Chapter 20

20

A thousand things were swirling through Holden's head. He had to stop this book from publication. Now. Fortunately, Winston Press was one of the largest publishing houses in New York. They had bid on Capitol Crimes and come in a close second. Holden had liked Vincent Winston, the head of Winston Press. They had met twice and even had dinner together. Thank goodness he had a personal connection with the publisher— because he knew this was going to be Shit City.

Immediately, he FaceTimed with Evan, wanting to get the ball rolling.

"Hey, Holden. How?—"

"Fucking Madison stole Inside Threat ," he ground out. "My book. My book, Evan!"

The agent whistled low. "I saw the sale in PW yesterday. I know Amanda Sommers, the SGR agent listed who brokered the sale. How the hell did this happen, Holden?"

He cursed aloud. "I always let her read my stuff, Evan. Even when she stopped sharing hers, I kept passing pages to her. She would give me notes. Pretty good ones, actually. When we broke up, I never gave it a thought. All I wanted was out of there. I didn't realize she still had a copy of Inside Threat , much less that she'd try to pass the work off as hers."

Evan went totally business, and Holden was glad he didn't share any I-told-you-so's.

"My personal attorney has an IP attorney at his firm. Intellectual property. I'm going to call him now and share the situation. Wasn't it Winston Press that bought the book?"

"Yeah," he said, anger churning within him.

"I won't notify them of anything yet. Let me talk with the lawyers, and I'll get back to you. And under no circumstances are you to call Madison. Do you hear me, Holden? Not. One. Word."

"I hear you," he said sullenly, itching to call his ex and scream at her. Which was so out of character for him. Holden rarely raised his voice. He couldn't ever recall ever arguing with Madison, other than that last time they spoke. Bitterness bubbled up within him, thinking of how great this betrayal was.

"Sit tight, buddy," Evan urged. "I'll call you as soon as I know something."

He ended the call, taking deep breaths, trying to get his anger under control. Trying not to imagine dismembering Madison into tiny pieces.

Five minutes later, his phone rang. It was Evan.

"What did you find out?" he barked. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I'm beating myself up, and I'm furious with Madison for what she's done."

"My lawyer is setting up a meeting with Rutherford Baxter, the firm's IP guy. I'm heading over there now. Hopefully, I'll call you in an hour or so with a plan of attack."

"Thanks, Evan. For being my advocate and friend."

Holden hung up and saw Finley's car pulling in next to his. He couldn't ruin this for her. They were about to look at the house he hoped they would share for a very long time. He didn't want Madison's treachery to infringe now on this moment. Besides, he wouldn't know anything until Evan called back.

Putting a smile on his face, he got out of his SUV and met her, giving her a kiss. For a moment, he clung to her, wishing all the bad things to come in this fight over Inside Threat wouldn't touch their relationship and yet knowing they would.

Breaking the kiss, he asked, "What do you think?"

Her sunny smile washed over him, calming him, melting the tension.

"Already, I like it. I've always had a thing for Colonials. And look at how long the porch runs. The flowers are beautiful, and the grass is immaculate."

"Did you have time to see what Cyndi sent about it?"

She giggled. "I read everything during my faculty meeting. Held my cell in my lap under the table. Felt like a kid trying to get away with something. I love the floor plan. But it's huge, Holden. I didn't think we were looking for something so big."

He shrugged, slipping an arm about her waist as he guided her to the front door.

"I thought the same thing at first when I toured it. Then again, we don't have to use every room right away. We could close some off. Furnish it as we need to. Right now, it's definitely got office space for both of us, and that's the most important thing since we'll both be working from home."

Pulling the key from his pocket, he added, "We can kept bedroom doors shut, only opening them once another kid arrives."

She leaned into him. "I like the sound of that."

Holden unlocked the door, pushing aside all other thoughts. He wanted to be here, in this moment, for Finley. He followed her around the house as they talked about each room, even discussing some of the furniture to place in it.

When they reached the kitchen, her jaw dropped. "This is fabulous!" she cried.

"I thought you'd like it."

He watched her open cabinets. Test burners. Open the oven. All the while, her smile grew larger.

"Let's look at the back yard. Not much has been done there," he told her.

Outside, Finley immediately said the patio was too small. "I would add to it. And cover it. Actually, I'm jealous of Braden's outdoor kitchen. Maybe someday we can put one of those in."

"We can do it now," he assured her. "We've got the money."

She frowned. "I don't want you paying for everything, Holden."

He cupped her face. "Let's face it. The State of Texas doesn't pay its teachers nearly what they're worth. And you've put a lot of your savings into your business, which I think needs a name. What's mine is yours, Finley. I've done really well with my books and selling the film and foreign rights to the first one. We can afford this place— and an outdoor kitchen —if that's what you want."

She slipped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest. "How about a pool?"

Holden laughed. "We can put in a pool."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I always wanted one growing up, but Dad said we could never afford one. This is so exciting! Come on, let's go back inside and see the rest of it."

He caught her enthusiasm, and they continued their tour.

"The primary suite is really large," Finley commented. I like the fact we'd each have our own closet."

"Cyndi said the entire place has been renovated. The seller inherited it. Updated it. And now wants to sell as quickly as possible."

Her eyes widened. "We might actually be able to move in before the wedding."

"I was thinking that," he said. "So, are you ready for us to put in an offer?"

"Yes!" she squealed, throwing her arms about him.

Holden wanted nothing more than to put her on the kitchen island and make love to her, but he didn't want the call he expected interrupting them.

"Then let's call Cyndi and get the ball rolling."

They called the realtor, putting her on speakerphone, and she was thrilled that she had a sale. After discussing it, they decided what they wanted to offer. Cyndi said she would contact the owner immediately and let them know if he accepted.

"I can also handle booking an inspector for you," Cyndi said. "But I won't get ahead of myself just yet. Hope I can get a hold of him now. Talk to you soon!"

He hung up. "I have a feeling we just bought a house."

"We need to celebrate. Maybe we could stop for dinner on our way home."

Hesitating, he said, "I need to talk to you about something. Something serious."

Her brows knit together. "What's wrong, Holden?"

"A whole hell of a lot," he said flatly. "I screwed up— and now I'm being taken advantage of." He paused. "Let's go sit in the car and talk."

They went to his SUV. She reached for his hand. "Whatever it is, you know you have me. Team Scott is invincible."

"I think things are going to get pretty ugly. I may need to go to New York."

"Then I'm going with you," she said stubbornly.

"Babe, you don't even know what it is yet," he protested. "And you've got school."

"I've got so many sick days built up, I could take off the entire rest of the year and not use them up. I wouldn't do that to my students, but you get what I'm saying. I'm here, Holden. Tell me what's going on. You said you've screwed up. I know between us, we can fix whatever is wrong."

"It's Madison."

He saw the wind go out of her sails. "What about her?" she asked warily.

"Madison is a writer, same as me. You know we met at the Iowa workshop. She's smart. Has a great eye for details. I would let her read my work, and she would give me hers to critique. After the movie of Capitol Crimes came out and was such a success, Madison stopped letting me read her stuff. I got it. She was probably a little bit jealous. A little down on herself. Writers are hard on themselves, and I'm sure she doubled down after my initial achievements."

He took a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"She always had some good suggestions, so I continued to let her read my work. Including Inside Threat . I finished it just before I spoke with Wolf and agreed to come to Texas to work on the screenplay for Homicide . Madison and I both said some pretty ugly things when I left. I never even thought to ask her to return whatever copy she had of my latest novel. That's been out of sight, out of mind, while I've been working on the script."

Finley squeezed his hand encouragingly. "Go on."

"Out of habit, I check every week to see who's sold what manuscript. And today? I saw where Madison had sold a political thriller called Assassination Games to a major New York publishing house."

She went still. "It's your book, isn't it?"

"I think it very well might be. The description was too brief, but between it and the title, my gut tells me she took my novel and claimed it as her own. She didn't even have an agent when I left New York, and now she's represented by one at SGR, one of the biggest literary agencies in the business."

"Have you called your agent? He needs to know," she insisted.

"I did. He should be calling me back soon. He's meeting with his lawyer and another one who specializes in intellectual property. That's what novels fall under."

His phone buzzed in the cup holder where he'd placed it. He saw Evan's face appear on the screen.

"It's them."

"Can I be here with you, or would you prefer privacy?" she asked.

"Here with me. I need you," he said.

Determination filled her face. "Then answer it."

Holden did. "I'm here with Finley. What have you learned, Evan?"

"I'm going to pass you over to Rutherford Baxter, Holden," his agent said. "I'll be in the room, listening."

"Okay."

Evan turned the tablet before him, and a man in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair appeared on the screen. He looked rich. Confident. Almost arrogant.

Holden would take all three in the attorney who would lead them into battle.

"Holden Scott," he said, introducing himself. "My fiancée, Finley Farrow, is also here with me."

"Rutherford Baxter. I am an intellectual property attorney, Holden. I'm going to be asking you some questions and then giving you some advice. First, let me say, IP can include just about any kind of original creation. Intellectual property can be the logo for a company. A song— both its lyrics and music. And most certainly, a novel."

"That's good to know."

"You own the copyright to each and every sentence you write, whether it's on a physical, paper page or a document on a computer. As soon as it's recorded, it is copyrighted from that moment, going forth. Your manuscript is protected by U. S. law even though it is not published or has yet to be formally copyrighted. What it is important is that you need proof that you wrote it."

"What kind of proof?" he asked.

"Usually, proof is to submit it to the U.S. Copyright Office and obtain a copyright of it. Another option— one which is very old school —is to mail yourself a copy of the manuscript and refrain from opening it when you receive it. The date of the postmark can often prove in a case such as this that the work was yours. I understand, however, that you were not quite done with writing the book."

"No. My process is to finish a work and then let it vegetate a while. It's too hard to edit something when you're so close to the characters. I give it some time and distance, and then I go back in when I'm already in the midst of writing something else. I find I'm not as attached to everything and can be more objective as I fine tune the manuscript."

Baxter nodded. "It is my understanding that you gave permission for Madison Parmalee to read your work-in-progress."

"Yes, that's correct." His belly roiled with guilt for having placed himself in this situation.

"What I will need you to do is gather evidence— written evidence —of anything that you used to write this novel. Character sketches. An outline. Research notes. Even early drafts of the work."

"I have everything except previous drafts," Holden shared. "Tons of research notes. A fairly detailed outline of the plot. Definitely the character sketches. I keep everything on my laptop in a folder with the name of the book." He sighed. "The only thing I come up short with is different drafts. With a computer, I simply open up the doc and begin working. I go back and make adjustments directly and then save. So the file only has the most recent time and date I worked on it."

"That will be helpful. More than you think," Baxter assured him.

He thought a moment. "Wait. I'm also paranoid about losing what I've written. Besides saving in the cloud, I also save to my computer. And I email myself every night with the latest draft of the manuscript. I delete the previous emails, but I should have the January email where I sent myself the book, my summary, and cast of characters."

Baxter smiled, reminding Holden of a shark encircling his prey.

"That's excellent, Holden. Did you send any of this to a friend, beyond Miss Parmalee? Or discuss the plot with someone? Evan said you didn't speak to him about anything, other than sharing the title."

"That's right. I'm pretty private when I work, Rutherford. I don't throw a lot into the universe. I guess I'm paranoid of this very thing happening. Will it hurt, not having anyone else I talked to about the book?"

"It would if we went to trial, but that's not going to happen," the attorney assured him. "In the future, I recommend emailing a copy once a week to Evan, at the minimum. Or discuss it with your fiancée or a close friend or two, people whom you can trust. For now, I believe we have ample proof to prove ownership to both Winston Press and SGR."

"Thank you so much," he said, squeezing Finley's hand tightly.

"I would like you— and your proof —to come to New York, however," Baxter continued. "First, I need you to email me copies of everything associated with Inside Threat that you've mentioned. All Word docs. I'd also like you to forward the earliest emails you sent yourself."

"I can do that," he said, making a note of the email address that Baxter now provided to him.

"I will set up a meeting with all interested parties. I'd like you here a day or two before that, so I can look over everything and prep you on how to phrase certain things. You won't be testifying in court, so it's nothing illegal. It's just best if I prepare you for what's ahead and how to appropriately respond. And whatever you do, you are not to contact Miss Parmalee."

"I won't," he promised. "When do you need me there?"

"Today is Tuesday," mused Baxter. "I'll set up the meeting for Friday. Can you get to New York by tomorrow afternoon? That way we could talk and then meet again Thursday if anything needs to be continued."

"Yes. I'll book a flight now."

"I look forward to meeting with you, Holden," Baxter said. "Let me turn you back over to your agent."

The screen shifted, and Evan came into view. "I'm glad you're coming, Holden. Text me your details. I'll have a car meet you and bring you to my office first."

"Will do. Thanks again for acting so promptly, Evan."

"If Amanda Sommers is repping this book and Winston Press jumped on this quickly, I know we have a winner on our hands. And your final version will be better than Madison's." Evan snorted. "Knowing her, she only changed the author's name on the title page and ran with the rest as her own."

"I'll text you in the next few minutes once I have flight info," he promised.

Finley pulled her hand from his and furiously tapped at her phone. "We can get an American Airlines flight out of San Antonio, but it's early. Six in the morning. Lands a little after noon Eastern time. The next one won't get us there until six tomorrow evening."

She did a new search. "Austin has a flight at eight tomorrow morning. Arrives around two in the afternoon. But Austin is a bit of a drive from here."

"I say we book the San Antonio one. We can pack and drive down tonight. Stay close to the airport," he suggested.

She asked if he had a frequent flyer number. He did but didn't remember it.

"I'll use mine," she said.

He watched her work, ever the teacher, efficient and practical.

"There. Done," she told him. "I know the hotel we should stay at. I'll book a room for us. Go home and pack and head to my place. I'll need to call for a sub for the next three days. Hopefully, we'll be done by Friday."

He kissed her. "If we are, let's stay and enjoy Saturday. Fly home Sunday. I'd like to show you a bit of New York since you said you've never been."

"I'd like that," she said, her face growing serious. "I know you're upset about this Holden. But we're in this together. We'll get your book back."

He smoothed her hair. "I'm glad you're in my corner, Finley Farrow."

His phone rang, causing his gut to tighten. "It's Cyndi," he said, relaxing slightly. "Hello?" he said, putting the call on speaker.

"Holden, your bid was accepted," Cyndi told them. "The buyer wants a fast closing. I'll do everything I can to expedite things on my end, including getting that inspection done right away. I'll need you to put down the earnest money, and we'll be official. I'll need a check for that."

"Finley and I have to go out of town unexpectedly, Cyndi. I'll have someone drop the check and key off to you."

"Oh, keep the key. It's going to be your house soon anyway."

"Thanks, Cyndi."

"Anytime."

Finley said, "Emerson would be happy to drop off the check for us."

He grinned. "You think she wants you out of the house that badly? And by you, that includes the extension of me."

"Emerson adores you. But I do think she isn't going to worry about finding another roommate for a while."

He kissed her soundly. "We may just have ourselves a house, Mrs. Scott-To-Be. Go home and pack. I'll try to swing by for you in an hour."

Holden watched Finley get in her car and allowed her to pull out of the driveway before following her part of the way, turning toward The Inn on the Creek.

As he packed, Holden was glad he was marching into battle with Finley by his side.