Torch(52)

“He is an associate at my firm. His name is William Courtland and he worked with Tony for twenty years. He was on retainer and handled all of Tony’s personal and professional business. They were friends as well. I always told him mixing friendship with business was a bad idea, but he maintained that it wasn’t a problem.”



“And he didn’t know Tony came to you to change his will?”



“I don’t think so. I never told him, and it seems to me if Tony wanted him to know about the changes, he would have had William make them.” As he spoke, a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his upper lip and he swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. I couldn’t figure out why this would make him so anxious. But then he continued.



“We haven’t spoken to William in over two weeks. The last meeting we had, he was preparing the documents to fly them out here to notify you and get your signatures. I’m assuming he never arrived?”



“No.”



He frowned, his thoughts turning inward. It was obvious this man’s disappearance bothered him.



“Has he ever done anything like this before?” Holt asked.



“No.” Then he shrugged. “Well, yes, but he was usually with Tony and he always called in to notify us.” Then he looked Holt directly in the eye. “It feels different this time.”



Holt nodded slowly.



“Different how?” I asked, frustrated that they seemed to be having some sort of unspoken conversation.



“William was angry when found out the bulk of Tony’s estate was left to you. He felt after twenty years of loyal friendship, of being on call for Tony twenty-four hours a day, he deserved some sort of compensation.”



“Tony didn’t leave him anything?” I asked, thinking how terrible that was.



“He did. Several million dollars. But William didn’t seem to think that was enough.” Again, he looked at Holt.



“Why would you ask him to bring the documents if he was angry?”



Again, Mr. Goddard wiped at his brow. “Because he seemed to accept the will after a few days. He went to the private funeral. He came to work every day. When I had an important client meeting, he offered to bring the documents. He said it could be his last official case for Tony.”



So basically, what he was saying was out there somewhere—somewhere likely nearby—was a man who felt betrayed and shoved aside and all of that anger was directed at me.



Forty million dollars didn’t seem like a good enough reason for me to die.



“Thank you for coming by,” Holt said, standing up. Mr. Goddard did the same and the two men walked over to the door.



I followed but stopped beside the couch, needing some space. “I’m sorry about having you arrested. And for your eye,” I said. I still wasn’t sorry for the way I acted. I felt threatened; I had a right to feel that way, and I was just reacting to my situation.



“You have my sincere apologies, Miss Parker. I truly did not mean to scare you.”



He pulled a business card out of the inside of his jacket and extended it to Holt. “Here’s my card. You can reach me by my cell phone. I’m staying at the Hampton Inn here in Wilmington. Call me tomorrow to arrange a time for us to meet again.”



Holt replied and then showed him out. I stood there numbly staring at my toes. My mind was going in so many different directions; I couldn’t really settle on any single thought. Instead, the inside of my brain sounded like there were a hundred different people all whispering, all trying to talk at once.



I made my way around the side of the couch and sat down, letting my hands fall between my knees. The walls of this house felt like they were caving in, like there was this pressure pushing me from all sides.



I had a father.



Maybe.



He was a drug addict.



He was dead.



He left me forty million dollars.



But the one thought that seemed to scream louder than most?



My mother never told me.



Holt stepped in front of me, holding out his hand for me to take. I looked up, leaving his hand suspended between us.



“Come on, you need to get out of here.”



“Where will we go?”



“You’ll see.”





18



It was fully dark by the time we arrived at our destination. We rolled down the windows, and warm night air, heavy with the scent of salt and the sea, wafted into the cab and surrounded us.



I was surprised when he pulled into a very bright roadside store and disappeared inside for a few minutes before returning and driving a short distance to a public access spot on the beach.



“I hope you like the beach,” he said, seeming to suddenly second-guess his decision to bring me here.