Truth (28 page)

When in his office and perturbed, he had a
habit of rolling an old key ring in his hand. It was some old
trinket he kept in the upper right hand drawer of his large desk.
If Claire looked up from her book or magazine and saw the stupid
ring running laps on his right hand, she knew he was upset. Yet,
the person on the other end of the discussion would never know. His
features and voice never wavered. They couldn’t see the tarnished
silver charm or strangely shaped key being passed from one finger
to the next. Claire came to know the speed at which the ring ran a
lap in his large hand, was proportional to his state of
agitation.

Contemplating those memories, Claire’s
stomach twisted. His unease was directly proportional to the
downturn of her day. Not only did he control her comings and
goings, he was the barometer for the tone of her life. If he were
happy, the day could be manageable, maybe even good. If he
weren’t...well, she really hated that stupid key ring.

Her business knowledge was unrealized until
she read an article about a company under investigation by the SEC,
Securities Exchange Commission. Claire remembered hours of
discussion about that same company. Some of the issues that,
according to the article were just brought to light had actually
been debated ad nauseam years before.

Amber found her information very intriguing.
After Amber pulled up more details on the company, Claire was
shocked to realize she actually knew, or at least recognized, the
names and faces of many prominent players. They were people Claire
had been responsible for entertaining at business dinners. She’d
met them, talked with them, and dined with them. Her knowledge base
was much broader than she’d previously expected.

Settling into a
comfortable chair, feet on an ottoman, wrapped in her warm robe,
Claire began rereading documents. Anthony was obviously surprised
by the use of his name, Anton Rawls. He flat out denied it. Well,
he called it
a ridiculous
story
. She didn’t directly ask if he was
once Anton Rawls. She only asked him if he sent her the box. That
he categorically denied.

Claire decided to start at the beginning:
Nathaniel Rawls, born 1919. Served in U.S. Army, WWII deployment,
returned to USA 1943. Married Sharron Parkinson Rawls 1943. Began
working for BNG Textiles in 1943. 1944 Samuel Anton Rawls born.
1953 BNG Textiles became Rawls Textiles. The company expanded. 1975
Rawls went public, traded on the NYSE. At this point records are
easier to obtain. The biggest problem was lack of technology in
1975.

Today a wealth of
information was available on every publicly traded company: assets,
liabilities, ownership equity, profit and loss sheets, management
analysis and much more. The same information was presumably
available in 1975 but not at a click of a button. Claire debated
traveling to New Jersey to access microfiche files. The woman on
the telephone told her they
should
have it. However, the state of New Jersey does
not have the inclination, time, or manpower to track the old
information. She invited Claire to come and investigate the bowels
of their storage. Although a lovely invitation, Claire hadn’t
decided if it were necessary.

January 1986 rumors
involving Rawls Corp resulted in a drastic drop in stock price.
Investors wanted their money returned. 1987 Nathaniel Rawls was
convicted and incarcerated at
Camp
Gabriels
, a minimum security state prison,
located in northern New York. He was sentenced to thirty-six
months, one of the heaviest penalties dispersed for a white collar
crime. 1989, twenty-two months after conviction, Nathaniel Rawls
died of a heart attack.

Harry found a list of
civil cases involving Nathaniel during his incarceration. He said
it wasn’t uncommon for prisoners to be sued. Many wronged investors
want
blood from a
turnip
, so to speak. Claire hadn’t read
the various cases. Harry admitted he’d only scanned them, but
believed many stemmed from rumors Mr. Rawls hid money prior to his
incarceration. Although he may have had the opportunity while
remaining outside of prison, on bond awaiting trial, the
allegations were unproven. Judging by the lengthy list of
plaintiffs, there were many bidders for a piece of his hidden
bounty.

Claire read a blurb
suggesting his money was hidden outside of the United States.
However, those closest to Mr. Rawls, vehemently denied this,
stating Nathaniel was known for his American bravado. They
speculated he’d never trusted
foreigners
with his
money.

After hours of reading, and not finding
anything she hadn’t read before, Claire decided to move on to
Samuel. Reaching for his stack of information, she noticed the
faint sunlight leaking from around the blinds. Refocusing on the
clock at the corner of her laptop, she saw it was almost seven
thirty.

Claire decided to table – or bed -- the
Samuel reread and opt for a shower. She wasn’t sure, after the way
she left Harry last night, but he usually came over for coffee
about eight. She moved stiffly from the soft chair and lifted her
empty coffee cup. If she were to survive her incredibly long day,
Claire needed more caffeine.

Feeling almost human after another cup of
coffee and shower, Claire decided to dress causal, wearing yoga
pants, a camisole, and an oversized t-shirt. Not wanting to be busy
with the hairdryer when Harry arrived, she combed her wet hair back
into a low ponytail and managed a little mascara, lip gloss, blush,
and perfume. Claire wasn’t the stunning model from last night, and
although she wanted to tell him she was sorry, if he walked in and
saw her dressed to the nines for coffee, he’d rightfully be
suspicious. She wasn’t sure of her daily plans. However, as her
bare feet padded along the wood floor of the cavernous condo, she
smiled at the sunshine streaming through the unblocked windows.

Some research, coffee, warm shower, and
fog-free blue skies did wonders to put her life in perspective.
Claire’s dinner with Tony momentarily sent things off-kilter, but
all was neutralizing again. She needed to focus on her mission
involving Tony. And that mission wasn’t sex! It was retaliation. He
may not have sent that box, but her research continued to validate
its contents.

As Claire set her laptop
on the kitchen table she typed in
Newsweek
. Like so many other
publications,
Newsweek
required a subscription in order to access previous editions.
That was fine, she thought,
Phillip Roach
can have fun figuring out why I’m suddenly so interested in news
magazines.

Starting the coffee maker
for another high octane injection, she typed 1975, the year Rawls
went public. She remembered a magazine article with a picture of
Nathaniel and his family in front of a house like Tony’s. She
wanted to find that picture, to verify – if only to herself -- that
Tony was indeed Anton Rawls. If it wasn’t in
Newsweek
, she assumed it must
be
Time
. She had
an online subscription to that publication, too.

Two hours later she found the picture with
the house, Nathaniel, Sharron, Samuel, Amanda, and Anton. Claire
couldn’t wait to show Harry. She’d tell him about Tony’s denial,
and then show him the picture to validate her suspicions.

Then Claire realized -- two hours. It was
almost ten. Surely, Harry’s at SiJo by now. He hadn’t come over for
coffee. Claire staggered at the sudden disappointment flowing
through her. She hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed their morning
chats, until now, when he didn’t show.

There was no question; it was her fault.
She’d been rude last night. Would she have ever treated Tony that
way? The answer was no, not because she didn’t want to, but because
he’d never have allowed it. Had she really spent half the night
fantasizing about someone who dominated her entire life, including
emotions and reactions, when there was a kind understanding man in
real life?

Claire went to the bedroom to find her
phone. She wanted to send Harry a text, tell him she missed him
this morning. Hopefully he’d respond, and maybe she could meet him
for lunch.

The screen indicated four
missed calls. Picking up her
Emily
phone she had texts, one each from Emily and
Courtney. They both wanted to be sure she was all right, after her
dinner.

Darn, she’d meant to call
them last night. The whole evening just messed her up. She sent a
text telling them she was fine and would talk to them, when they
had time. Walking toward the kitchen, she added,
I HAVE SOME NEW RELEVANT INFO TO
SHARE!

Honestly, she hadn’t checked her Tony phone.
That could wait. She needed more time in the sunshine, without his
voice and the darkness that swallowed her into its abyss. Smiling,
she checked the iPhone. Two calls were from Amber; oh yeah, she’d
forgotten to check in with her, too. One call was from Harry, no
message. At least he called. She didn’t recognize the other number,
no message.

When almost to the kitchen
she heard a knock at the door.
Wow, Harry
must be upset, if he is knocking
. Claire
didn’t care, as long as he was there. Smiling her biggest grin, she
opened the door with a light hearted, “Did you forget your
key?”

Her heart stopped beating, and the air
dissipated from her lungs. She wasn’t staring into Harry’s soft
blue eyes, wavy blonde hair, or his SiJo fitted black shirt. No, it
wasn’t his chest with the nicely stretched Under Armor across his
wide pecs in front of her. This one was covered by an Armani
tailored suit. Claire’s smile shattered, as dark eyes once again
sent her world into a spiral. The axis which had taken her most of
the night to correct was once again wobbling uncontrollably.

Straightening her neck, she suddenly wished
for shoes, preferably heels. It was a stupid wish. If a Genie had
just given her three, it would be a waste. However, as he loomed,
at least six and a half feet high in her doorway and she stood
barefooted, she felt incredibly small. Claire didn’t like the sense
of vulnerability rushing through her nervous system, sending off
flares of panic at every synapse.

His voice registered deep, “I don’t have a
key, but I’d be glad to get one. Just tell me where to sign-up.”
After so much time of evaluating his looks, eyes, movements, and
voice, she immediately assessed: he sounds restrained, yet
amused.

She wanted to say, “Go to hell, and let me
know when it turns cold – because, that’s when you can expect to
receive a key!” However instead, she squared her shoulders and
tried to display a small amount of decorum, “How did you get up
here. You can’t be on this floor without a key.”

He was still standing in the hallway. Claire
held the edge of the door, ready to slam it, if necessary. “Perhaps
you could invite me in, and we can discuss it?”

“
Tony, why are you
here?”

He smirked, “If we’re playing one hundred
questions, I admit defeat. May I come in?”

Momentarily, Claire stared. Her stomach
twisted with the realization, he’d asked the same question twice.
It was another of his old pet-peeves. As much as she didn’t want to
allow him entry, she didn’t want risk him asking her a third time.
She stood back and nodded. He walked in and surveyed his
surroundings with an air of approval.

“
My, Claire, you are
living much better than I expected. When I first learned of your
release, I pictured you destitute.”

“
I’m sure you enjoyed that
scenario. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

He snickered, “Disappoint? On the contrary,
your ingenuity is to be praised.”

Still standing on the marbled floored entry,
Claire asked her question, again. “Tony, I will repeat myself, at
the risk of being redundant.” She could sense the increased
intensity in his stare. “Why are you here and how did you access my
floor.”

“
I gained access by the
security guard on the first floor. He tried to call you, but you
didn’t answer.” Claire thought about that unknown number. She
needed to program
Security
into her phone. “I explained, we are old friends,
I’m leaving town, and since I had recently talked with you, I knew
you were home and expecting me.”

As he spoke her iPhone rang. It was the
unknown number again. “This is security. I’ll tell them I don’t
want you here, unless you quickly tell me why you’re here.” The
phone rang again.

Rarely, if ever, did Anthony Rawlings
receive an ultimatum. Now faced with one, he didn’t anger or
hesitate, he answered, “I want to know more about your prison
delivery.”

She eyed him, more
assessment: honesty. Apparently the conversation wasn’t
closed
the night before,
only tabled until today. After the fourth ring, she brushed the
screen and answered. “Hello.” “Yes, this is Ms. Nichols.” “Yes, he
did.” “Thank you.” “Yes. I will. Good-bye.” Tony watched intently
as she spoke. She had the sensation of a bird, being evaluated by a
cat. Should she fly away, had she just thrown away her only chance
of ejecting him from her home, or would she be consumed by a power
greater than she could manage?

After her conversation
with security ended, she turned back to her
guest
, “I have plans today. Please
make this quick.”

His eyes scanned up and
down her petite form. “Yes, I see you are dressed for business.
What do they call that,
business
casual
?” The vulnerability of her light
weight pants and top made her uneasy. Refusing to take his snide
bait, Claire remained silent. His tone turned sultry, “I’m not
complaining. I always found the
casual
Claire
as sexy as the one who rocked
designer dresses.”