Billionaire's Secret (Carver Family)

by Lyz Kelley

  Courtney understood all three. She had experienced every one of those feelings at one time or another and had vowed to never to allow others to feel that way in her presence.

  “Based on a person’s history,” she ran a hand over her thigh, smoothing her dress, “I can see where some women may have a hard time transitioning into a shelter environment. The strict rules and curfews are necessary to keep everyone safe, but that structure doesn’t work for everyone. Some might even resent such rigid policies.”

  “As the new managing director, what changes are you looking to implement?”

  “Right now the average person who comes into the shelter system returns in less than eighteen months. I would like to implement a comprehensive, twelve-month plan to help families get back on their feet, children back in school, and provide hope. The goal being to build a strong base for success.”

  “Wow, that sounds nice, but is it realistic?” The interviewer’s skepticism rallied Courtney’s conviction. She had dealt with these misgivings for years.

  “Yes, I believe it is. Before joining Empower House, I ran a smaller shelter for several years. I know this plan works, and it’s scalable. With more donations, we can help more people get out of bad situations.”

  “Donations. Yes.” A switched flicked on Kerrie’s face and her smile faded. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Kramer, that Empower House is funded by Weston Carver, a sex-trafficker?”

  The question hit her like a crane crashing down on her from the top of an apartment building crashing down.

  “Rumor has it he’s been hiring out women in his shelters.” A tag with the word gotcha written in thirty-point font could have been pinned to Kerrie’s dress top. “Ms. Kramer? Any comment?”

  Courtney brushed her sweaty palms against her slacks.

  Sparkling laughter lit Kerrie’s eyes.

  But Courtney was the one brimming with joy. Kerrie had finally asked the question she was waiting for.

  Courtney had worked with enough women to know their typical games. The bait and switch. The hidden agendas. She and Valerie had very thoroughly prepared for this moment. “Kerrie, I’m not sure you are aware, but Weston Carver has not yet been convicted of any crime.”

  “But surely, Ms. Kramer, you know three women have come forward. Isn’t it your job to protect women against men like Weston Carver?”

  “As a women’s shelter owner, my first instinct is to condemn the man, and defend the women, but the fact is, Kerrie, neither you nor I have all the facts.”

  Kerrie’s eyes darkened and focused. Here it comes. “Do you believe, Ms. Kramer, Weston Carver is innocent?”

  She wanted to shout, yes! Yes, Weston Carver is innocent, he simply isn’t capable of committing the crimes, but he’d want her to think first about Empower House.

  That’s why he hired her.

  Because of her passion, she would think of the women first. Because of her love for the man wrongly accused, she’d show him she could handle the hard stuff.

  She plastered on her fake smile and batted the false eyelashes the news crew stylist had applied. “Innocent until proven guilty. That is the foundation upon which we built our great nation. I believe our legal system will, given the complete facts, draw the correct conclusions.”

  Kerrie’s eyes continued to darken, but Courtney didn’t care. Gotcha time was over. “This interview is not about Weston Carver, it’s about raising money to help the women of New York.” She turned and looked directly into the camera. “Please, go to the Empower House website and click the donate button. Your battered neighbors need your help.”

  Kerrie shifted toward a different camera, presumably for a close-up.

  Courtney could only guess what was running through the interviewer’s mind, especially since she’d tilted the interview in favor of her agenda.

  “Well, our time is up.” Kerrie smiled into the camera, Courtney all but forgotten as the cameraman zoomed in. “Now for our next story.”

  Courtney stood and followed the painted line on the set floor until she was in Valerie’s waiting hug. “You did it.”

  “Do you think Weston will see the interview?” Courtney tried building a bigger pile of hope.

  “I doubt he’ll see the live version, but Linda or Haley will most likely show him the broadcast. Marketing teams have ways to find out when a company’s name has been used in the media.” Valerie held up Courtney’s purse. “Ready to shake this place?”

  “Oh, I’ve a missed call.” Courtney lifted her phone and gasped, goose bumps running up and down her arms. “It’s from Weston.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Call him.” Valerie encouraged.

  She pressed the callback icon. The phone rang and then immediately rolled over into voicemail mode. He’d either rejected the call or was on the other line. She ended the call, not knowing what to say.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Courtney looped her arm through Valerie’s.

  “Wait, why didn’t you leave a message?”

  “Because right now I’m hungry, and I want to get all this gunk off my face. I resemble a birthday cake with all these layers. I’ll call him tonight.” The uncomfortable queasiness she’d gnawed on for weeks returned. Then again, what would she say?

  Hey, I trust you? Will you give me a second chance?

  I know I made an ass out of myself, but I love you?

  Or, I’m sorry. How about taking me out to dinner? She chuckled when she remembered his seriously bad pickup lines.

  “Let’s celebrate your fifteen minutes of fame.” Valerie interrupted her turmoil. “I’ve been wanting to try that new Vietnamese place by Mott Street.”

  She’d better celebrate now, because if Weston didn’t see the newscast and her effort to show him how much she supported him, her fifteen minutes might go up in flames. She linked her arm with Valerie, “Their Pho is delicious. We should get out of here, now. Kerrie doesn’t look happy, and she’s headed our way.”

  She wasn’t afraid of dealing with a furious reporter, but if they didn’t go right now, she might jump into a taxi and camp out on Weston’s doorstep until he let her into his apartment, and possibly his life.

  She needed to apologize for all the revolting things she said. She’d judged him, just like her dad and brothers had judged her. She was wrong about Weston, just like her family had been wrong about her.

  Guilt burned her throat, justifiably so.

  Because she’d finally met a man who kept his promises. Who knew how to treat a woman. Who shared her passion for helping others.

  Until now she’d never met anyone with those qualities. Not until Weston Carver came along.

  The remaining question?

  Was Weston also a man who could forgive her brash, pathetic, faltering moment?

  Chapter 29

  Weston entered through the rotating door of the building he never believed he’d enter once, much less a dozen times.

  The ambiance of the FBI headquarters lobby rattled him. Intense professionals hustled in all directions, their phone calls and conversations buzzing through the open space.

  Today’s events could unfold in a thousand different ways, and there was no way to plan or predict the outcome. Being this out of control wasn’t his normal M.O.

  He checked in at the information desk and waited for his escorts. Within twelve minutes he was walking into a white-walled FBI media room complete with black furnishings. The FBI insignia hung prominently on the back wall to catch a person’s eye.

  He ignored the curious glances from the press corps and thought about what they must be asking themselves and each other.

  Why is Weston Carver here—and alone instead of surrounded by his lawyers?

  Why is the FBI holding a press conference?

  Why does the Special Agent in Charge look so serious?

  Weston again checked his straight and perfectly tied necktie as he walked to the front of the room. “Don.” He extended his hand. “Are we all set?”

  “Yes
. We’re just waiting on the sound check, then we can get started.”

  A technician crawling on his hands and knees stood and tapped a mic. “Check. Check.” He tapped the mic again, “Check,” then plugged in a laptop and crammed the extra dongles in his pocket. He nodded to the lady standing next to him and whispered something Weston couldn’t make out.

  Don gestured toward the podium. “Let me introduce you to our FBI New York office’s Public Affairs Officer. She’s been coordinating this press conference.”

  Don maneuvered through a stream of bodies to get to the front of the room. “Agent Natalie Abernathy? This is Weston Carver.”

  “Ah, Mr. Carver, you’re here. I’d like you to stand next to the flag, behind me, in case the press has questions. I’ll be introducing the reason we’re here today, then Don will speak and provide an update. After that, there will be a ten-minute question-and-answer session.”

  The black-haired, creamy-skinned woman with the most piercing blue eyes Weston had ever seen measured him, taking in his designer suit, white starched shirt, and blue tie. He liked her firm handshake. The perfect execution of pressure gave him the impression she was good at what she did, and was proud to be the spokesperson for the Bureau. “Are we all set?”

  “I’m good,” Weston assessed the room and people.

  After a self-check to make sure he broadcasted relaxed and confident, Weston took his position.

  A low hum of energy streamed through his veins. Hyper-aware of each movement and reaction, he subtly monitored the crowd. He was already acquainted with many of the prominent news reporters. But there were a few he didn’t know. He’d have to correct that omission in the future.

  Then Agent Abernathy set her notes on the podium to capture the attention of the news crews. She checked to make sure all the FBI staff were in position, waited a few seconds for the room to quiet, then squared her shoulders.

  “Good morning. I’m Natalie Abernathy, Public Affairs Officer for the FBI New York field office. We’re here today to update you on the Carver Investigation. This is an ongoing, active investigation, so we may not be able to answer all your questions today.”

  Wait. What? He wanted this over with. Now. He clasped a hand over the opposite wrist to mirror the other agents and avoid fidgeting in his frustration.

  “With me today are the Special Agent in Charge Don Rodriguez, Weston Carver, CEO of Carver International, and Executive Director in Charge Michael Bantner. Special Agent Rodriguez, over to you.”

  “Thank you, Natalie. Good morning.” Don waited for Natalie to take her position and then scanned the crowd. “After reviewing all the data and evidence in this case, we have learned there were serious mistakes made.”

  Gasps and murmurings from the news corps made Don pause.

  “Please note, people in the field make their best judgment based on the information available at any given time. We have since received more information and determined our conclusions were faulty. We are here today to share the additional facts we’ve discovered and try to mitigate the damage to the innocent people involved."

  Rodriguez paused to make sure the reporters were listening. “At this time all the charges against Weston Carver have been dropped. The New York District Attorney also called me this morning to convey that, based on the evidence we provided, all charges against Liam Carver have also been dismissed.”

  The volume in the room increased, and several of the cameras in the room were now pointed toward Weston. He remained firmly behind his mask of confidence.

  Don adjusted the microphone in front of him. “Overnight arrest warrants have been issued for several executive members of Medical Equipment Specialists, or MES International, for witness tampering and securities and exchange fraud.”

  Whoa. When did that happen?

  A sudden lightness allowed Weston to take a full, deep breath for the first time in weeks. He had his suspicions, but now he had the confirmation he needed. Those bastards. So much for playing nice in the medical equipment business. Once his dad found out, he would demand Weston put every resource toward doing everything legally possible to outperform MES in every corner of the globe. He predicted his father would want MES out of business in five years.

  “All warrants have been executed and all members are in custody. Additional charges are being considered. However, we will not be answering questions about the separate case at this time since the investigation is ongoing.”

  A young blonde reporter stepped forward with a notepad in hand. “What about the three women who accused Weston Carver of sex trafficking?”

  “All three have been arrested for providing false statements.”

  The reporters scribbled notes and pushed forward to get in a better position to shout their questions.

  An overzealous brunette elbowed her way to the front. “I’d like Weston Carver to give a statement about what he thinks of being falsely accused of sex trafficking.”

  “Mr. Carver is not required to give a statement at this time,” Don pointed to the next reporter.

  “Don, if I may,” Weston interrupted the next reporter’s question and stepped forward. Don stepped aside while Weston adjusted the mic. A mix of words swelled and jumbled together. His vast experience in the public eye corralled the emotions in a corner. Fast thinking and an acute awareness of what people wanted had pole-vaulted him to the top. All he had to do was provide the truth in a manner palatable for the press.

  “Today is a tragedy for all who have been a victim of a crime. I’m sad for the three women who are being prosecuted, since it’s because dishonest people exploited them and pressured them to make false statements so they could eat and feed their children. I’m sad because there are women who have been brutally assaulted and may now fear coming forward and choose to continue to live in silence. I’m sad for those who have come forward and have been demoralized by defense attorneys, because that is their job. Today is a tragedy. As a society, I believe we are focused on the wrong things.”

  The brunette in the front row thrust her microphone forward another two inches. “Yet isn’t it true you own Empower House? Based on my investigation, the shelters are overcrowded, and the women and children are not getting the help they need.”

  The question was loaded with skepticism.

  He needed to make a decision. Fast. No more hiding. “Yes,” He paused to get the news crews’ full attention, “Empower House is my recently acquired responsibility. When I discovered how deplorable the conditions were, I fired the managing director and hired Courtney Kramer. She has a vision and a track record for successfully helping women reenter the mainstream. I am confident Ms. Kramer will quickly improve the living conditions in these shelters and help the women who choose to enter the shelters find the assistance and training they need to live productive lives.”

  “Yet aren’t you just another man trying to control women’s lives and getting richer in the process? Empower House receives hundreds of thousands of dollars from the state each year.” The question from the crowd hit him squarely in the chest.

  Rage boiled and set his jaw muscles into spasms. How dare they accuse him of making a profit off those shelters! He’d poured millions into the organization without taking a dime.

  “I have a question,” came from the back of the room. He recognized the voice and the shields of aloofness he held in place cracked.

  Courtney elbowed her way through the press of bodies, determination oozing out of every pore. She didn’t stop until she was directly in front of him. “I have a question.”

  Her eyes held authentic softness. He loved that about her. She had no hidden agenda. What people saw was real. Original. Perfect. “What is your question?”

  Two of the news crews recognized Courtney and swung their microphones in her direction.

  “Why do you feel responsible for Empower House?”

  Odd. She already knew why, unless she was trying to clarify the answer for the media. “There was a need, and I wanted to
fill the void.”

  “No. The real reason you help women.” Her voice softened. “Who is Kirsten Carver?” She held up her phone for only him to see. An old high school picture of his sister appeared on the screen.

  Oh, God. He gulped. Pain spread and tightened in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He gripped the podium to hold the sudden dizziness off. Sweat bedded on his forehead.

  Don approached, but several people shouted, “Let him answer.”

  She pushed closer, but a security agent held her back. “Tell your story,” she pleaded, her eyes swimming with love.

  Could he finally tell the truth?

  He could almost sense another voice saying, yes, you can do this. A stream of gentle coolness brushed across his cheek. Kirsten?

  Guilt that had swallowed him whole since the day of her death compressed the air in his lungs.

  He grabbed the knotted tie at his neck and yanked. Courtney’s kind, supportive expression gave him a pump of fresh air.

  He would be judged, but he didn’t care. He’d been on trial for years.

  “Kirsten Carver was my twin.” Camera flashes blinded him, but he continued. “Next month will be the third anniversary of my sister’s death. She killed herself because she couldn’t face being physically and mentally abused by her husband anymore. My beautiful, kind and giving sister could help others, but for some reason she couldn’t find the strength to help herself. When she died, Empower House, the company she secretly held in trust, came to me. A year ago, I discovered the company was not being run properly and fired the trustee.”

  “Yes, but why you?” Courtney asked. “Why didn’t you let someone else run the company?”

  The room closed in until he saw only Courtney. Her face encouraged him to reveal his soul.

  “Kirsten never reported her abuse. Even our family had no idea what was going on. But she did document her life in a secret journal,” he breathed out the truth. “My beautiful, smart, funny sister didn’t reach out for help. Behind her smile of generosity, she felt ashamed. Guilty. Not worthy of getting help. My sister was the most giving person I’ve ever known, and now she’s gone.”