Never Love a Lawman (44 page)

“You stayed,” said Foster.

“I did. Your grandfather offered me an opportunity to meet women who would buy my gowns and eventually help me achieve success independent of him. The plan was always that I would establish myself first, and then establish my own place of business. I wore only things that I made for myself, and there was no better method of having my designs seen than by going out with Mr. Maddox.”

“And what became of that plan?” asked Mr. Maxwell. He nudged his spectacles downward and squinted at Rachel over the thin gold rims. “It seems that you abandoned it when you left Sacramento. Whose idea was that?”

“I left at the suggestion of Mr. Maddox. Mr.
Clinton
Maddox.” Her eyes remained steady on Foster, and he looked away first. “He invested in my business and settled some things on me, including the furniture that I allegedly stole.”

“We’re prepared to forget that,” Stuart said. “What is more difficult to reconcile is the idea that Mr. Maddox thought you could have a successful business here.”

“Success is relative, I suppose. The women in Reidsville are as eager to be made fashionable as any Sacramento debutante. He was capable of foreseeing that I would be able to make a comfortable living.”

“Yet he still carved out the spur to place it in your control.”

Wyatt pushed the documents in front of him toward the lawyers at the end of the table. “He certainly did,” he told them. “And he arranged it before she ever heard of Reidsville. His intent is clear. He wanted to ensure that she would be able to care for herself and her family. He owed her father a great deal more than what he could repay by settling the spur on her.”

“Oh?” asked Foster. “How’s that?”

“William Bailey helped him secure an empire during the war. Without him, Clinton Maddox would have lost everything.”

For several long moments the only sound in the room was the scratching of Ted Easter’s pen. Davis Stuart and George Maxwell glanced at the papers that Wyatt had pushed in front of them, but neither moved to pick them up. Randolph Dover’s attention didn’t stray from his ledgers, and Daniel Seward tapped the thumbs of his clasped hands together.

Rachel met Foster’s glare without flinching even though she’d been unprepared for Wyatt’s revelation. She’d been certain the documents he’d given over were the same ones they’d photographed last evening. Now she didn’t know what he had put in front of the attorneys.

“My grandfather never came within a hairsbreadth of bankruptcy,” said Foster. “And your assertion about William Bailey is equally false. He only remained employed because he was my father’s best friend. The war broke him.” He looked at Rachel again. “I apologize, but I must speak frankly. It was commonly known that your father was unwell and depended upon the charity of my grandfather and others to manage his position.”

Rachel set her jaw and said nothing. It seemed to her that offering any sort of defense merely lent weight to Foster’s words. There was also a thread of truth to what he said, making it difficult to pick apart his argument.

Wyatt reached for the papers that the attorneys still had not picked up and started to slide them toward Randolph Dover. “Too late, gentlemen,” he said when they simultaneously made a grab for them. “I think Mr. Dover will understand their significance more quickly.” He turned his attention to the uneasy accountant. “If you will, Mr. Dover. Please.”

Rachel could not miss Dover’s reluctance to take possession of the papers. It was as if he and the attorneys expected they might have to deliver disturbing news, and no one wanted to do that. She hadn’t understood until this moment how little support Foster had in this pursuit. He held them by virtue of his money and position, not his principles.

Randolph Dover pushed his pen and ledgers in front of Daniel Seward to make room for the documents. He drew them closer and began to read, aware that Foster Maddox never glanced in his direction and merely waited to hear what he had to say. It didn’t take long for him to make his review, but he looked everything over a second time while he considered his words carefully.

“These are letters from the Reid Bank of Boston. All of them were written between February 1861 and September 1862. They are demand notes. The bank owners were requesting immediate repayment of all debt.”

Foster frowned deeply. “Why would they do that?”

“The first note would have been in anticipation of war. Recall that succession had already taken place, and Mr. Lincoln was prepared to make his inaugural address in March. I can only surmise that the Reids were attempting to collect on as many loans as they could in order to have sufficient capital to invest in more solvent enterprises. The Colt factory, for instance. Cotton mills. The foundries. Certainly, the railroads, but it seems not the Maddox line. One can suppose they had information that made them question Mr. Maddox’s financial situation. Perhaps they suspected he had unreasonably extended himself.”

“He had millions.”

“Millions in credit, it would seem.” Dover handed the notes to Mr. Maxwell when the attorney thrust his arm forward. “I would have to examine the financial records for those years, of course.”

George Maxwell quickly examined the notes and passed them one at a time for Stuart’s review. He asked Wyatt, “Where did you get these?”

“From Mr. Jake Reston. He’s the bank manager.”

“It’s a Reid bank?” he asked, incredulous.

“You’re in Reidsville, Mr. Stuart. Or did that escape your notice?”

Rachel quickly put her hand to her mouth and turned her strangled, nervous laughter into a credible cough.

“I only present them,” Wyatt went on, “to support Mr. Clinton Maddox’s decision to give the spur to William Bailey’s daughter.” He turned to Ted Easter, nodded once, and the mayor began to look through his sheaf of papers.

“This the one?” Ted held it out to Wyatt.

“That’s it.” Wyatt took the document and slid it across the table. “The proof of repayment,” he said. “October 1862. That would be five short months after William Bailey secured a contract with the Union to put down fifteen hundred miles of track from Chicago to points west and south. Clinton Maddox’s fortune turned on that contract and land grant. William Bailey managed supply lines for the Union generals, and they advocated for the plan he put before them. You can verify all this in the archives in Washington.”

Wyatt waited until they reviewed the last item before he continued. “There is one other matter I wish to address, and that goes to the soundness of Mr. Maddox’s judgment.”

“How could you possibly speak to his judgment?” asked Foster. “He was under the care of several physicians, and all of them are prepared to give testimony to the fact that his faculties were impaired.”

Wyatt made a steeple of his fingertips and tapped them lightly together, his demeanor in every way that of a cautious man on uncertain ground. “During what period?”

“If I may answer that,” Davis Stuart said. He made a note that he showed to his partner, and when Maxwell nodded, he went on. “For three months prior to Mr. Maddox’s first stroke, there were signs that he was suffering memory loss and given to making nonsensical statements.”

Rachel sat up even straighter. “That’s a lie,” she snapped. “He never showed the slightest inclination toward—” She reined herself in sharply when she saw one corner of Foster’s mouth lift the smallest of fractions. Her passionate defense only amused him, and she did not dare look to Wyatt to rescue her. “I spent a great deal of time with Mr. Maddox,” she said quietly, “and never witnessed what you are describing.”

Wyatt didn’t wait for anyone to respond to Rachel’s outburst. “Let us suppose that it is fact,” he said. “And further, allow me to make the time period more generous. Say, two years. Can we agree that Clinton Maddox’s reasoning was intact two years in the past?”

The attorneys hesitated, exchanging glances. It was Foster that breached the silence. “Yes,” he said impatiently. “I can agree to that.”

“And three years?” asked Wyatt.

“Of course.”

“Four?”

“Just say the number you have in mind and be done with it.”

“The number is six and one-half, and the year is 1876. That is the year Rachel Bailey celebrated her eighteenth birthday and the year Clinton Maddox decided she should inherit a portion of the Maddox holdings. It is immaterial how often Mr. Maddox revised his will subsequent to that date. He made provision for this years before his passing.”

George Maxwell quickly opened his portfolio and began leafing through the papers contained in it. A moment later, Davis Stuart did the same. With their heads bent, they were able to avoid Foster’s sharp glance.

“You have proof, I suppose,” Foster said.

“I do.” He turned to Ted Easter and nodded.

Ted produced the papers and put them on the table. “Have a care with these, gentlemen. No one wants to see anything happen to them.”

Wyatt watched the attorneys pick them up. Foster expressed no immediate interest. “I remain curious about your need to see these,” Wyatt said. “Mr. Maddox assured me that he was specific in his will. I find it odd that you’re not familiar with it.”

“I am very familiar with his will,” said Foster. “And it’s a thorny document where the succession of property is concerned. At issue is the breadth of the estate and what constitutes its real property.”

Wyatt heard what Foster
didn’t
say: namely, that he was preparing to challenge the provisions of his grandfather’s will. Foster’s charges against Rachel were precisely what he had supposed: They were meant to provide leverage to encourage her testimony.

Foster went on. “I am also familiar with the Maddox holdings, or at least I believed I was until this matter of the spur was revealed. I had to ask myself, of all the assets that my grandfather could have bestowed on Rachel, why the spur to Reidsville? That’s when I requested Mr. Dover to make a thorough examination of the financial ledgers. Not, I must add, only of the Maddox public holdings, but of my grandfather’s private assets and records. Would you like to know what Mr. Dover discovered?”

“I would.” Wyatt waited for the accountant to speak, but the man had swept his ledgers toward him again and merely fidgeted with the stack. It was Foster who responded.

“After unraveling what seemed to be a Gordian knot of bookkeeping entries, Dover was able to show that the spur is profitable beyond what can be reasonably predicted.”

“Is that right?” asked Wyatt. “This bit of track?”

“Hmm. I was surprised also. Beyond the financial sleight of hand, there was an organized conspiracy to keep it from me. This was managed by a small circle of men that I also inherited from my grandfather, but who are quite sensibly no longer in my employ.”

“Understandable.”

“Yes, it is.” Foster laid his hand on top of the ledgers at his right, effectively stilling Randolph Dover’s twitching fingers. “There remains the question of what makes the spur so profitable.”

“Aside from efficient management,” Wyatt said dryly. “And the labors of men and women who depend upon the work for their livelihood.”

Foster’s smile did not touch his eyes. “Aside from that,” he said without inflection.

“You have a theory?”

Foster nodded. “I do.”

Wyatt waited, but Foster Maddox was not inclined to share it. Wyatt didn’t press and hoped Rachel would remain silent as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the attorneys were finished shuffling the papers he’d given them.

George Maxwell adjusted his spectacles and peered at Wyatt over the rim. “Is this everything?”

“It is.”

“It sets some rather unusual terms.” He looked past Wyatt to Rachel. “You agreed to these terms?”

“I did.”

Foster leaned forward. “What terms? What did you read?”

Davis Stuart stroked his wiry beard with his knuckles. “You were correct, Mr. Maddox. The real property that your grandfather meant to conceal from you is a mining operation.” He quickly went on to explain the details of the corporation and the distribution of shares among the holders. “While she was made a shareholder of the mine outright, the spur is Miss Bai—pardon me, Mrs. Cooper’s—because she met Mr. Maddox’s terms by marrying Mr. Cooper.”

Foster’s deep-set eyes darted between Rachel and Wyatt but gave no hint as to his own thoughts. “Marriage? That certainly is unusual, even for Grandfather. It explains a great deal, though, doesn’t it?” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, at last demonstrating a trace of wry humor. “I did not foresee that. But, really, what person could?”

Stuart went on. “Your grandfather does not explain his reasoning here, nor I suspect, anywhere else.”

“He did it to make certain she stayed right here,” Foster said. “That is easy enough to comprehend.” His attention swung back to Rachel. “Did you hesitate? Or did you think that your many calculating kindnesses to my grandfather were about to pay you handsomely?”

Rachel returned his regard but didn’t respond.

“Are you truly married?”

Ted Easter did not wait for Wyatt to hold out his hand. He had the marriage license ready. “Who would like it?” he asked. When no one answered, he stood and leaned across the table to set it in front of Foster.

Foster glanced at it and pushed it aside. “Tell me about the mine. What is your share worth, Rachel?”

“I couldn’t say precisely. Ten to twelve, I think.”

“Ten to twelve
million?”

Laughter parted Rachel’s lips. “Ten to twelve
thousand.
Millions? I can’t imagine it. The property is virtually played out, Foster.” Her regard shifted to the accountant. “I certainly mean no offense, Mr. Dover, but I do wonder if there is any possibility you could be mistaken in your conclusions? Reidsville depends on the spur, but it is not mining that sustains the town. Your acquaintance with its attractions has been severely limited, but I can assure you that the Commodore rarely has a vacancy. Citizens from Denver make the journey regularly. There is gaming, of course, and if I may speak with unbecoming frankness, there are certain other entertainments that are known to be finer than what is available in the tenderloin district. There are also the mountain springs, which are said to have restorative powers. Naturally, at this time of year they are unavailable, but our druggist uses the water in his liniments and elixirs and cannot keep up with the demand from the city. I could go on, but I invite you to look around and see the true source of the town’s success.”

Wyatt’s hand slid under the table and came to rest just above Rachel’s knee. His gentle squeeze was a caution.

Rachel continued quietly. “I know little enough about the figures you work with, but as a seamstress I’ve had to follow more threads than I care to think about. It’s possible to tug on the wrong one. I think, Mr. Dover, that you may have done just such a thing.”

Everyone’s eyes went to Randolph Dover. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his upper lip, and he swallowed uncomfortably. Before he spoke, he looked to his employer. Foster Maddox merely stared back.

“Well,” Dover said, clearing his throat. “As I explained to Mr. Maddox, the accounts suggest that the spur is profitable, though I never put that figure in the millions.” He smiled uneasily. “Profits of that magnitude simply could not be concealed. I agree that the figures you mention, Mrs. Cooper, are more congruent with my findings. Regardless, Mr. Clinton Maddox went to some trouble to obscure these profits and that made them interesting enough in their own right.”

Foster’s eyes slid in Rachel’s direction. “You can appreciate the irony, I hope.”

Rachel ignored Foster and addressed Mr. Dover. “How many years did you include in your review?”

“Five.”

Wyatt asked, “And what did you observe over time?”

“Small fluctuations from year to year but steady income.”

Wyatt nodded. “Mining is boom to bust. Ask the men who were here when placer gold and silver were discovered. They’ll tell you what it’s like. People have had to find other ways to make a living.”