“Excuse me?”
“I think it is important that you understand the resources that you have available to you should you need them.”
“Resources?”
“Your husband, Cal, held a very important position with my company and aside from that he is family and I like to keep things internal, so to speak.” I feel my eyebrows rise. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Dr. Clemons,” he says simply and then it resonates—that was the woman that Chris saw in Chicago.
“She won’t be seeing Christopher as a patient anymore. He’s only to see Helen.”
“Excuse me?”
“It is in the best interest of the family which you are now a part of. I trust you understand the sensitivity of our predicament, not everyone can know.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t be serious? Chris can see whatever doctor he chooses to. This isn’t about your company, this is his life,” I say, completely taken aback at this man’s audacity.
“Helen is the best in her field and has a great team. He couldn’t be in better hands,” he says simply.
“You can speak to Christopher yourself but I believe that his choice was made for the very reason you want him to see Helen.” He sighs and stands from his desk.
“I apologize, I don’t think you understand. Let me clarify things a little further. Your penthouse on Michigan Avenue, is in one of my buildings. The Scott’s farm and house is on my property. The land your aunt Raven owns could easily be purchased. Your friend Hillary works at a company that is a subsidiary of—well I’m sure you can infer… Just so that you know, my best interest is in your best interest.”
I feel my throat starting to constrict. A chill creeps up my spine. What the hell did Cal do for this man, why would he be blackmailing me?
“I think we have an understanding?” he reiterates.
“Can I go now?”
“You don’t need my permission,” he laughs. I stand up and get to the door as fast as possible.
“Oh, and Lauren.” I stop in my tracks but don’t bother to turn around.
“It was pleasure meeting you.”
Chapter 11
Chris
I’ve never been the type to play games. I never had the time to. When Cal started to take over I didn’t really have the luxury of enjoying life. I didn’t date, I was too busy seeing doctors and trying to figure out what was wrong with me. All the sessions and medications left no time for life. Everything was put on the back burner: going to college, my music, my dreams… The only thing I wanted was to just be normal, to stop losing time. Then, I didn’t know about Cal, that he was living life for me, doing God knows what. When I found out about Cal and met Lauren it was hard knowing that all of these things were happening to me, but it seemed important to know. I was afraid of knowing but each moment that came back to me I felt a little more connected, I understood him a little more, and I hate it, but what I saw last night didn’t make me feel connected or help me understand him, I feel disgusted.
He had a man kidnapped. I don’t know what the hell he’s been doing or why. Why was he looking for this Clay guy? Did he find him, and what happened if he did? I’m more worried about what exactly he was involved in a lot more than how many women he screwed.
That’s what drove me here, back to Chicago, waiting for Dex to come out of his building. I had to wait two hours but I soon see him emerge in one of his thousand dollar suits, his phone in his hand.
“Dex! I call out as I jog to catch up with him. He glances back at me, he looks bored, like seeing me isn’t a surprise.
“What brings you to Chicago?”
“We need to talk,” I say adamantly.
“I have a lot to do today Chris. I don’t have time for the soap opera that is the Scotts' lives,” he chuckles but when I grab him by the arm, this time he does look caught off guard.
“Who is Clay Rice?”
His eyes narrow in on me before he tries to snatch his arm away but I don’t let it go. He needs to see that I’m serious.
“This is a Brioni,” he says with derision before pulling away from me and smoothing out the print I left on his suit.
“Is there a problem Mr. Crestfield?” Two large men have appeared behind me. Dexter sighs.
“No problem gentleman. Christopher I have some time to kill before my next meeting if you’d like,” he says, gesturing towards his car. I get in behind him and once the door is shut he immediately grabs a bottle of scotch and begins to pour himself some.
“How do you know about Mr. Rice,” he says, swishing the liquid in his glass.
“I remembered Dex. And I want to know what the hell did you have me doing for you? Was I some type of henchman?”
“Lower your voice,” he snaps.
“Tell me!” I shout.
“I had nothing to do with you and Clay Rice. That was all you, my friend,” he says.
“Did he…did I hurt someone? Is that what you meant that day you came to my house?” I ask cautiously. Dexter takes a deep breath.
“Don’t let your conscience eat you up yet. You have nothing to be guilty over as of now,” he says, staring at the glass in his hand.
“What do you mean, ‘now?’ Who was that guy?” He pauses a moment before taking a deep breath.
“Clay Rice was the man that was with your mother when she was killed.” The word sounds foreign to me. My mother, the mother I think of is Gwen Scott with long red hair and a smile that melts your problems away. The woman who took care of me for as long as I can remember, who's back home in Madison with my daughter. But after a moment the thought creeps in, one that rarely creeps in much with me. That though Gwen’s my mother, she’s not my biological parent, and the fact that my name wasn’t always Scott. It was Rice, a fact that should stick with me, but never has. I remember the day when I was ten years old that my parents sat down with me and showed me my birth certificate and asked if I had any questions, if I wanted to talk about my feelings.
I didn’t.
I had no feelings about it. They were all I knew, all that I remembered. No one else was important, the past wasn’t important and just like whatever happened before it, I buried deep down in no man's land.
“Killed. She was murdered?” I ask, my voice a ghost of itself. Every emotion in me seems to be on pause. I’d thought that my heart would speed up, that my breath would catch but I feel nothing.
Numb.
“She was shot,” he says simply.
“By Clay Rice,” I infer, putting the pieces together.
“That’s what Cal believes,” he replies.
“Was he ever convicted? Did he go to jail?”
“There wasn’t enough evidence.”
“So what happened to him?”
“After the charges were dropped he disappeared,” he explains and reaches into his brief case and pulls out a flash drive.
“This is all the information that I have about the case, information about both of your parents.” He is holding it out for me to take. My eyes stare at the little black drive that holds a key to my past, to a world I never knew about, or wanted to know for that matter.