Fortune, page 17
“Not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You’re going to eat something. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ava
I don’t have the strength to argue with Brendan. Especially not when Brock joins in.
“I’ve been there, Ave,” he says. “I get what you’re feeling. You’re angry about the secrets. You’re resentful. You’re freaked. Our family history is dark and gruesome. Appalling. But this all happened forever ago. You need to focus on today.”
“And today,” I say, “my grandmother is alive.”
“She is,” Brendan says. “And we’ll deal with that. But your life hasn’t changed.”
“How can you say that?”
“You know something you didn’t know before. Your father is a half-sibling to your uncles and aunt. But he always was. You always were who you are. Nothing has changed.”
I rise then. “I’m going out.”
“Where?”
“Where do you think? I’m driving to Grand Junction. To visit my grandmother.”
“Not until you eat something,” Brendan says.
“Fine. I’ll grab something on the way.”
“I’m going with you.”
“You have to get back to the bar.”
He grips my shoulders. “Damn it, Ava! You’re more important to me than any bar.”
“Brendan…this isn’t something you can do for me.” I swat Brendan’s hands away and grab my jacket. “I have to go. Alone.”
“Hell no, you’re not going alone.”
“The woman’s unconscious. And she’s an octogenarian. I’ll be fine. Besides, what other time do I have? I have to open the bakery in the morning.”
“Will they even let you see her at this time of night?” Brendan asks.
“I can go with her,” Brock says. “My mom is a big deal at that hospital, and the Steels are major donors to the foundation. All Ava and I need to do is drop our name. But if you don’t want her going alone—and I understand—I’ll go. I just need to text Rory.”
Brendan sighs. “All right. But you call me as soon as you get home, all right? And you”—he turns to Brock—“take fucking good care of her and see that she gets something in her stomach.” Then he kisses my lips. “I love you,” he whispers.
I move my lips to his ear. “I love you too. Thank you for understanding.”
“How about a taco?” Brock asks me once we’re in the car. “That new Taco Bell at the edge of town is open until midnight.”
“The dining room? Or the drive-thru?”
“It’s only eight o’clock, so the dining room is still open. We can use the drive-thru, but tacos are a mess to eat in the car.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll choke down a taco.”
“Two,” Brock says. “One taco isn’t enough for a small child.”
“My God… You’re going to report back to Brendan, aren’t you?”
“Guilty.” He grins. “Look, cuz. That man looks at you the way I look at Rory, and I’d fucking kill anyone who didn’t take care of her.”
Despite everything going on, I can’t help a slight smile.
“So he loves you.” Brock pulls into the Taco Bell parking lot.
“Yeah.”
“And is the feeling mutual?”
My cheeks warm.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Take what as a yes?”
“The blush. You’ve been pale as a ghost all evening, Ava. The mention of Brendan loving you finally put some color back into those cheeks.”
He puts the car in park, and we go into the restaurant. It’s surprisingly busy for a weeknight on the edge of a small town, but we don’t have to wait too long to put in our order.
“Six tacos,” Brock says. “What’ll you have, Ava?”
“Six tacos?” I say.
“They’re not that big. And I had a light dinner.” He turns back to the cashier. “My cousin will have three.”
“Two,” I say.
“Three,” he repeats. “And two fountain drinks. Oh, and one order of those churro things.”
“Cinnamon twists?” the cashier asks.
“Yeah, whatever. An order of those. You want any, Ava?”
“Uh…no. Thanks.”
Brock taps his credit card on the reader and glances over his shoulder. “There’s a table in the back. Why don’t you snag it while I wait for the order?”
“Okay.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Just water.”
“I paid for a fountain drink, Ave.”
“For God’s sake. So what?” Then I berate myself. I may not use my family’s money, but I don’t want it wasted. Even the few cents for a soda. “Diet Coke.”
“They don’t have Coke products.”
“Pepsi, then. I don’t care.”
“You got it.”
I head to the table Brock gestured to and take a seat. A few crumbs are scattered on top. Great. Something about fast-food places always makes me want to bathe in hand sanitizer. My bakery is always spotless. I get perfect scores on all my reports from the Department of Health. No one will ever find a crumb on one of my tables. Maya wipes them down a millisecond after a customer gets up.
Makes me wonder if the newfound crumbs of my family history will ever be wiped from my mind. If only I had a Maya inside my head brushing away all the unpleasantness.
Brock returns with our order. I grab a taco and a packet of sauce.
“Which drink is mine?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re both Diet Pepsi.” He grabs one and shoves in a straw.
I open the sauce packet and squeeze it onto my taco. Then, against my better judgment, I take a bite.
Brock lifts his eyebrows at me as I chew and swallow.
It’s good. What is it about tacos? You can be feeling like complete crap and a taco will still taste good.
I nod at him.
He smiles. “Eat every bite.”
He downs all six of his plus the cinnamon twists before I get through my second. But it is good. Something about the crunchy shell scratching my throat a bit as it goes down puts me in a better mood.
I unwrap my third taco. “It feels weird, us being here.”
“How so?” Brock takes the last sip of his drink, the straw making gurgling sounds.
“I mean, the two of us without Dave. You know. Huey, Dewey, and Louie.”
“You went to a different college than Dave and I did,” he says. “The whole duck thing kind of dissipated after that. And it should have dissipated a lot sooner.” He rolls his eyes.
I swallow my bite of taco. “I know. But when things were serious, the three of us always stuck together, just like the awesome foursome does.”
“Who the hell came up with that name, anyway?”
I take a sip of drink. “They probably came up with it themselves.” Gina, Angie, Sage, and Bree are the youngest of the Steels, and the most fabulous, to hear them tell it.
“Actually…” Brock fiddles with his phone. “Rory came up with the Three Rake-a-teers, and I’m betting…”
His phone dings.
“Yup. Just as I suspected. The Pike sisters strike again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rory says Maddie came up with the awesome foursome. I wonder if the four of them know that Maddie always feels like a fifth wheel with them.”
“She’s not a member of the family.”
“No, but she’s their same age, and they all still go to college together.”
“I don’t get that,” I say. “That feeling of not belonging.”
“That’s because you never cared whether you belonged or not.”
I can’t help a chuckle. “That’s the truth, for sure. But it’s more than that, Brock.”
“What do you mean?”
I look away and scrunch the wrapper from my taco into a ball. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”
He smiles. “You’re going to have to tell me now, after that lead in.”
“I stopped caring so I wouldn’t have to compete with Gina.”
“Why would you have to compete with Gina?”
“Come on. You know why. She’s beautiful, brilliant, talented. She’s everything I’m not.”
“She’s got a few inches on you in height, but that’s about it, Ave. You’re just as beautiful, brilliant, and talented as she is.”
“I can’t paint.”
“So what? Gina can’t make the fluffiest croissants on the planet.”
I finish up my final taco. “That’s right. She can’t. See? I’m not competing with her.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll never understand women. I’m getting a refill.” He rises and heads toward the soda fountain.
I shrug. He doesn’t get it. That’s okay, though. I know what I mean.
He returns to the table with his refilled cup. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I grab the tray and head to the wastebasket.
You ready?
Not in the slightest. But I want to see this woman. This grandmother. I want to know the secrets she still hides.
Because I’m fucking done with secrets.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brendan
By ten, the game is over and the bar has settled down to its normal Monday-night atmosphere.
“Let’s go,” Dad says. “You and I still need to talk.”
I pop the cap off a Fat Tire and hand it to a customer. “All right. Where’s Johnny?”
“In the can.” He gestures at Johnny, who’s walking toward the bar, wiping his hands on his jeans. “There he is.”
“Fine.” I move toward the staircase to my apartment.
Dad is right behind me. I unlock the door and enter.
“You want anything? A sandwich?”
Dad takes a seat at my small table. “No. Sit down, Brendan.”
I grab a bottle of water from my fridge and sit next to my father. “So…Lauren Wingdam?”
“Yeah. I’ve got an address.”
“Did you give it to Pat Lamone?”
“I did. She’s his mother. His birth mother, that is.”
“She’s his only mother now,” I say. “His adoptive parents were killed in a car accident.”
“That’s a damned shame.”
“It is. But Pat Lamone is no saint, Dad.”
“Neither am I. Neither are you.”
He’s not wrong. “But Lamone’s bad news. I was talking to Brock—”
“Brock Steel?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s keep the Steels on a need-to-know basis, Brendan.”
“They’ve been getting the same cryptic messages. The Steels aren’t our enemies, Dad.”
“Did I say they are?”
“No, but…Pat Lamone isn’t a good guy. I’m sorry he lost his parents and all, but he tried to destroy the Pike sisters back in high school. And…he drugged Diana Steel.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “You got proof of that?”
“Brock does.”
“Are they filing charges?”
“They can’t. Statute of limitations.”
“You mean they only just found out?”
I nod.
“The Steels have their hands in everything. Damn.”
“This isn’t the Steels’ fault. And Pat—”
I stop. As much as I hate keeping things from my father, I can’t tell him that Lauren Wingdam is Wendy Madigan’s daughter, and that Wendy Madigan is Ryan Steel’s birth mother. I promised Ava I’d keep it all in confidence.
“Pat what?”
“Nothing. Just don’t let him fool you.”
“You have to get up pretty early to fool me, Brendan.”
I clear my throat. “I’m in love with Ava, Dad. She’s important to me, and her family is important to her. So I don’t want to get into anything that will bring down the Steels.”
“Even if they’re behind your great-uncle’s death?”
I stop myself from pounding my fist on the table. “Dad, for God’s sake. That was over fifty years ago. I didn’t even know the man, and you were just a kid yourself. Was Bradford Steel involved? Maybe. Does it really matter at this point? None of the Steels alive today were even born yet. They couldn’t have been involved.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t know something.”
“They don’t.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because they’re good people, Dad. If they knew something, they’d tell you. We’re talking about Brad Steel here. A man who faked his own death, not once but twice. He was shrewd, brilliant. And he’s dead, Dad. For good this time. He’s been dead for twenty-five years.”
“I see your point. The trail is cold, for sure.” Dad shakes his head. “But it doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Do yourself a favor,” I say. “Do Mom a favor. Let this go.”
“But the messages…”
“Right. The messages. Whatever’s going on with the Steels involves us somehow. And you’re right, your uncle seems to be the only commonality, but still, for Mom, let this go.”
“I love your mother.”
“I never said you didn’t. But this relentless pursuit isn’t going to help your marriage.”
“My marriage is my business, Brendan. Mine and your mother’s. None of yours.”
“That’d be nice if it were true, Dad, but it isn’t. You’re my parents, and I love you both. Your happiness is important to me.”
Dad doesn’t reply, and just when I’m sure he’s done talking altogether—
He slides a piece of paper across the table to me.
On it is written an address for Lauren Wingdam.
“Damn. She lives in Barrel Oaks, the next town over.”
“Surprised me too.”
“You doing anything tomorrow morning?”
“Going to Barrel Oaks,” he says.
“Good. Me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ava
“She looks so old and helpless,” I say to Brock.
I’m staring at Sabrina Smith, aka Dyane Wingdam, aka Wendy Madigan.
“Did I tell you about Dyane Wingdam’s rap sheet?” Brock asks. “That’s no helpless old lady there. She’s sedated. And strapped down.”
I move her sheet down to regard her wrists. They are indeed strapped down. Her skin tone is good for her age, and her hands still look young. Her fingernails are painted. Odd. Who would have painted them? Surely not Pat Lamone.
Her face is wrinkled yet serene, and her lips are a soft pink. I can see that she was a beauty when she was young. And her nose. I absently touch my own. It’s just like my father’s…and mine.
“Why do they have her strapped down?” I ask.
“Probably because she’s psycho.” He twists his lips. “Sorry, Ave. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did. It’s okay. She’s messed up. Or she’s not, and that makes her even scarier. What if she doesn’t have any mental illness? What if she’s just that evil?”
He cocks his head. “You’re right when you say she looks the part. Old and helpless. But her record is a mile long. Felony forgery, bank fraud, insider trading. Never did any time, though. Somehow she managed to get away with everything.”
“She just changed her name and went into hiding.”
“I had our PI team look into her. Into Dyane Wingdam, that is. Her crimes were all committed within the last twenty-five years.”
“After Wendy Madigan died,” I say.
“Right. The alias goes back about forty-five years, but she didn’t commit any crimes as Dyane until later.”
“So she faked her death and became Dyane for good.”
“That’s how it looks.”
“And Dyane has a record, so later she created the new alias of Sabrina Smith to evade capture.”
“Makes as much sense as any of this does,” Brock agrees.
I let out a heavy sigh. “This woman is my grandmother. The nose. I have her nose. What color are her eyes?”
“Apparently they’re blue, according to my dad. Daphne’s were brown.”
“Have you heard how my father was always considered the handsomest and most jovial of all the Steel brothers?” I ask.
“Who hasn’t?”
“I’ve seen photos of Daphne. She was classically beautiful. And our grandfather was ruggedly handsome. Looked just like your father. So how could my father be the handsomest when your dad and Uncle Tal came from Daphne?”
“Genes are funny things,” he says. “Who knows? We don’t know what Dyane—or Wendy—looked like. She could have been gorgeous too.”
Yes, she was gorgeous. Even in old age, it’s clear. But none of this matters. Whether my father is the best-looking Steel brother doesn’t matter. And this woman… This woman can’t do anything to my family. She’s old and frail and strapped to a hospital bed.
This? This is my collapsing tower?
She’s nothing.
She’s nothing to me.
Except I feel her. I felt her when I drew those cards. I always knew I wasn’t feeling Daphne Steel. I just didn’t realize there was a reason for it.
Even now, as my grandmother lies here, sedated, I feel that she’s a part of me.
And I hate the feeling.
So I choose to think of her as nothing.
“Let’s go.” I turn and walk toward the door.
Then I jerk.
“Who the hell are you?” I say to the young man entering.
Brock turns. “Lamone. What the hell?”
“I came to visit my grandmother.”
“At ten p.m.?”
“Yeah, at ten p.m. What the hell are you doing here?”
“This is my cousin Ava,” Brock says.
“Hi. So what the hell are the two of you doing here?”
I clear my throat. “It seems—”
I stop. I promised my father I wouldn’t tell anyone, other than Brendan, what he told me. I was about to spill that this woman is my grandmother too.
“It seems what?” Lamone asks.
“Nothing. We’re done here.” I leave the room.
