Chapter Thirteen

~ Scotty ~

When we reached the small diner, I had asked for a booth at the back of the place. There weren't a lot of people in here, but I still wanted a little space between us and the other diners.

I had no idea what was in those envelopes, but I doubted it was my father's grocery shopping list.

I gestured for Beck to scoot into the booth before me. Beck sat down and scooted far enough into the booth that I could still touch him, but it didn't look like we were together.

Chelsea took the other side.

We waited until our order had been placed before I set my briefcase on the bench between me and Beck and opened it up. I grabbed the letter from my father first. I knew it was from him. It was his handwriting, and my name was on the front.

I couldn't help but wonder how long ago he had written it.

I took a deep breath and then opened the envelope, pulling the letter out. My hands trembled as I opened it up and began to read.

Dear Son,

If you are reading this letter then I suspect something has happened to me. If that is true, then I want you to use the money I left with this letter and run as far as you can. Don't tell anyone where you are going, especially your stepmother.

This may not come as a surprise to you, but Cynthia is not the woman I thought I was marrying. Oh, she played the game well. I believed her sweet motherly act right up until the ink was dry on our marriage license, and by then it was too late.

She's evil, Maxwell, in ways I can't even describe. Included with this letter is all the evidence you need to make sure she doesn't mess with your life if she ever finds you. It's not criminal, but it will ruin her reputation. I have evidence, including pictures and recordings, of her numerous affairs before and after we married.

I've included a copy of my will, giving you everything in the case of my death. There is also a power-of-attorney for me in case I'm incapacitated in any manner. It will give you the legal right to make any and all decisions for me and the company. I'll be damned if I let that money grubbing bitch get her hands on a single red cent of my hard-earned money.

I'm going to be filing for divorce here in the next couple of weeks. I want Cynthia out of our lives for good. Luckily, I have an ironclad pre-nuptial agreement. If she's unfaithful, which she has been numerous times and my evidence supports that, she gets nothing.

I miss you, son. You've only been gone for a few months, but I know sending you to the university in New York is for the best. I needed to get you out of the line of fire. Cynthia is not going to take the divorce well and I worry about what she might do.

Please, if you find this letter, run and don't look back. It would break my heart if Cynthia hurt you in any manner. She's vicious enough to do it so don't underestimate her.

Take care, Maxwell, and remember that I love you more than anything. I am very proud of the man you've become. You've done your mother and I proud and brought joy to both our lives.

Love, Dad.

I swallowed tightly to get past the lump that had formed in my throat and handed the letter to Beck. I pressed my fingers to my eyes to keep my tears at bay.

My father had been absolutely right. He knew how vicious and evil Cynthia was, and that she might try something. I just don't think he could have dreamed she would keep me under her thumb all of these years.

No wonder he had been so frantic when I last saw him. That had probably been the most lucid I had seen him since his stroke, and his first worry had been for me.

"Holy shit."

I glanced at Beck. His eyes were wide, dominating his face.

"You know what this means, Scotty?"

I shook my head. I was still kind of reeling from my father's letter. I hadn't had time to figure out what it meant.

"It means that Cynthia had no business taking the company from you or barring you from seeing your father." Tears glistened in Beck's eyes when he looked up at me. "Your father put you in charge of everything. His health, the company, everything."

My mouth dropped open as shock rolled through me, stealing my ability to say anything. Beck was right. My father had provided me with everything I'd need to take care of him and the family business, but, apparently, he'd had his stroke before he could tell me about it.

A simple phone call would have done it.

I knew I couldn't be angry at my father—even if I was—because he certainly hadn't planned on having a stroke.

From one point of view, I couldn't be angry at Cynthia either for what she had done. As far as she was concerned, she was his wife and she had a right to take over the business.

Not sure about the whole "barring me from my father" thing. Technically, without a power-of-attorney, she did have the right, but like my father had said, her actions weren't criminal, just unethical as hell.

"We need to get these papers to your friends, Scotty. If you have your father's power-of-attorney, Cynthia can't stop us from taking him."

I knew Beck was right.

"Let's eat first," I said, "and then we can find someplace where we can fax the papers to Miles. He'll know what to do with them."

Miles was smart like that.

When the waitress came, I ordered the Eggs Benedict. I would have gone for the Lumberjack Breakfast, but I knew I couldn't eat that much. My stomach was queasy as it was.

I knew I was right in my decision when I was only able to eat about half of the food I had ordered. Not even the coffee was sitting well.

Beck slid his hand under the table, away from the view of the other patrons in the diner, and rested it on my thigh. "Come on, babe, let's get these papers faxed to Miles. You'll feel better once he gets the ball rolling."

I doubted it, but it was worth a shot. Certainly nothing else was working. My nerves were shot, my stomach was queasy, and my mind was reeling. Not sure anything was going to fix that.

Still, I put everything away in my briefcase, paid the bill, and then followed Beck out to Chelsea's car. I let him take the front passenger seat and slid into the back, setting my briefcase on the seat beside me. I would have had him sit back here with me, but I needed a moment to myself.

Beck seemed to understand that without words, one of the many things I loved about the man. Beck wasn't pushy. If I needed some alone time, he gave it to me. On the flip side of that, if I needed cuddle time, he gave that to me, too.

God, I was so glad I married him.

Knowing I needed to get this over with sooner rather than later, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Miles Cranston. "Hey, Miles," I said as soon as he answered. "This is Scotty. You got a minute?"

"Yes, of course," Miles replied. "What's up?"

I gave him a brief rundown of my day, including the fact that Beck and I had gotten married. I was happy to share that news, but it was a little harder to talk about what had happened after that.

"Scotty, man, you need to get those papers to me as fast as you can. Fax them to me if you can."

"We're already heading to a place where I can fax them." I drew in a heavy breath. "And then I will be over-nighting you the original copies."

"I don't need the originals, just a copy."

"Cynthia has been nosing around a lot and someone was following Beck yesterday. I don't think it's a good idea to have the originals anywhere around me right now."

Miles sighed. "You might be right."

I knew I was.

"Fax me a copy of your marriage license, too."

Yeah, I saw that one coming.

"I need a fax number."

Miles quickly rattled off a number. I snapped my fingers to get Beck's attention, but he was already holding out a piece of paper and a pen. I shot him a small smile as I took them and then wrote down the number.

"As soon as we find someplace to fax these," I said, "I'll text you to let you know you have incoming."

"I'll be waiting."

I hung up with Miles and slid my phone back into my pocket before glancing down at my briefcase. I felt like I had hidden a bomb in there. I knew touching it was dangerous, but the curiosity to read my father's letter again was killing me.

If he'd only sent this letter ten years ago, the whole course of my life would have changed. I'd like to think things would be different, but I couldn't say they would. Cynthia was tenacious. She wouldn't have given up without a fight.

The flip side of all of that, and the one making me rethink my anger at my father, was the fact that I probably wouldn't have met Beck. Strangely, falling for him made everything I had gone through worth it.

"Get down!" Chelsea shouted suddenly.

I scooted down in my seat even as I asked, "What is it?"

"I just spotted Cynthia getting out of a car in front of the bank."

My breath caught. "Cynthia is here?"

That was bad. Very, very bad.

I scooted down just a little bit more.

"Why would she be going to that specific bank today?" Beck asked. "Do you think she had someone following us?"

"Of course she did," I answered. "Either that or I have a tracker in my ass." It wouldn't surprise me in the least if Cynthia tried something like that. I just couldn't figure out how she'd do it.

My jaw nearly unhinged when a thought hit me.

"Cell phone," I whispered. "She had to have done something to my cell phone."

It was the only thing I could think of.

"What?" Beck asked.

"Turn it off now," Chelsea ordered. "Ask questions later."

Right.

I quickly turned off my cell phone.

"If she knows you went to that bank, she's going to want to know why," Beck pointed out. "You can't tell her about the papers we found. She'll figure out a way to destroy them for sure."

"Chelsea!" I shouted when the car suddenly veered as we turned sharply.

"I have an idea."

"What?" I asked.

"I saw a second hand store across the street from the diner."

My left eye twitched. "And?"

There had to be an and ."

"And, we need to find a really fancy diamond ring, something Cynthia and Julia will melt over. We'll put it in one of those stylish blue boxes of yours and when Cynthia asks what you were doing at the bank, you tell her you were picking up the ring your mother left you. What's she going to do when you present her with a ring from Tiffany and Co .? Say she doesn't want it?"

"Won't she figure out it's a fake diamond ring?"

Chelsea shook her head. "If we find a good ring, she won't know until she takes it to a jeweler and by then we will be gone. And even if she does raise a stink, you never said it was a real diamond ring. You just said it was a ring your mother handed down to you."

I met Chelsea's eyes in the rearview mirror with a quivering lip. Not because I was about to cry, but because I was about to burst out laughing.

"I would pay almost anything to be a fly on the wall when they find out it's a fake ring." It was better than me paying for whatever ridiculous overpriced ring Julia had picked out.

I just hoped they bought it long enough for us to get my dad and get out of town.