Entrapment

by Aleatha Romig

  I stopped there. “Why on earth hasn’t Alex’s mother done that?”

  “Divorce?” Oren asked.

  “Yes, she would be free and the holdings would be outside of Fitzgerald’s control.”

  Oren pressed his lips together. “I blame myself for not getting my hands on this document ten years ago.”

  Deloris turned toward my father. Her expression wanted more. I hadn’t told her the history between my dad and Charli’s mom, only that he wanted to help. Though she looked curious, I knew she wouldn’t ask. Finally, she turned back to her screen and we all continued to read.

  Upon the death of either A. Fitzgerald or A.M. Fitzgerald prior to the coming of age of A. Collins, all Montague holdings will be held in trust for her until the age of twenty-five or until she has completed a college degree, whichever comes first.

  Once the age or degree completion has occurred, in order for A. Collins to inherit the Montague holdings and assets and to fulfill the requirements set forth in this legal document she must adhere to the following:

  Being of the legal age of twenty-five (or having completed her college degree), Alexandria Collins must agree to a legal union with a husband who too will represent her and their biological children’s shares in Montague Corporation as well as in the running of private Montague assets.

  “I volunteer,” I mumbled. It wasn’t a proposal, but that didn’t make it any less valid. Charli and I had never talked about marriage, but I’d do it, not because of this damn will or anything related to her family’s money. I’d take her naked and penniless. The first part of those conditions brought images to my mind that were better left subdued.

  I turned back to the tablet.

  It is my desire, and thus forth the determination of this Will, that A. Collins will marry Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer, the son of Suzanna Carmichael Spencer, as outlined below.

  “How the fuck is this legal?”

  “I’m not sure it is,” Deloris said.

  E. Spencer must first complete undergraduate and graduate school and prove himself worthy of Montague Corporation. Upon completion of his postgraduate degree, no more than eighteen months may transpire before their union.

  “Prove himself worthy?” Oren asked aloud. “Does that include accusations of abuse and suspicion of foul play in a woman’s disappearance?”

  Though no one answered and we continued to read, for the first time, I was more curious about Melissa Summers’s disappearance. Fuck Infidelity. If the entire company were to become public with the investigation, it was worth it if it saved Charli.

  Upon their marriage, controlling interest in all things Montague will revert to A. Collins and E. Spencer, with provisions for the continued support and oversight by A. Fitzgerald and A.M. Fitzgerald until the time it is determined that either or both is no longer competent.

  “Do you think…?” I began.

  “That the bastard is making the case for Adelaide’s mental competency before it is legally brought into question? I sure as hell do,” Oren said. “I even have some information on that subject. I’ll tell you later. Keep reading.”

  If this union does not occur, all Montague holdings and assets will be liquidated. The assets will henceforth be bequeathed to Fitzgerald Investments, leaving both heirs and their descendants without Montague assets.

  If the marriage of A. Collins and E. Spencer fails to survive, resulting in divorce or premature death, all Montague holdings and assets will be liquidated and henceforth bequeathed to Fitzgerald Investments, with one exception: in the instance of a male heir over the age of twenty-five, the designated heir will retain all holdings and controlling interest.

  If it is found that any one person mentioned in this article willfully and purposely hinders my wishes, that beneficiary will be stricken from receiving his or her share of the inheritance.

  “This can’t be legal. It would never hold up under appeal,” I said.

  “Beneficiary stipulations,” Oren said, as if the phrase were something he referred to daily.

  “What?”

  “It’s the imposing of stipulations for inheritance on beneficiaries. It’s done more often than you think.”

  “Often it’s something like completing school or where funds are only available to pay for education or housing,” Deloris added.

  “This is bullshit. Charli doesn’t need this. She doesn’t want it. Why is she going through with this?”

  “Is she?” Deloris asked. “Or is she biding her time for her mother?”

  We should have talked more this afternoon. I should have asked more questions.

  “This doesn’t change a thing,” I announced after finishing. “We’re going to go on with our plans. Fuck Montague.”

  “Not so fast.”

  We all turned to Oren.

  “I told you that there’s a codicil. Scroll to near the end.”

  Oren reached for his phone and sent a text.

  “An important date?” I asked.

  “In a way.”

  Before I could begin reading, there was a knock on the door.

  “Expecting someone?” Deloris asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Oren said as he stood and walked toward the door. “Turn off the Magnolia Woods feed.”

  With a button, the TV screen went black and Oren reached for the handle.

  A young man stood nervously at the door.

  “Mr. Crawford.”

  The boy nodded. “Mr. Demetri.”

  “Come in,” Oren opened the door wide, his invitation too gracious.

  I stood. “Mr. Crawford? What is the—”

  “During my perseverance…” Oren began as the young man shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next and looked about the room. “…I learned of a job Mr. Crawford had recently lost.”

  The boy nodded. “You can call me Stephen.”

  “Yes, well Stephen was employed by Hamilton and Porter, the law firm who held this will. Stephen had the pleasure of working with Adelaide regarding this same will.”

  My father suddenly had my attention. “Mrs. Fitzgerald knew about it?”

  “Yes,” Stephen said. “I-I worked with her on several occasions.” He looked toward Oren.

  “Go on, son. These are my colleagues. We’re all trying to help Mrs. Fitzgerald and if you can help us help her, we can help you.”

  He swallowed. “You have the will?”

  “Yes.”

  “Um, okay. Well, there’s a codicil.”

  “We just got to that,” I volunteered.

  “There are a few things you might not realize if you hadn’t worked with Adela—I mean, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

  “Like what?” Oren prompted.

  “Sir, this is confidential information.”

  “Are you still employed by Hamilton and Porter?”

  “No, but I signed a non-disclosure—”

  “Did anything feel wrong about what Ralph Porter asked you to do?”

  “I feel like I abandoned Mrs. Fitzgerald. She was really excited about the codicil.”

  Oren turned to Deloris. “Turn the feed back on.”

  I nodded.

  The TV filled with a picture of Adelaide’s room.

  “Stephen, when was the last time you saw Adelaide?” Oren asked.

  He stood taller. “It was right before I was let go. We had a meeting scheduled near the beginning of October, but I wasn’t allowed to meet with her. The last time was nearly a month earlier. She would schedule and then reschedule.”

  Oren pointed to the screen. “Look closely. That’s Adelaide.”

  He sucked in a breath as he walked toward the screen. “What happened to her?”

  “That’s what we are trying to find out. Could it be that she learned information she wasn’t supposed to know?”

  Stephen’s eyes widened in horror. “Shit. I… this is dangerous. Surely…”

  Oren’s hand came down on Stephen’s shoulder. “Son, no one will know your role or that y
ou helped us. I can assure you of your safety and that of your young family. How old is that baby?”

  My stomach twisted at the ease of my father’s words. Deloris’s eyes darted my way. It had been years since I’d witnessed this side of him in action, and yet at this moment, I didn’t loathe his choice or strategy.

  “Fifteen months.”

  “Stephen, you help us, and you and that pretty young wife and your little son will do much better. You can transfer to any law school in the country. I’ve seen your grades. You’re a hardworking young man. It’s a shame to waste your education at Savannah Law.”

  “It’s a good school…”

  “So is Stanford, Harvard, Yale…”

  He turned back to the screen. “I liked her. Will she get better?”

  “Yes,” Oren replied unequivocally.

  “Can I see the codicil?”

  Oren nodded at Deloris and it appeared on the TV, replacing Magnolia Woods.

  “Okay,” Stephen said, scanning the words. “See this?” He pointed at the date and the initials CM. “This date is obviously the date the codicil was approved. What isn’t stated is that according to Adelaide…” He looked at Oren as if he needed his permission to use her first name.

  “Go on.”

  “According to her, that is the same date her father died.”

  “So this isn’t legal?” Deloris asked.

  Stephen shook his head. “No, it is. Mr. Montague passed away in his sleep that night from a sudden heart attack. He was legally competent when he approved the document.”

  When no one spoke, he went on. “I thought that was rather strange. I asked Natalie about it. She’s one of the legal assistants. She told me not to worry about it.”

  “So you didn’t?”

  “I didn’t say anything. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s strangely coincidental.”

  “Can you explain the codicil?” I asked.

  “You’ve seen the will, so you know about Article XII?”

  We nodded.

  “It’s weird shit. I mean imposing beneficiary stipulations is a common practice, but I’ve never seen… even in school… anything as strange as the mandates in this one.” He scrunched his features. “Can you imagine, some dead guy dictating who you have to marry?”

  “The codicil?” I asked again, the agitation not lost in my tone.

  “Yes, well. In a nutshell, it qualifies the provisions in Article XII, basically saying that any manipulation by any of the interested parties alters the provisions.”

  I shook my head at the reality. This addition to old man Montague’s will said that if anyone does anything to dissuade, to interfere with the natural progression of, or to stop the planned arrangement, then that person null and voids his or her assets or any claim to said assets. It also nullifies the bequeathing of the liquidated assets to Fitzgerald Investments. Obviously he had some trust issues.

  “So if the marriage doesn’t go as planned, Montague Corporation will remain a viable entity, not being liquidated as originally set forth in Article XII?” I asked.

  Stephen shrugged, scanning the document. “It does specify that the current board of trustees will be dissolved, and the entire corporate structure will become a publicly traded company. And if the marriage of her daughter to the guy named doesn’t occur, or either person marries someone else, this will then enters probate where all interested parties must make a case for their rights. Assuming that the earlier mentioned interference isn’t an issue, theoretically, the estate will be equally divided amongst the living heirs.”

  “So for clarification, this codicil null and voided the consequences of Article XII?” Deloris asked.

  “Yes,” Stephen confirmed.

  “I wonder what made Mr. Montague change his mind,” she added.

  “Miss Adelaide wondered the same thing.” Stephen turned back to Oren. “I hope this can help her. She was so excited about the codicil. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t known about it. She kept saying, if only… if only.”

  Oren reached for the edge of the table, stabilizing himself as he turned back to the room. “Thank you, Stephen.” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and took out a legal-sized envelope. From the look of it, I assumed it held cash. “This should help you to relocate. Contact my assistant. The choice of schools is yours.”

  Stephen held the envelope for a minute before passing it back. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’d love to attend any one of those schools you mentioned. However, I can’t.” He shook his head. “Mr. Fitzgerald offered me money too. I didn’t take it either. It’s bad enough that I broke the non-disclosure agreement, but it wasn’t for the money. I was serious. Miss Adelaide was a kind woman. She doesn’t deserve to be wherever that is. I tried to help her.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid the information I helped her find and understand may have led to what happened to her. For that reason, I’m happy to help you.

  “I won’t tell anyone, and I trust you won’t either. Just help her. And if you can… that date thing has kept me awake at night. It just feels wrong.”

  I stood and stepped forward, fucking impressed with this man’s balls. At the same time, I knew Oren’s game—the indebtedness that fueled mutual obligation. I couldn’t predict Oren’s next move. Instead, I extended my hand. “Stephen, you’re a good man. You’ll make a fine attorney. I know someone else who believes in doing the right thing and helping those who can’t help themselves. The law profession would be a better place if there were more like the two of you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Demetri.”

  My grip tightened as Isaac’s attention shifted from his phone to Stephen. “We weren’t introduced.”

  His gaze shot between Oren and me. “I’m sorry if I presumed. It’s the resemblance. Are you not related?”

  “Mr. Crawford, take care of yourself.”

  “And that baby,” Oren added.

  Deloris stood. “May I show you to the door?”

  “Can I…? Will I know if you help her?”

  “I suspect there will be rumors.”

  THE SCENE HAPPENED around me, with me, and yet I was always a step behind.

  The picture on Bryce’s phone was of me. Was it a trick?

  “Bryce, what are you saying?”

  He seized my upper arm, the same place he’d grabbed it the other day, pulling me closer. “I’m asking you a fucking question.”

  I fought his grip. “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”

  We moved about the room, all three of us in a dance choreographed by both rage and fear.

  “As soon as I saw you in the den, I knew something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but then it hit me. The dress you were wearing…” Releasing my arm he shoved me away and scanned me from head to toe. “That you’re still wearing… isn’t the same as in the feed from Magnolia Woods.” He paced a small circle. “I fucking warned you. When you first got here, I tried to tell you.” He stepped closer. “I wanted this to be different, but I won’t be made a fool of!”

  Though every part of me wanted to back away from his approach, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t give him that power over me. Not for a day, a week, until our wedding, or forever.

  I lifted my chin. “Just spit it out. What are you accusing me of, because I have many more accusations to throw at you?”

  The next second happened in a flash. Since I’d entered Alton’s car, I’d been struck twice: once by him and once by Suzanna. Theirs were nothing like the power in Bryce’s slap. It wasn’t a slap, but a backhand, knuckles connecting with bone, flesh hitting flesh.

  I staggered and screamed.

  Not from the pain—I hadn’t felt it.

  From the shock.

  My one word—“NO!”—rang through Chelsea’s suite, the one syllable going on for what seemed like forever as my knees gave way and I fell to the floor beside my friend.

  She was curled on her side, cradling her cheek with her chest heaving from the unexpected blow.
>
  “What the hell did you just do?” I screamed up at him.

  Who is this man?

  Surely not my childhood friend. Not the man who’d begrudgingly left my virtue intact as a teenager. Not the man who was pretending to be my fiancé.

  “Get up,” he bellowed. His demand fell like a wet blanket as I stared up toward him, Chelsea’s head now in my lap.

  He didn’t stop. “I said get the fuck up.”

  Gently I eased her head off my lap and back to the carpet. Slowly I stood up, ready to face the monster who’d been hiding, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. As I rose, I knew without a doubt that Bryce Spencer was capable of hurting Melissa Summers. It was the accusations of his other crimes that I still didn’t understand.

  “Not you,” he spat. “You.”

  I gasped as the toe of his shoe reared back and kicked Chelsea’s leg.

  I moved between them and put my hands out, trying to block him. My effort was similar to that of the buoys that floated out from the shore, capable of holding their own space, yet unable to slow the power of the waves.

  “Bryce, stop it.”

  He ran his hand through his hair as Chelsea scooted back, away from him yet still on the floor.

  “Get up!”

  When I saw her begin to rise, I moved again. “No, Chelsea. Don’t do it. Bryce, get the fuck out of here.”

  Glaring my direction, he bulldozed past, reached for her arm, and yanked her to her feet. “This is your fault, Alexandria. She can thank you later for what’s about to happen.”

  “Nothing is about to happen,” I retorted. “There’s a room full of men downstairs. Go. Leave us alone. We have to get ready for dinner.” It was a lame excuse, but my mind was a blur, scrambling for any shred of sanity.

  His voice found an even-keeled, almost eerie calm. With his gaze now fixed on Chelsea, he said, “Leave the room, Alexandria.”