The Plan

The Plan
(The Shamed Billionaire, Part I)

Contemporary Romance Fiction

Apryl
Summers

All rights reserved. No part
of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form without the
prior written permission of both the author and the publisher.

THE PLAN

Copyright
©
2013 Apryl Summers

Cover & Interior Design
by lillithc
[email protected]

All rights reserved.

1

The Settlement

The
limousine smelled gross, a wretched combination of beer and puke. It was making
me sick. Last night this was a party wagon, conveying a bachelorette bash with
drunken bridesmaids; today it is a solemn carriage transporting a grieving
family to a cemetery. I was riding in the car with a couple of cousins and
aunts, riding to the gravesite to bury my big sister, best friend and hero,
Penny West.

Aunt Debbie was my
mom
’
s only sister. When Penny
and I were little girls, we would visit her for two weeks during the summer
break. Aunt Debbie was so sweet, kind hearted and giving. She always had a
gift, a hug and a warm smile waiting for us. She would always greet us with
tight hugs and sloppy kisses, before
feed
ing
us homemade cookies and then giving us our presents. It was like Christmas in
July.
 
Having her with me at this time
was comforting.

She always seemed to know what to say, but
not today. She was grieving just as much as I was, not just for Penny but also
for me.

My cousin, Stacy, was a year older than I
was and four years younger than Penny. Stacy and I used to follow her around,
letting her dictate what we did and how we played. More often than not we would
play dress-up. Penny would pick an outfit, do our makeup and style our hair as
if we were beauty pageant contestants. Other times, we visited a local swimming
hole where the water was clear, but as cold as ice. Along the bank was a Tarzan
rope tied to a tree limb. Stacy and I were always afraid to try it, but not
Penny. She would walk up the embankment
—
gripping the rope
—
and leap in the air, screaming as she
floated across the water before letting go and making a huge splash.

I had such fond memories of going to Aunt
Debbie
’
s
house. Somehow, over the past few years, I was just too busy and we lost touch.
We talked on the phone for birthdays and special holidays, but the visits
stopped and our lives moved on.

Penny
’
s two co-workers, Lori and Brenda, were
polite and pleasant. They spoke highly of Penny, saying she was very nice to
work with, and would be greatly missed. They told me a few stories of how Penny
would bring in doughnuts or coffee to the office. Everyone looked forward to
her arrival, because she always looked out for everyone else. That was Penny,
all right.

She was the fixer, always trying to fix
everyone else
’
s
problems and constantly worrying if someone was okay. She was a nurturer by
nature, just like our mom. If you were sick, she would bring
“
over the counter
”
medicines: chicken noodle soup, with tea
and honey. If you were going through a hard time, you could always count on a
“
get-well
”
or
“
thinking of you
”
card in the mail. When it was my birthday,
she would wake me at six am, just to be the first to wish me a happy birthday.

That wouldn
’
t happen anymore.

No one said a word the entire ride. I
pressed my face to the window, staring at the strands of neon light that ran
along the roof and the rows of crystal-clear champagne goblets lined in the cup
holders. Then it hit me: my sister would not be the maid of honor at my wedding,
whenever that would be. I could not believe she was gone; she was only 26, far
too young to die.

It had only been four years since Mom and
Dad were killed in a car accident. I would never forget that day. I was only
sixteen at the time. Penny had picked me up from
school,
before
driving me to the park where we used to walk our dogs and giving me the news. A
city bus, traveling at a high speed, had rammed into the back of dad
’
s classic
’
67 Volkswagen Beatle
,
killing them both instantly.

Losing them was difficult. Every month, on
the anniversary of their death, Penny and I would go to the cemetery with
flowers
, reminisce
about the times that we spent with them,
usually a family vacation. Penny dropped out of law school and returned home to
raise me. She continued taking classes online, but never graduated. She always
said she would someday, but she was more concerned about me than herself.

For the next two years, Penny watched over
me as a mother hen would her baby chicks. She made sure I did homework and
met deadlines
; screened any potential boyfriends, made
me do chores, and she volunteered at my prom to make sure I stayed out of
trouble.

Standing
over
her casket, I felt so lost. Aunt Debbie wrapped her arms around me to comfort
me.
“
It
’
s not right,
”
I said to her,
“
why would Penny commit suicide? She had so
much going for her.
”

“
I don
’
t
understand it either, Cindy. She was such a happy person,
”
Aunt Debbie replied. Stacy, Brenda and
Lori placed a rose on the casket, gave me a hug and stepped back as I continued
to mourn. When Mom and Dad passed, I was in shock. I was lifeless, unresponsive
and showed little emotion. But with Penny, I cried so hard that my stomach went
into convulsions, and I dropped to me knees in sorrow, wishing it was not true.

I did not think about it until that day,
four years after their death. Walking back to the limousine, I turned to Aunt
Debbie.
“
I
’
m the same age Penny was when Mom and D
ad died
—
twenty,
”
I
said.
“
She
was so strong. I wanted to be just like her.
”

Aunt Debbie was concerned as to how I was
going to handle Penny
’
s
death. She tried to convince me to come and stay with her as long as I wanted.
It took me over a year to come to grips with Mom and Dad
’
s death, I did not know how long, if ever,
I would get over this. I appreciated the offer, but I thought it would be best
for me to get back to normality as fast as possible. At least that
’
s what I planned.

***

I was a sophomore in college, studying law
just like Penny, only my grades were nowhere near as high as hers were. A week
after the funeral I returned to class. It was the fall semester, only three
weeks before finals and the winter break. Night after night, I tried to study
but could not focus. My friends were supportive, but I started withdrawing, not
coming out of my room, and then I quit going to classes all together.

I was beginning to regret ever enrolling
in college. Had I not, maybe Penny would still be here. I went to college to
become a lawyer, that
’
s
what I told myself, but I actually went because I wanted to make Penny proud of
me. Leaving was a mistake though, she needed me. She needed someone to be there
for her, and I wasn
’
t.
She committed suicide, but my presence might have spared her.

Anxious over my grades and scared of
flunking my final exams, I decided my only option was to withdraw from school.
I packed my belongings, said goodbye to my roommate and friends, and drove to
the Big Apple to live in Penny
’
s
apartment.

For days, her flat was sealed with yellow
tape; under investigation until it was officially ruled a suicide. The Property
Manager escorted me to her complex, studio 405. He slid the key in the deadbolt
and opened the door.

“
Holy,
shit!
”
the
manager shouted.

Someone had ransacked the entire
apartment. Every kitchen drawer and cabinet had been opened. The couch covers
and pillows were strewn on the floor. Clothes, papers and books lay scattered
everywhere in disarray. A mixture of sorrow and despair, mingled with anger and
denial, coursed through me. I was pissed. Someone had violated Penny
’
s home and I took it personally. It took
me two days to clean the mess.

For the first four nights I slept on the
recliner, but my back would not endure another, so that evening, I crawled
cautiously into Penny
’
s
bed. I could smell the fragrance of her shampoo on her pillowcase as I grasped
it tight to my body and face. It was not long until my tears soaked the pillow.

A week passed before I realized I was
running out of groceries. I had not left the apartment for seven days and just
sat staring at the mounted television for most of that time,
wonder
ing if the cable provider had discontinued
service. With no initiative to look for the remote or manually turn on the TV,
I just lay in bed. Just like the 50-inch screen, everything inside me was black
—
no energy, drive, motivation or purpose.

A month went by and I only left the
apartment twice, which caused the Property Manager to panic
—
understandable considering what he had
just gone through with my sister. Fearful that I had followed Penny
’
s example, an Emergency Response Team
arrived at the flat. They checked my vital signs and discovered I was
dehydrated and my blood pressure was extremely low, so they transported me to
the hospital.

After examination, I was admitted to a
mental health clinic for depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts. For the
next six months, I underwent psychological evaluations, psychiatric therapy,
and doses of Tofranil, Prozac, Lexapro and Celexa. I felt hopeless, helpless
and abandoned.

Then, something unexpected happened that changed
the course of my life forever.

I had a visitor.

I sat anxiously, wondering who it could
be, when t
he door opened.
A short, unshaven 300-pound man, wearing a
blue and white plaid suit, suspenders, a wide, navy blue tie and a shirt
stained with drips of coffee, walked towards me. There was perspiration on his
grubby forehead and he slicked his long bangs out of his eyes before sitting
down. He placed his ragged, worn-out leather briefcase on the table, released
the latch and retrieved a stack of disorganized papers.

“
Hello,
Miss West. My name is Jerry Watkins. I
’
m your attorney.
”

I was confused and perplexed.
“
Attorney?
”
I replied.

“
Well,
I was Penny
’
s
attorney, but now I
’
m
yours,
”
he
answered.

As it turned out, shortly after my parents
died Penny hired Mr. Watkins to represent my mom and dad in a wrongful death
suit against the NYC Department of Transportation. The arrangements Penny made
were that if anything happened to her, I would be the sole heir to the lawsuit.
I was about to inherit $7.5 million, minus Mr. Watkins
’
20 percent fee.

“
They
’
re ready to settle,
”
Mr. Watkins said with a grin.

He sorted through the legal documents,
lined them side-by-side, handed me a pen and pointed to forms.
“
Sign here.
 
Here. And here.
”

It was bittersweet. I was ridiculously
rich, but at the cost of losing my parents and my only sister.

When I finished signing, he stacked the
documents and said,
“
One
more thing, do you want me to continue pursuing the investment scam?
”

“
What
are you talking about?
”

I was too young to understand much at the
time, but an investment firm, called Legacy Investments, Inc. had swindled my
Dad
’
s retirement. Penny
uncovered information and hired Mr. Watkins. He explained that Penny
intentionally accepted a position at this firm in the attempt to obtain proof.
I never even took the time to ask Penny where she worked, all I knew was that
she was an administrative assistant and worked downtown.

“
She
called me two days before she died and told me she had the proof, but I never
got a chance to see it,
”
he
said.

“
Where
is it?
”
I
asked.

“
I
have no idea. But I have a feeling that whatever she found, it had something to
do with her death.
”