Redemption road, p.11
Redemption Road, page 11
Duncan took her hand and she looked down, surprised to see his fingers entwined with her own. She took a deep breath, knowing she had to press on.
“I felt like a zombie,” she said. “Or like I was underwater. He’d told me my father asked that we get married there at the hospital, so he could still give me away. I couldn’t say no to that. So we got our marriage license and the day before my father died in that hospital bed Derek and I got married.”
Her breath hitched, but she held back the sobs that wanted to break free.
“My father hadn’t even been lucid during the ceremony,” she said. “Derek told me later that he had asked my father to marry me, but do you know what my dad told him? He told him he wouldn’t give his blessing. He suggested we wait another year because a man can pretend to be something he’s not for two full years before things start to come to the surface.”
“Your dad was a wise man,” Atticus said. “And what he told Derek is true. That must have put him in panic mode.”
“It was all lies,” Hattie said. “The wedding was a final insult to a dying man. He hated my father. But he loved the idea of a billion-dollar company and all that entailed. And I went along with it, believing it was what my father wanted. I was so stupid.”
“No one could fault you for grieving, Hattie,” Duncan said. “You can’t blame yourself. All you could do at the time was survive. And that’s what you did.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Survive. I barely did that. After my father died everything was moved and shifted around quickly. We’re a global defense company, and the last thing we could show was weakness. The funeral was delayed almost a week so my mother could fly in from where she’d been vacationing in the south of France. She’d never bothered to visit him in the hospital. And she was definitely not a grieving widow. She brought her latest boyfriend to the funeral.”
“I don’t think I like your mother,” Duncan said.
“Most people don’t,” she said. “Immediately after the funeral they gathered us all for the reading of the will. Atticus was there too.”
“It was a moment I’ll never forget,” he said. “Hattie’s mother thought that she’d be given majority shares in the company. That had been the terms of the original will. She was a brilliant businesswoman, and it was her father’s company merged with Harry’s that had made it such a success. Harry was a man who played fair, and despite her blatant disregard for their marriage vows and the way she treated Hattie, he wasn’t going to cut her out completely. Harry believed in legacy, and no matter how he felt about his wife, her father had helped build the company. So he left her a third of the shares.”
“Which is not a majority,” Duncan said, wincing.
Atticus nodded. “Harry left a third to me and a third to Hattie. The rest of his estate and homes also went to Hattie.”
“When they read the will she went into a fit of rage, and the estate attorney had to go to the hospital to get stitches. She contested the will, of course, but there was nothing she could do. She did manage to tie up all of the assets that were left to me, but that didn’t matter because Dad had put them in a trust until I turn thirty-five anyway. I didn’t need any of that. I make a good salary from the company and it was always more than enough.
“What I hadn’t realized was that Derek and my mother had been plotting and planning together. They’d met long before he and I started dating. They’d even been lovers for a time. And they both had one goal. They were the good cop and the bad cop. The more abusive and vile she became toward me, the closer I moved toward Derek. He promised me he could keep me safe from my mother. That she’d never get what my father had left me. He was an attorney and all I had to do was trust him to handle the details.”
Hattie took another drink of water and looked at Duncan. His face had gone pale, but he waited for her to finish.
“After the reading of the will he took me out of the country to rest and so we could honeymoon properly.” She had difficulty choosing the words she’d say next. “You see, we’d never been together in that way before. He’d always been a gentleman and respected my decision to wait until marriage.
“On our wedding night he held a knife to my throat and told me he’d bleed me of every cent my father left me. He told me about his relationship with my mother in detail. And he told me how my mother had sold him her shares of the company and that some of the papers he’d had me sign had given him access to different accounts. He drained those accounts to pay my mother for her shares. He told me it was only a matter of time before he had my shares too, and if he had to kill me to get them then so be it.”
“God, Hattie,” Duncan said.
“Harriet is my real name,” she told him. “Harriet Ashbury-Bancroft. My friends call me Hattie.”
Her throat was dry as dust, but she pushed on. “It took me three days to be able to move after our wedding night because he beat me so badly. But I managed to escape and call Atticus from a phone at a restaurant. He happened to have agents not too far away and they were able to abstract me and get me back to the States.”
“I’d already started doing a deep check on her mother and Derek as beneficiaries during the will reading,” Atticus said. “And I figured I would probably end up a target too since I’m the other equal shareholder.
“I’d already had my attorneys at Dynamis gather all the information on the trusts and anything the board had implemented during Harry’s illness. Harry was no dummy in how he’d set up his succession plan. Even with us having equal shares, Hattie would remain the president of the company in Harry’s stead and not even the board could remove her. She had full control of the trusts, accounts, and property under the umbrella of the company, and as president, Hattie would be allowed to claim dividends at the end of every year. Names could be added and the dividends split up in different ways if she chose, but they could never be transferred outright. If anything ever happened to Hattie the funds would be frozen and then given to the beneficiaries listed in her will.
“Derek would have known about that clause, which was why he changed tactics and decided to terrorize her instead of kill her. Derek is a very powerful attorney. No judge or law enforcement agency in New York would cross him, and he has so many judges in his pocket the idea of forging documents and signatures isn’t out of the question. Which is why I had Hattie file her will and estate papers in Connecticut.”
“They were trying to kill you?” Duncan asked. “Your own mother?”
“It was only partly about the money for her,” Hattie said. “But it was the power and control she’d have over my life and death that really appealed to her. When my mother and Derek found out that my death wouldn’t give them what they wanted, they changed tactics. Derek found a judge who agreed that as my husband, he had the legal right to take over as conservator of my shares and position in the company if I was incapacitated or mentally unstable. That’s when the torture started.
“He started spreading rumors about my deep depression and all the medication I was taking. He drugged me once with sleeping pills and then staged it to look like I’d tried to commit suicide. He called 911 and left the pill bottle on the floor beside me. There wasn’t an overdose amount in my system—he didn’t want to take the chance of killing me—but it didn’t matter. The press got hold of the story and that’s pretty much how the system works now. If the media says it, it must be true. Guilty until proven innocent.
“When the suicide attempt story didn’t accomplish his goal he started hiring men to watch me. I’d see them everywhere. Standing behind my car when I was leaving work. Or looking through the window of my house. I started jumping every time I turned a corner. I thought I was going crazy.”
“Anyone would,” Duncan said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“The only way I could keep her safe and get her away was to fake her death,” Atticus said. “So that’s what I did. Hattie Ashbury-Bancroft died in a car crash, and her will is tied up in a probate court in Connecticut for a year, despite Derek’s attempts to get it moved to New York. As an equal shareholder, I’ve been able to block the board from putting Derek at the helm until the year has passed and my investigation is complete. We have enough on him and Hattie’s mother to put them away for a long time.”
There was silence for several minutes as the information sunk in.
“That’s good,” Duncan said, looking at Atticus and getting to his feet. “I can see why you brought her here. And it’s good that she’s had a sanctuary all this time. There’s only one problem that I can see.”
“Yeah,” Atticus said, sympathy in his tone.
And then Duncan looked at her and she saw the hurt and anger in his eyes. “You’re married to someone else.”
“I know,” she told him. “And I don’t know how to fix this. Because if things had been different, I would have said yes to you that day at the diner when you told me I’d be your wife. I love you. That hasn’t changed.”
Duncan stared at her for a few seconds, and then he turned around and walked out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Hattie had to give the O’Haras credit. What was talked about in the network, stayed in the network. She’d never felt more like an outsider than in the three weeks following Duncan’s proposal.
She’d wanted to be angry or feel sorry for herself. If he’d only waited to propose until after she and Atticus had a chance to talk to him. But it was her fault and she could blame no one but herself for the way things played out. Even though she wouldn’t have done things any differently.
She’d had no choice but to escape New York and Derek. But what she should have done was keep Duncan and his family at arm’s length. But should haves did no one any good. Her desire for family had ultimately outweighed her common sense.
It had definitely been a birthday to remember. Duncan had saved an embarrassing situation for both of them by telling his family to keep celebrating, but that it was best he take Hattie home since she wasn’t feeling well.
And that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d driven her to the lake house on Tribulation Pass, walked her to the door to make sure she got inside okay, and then he’d turned around and left. That was when the dam had finally broken and the tears came.
Why did she let things go on like they had? She’d known it would come to this. She’d known there was nothing that could be done without alerting Derek that she was still alive. And she’d been too terrified to think of that as an option.
Hattie wasn’t sure what to expect the following day, but Atticus had shown up at her door and told he was flying to New York and that everything was in place. By the end of the week Derek would be indicted on everything from fraud and money laundering to racketeering and attempted murder.
Atticus had the foresight to call her just before the news broke of Derek’s arrest and the fact that she was still alive. And despite the fact Laurel Valley was in high ski season and the resorts were crammed with tourists, several industrious reporters showed up to get the scoop, hunting her down at the sporting goods store and trying to camp out on O’Hara land, which didn’t turn out well for them.
Laurel Valley took care of their own, and they’d protected her, despite the hurt she’d caused. She’d taken a couple of weeks off from the store to lie low, but she still had to buy groceries and other necessities. The reporters were always waiting for her, and she’d gotten pretty good at keeping her foot on the pedal when they intentionally stepped in front of her car.
She’d have to go back to New York and testify. She’d have to face Derek and her mother. But that was for another day and time. It could be months before Derek was brought to trial. Atticus had been able to untangle her death in ways that she’d never understand, but for now, she and Atticus were majority shareholders of her father’s company, and all of the assets she’d been left from his estate were back in the trust where they belonged until she turned thirty-five. Derek’s third of the company would revert to her mother since he obtained the shares illegally, and her mother’s third would be frozen until a judge could determine the best course of action moving forward. She couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.
Hattie was free and safe, once and for all. No hiding. No secrets.
And no Duncan.
She’d not heard a word from him in the three weeks since her birthday. She’d spoken with his parents, aunt and uncle, and his siblings. But no one had heard from Duncan. She could only assume he was locked away in his studio. She hadn’t had the courage to drive over and knock on his door.
The two weeks she’d taken off from work to hide from reporters had almost driven her crazy. Fortunately, the O’Hara women had come to her rescue. Simone had brought over a box of her famous recipes and Hattie had learned how to make piecrust and meat loaf. She’d felt very accomplished considering she’d grown up with a personal chef and had never learned to cook anything other than takeout.
Raven had also stopped by, bringing by several new things that had just come into her boutique, and Anne and Dylan had come by soon after for an impromptu fashion show and a sampling of Simone’s desserts.
But once her two weeks was up, and she still hadn’t heard from Duncan, she decided the best course of action was to throw herself into her work at the store. She’d stay until late in the evening and go home exhausted, falling into bed only to wake up and do it again the next day. It almost kept her from thinking about Duncan.
Her office was on the second floor of the store, and she could look down through the wall of windows onto the lower level. It was closing time, but there were still a lot of customers browsing the shelves, making last-minute purchases for whatever adventure they had planned the following day.
She’d been staring out the window for a while, her brain full of reports and projections. She was already purchasing for fall, and it felt good to know that she would still be in Laurel Valley. She’d eventually have to leave her job at the sporting goods store, but there was no reason she couldn’t move the headquarters of her father’s company to Laurel Valley. This was her home now, whether Duncan ever spoke to her again or not.
Her assistant manager was set to close, so she put on her down coat, wrapped her scarf expertly around her neck, and pulled on her lambskin-lined gloves. She’d learned quickly that the cold in Laurel Valley was nothing like a New York winter. She picked up her briefcase and headed down the stairs.
“Burning the midnight oil again,” Toby said, ringing up a customer.
“The next season will be here before we know it,” Hattie said.
“If it means we’ll get a break from this snow then I’m all for it,” he said.
Hattie laughed. “Bite your tongue. This snow is why we’ve had such a good quarter. Have a good night.”
She waved goodbye and stepped out into the cold, automatically searching the parking lot for any reporters or those who shouldn’t be hanging around. Downtown Laurel Valley was full of cars, and she looked across the street to see The Lampstand full of people. Live music played from the bar down the street and there were shrieks of laughter coming from the skating rink as people went round and round.
They were good sounds, and she smiled as she made her way to her SUV. About halfway home, it started to snow again. Big, fat flakes that fell softly on her windshield. The plows had already been out and were working overtime, keeping the streets clear, and once she drove onto O’Hara land she noticed that Mick had been out too, keeping each of the narrow roads that led to a different family member’s land clear.
When she got to the tree that sat between the fork in the road, she stopped the car. She should take the right fork in the road. That was the road that led to home and a warm bed. She chewed on her bottom lip and gripped the wheel. And then threw caution to the wind and veered left toward Duncan’s house.
***
Duncan had been sitting on her back porch for what seemed like hours. It didn’t matter. He’d wait there until she came home.
He’d tried to stay away. Had needed to so he could get his thoughts in order. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to see her. Had to talk to her.
He’d caught the news from time to time over the last weeks and had watched Hattie’s story unfold. He knew his family was keeping a close watch over her, and Atticus had hired extra security for the area, keeping Hattie unaware of the added protection. In his opinion, prison was too good for Derek Bancroft. And from the looks of things, he was going to be in prison for a very, very long time.
His heart had broken for Hattie, hearing what she’d endured and the strength with which she’d carried such a burden. It reminded him even more of the warrior he’d painted. He could understand the choices she and Atticus both made. There was no one at fault except for the criminals behind it all. But that still didn’t change the fact that she belonged to another man. And no matter how much he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her, that fact would always lie between them until it was settled. After the horrific experience of her first marriage, Hattie might not even want to get married again.
Those were realizations and emotions he had to deal with. And the only way he knew how to deal with the anger and grief inside of him was to paint. He painted for days without stopping for sleep or food. He painted as if his life depended on it. What he created on canvas was alive and raw, violent colors and motions that ebbed and flowed like the tide.
And when he’d gotten his anger out, he’d fallen into fitful sleeps for days. But he’d still dreamed—always of her. He thought he’d go mad with it, and he laughed to himself as he thought of how stereotypical he’d become as a creative personality. He didn’t drink or chain-smoke as other artists did, but when he wasn’t painting he’d thrown himself into backbreaking labor around his property—cutting firewood and keeping the roads plowed so Hattie could get to and from work easily.
