Filfthy (48 page)

“About what?” She bats her lashes, staring ahead.

“The articles, the doctor’s statement . . .” I say, “they all say that was a suicide attempt. That you drove off the bridge to hurt yourself.”

“What?” Her voice is high-pitched, unbelieving. “
Who
said that?”

“The tabloids, for one. Which, yes,
I
know
. But Dr. Rothbart’s statement also said it was an attempt at self-harm,” I say. “Haven’t you seen the medical report? The one submitted to the court?”

“No, of course not. My last attorney handled all of that.”

“Why would the doctor say that?”

“Why would I try and kill myself by driving my car into two feet of water?” She laughs, but her eyes are glassy. “Do you know how ridiculous that looks? If I were going to hurt myself, I’d find a less dramatic way of doing so. Believe me. I would never go out that way.”

“So you weren’t trying to hurt yourself?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why did you stay in a private mental health facility after the accident?”

“A what?”

“The doctor’s report said you were hospitalized in a private institution in upstate New York.”

Serena’s mouth hangs, and she stares through my window, her body angled toward me. “I hit my head on the steering wheel and suffered a light concussion. I was examined by our family doctor—at Belcourt—and assigned a home nurse for a week. I haven’t spent a night away from that goddamned prison since my father forced me to move there.”

“This isn’t adding up.” I drag my hand through my hair and press my back into the black leather seat. My left hand grips the wheel tight. “Why would Dr. Rothbart risk his license and reputation by lying like that? Why would he give false evidence and risk jail time?”

Serena leans her head against the headrest, her eyes focused on the radio. “Money.”

“Your stepmother?”

“It has to be her. She has access to my father’s accounts. You can put a price on anything these days.”

“She wants your inheritance.”

“Yes, counselor. However did you figure that out?”

“So she’s trying to prove you’re not well, trying to establish that you need some sort of managed care or trust fund, and that you shouldn’t receive your full cut.”

“Exactly. My trust fund is a percentage of my father’s entire estate. Ninety-seven percent. He’s in his late eighties. His days are numbered. Once he’s gone, I’ll inherit hundreds of millions, and she’ll be left with a small pittance in comparison. Less than half of a percent, if I recall. Definitely not enough to maintain her current lifestyle.”

“So how does it help her to prove you’re crazy?”

“She’s been after my father to change the will since they got married. He wants to know that the money he and his father worked their entire lives for will live on and not be spent carelessly or foolishly. She’s spent the last few years trying to convince him of how irresponsible I am, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
Veronica’s
the one with the spending problem. I couldn’t care less about the money. It’s more of a burden than anything else. I just don’t want her to have it. She doesn’t love him. She only loves his wealth.”

“All right. Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat. “If she can convince your father that you’re not of sound mind, he’ll change the will and leave her with more money than God.”

“Yes.” Serena drags her fingers through a long, red wave. “I’m assuming she wouldn’t get
everything
, but she’d certainly get more than her fair share. I’m sure I’d be given a small trust of some sort, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I can’t let this happen.” Serena places her hand on my arm.

“It won’t.”

Serena’s expression fades. “I just want my life back. I want my good name back. I want the truth known. And I want Veronica exposed before it’s too late.”

“It’s a long order, but I can do this.”

“What do you mean,
you
can do this? Hello.” She points to herself. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”

“But you kind of are.” I can’t help but admire her determination. The fact that she doesn’t want to rely on me is fucking adorable.

“No, no. I hate that.” Her head shakes, her hair feathering her face.

“All right. I get it. You’re a strong, independent woman. Regardless, you need me. You need me whether you like it or not. You can’t do this alone.”

She releases a dramatic exhalation, her elbow resting against her door.

“Don’t screw me over.” She turns back and points a finger at me. “I mean it, Derek. I have to know that I can trust you. That you’re not in this for yourself. That you’re not here to milk what’s left of my trust fund.”

“Slightly insulted by your insinuation, but you have my word.” I draw an ‘X’ across my chest and lift my palm. “Estate law happens to be a pet passion of mine. Believe it or not, cases like yours aren’t entirely uncommon.”

“So this will be easy, then?” Serena’s tone is lighter, hopeful. “We just have to prove that Dr. Rothbart is on her payroll and that he lied. Find some unbiased doctor to evaluate me and prove I’m not in a state of self-harm, and that I don’t need a conservator or psychiatric medications. And then we need to prove that Veronica’s been scheming.”

“It’s not going to be easy, Serena. This isn’t the movies.” I place my hand on hers, and our eyes lock.

Seconds later, her shoulders slump and her forehead rests against the passenger window. “So I’m stuck with you for a while?”

“Don’t act like you’re disappointed,” I tease.

Her heart-shaped lips smother a chuckle, and I wonder if she’s smiled more today than she has in a long time.

“We should get you back home,” I say after noticing the sun is officially hidden behind the horizon. “The last thing we need is to raise any eyebrows. Veronica can’t know we’re looking into her dealings. As far as the Belcourt staff is concerned, I’m simply your conservator and nothing more. We will not discuss anything related to Veronica as long as we’re on the Belcourt grounds, understood?”

“Yes, counselor.”

“By the way, those large purchases you made?” I ask.

Her brows meet. “What large purchases?”

“The eleven million worth of sports cars and clothes and jewelry . . .”

The expression on her face tells me all I need to know. “Oh, God. Seriously?”

“It was mentioned in the court order. How did you not know this?”

“Derek, I’ve been so medicated and out of it. There’s not a lot I remember past the whole airport incident. They had me on tranquilizers, benzodiazepines, sleeping pills . . .” Her chin is tucked, and she buries her face in her palms. “I had no idea it was this bad.”

“So Veronica made some irresponsible purchases in your name to show your father you weren’t capable of managing your finances in the perceived state you were in.”

Serena brushes strands of golden-red hair from her face. I can tell she wants to cry from the weight of sheer frustration, but perhaps the medication still coursing her system has numbed her too much.

We turn around, heading back to Belcourt and riding in silence. I avoid the bridge on purpose, taking an alternate route and extending our drive back by a few extra, much-needed minutes.

By the time we pull into the circle drive, I spot Eudora hiding behind a curtained window. The front door swings open a moment later, and she stands, watching and waiting as if we’re late.

“Didn’t realize I had a curfew,” Serena mumbles under her breath, turning to me. “Do you see how ridiculous this is? I’m twenty-five. Twenty. Five.”

“You should leave,” I say.

“Pardon me?” Her eyes glimmer enough to tell me I’ve piqued her interest. “Leave, as in leave Belcourt?”

“Yes.”

“And where would I go, exactly? I’m not ready to show my face in the city. That’s the only place I feel at home. That and this little cottage a couple of hours outside London. That’s where I was trying to go that night at JFK.”

Her voice fades into nothing.

“Anyway,” she sighs, her fingers wrapping around the door handle.

“You should move to some small town where nobody knows you,” I say.

“What, like wherever you’re from?” Her laugh dwindles when she realizes I’m not joking.

“Nobody would know you there. Except, maybe, Demi.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes. The Rixton Falls born-and-raised celebrity gossip enthusiast.”

“Rixton Falls? That’s the name of your hometown?”

I nod.

“Sounds quaint. There’s a waterfall, I presume?”

“Several.”

We glance across the dash, watching Eudora fold her arms and tap her foot. She checks her wrist.

“She doesn’t wear a watch.” Serena rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the tour of the country today. I needed that. I felt a little more like myself tonight.”

I offer a tight-lipped half-smile and lift my fingers from the steering wheel for a quick wave goodbye.

“Do you have an email address?” I ask as she climbs out.

She shakes her head. “No internet here. Remember?”

“We should set you up with satellite internet.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes. I’ll have my secretary call and schedule an installation. I’d like to be able to reach you at all times. Privately. Your cellphone isn’t reliable, and landlines aren’t secure.”

“Sounds good. Goodnight, counselor.”

Her white teeth rake her bottom lip, though I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, and she gently shuts the car door and heads in. From where I sit, I can tell Eudora’s fussing at her, and I only stay long enough to watch her disappear inside.

I have to get her away from these people.

She’s not safe here.

S
erena

“
Y
our father
and Veronica called while you were out.” Eudora follows me up the winding staircase that leads to my suite.

“What did you tell them?” I whip around, stopping on the eighth stair.

Eudora covers her heart with a wrinkled hand. “That you were sleeping, of course.”

I exhale and climb the rest of the steps, slightly breathless when I reach the top.

“Your medications were due over an hour ago,” Eudora says when we cross the threshold to my room. “They’re on your nightstand.”

“I’ll take them after I wash up.”

Eudora eyes the meds, then me. “You seem awfully alert lately. Feeling better?”

Unbuttoning my shirt before the mirror, I pause at the third button and turn her way. “Much. Thank you for asking.”

She knows me better than anyone, and the rolling feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me she sees clear through me.

“It’s that lawyer, isn’t it? You’re sweet on him.” Her words are choppy, displeased. “It’s like you’ve been walking on air since yesterday afternoon.”

I laugh and return to my buttons. “Not. At. All. You’re imagining things.”

She moves closer, examining me until I squirm slightly. “You’re blushing.”

“He’s a nice man,” I say. “And he’s easy on the eyes. But after everything that happened with Keir, I’m rather insulted by the fact that you’d accuse me of wanting to jump back into the dating scene. And he’s my conservator. It would violate his professional standards and my personal ethics. Please. No more frivolous indictments.”

She slaps her palms along her sides and huffs. “I’m just protective, that’s all.”

“Right. You said that before.” I pull my blouse off my shoulders, standing in nothing but a bra and black leather leggings that are a size too big and mourning my curves in the mirror. Food just hasn’t tasted the same in the last couple of months. I blame the medication.

“It’s just.” She stands beside me. “You’re a very beautiful young lady. He’s a handsome man who knows you’re richer than God. And he’s charming. Serena, he’s essentially a stranger, and you got in the car with him. What if he would’ve taken you somewhere?”

“Okay. That’s enough.” I chuckle. “I’m not a child climbing into a car with a candy-toting stranger. I’m a grown woman. You saw me leave with him. We both know who he is. I didn’t see the harm. You know you sound ridiculous, right?”

I peel out of my leggings and yank a pair of matching satin pajamas from my middle bureau drawer. When I’m changed, I head to the bathroom to wash up. Eudora follows, leaning in the doorway.

“Just be smart about this,” she cautions. “I don’t care how sweet he is to you. How he makes you feel. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them.”

I dab a line of toothpaste on my ultrasonic brush and shoot her a scrunch-faced look, debating whether to argue or appease for now.

“Got it,” I say. I’m too tired to fight with Eudora, and I know her stick-in-the-mud tendencies all too well. I’ve grown up with them. “He’s untrustworthy, and I won’t trust him.”

* * *

W
hen I round
the corner to the dining room Tuesday morning and spot Veronica and my father seated at the head of the table, it’s all I can do to not choke on my spit.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Veronica rises, her glass-like forehead reflecting off the lit chandelier above. She’s dressed in head-to-toe daffodil yellow, my father’s favorite color, even though it looks horrid against her orange-glow skin. Someone that evil shouldn’t wear happy colors.

I shudder when she calls me any term of endearment, which only seems to happen when my father is present.

“Hi, Daddy.” I ignore Veronica and take the seat next to my father, who’s dressed in a navy velour tracksuit. It’s all he seems to wear anymore. Long gone are the days when he’d never be caught dead in anything besides his favorite Italian tailored suits. I slip my hand over my father’s, and he stares blankly ahead.

“He’s not quite himself today.” Veronica clears her throat and takes the seat on his other side. “He had another episode this morning. Kept calling me . . . Maggie.”

My chest tightens.

That was my mother’s name.

“It was like he’d completely forgotten which decade we’re in,” she laments, but I don’t think she cares about him. I think she’s more concerned with her window of opportunity fading.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

I find it interesting that she hasn’t visited in weeks, and now she’s here. A few days after I fled Belcourt for a couple of hours.

Eudora had to have mentioned something.

“I wanted to let you know.” She steps over her words carefully, her tight eyes jutting all over the room. “Your father gave me sole medical power of attorney. Our dual power of attorney is temporarily suspended, given your current state.”

“What? No. You can’t do that.”

“No, no, dear. Your
father
decided.” Her legs cross, and her expression is emotionless. Then again, it usually is. The woman’s face is so filled, she can hardly smile anymore.

“My father? The man who doesn’t even know who you are half the time?” My voice is raised. “He’s not in any condition to make changes like that, and you know it.”

“And you’re not in any condition to make decisions about anyone’s care, including yourself. I had to do what’s best for the family.”

I could slap her, and I’m not a violent person. A million words fly through my mind, threatening to take a detour to my lips.

But I remember Derek’s advice. We can’t let her know we’re onto her. It’ll only make things harder.

“The family?” I scoff. “You’re not a part of this family, Veronica.”

“I care about you, sweetheart.” She leans across the table, placing her hand over mine, but I yank it away. Her expression is a phony kind of warm, but her touch is cold as ice. “I know you don’t believe it, but I do. I love my Harold, and part of loving Harold is loving his daughter.”

“Don’t sit here at my table and feed me lies in front of my ailing father. Have a little more respect.” I rise, staring down at my father in his catatonic state. His face twitches, and his eyes almost sputter to life. He looks up at me, then to Veronica.

“Ladies, what is going on?” he asks, appearing for a moment to be somewhat lucid.

Veronica’s lips waver and dance as she looks at me.

“Daddy, did you know Veronica made herself your sole medical power of attorney?” I ask.

He folds his meaty knuckled hands across his bulbous belly, his bushy white brows meeting in the middle.

“Yes, Serena. We made that decision together.” His words break my heart. He only
thinks
they made the decision together. I know manipulation when I see it. “You’re not well, princess. As soon as you’re back to yourself again, everything will go back to the way it was.”

“So if something happens to you—God forbid—you’re okay with Veronica making all your medical decisions?” I fold my arms, glaring at my evil-incarnate stepmother.

His face relaxes, and he stares ahead, groaning and grumbling under his breath. He shifts, uncomfortable in his wheelchair. And then he looks at me, his face twisted as a question mark.

“Who’s Veronica?” he asks.

I throw my hands in the air. Just like that, he’s gone. And it’s too late, because Veronica’s already weaseling her way into the family fortune. The day my father’s connected to a machine, she’ll be the first one telling the doctors to pull the plug—assuming she gets her way with the inheritance first.

At least when she shared medical power of attorney, there were safeguards in place.

“He has his moments, Serena. Please don’t be frustrated,” Veronica says. “Believe me when I say these decisions were discussed during his coherent stretches.”

“Right.” My lips form a hard line. “Is this all you came here for? Will you be on your way now?”

Bettina bursts through double doors with a tray full of food.

“Well, I thought we could all enjoy a lovely breakfast together,” Veronica says. “It’s been weeks since we shared a meal, and it’s such a beautiful morning. I thought maybe we could take it outside? The fresh air might help. Do you go outside much, sweetheart?”

Her question is a test. Of that I’m sure.

“I get plenty of fresh air,” I say. “Would be nice to have a car though. You know, so I can actually leave the grounds once in a while.”

“Oh, my love, that’s not a good idea. Dr. Rothbart doesn’t want you driving until your medications are balanced. That’s why you have a driver on call. If you want to leave, just ring Jameson, and he’ll pick you up.”

“He’s
two hours
away, and he’s
your
driver, and you use him
everyday
.”

“Then we’ll hire a new driver for you.” Veronica lifts a brow at the chef and points to the patio. “You’ve lived in the city for a long time. Driving’s not really your forte. Leave that to the professionals, shall we? That’s what Randalls do best.”

She chuckles.

“I’ll take my breakfast in my room,” I say to Bettina. Turning on my heel, I waste no time moving toward the stairs.

“Serena, do
not
walk away from me,” Veronica calls from behind. I don’t hear her footsteps. And she won’t chase me. It’s not her style. “Dr. Rothbart will be stopping by later this week for another evaluation. It doesn’t appear that you’re getting much better.”

I hear her shout out words like, “overly emotional” and “an embarrassment to the family” and “unacceptable, irrational behavior.” And I let her say what she needs to say. Soon enough, I’ll be gone. I’ll prove her wrong. I’ll prove her to be a criminal. And this will all be a distant memory.

I fly up the stairs and head to my prison suite, slamming the door behind me like a spoiled princess, and damn, does it feel good for all of two seconds.

A shock stops my heart cold when I see Veronica’s personal assistant, Julia, rifling through my drawers.

“What the
hell
do you think you’re doing?” I fly to her side, gripping her wrist and yanking it from my things.

She’s frozen. A deer in headlights. “I’m so sorry, Serena.”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” I release her, folding my arms. “What are you doing?”

Sputtering sounds leave her mouth and she eyes the door.

“You’re not leaving my room until you tell me, Julia.” I block her view of the exit. “This is completely inappropriate. Does Veronica know you’re up here?”

Her look tells me everything I need to know—everything I suspected.

“She put you up to this,” I say.

“Please,” she says. “Let me go. I don’t want to be a part of this.”

“What were you looking for?” I ask.

Julia hangs her head. “Please don’t do this to me, Serena. I was only doing as I was told. I can’t lose my job.”

“You won’t,” I say. “Just tell me.”

“Pills,” she blurts out, red-faced. “I was supposed to see if you were hoarding pills. Veronica was worried you were hoarding them so you could hurt yourself.”

My fists clench. Enough with the lies and illusions.

It has to end.

It’s gone on long enough, and it’s going way too far.

I have to get out of here, even if it’s Rixton wherever, like Derek suggested.

“Leave,” I say through a tightened jaw. “And I’d better not ever catch you in here again.”