyright © 2012 by Donna Hill

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