Conflicts of the Heart (21 page)

Michael stayed behind at the hotel with the nanny Dana had used when she and Joel were married. She left him on the floor playing with his
iPad, contented and unaware she had left to meet with his father. She had no intentions to subject Michael to Joel, unless Joel pressed her to do so.

With a start, the moment she dreaded arrived. The secretary announced Joel Claiborne and his attorney over the intercom.

“Please have them wait.” John had a rakish twinkle in his eye. He turned to Dana. “Now we let them wait for a few minutes.”

Appreciating his style, a smile crossed her lips.

She moved over to the conference table, pressed her arms and knees against the chair for support, and held her breath, hating the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Joel would be like a stranger to her, an enemy now, not the father of her child, the man with whom she'd spent ten years. Then the moment she dreaded arrived. John buzzed his secretary and asked her to send them in.

The door opened and a giant of a man, at least six feet four, sporting a full beard and mustache, stepped in. He wore a bowler and carried an umbrella and briefcase, a character right out of an Agatha Christie novel. Joel stepped out from behind him.

Her stomach felt like a volcano ready to erupt. Control yourself. John Meyer is on my side. Joel's wrong and I’m right.

He’d gained weight and had bags under bloodshot eyes, as if he'd been drinking. The thing she recognized about his outfit: he wore his favorite suede jacket, gray cords and worn Reeboks.
John showed them to the table, seating Joel across from her with his back to the window. His hair seemed grayer. He appeared older and intensely angry.

“Good morning, Dana,” Joel
leered at her, his tone was tight but cordial. Anyone who’d known him before their divorce wouldn’t recognize him now. Back then, he was handsome: tall, trim, chiseled face, mysterious black eyes, and muscles that rippled in all the right places.

“Maxim Bennett,” John said, “this is Dana Claiborne.” Maxim held out a
Bluto-sized hand.

John turned to Joel. “I'm John Meyer, Mr. Claiborne.”

Joel shook his hand. He grinded his teeth until the muscles in his jaw rippled--his method for controlling his temper.

Following the introductions, John pulled over the stack of papers in front of him. “Before I give you these, I think we should have an open exchange. Maybe we can avoid court tomorrow.”

Maxim and Joel nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Maxim spoke in an off-handed, all-in-a-day's work tone of voice.

Dana swallowed hard, waiting for the bomb to drop on Joel. He had no idea of the evidence she had in her possession. Thank God,
she hadn’t told him earlier. A few times since she found the box, she thought of threatening him with it, but each time she changed her mind. At least she hadn’t let her anger get the best of her and ruin what chance she had to straighten out her and Michael's lives.

“In this packet,” John began, “are copies of checks and invoices showing unreported income in the six figures, taken out of the books Mrs. Claiborne handled for Mr. Claiborne's business. None of this was reflected in the tax returns for that year.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his neck. “We can explain all of that.” He reached for the folder.

Joel wasn’t surprised. Either he knew what she had, or his lawyer had prepped him on how to respond.

John guarded his evidence by leaning on it. He nodded to Joel and slowly handed the information to Maxim Bennett, where it belonged.

Joel glared at Dana.
“A little spy game going on here?”

“They're the backup copies I kept in the shoebox. The movers must have mistakenly packed it when I moved.”

“I'll bet they did. Why didn't you bring this up at the divorce hearing?” Joel carried on as if the attorneys weren’t present.

“I didn't know I had them until I moved to Ashton. It was too late.”

Joel straightened, shaking his head. “I've never rigged my books. Most of my income goes back into the business. I'm sure if I go through that stuff, I can account for every cent of it.”

Maxim interrupted Joel's expostulating. “Mr. Claiborne, you hired me to handle this. I'll do the talking.”

Joel settled back in his seat, not taking his eyes from Dana. His glare, filled with loathing, penetrated right into her soul. How could they have come to this? She could barely remember ever loving him, sharing his bed, and bearing his child.

Maxim studied the copies of checks and invoices, glancing up at Joel's nervous eyes every few moments.

“This hardly proves anything.” He spoke as if feeling his way. “I'm sure if we go through the books and tax records, you're going to find everything’s in order.”

“I'm afraid I won't. I've already reviewed them. Mr. Claiborne's tax returns and books were evidence in the settlement hearings. Not
one cent of this money is accounted for.”

“What do you want, Dana?
Blood?” Joel’s face reddened.

“No, Joel. I just want help with Michael…and for you to take responsibility for your business.”

John reached over and rested a hand on her arm. “What Mrs. Claiborne is looking for--?”

“She's not Mrs. Claiborne,” Joel spit out.

“Dana’s not asking for anything she doesn't deserve.” John paused. A tense silence enveloped the room. He turned his gaze to Joel. “We'd like you to take over all the debts attributed to your business and remove Dana's name from any obligations to do with Claiborne Systems. She'll take care of any credit cards she's used for personal business. Michael's child support should be proportionate to your income.” He rose. “You should sell that house and split the equity with Dana.”

Joel shook. “This is blackmail.” He shot up from his seat, jarring the heavy oak table with his massive thighs. “I don't have it. I can't pay those bills the way business is now. She was in this with me.” He jabbed the air with his index finger. “She's the one who earns a regular salary. She has to pay her half. That house is where I conduct my business. I won’t sell it.”

Maxim rose, shutting Joel up with a forceful glare.

“Do you have a place where we can talk?” Maxim spoke in a voice that sounded defeated. “We need to review these documents and discuss their value.”

“Of course. Come this way.” John escorted the two men out to his secretary and instructed her to take them to the small conference room.

Dana's chin dropped to her breastbone.
Drained.

That evening, Dana sat at the round table in her hotel room, staring at the rain that had begun to fall, fueling her depression. The dinner she ordered from room service sat untouched on the
tray. Michael slept peacefully on the bed. His little fist curled under his chin and his knees cradling a pillow. At least he didn’t understand what was going on. If he knew his father had banished him, it would have broken his heart.

In her mind's eye, she saw Patrick back in Ashton, sitting astride his beautiful horse, racing with the wind. How she missed him. How she hated herself for her feelings. He worked for hours bringing Michael out of his shell. He’d done more in a few short months than Joel had done in five years.
Her true loneliness finally sank in.

Joel's last words before leaving Meyer's office earlier that day still plagued her. “See you in court, baby,” he said with an audacious smile on his dissipated face. Then he spun around. On the way out of the office, he slapped Maxim on the back and congratulated him on a job well done. John Meyer and Dana stood stock still, staring at each other in utter disbelief, shocked at Joel's lack of concern for the trouble he could be in with the judge and the IRS.

Why would he risk everything by going to court? Could he have altered his books even more? He always said no one would ever get the best of him. Maybe he meant it. A brisk knock at the door startled her.

She tiptoed across the room, leaned near the door, and asked, “Who is it?

“Joel. Open up.”

My God, what did he want? How had he found her? He must have waited and followed her after the meeting. She thought about calling John and telling him about Joel being here. Then she thought of calling the police. How could he do this? She trembled, clenched her fists, nearly breaking the skin of her palms with her nails.

Michael sat up, moaned, and rubbed his sleepy eyes. “It's Daddy,” she whispered.

“Daddy!”
Michael climbed down from the bed. He ran to her side, looking down at his feet.

Joel knocked again, harder. “Are you going to let me in?”

She turned the knob and opened the door a crack. He pushed through and barged into the room.

She stepped back. Joel brushed past her, grabbed Michael around the waist and hoisted him in the air.
“My boy. Are you glad to see your dad?” Joel lowered him down to his chest and hugged him as if he’d missed him.

Michael gazed her way over Joel's shoulder, his eyes misting. She’d never seen him teary-eyed before. Joel put Michael down, led him to the table near the window, sat on one of the chairs, and placed Michael on his knee.

“Well, dear. Did I blow you out of the water this morning?”

“You did. If you want to fight this out in court, that's what I came for.” She tried to sound firm, ready to take him on. He always said he liked his women strong.

Joel put Michael down and patted him on the backside, dismissing him. “Go sit down, son.” Joel gestured to the bed.

Michael backed away, looking first at his dad, then at her--baffled, disoriented. She went to him, took his hand, and sat next to him on the foot of the bed.

Joel shook his head. “You're too damn protective of that kid. He'll never turn out to be a man if you continue treating him like that. He can’t even look us in the eye.”

“He won't turn out more of a man by your yelling at him and pushing him around either. How did you find me?”

“Oh, that was easy. You put every business associate whoever came to town in this hotel.”

“I don't know what you want, but I want my attorney present when I talk to you.”

He stood up and sneered. “You’re too much. You think you can waltz into court and destroy me with your little box of goodies? Hell, honey, it'd take more than that to undo me.”

“Everything in that box is true.” She shook her head. “You ready to have this all come out?

“It's not going to come out. You see, I have an ace in the hole.”

Dana tilted her head, mystified. Had she overlooked something? Joel sauntered over to the bed and sat next to Michael, draping his
arm over the boy's shoulder. “Right, Ace?” He glanced down at Michael. “How’d you like to live half the time with your old dad?”

Fifteen

Patrick, frustrated with Ann Sloane for not stopping Teal from her nightly raids on the patient floors, decided to take on the task of exorcizing Teal from Templeton himself. His sources informed him that he could find her right now using her bubbly personality to curry favor and support, not giving a damn how many rules she broke. Her grit matched his when he first got into Templeton.

As he suspected, he found her in the operating suite conducting a meeting in the nurses' conference room. She promised them the moon: more shift differentials, more paid education time, another holiday.
Crazy. Templeton would never give into her plan. How could she deliver?

About to break into the meeting and challenge her in front of the employees, the new, stronger Ann Sloane's voice warned, “Don't do it, Patrick.”

He swung around and saw the security guard at her side. He didn't think she had the backbone.

“I'll take care of this.” With ice-cold eyes, she brushed past him. “Aren't you supposed to be in the cafeteria?”

“I'm protecting my turf.”

“My turf.”
She pressed her index finger against her chest.

He’d never seen that take charge side of her before. Even her voice carried authority.

Within moments, she and the guard had extracted Teal by the elbows from the conference room, red-faced, arguing vehemently about her right to be in the conference room. With all her caterwauling, eight words clanged in Patrick's ears. “Dana told me that it’d be all right.”

He couldn’t believe it. Either she was one
helluva liar, or Dana wasn’t the woman he thought she was. He followed them down the long gray corridor to the elevators. Rather than embarrass Teal by getting in with them, he took the stairs, two at a time. In the basement, outside the cafeteria, Teal, on her hand and knees, gathered up the election cards she must have dropped during the scuffle.

“Caught you in the act, huh? Weren't you the little girl who always warned me about getting caught up on the floors, breaking the rules?”

“Go to hell,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Patrick squatted to help her pick up the cards. She slapped his hand. “Get away, you ass.” She stood, and gracefully ran a hand over her slacks to smooth them down. She grabbed the cards, stuffed them into the side pocket of her shoulder bag, and then promptly strolled into the cafeteria. Patrick followed.