Taylor's Law, page 1
Taylor’s Law
Jennifer Raines
Table of Contents
Title Page
Taylor's Law
Dedication | Thanks to my Canadian mentor, V I Peace. Without V's tough questions and constructive feedback, I wouldn't have made it this far.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Sneak Peek at GRACE UNDER FIRE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Taylor’s Law
Copyright © 2022 Jennifer Raines
All rights reserved.
ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-958136-03-4
Inkspell Publishing
207 Moonglow Circle #101
Murrells Inlet, SC 29576
Edited By Yezanira Venecia
Cover art By Fantasia Frog Designs
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Dedication
Thanks to my Canadian mentor, V I Peace. Without V's tough questions and constructive feedback, I wouldn't have made it this far.
Chapter One
Taylor Law
Ella Anderson exited the train station, her gaze captured by the imposing glass and chrome high-rise squatting diagonally opposite. She pressed a hand to her nervous stomach. The few mouthfuls of dry toast she’d forced herself to swallow at breakfast refused to settle. The stylish sign mounted on the front of the building on the other side of the concourse left no room for doubt—Taylor Law. A prestigious location and a blatant statement of wealth and power.
Ridiculous to think a building could gleam malevolently, but in the weak rays cast by an autumnal sun, it looked as menacing as it had eight years ago. Ella had first-hand experience of the company’s ruthlessness. Taylor Law had represented the crook who’d legally swindled prime farmland from her father. Her sworn statement about the verbal agreement and hand shake between the two men had counted for nothing. The icy dread that had seeped into her bones when she’d learned of this appointment returned. She shivered.
Wealth bought power. To hell with justice.
Releasing the hand of her curly-haired niece, Ella scooped the toddler high in her arms and smiled at Tessa’s delight.
“That’s my girl.” She blew noisy kisses on the bridge of Tessa’s nose before settling the giggling child on her hip. With a conscious straightening of her spine, she navigated her way through the throngs of Monday morning tourists crisscrossing the foreshore concourse.
Nine fifteen was too early for workers to have emerged from their offices for a coffee break. Perfect timing for carefree travellers to head to the ferry wharves for the tourist destinations on Sydney Harbour—Taronga Park Zoo, Manly Beach or Watsons Bay. Their easy-going laughter was a sharp contrast to her edgy apprehension.
Within minutes she’d walked out of the brisk wind through automatic entrance doors to the lobby. Quieter here away from the noise of the street, but the marble tiles were equally formidable, symbolising clarity and control when she had neither. She’d come to this meeting in place of her sister, Chrissy, who could no longer attend anything. Ella swallowed the lump of tears in her throat. A command—she’d hardly call it an invitation—from Jacob Taylor, who wasn’t just any lawyer; he carried the building’s name.
The letter had been in the innocent-looking pile of mail she’d collected from her neighbour when she’d returned from the family farm to the apartment last night. As Chrissy’s executor, she’d opened the letter addressed to her sister, the weight of the stiff cream parchment ominous even before she read the missive. The company name in bold print and the typed, blunt sentence stating the time and place for this meeting had confused her. The next paragraph mentioned Drew Browning, paternity and custody in carefully crafted sentences—an implied threat that had left her struggling to breathe. Custody!
Entering the elevator, she let Tessa press the button for the tenth floor. She slid the child to the floor and took her hand. Smooth, silent, fast, the glass cube rose through the centre of the building. A disembodied-elevator voice announced each floor: three, then seven, then nine, cutting her connection to her own world with breathtaking speed. The doors opened into a foyer three times the size of her office in the community justice centre she managed, and was more opulent than a five-star hotel. The ripe fragrance of Oriental lilies was another assault on her senses.
“Can I help you?” inquired the elegant blonde perched behind an oversized reception counter. The crimson and white lilies spilled from a vase on her right, plucked of their stamen, presumably to prevent the sticky orange anthers from staining the countertop and marring the perfect image being created. The company name was emblazoned on the reception wall in letters half Ella’s height.
“Ms. Anderson to see Mr. Taylor.” She’d only explain Chrissy’s absence once. She didn’t have the strength for more. Every bone and muscle in her body ached at the injustice of Chrissy’s early death. Saying “my sister is dead” offended her sense of right and wrong. The words becoming harder, not easier, with each retelling.
“Please take a seat, Ms. Anderson.” The woman gestured towards the ox-blood chesterfield positioned against the opposite wall. The colour seemed fitting for this antechamber to hell. “I’ll let Mr. Taylor know you’ve arrived.”
The firm instructions reinforced all of Ella’s impressions. Power! The word reverberated through her head. Drew Browning—a man whose name didn’t appear on Tessa’s birth certificate and whom Chrissy had never named—had hired Taylor Law to represent him. Potential father! He was a stranger to Tessa, to Ella and her family. Choosing Taylor Law to represent him was a brutal demonstration he had the money and power to buy the result he wanted. Panic rose like bile in her throat.
She dropped onto the couch, settling Tessa beside her.
“’Ootles.” Tessa reached out a hand, her grey gaze full of trust. Ella knew zilch about genetics, but no one in her immediate family had grey eyes.
She pulled a soft bear with a chewed ear from her bag. “Here’s Tootles.” And wished for her own brown bear to stand sentinel at her shoulder during this meeting. Tessa began a private and unintelligible conversation with the raggedy toy, while Ella leaned back against the expensive leather, a false comfort. This time yesterday her path had been clear, raising Tessa as if she were her own child because she loved her. She’d promised Chrissy to give her niece the best upbringing she could.
Ella had never questioned the rightness of it. Tessa was the child of her heart, her nurturing love built on a million small memories—bathing Tessa when she was a baby, sharing mealtimes, comforting her when she was teething, and waiting to give her a hug when she let go of the security of the coffee table to take her first steps. When Chrissy’s health stopped her from doing simple tasks, Ella had accepted she’d be a single parent.
“You can go in now, Ms. Anderson.”
Ready or not, here I come. The words from a children’s game echoed in her mind. She had no idea what had precipitated this meeting, but her need to know outweighed the anxiety pounding at her temples. Outweighed her concern at bringing Tessa. With her regular sitter unavailable and the doctor’s advice to keep the toddler close until she established new routines, her options had shrunk to zero.
“Tessa.” She waited while the child scrambled off the sofa, the bear clutched in one hand. She held out her hand and the child took it.
The secretary threw the panelled teak door wide. A sense of unreality swept over Ella as she approached the office. Today Tessa might have a father. Dear heaven. She struggled to get her head around the idea. An absent, anonymous man who’d abandoned Chrissy, a man Ella and her family hadn’t factored into Tessa’s upbringing.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the lion’s den.
Two men—where Ella had expected one lawyer—dressed in stylish dark worsted suits, crisp business shirts and silk ties, stood when she entered. They’d been sitting in low, burnished gold, leather armchairs, but broke off their conversation to rise at her arrival. The similarity between them ended there.
Her attention skittered away from the face of the older man. She assumed he was the lawyer, Jacob Taylor. Her quarry became the younger man who’d stepped towards her. With his body encased in a minimalist, form-fitting Lanvin suit, he looked as sleek and lethal as a bullet. His face could have been carved from marble—classic lines, strong bones and a determined chin. The russet brown hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail and the gold stud in his right ear shattered his veneer of sophisticatio
The friendly interest she’d programmed herself to display at this meeting evaporated as their eyes met.
And held.
His steel-grey gaze probed deeply, demanding access to her closest held secrets. Her instinct to share was physically and emotionally shocking. This close, his subtle scent, sandalwood with a dash of something spicy, teased her nostrils, undermining her resistance and offering a giddy temptation she struggled to understand. Her greeting caught in her throat, and she took a step back. Her nerves stretched tight, her body responding to him even as the blazing intelligence concentrated on her shifted into suspicion. She couldn’t look away.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The tension in his liquid chocolate voice rippled through her. This man couldn’t be Tessa’s father. The ferocity of her denial rattled her. Every cell refused to accept he’d been her sister’s lover. And some remnant of reasoned thought nagged at her. He’d have eaten Chrissy alive.
“Eleanor Anderson.” With an effort, she gathered her professional poise. “Chrissy’s sister. Ella. You must be Drew.” She reached out a hand.
“You know damn well I’m not Drew.”
“If you aren’t Drew, who are you?” Off-balanced by his instant attack, she tried to steady her jumpy nerves. Withdrawing her hand, she turned to the older man, who was staring at Tessa. “Mr. Taylor, your letter requested Chrissy meet you here about Drew Browning’s paternity and ...” She stumbled to a halt over the word “custody,” then shook her head as a bizarre idea formed. “You can’t be Drew?”
“I’m his father, Peter.” His presence confused her further but confirmed the identity of the pirate king.
She stretched out a hand for a second time. “Then you must be Mr. Taylor. Good morning.”
“Where’s Chrissy?” Taylor demanded.
Before she could answer, Tessa’s soft voice ricocheted around the room. “Mama’s in heaven.”
Ella gathered Tessa into her arms, hugging her tightly. She buried her nose against the child’s neck to hide the tears threatening to spill over. “That’s right, my darling,” she crooned. “Mama had to go away.”
“You must be devastated,” said Peter gently. “A sudden accident?”
“An illness,” Ella responded to his genuine sympathy. After a country funeral, sympathy was familiar territory. She’d learned to handle well wishes from near strangers.
“We should have acted faster.” Peter turned to the silent lawyer. Taylor monitored her every move, cataloguing her sins. “Chrissy didn’t say she was sick, did she? When did she die?”
“Ten days ago.” The longest two hundred and forty hours of Ella’s life.
“I’m sorry I didn’t meet her. If we hadn’t delayed ...” His distress obvious, Peter glanced at Jacob Taylor.
“I don’t know when Drew employed Taylor Law, but Chrissy wasn’t often conscious in her final days,” Ella admitted. Those relentless days, when hope was gone and her sister’s spirit had unwound like the spring in an old-fashioned timepiece. “You wouldn’t have been able to question her.”
“You’ve misunderstood. Jake’s representing my wife and I.” Peter stared at Tessa where her head rested against Ella’s shoulder. “And this is Tessa.” His voice softened, his mouth stretching into a smile as he studied the little girl.
“’Ootles fell,” said Tessa.
Peter swooped to pick up the toy and handed it to her. “Ms. Anderson, Eleanor.”
“Call me Ella,” she said automatically, while she struggled to fit this new piece of the jigsaw into any kind of coherent picture. “I don’t understand. The letter mentioned ‘Drew Browning.’”
“Please sit down.” Peter Browning opened his arms in welcome.
Taking a steadying breath, Ella scanned the sparse but elegantly furnished room, choosing the two-seater sofa, leaving the armchairs for the pirate lawyer and ... Tessa’s grandfather? Peter’s presence reminded her there were other players in family disputes. A mistake not to anticipate who might be present today.
She settled Tessa beside her, placing her bag on the low central table. A single bark to bark piece of cedar, prized in her stretch of country above all other timbers. Beautiful, rare and very valuable—a timely reminder she’d entered an alien universe. Presumptive grandfather, not father, had chosen wealth and power to guard his back. What the hell was going on?
Tessa tucked Tootles safely between them, even her childish instincts recognising danger and seeking to protect. Ella rubbed Tessa’s cheek and patted the bear.
“How can we help you?” Jacob Taylor interrupted.
“I received your summons.” Less than eighteen hours ago, but Ella’s mind still whirled with the speed of having her world tipped on its axis.
“Chrissy asked me for this meeting.”
“I don’t understand.” Ella fell off the edge of a cliff she hadn’t seen coming; Taylor’s words tipping her into a spinning vortex. She turned to the older man. “Your son didn’t initiate this?” Her voice cracked. Her vision blurred.
“Ella ... Eleanor, are you okay? Can I get you a drink—tea, coffee, water?” Peter’s face held concern.
Returning her gaze to Taylor, her mouth went dry. More than wealth and power—a history of ruthless elimination of opponents. Any sign of weakness on her part would be an open invitation to take advantage of her. Chrissy, what didn’t you tell me? “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for a cup of tea. But, thank you.”
“What don’t you understand?” Taylor studied her with the intensity of a lepidopterist examining an exotic butterfly on the end of a pin.
“I assumed Drew contacted you,” Ella said. Maybe he’d heard from a mutual friend that Chrissy was dying? Maybe he’d finally bothered to check if there’d been consequences of his relationship with Chrissy?
“Drew’s not in Australia.”
“London’s not another planet.” She was babbling, trying to distract them both.
“You know Drew’s in London.” Taylor pounced on her admission.
“Chrissy said he was. She followed his blog.” With the dedication of a true fan, and she’d never once mentioned he was her lover. Ella had listened with half an ear to her sister’s gushing adoration and never guessed he was Tessa’s unnamed father. Did that make her gullible or an idiot? Or had she been selfishly content when Chrissy insisted Tessa was hers alone, and she wanted Ella to look after her when Chrissy died? “She knew some of the people he wrote about. I had no idea they’d had any kind of personal relationship until I saw your letter.”
“Yet you assumed I was Drew?” Taylor challenged.
“Based on your age.” Ella hadn’t anticipated the direction of the conversation, leaving her floundering. “Celebrity gossip doesn’t interest me, and essentially he’s a gossip columnist.” Why had her sister contacted Jacob Taylor of all the lawyers on the planet, and why hadn’t she told Ella?
“You didn’t check what he looks like?”
“No, I had other priorities last night.” Ella hadn’t cared until he was linked to Chrissy in Taylor’s letter. Disbelief had pinned her to her chair, until a desperate anxiety had driven her to check her niece was safely asleep. She’d stayed to keep guard, fighting sleep as long as she could. In her dreams she was arguing with a faceless lawyer. She insisted she had custody of Tessa. He laughed, and said, “You have nothing in writing.” She’d woken, dripping with sweat. “I ran out of time this morning.” She straightened Tootles in her niece’s slackening grip.
Taylor’s penetrating gaze narrowed in speculation. “When I received her letter, I talked to Peter.”
“Not Drew?” His hesitation gave Ella a possible answer to the question most necessary for her sanity. “Drew denies paternity?”
The older man interrupted. “When Jake told me, I asked him to arrange a meeting.”
“Why did you agree to a meeting, Mr. Taylor, if Drew denies the claim?”
“This isn’t about me.” Taylor waved an impatient hand. “What do you want?”
“I want to see Chrissy’s letter to you.” To know what Chrissy asked for. What she offered in return. Then I will wake up and discover this is all a bad dream.
“Why?”
