“Yes,” he said, also getting up close to the glass, so we were only inches apart. “But this one comes with a known medical condition. So easy to arrange for her passing, should that become necessary.”
I sucked in my breath. This guy wasn’t just slick, or sinister. This guy was a psychopath.
He smiled, and, for the first time, I could feel real fear bubble up inside me. Fear for Ash. Fear for myself.
“Tell me where you two were married, or I’ll hurt her,” he said. Quietly, calmly, so as not to raise an alarm with the guards who watched over the visitor room. “It’s that simple. I’ll start by breaking every finger on her right hand, and, if that isn’t enough to convince you, I’ll cut one off and bring it in here to show you.”
My hands clenched into fists. “I swear to God, if you touch a hair on her head, I will end you.”
He gave me a quizzical expression. “How? You’re in jail. You have no power in this. You’re going to tell me where you were married, I’m going to pull the license, and I’m going to marry Ashleigh Landen as planned. Meanwhile, you’re going to go to jail for years and years. No doubt you’ll begin to resent that she brought you to this end, then start to hate her. By the time they let you out, you’ll be so happy to have what’s left of your life back, you’ll never think about her again.”
A sense of helplessness overwhelmed me. But I was on the prisoner side of the glass. If I shouted or yelled or made any kind of scene, it would be used against me. I needed to remain clearheaded and control my anger.
Because I was dealing with a fucking monster.
He made a scissor motion with his fingers. “Tell me, or snip-snip.”
“Hearts of Love Chapel. On the Strip,” I offered. “This isn’t over, Sanderson. I’m not dumb. I will figure this shit out, and when I do, I’m coming for you.”
He frowned, and, again, it was an exaggerated expression. Like everything about him was a carefully constructed act.
“Maybe you’re not dumb, but you’re naïve as fuck. Needless to say, I’ll enjoy banging the shit out of your former wife.”
I took the hit and swallowed it. Then I watched him stand and casually walk away. A polite nod to the guard at the door.
“Campbell,” the guard on the other side of the glass called. “Let’s go. Back to your cell.”
Numb, I stood, and did as required. No emotion. No anger. No anything. I was going to have to swallow all of it to get through this. Because in that moment, I vowed to myself that I was going to make it happen.
I was going to end Evan Sanderson, one way or another.
A few days later
Marc
I was looking at my lawyer, John, on the other side of the glass, willing him to provide me with some good news. Since Sanderson’s visit, there had been no communication from Ash or George.
I’d told George the last time he came not to leave Ash’s side if he could help it. It was more important he was there with her, on the estate. Pretending things were normal, would, at least, keep her father in check.
Maybe. Now that I knew what Sanderson was, I couldn’t be certain.
All that time Ash had talked about her father, about the creep he’d brought around, and I’d thought it was so much drama. The burner phone, the way she hid her movements so as not to seem like she was stepping off the path her father had laid out for her. All of it made sense now.
She’d been legitimately frightened, and I’d fucking given her shit about it.
Another reason to be angry. Another chunk of it to swallow. My gut was so filled with suppressed rage, I could barely eat.
“Talk to me, John,” I growled.
He lifted his hands. “They want to know what you did with the twenty million dollars. I think if you tell them, we might be able to make a deal.”
“I didn’t steal twenty million dollars. I took two thousand from an account that was in my name, money I’d earned through investing it.”
“I believe you,” John said. “I do. But it’s about what we can prove in court. Or at least, I think it is. Now is probably the time to tell you I’ve never actually been in a courtroom.”
“I’m fucked,” I muttered.
Just then, the door to the visitor area opened and I saw a suit walk in. Another lawyer, no doubt here to see his client, but, unlike John, who was still carrying a backpack, this guy was sporting what I knew to be a three-thousand-dollar, designer briefcase. The guy caught my attention enough for me to follow his movements, only to realize he was stopping directly behind John.
“Marc Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve just posted your bail. They’re going to process and release you. I’ll have a car waiting outside. If you wouldn’t mind, there is someone who would like to speak with you.”
“I mind,” John said, twisting in his seat. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man turned over a business card to John.
“I’m his lawyer,” John said, reading the card.
“No. You are someone who just passed the bar exam. I’m his new lawyer. Steven Entwhistle. I’ll be waiting for you outside, Marc.”
He left then, and the guard was there behind me.
“Campbell. Let’s go. Bail’s been posted.”
It was surreal. One minute, John’s asking me to tell the prosecutors where I stashed twenty million dollars, then next thing I knew, I was back in the clothes I’d worn on the flight from Vegas, standing outside on the streets of New York.
John was there, too. Eager, clearly nervous. At least he hadn’t left me.
“I checked the guy’s credentials. Holy fuck, Marc. He’s, like, the leading defense attorney in the whole damn country. His firm is legendary. Why the hell am I here if you can afford him?”
“I can’t afford him,” I said, just as a limousine pulled up in front of the correctional facility.
The door opened, and Entwhistle stepped out. “Mr. Campbell, if you would please join us.”
I shook my head. I knew the players I was dealing with now. I had no certainty this wasn’t a trap. A more expedient way to get me out of the picture. What if Sanderson’s men hadn’t gotten to the chapel to intercept the license and it was already filed at the courthouse?
There was another way, beside divorce, to end a marriage.
“I don’t know you. I’m certainly not getting in a car to go anywhere with you.”
John stepped closer to me and I appreciated his loyalty. It would be no small thing to try to abduct both of us standing outside the correctional facility, where lawyers and police officers were constantly entering and exiting.
Entwhistle dipped his head inside the car. Then another suit stepped out of the car. Older than me by maybe ten years. Obviously wealthy, judging by the Rolex on his wrist. That, and his coat was tailor made to fit him. He was blond, tall, and wore the serious expression of a man who didn’t fuck around.
“Marc Campbell, my name is Dean Benfield.” He stretched out his hand and instinctively I shook it.
I knew that name. How? It was definitely in the context of work. Then it clicked. “You used to work for Landen.”