Here Comes Trouble (13 page)

“Sheila, I thought you of all people would understand I’d want things taken care of in a particular way. My way.” Alcina folded her hands in her lap. “I know my son. The last thing he’s going to want to do is pay any attention to how I want my life to be celebrated. And that’s what I want, young lady.” She wagged a finger at Sheila. “A celebration. No black. I want color, a celebration and good memories. This is just the next stage of life.”

Sheila’s heart twisted, and once again, she wondered where Malcolm was. Part of her had been so relieved when he’d told her last night he’d be here when she and Alcina went over the maudlin plans, but the longer the meeting went on, the more disappointed she was that he hadn’t shown up. She should have known not to rely on him.

“I’ve lived a good life, Sheila.” Alcina reached out her hand, waiting for Sheila to take it, and when she did, Sheila found the strength in the old woman’s grasp surprising. “I’ve had my trials, my worries, and I will admit these last five years have been lonely without Malcolm, but Ty has been a blessing.”

“They both love you,” Sheila said and leaned forward. “The fact Malcolm was here for your birthday is a testament to how much.”

“Oh, I’m sure I was a part of the equation,” Alcina said with a knowing smile. “But I wasn’t the only factor in his decision. The boy has plans. I can see the wheels turning in his head every time he walks in the room. And every time he looks at you—”

“Alcina,” Sheila sighed. “I know there’s a closet romantic lurking inside you, and Malcolm warned me you were hoping to act the matchmaker, but we are just friends.” Friends who kissed. More than they should. Friends who still had enough spark between them to put the fire department on alert.

“He hurt you. That’s hard to forgive.”

“Malcolm never owed me anything. He did what he thought he needed to do at the time.” She had to tread carefully with what she knew about Malcolm’s leaving five years ago. “There were factors we weren’t aware of at the time, not that it changes anything. This isn’t his home, where it will always be mine, so please don’t put hope in what can’t be.”

“Doesn’t mean the two of you can’t be more than friends for now, though, does it?”

“Oh, good grief.” Sheila rested her chin on her palm, recalling Malcolm had said the same thing last night. They were double teaming her. “You’re not about to give up, are you?”

“Not when it means seeing my boy happy.” Alcina patted Sheila’s hand as her eyes widened. “I’m not the crazy old woman who lives upstairs, my dear. I don’t believe for one moment that Malcolm did what he was accused of and that my son didn’t have a hand in it. While I don’t know the particulars, you’re quite right when you say Malcolm had his reasons for leaving. Knowing Malcolm, they were noble ones. Which you also know, otherwise you’d be angry with me right now for pushing you two together.”

Sheila ignored the last statement yet clung to the first. “If you knew what Chadwick had done—”

“He’s my son,” Alcina said, and for the first time that day, grief washed across the old woman’s face. “One day you’ll see. There’s no greater joy in this world than being a parent, even when they aren’t perfect.”

And there was nothing worse than watching them die. Sheila’s smile was tight as she withdrew her hand and got to her feet, struggling to keep her façade of calm from cracking. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m having lunch with Morgan and her fiancé,” she lied.

“Now there’s a wedding I can’t wait to attend,” Alcina said with a soft, wistful smile.

“I’ll be finalizing Chadwick’s art deliveries next week, but once the auction and the gala are over, we’ll get down to finalizing things.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere before then,” Alcina said. “But if I do, you have your marching orders.”

Tears burned the back of Sheila’s throat as she gathered her bag.

“Just one more thing, Sheila,” Alcina called as Sheila reached the door.

“Yes?”

“No tears. Not for me.” She waved a gnarled finger toward the solitary tear that had escaped Sheila’s control. “Not ever for me.”

“Maybe just today?” Sheila asked with a tight smile before she stiffened her spine and closed the door behind her.

She made it as far as the Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired glass window at the end of the hall before the sob erupted. She caught it in her hand as she leaned against the wall, eyes burning her as a searing band of pain locked around her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was her baby brother harnessed to a roomful of machines that drained the life out of him. Or another little boy with a too-big tool belt around his waist as he laughed up at her and made her wish on more than one occasion that he’d been hers. Her emotions cycloned, churning up memories she didn’t want; couldn’t bring herself to process.

And then there was Alcina, who would no doubt soon be joining them, albeit with a smile on her face.

“Sheila? I’m so sorry. There was a call—” Malcolm’s voice shot her to attention. She swiped a trembling hand under her eyes, but there were no tears to wipe away. He approached, the concern on his face easing the vise on her heart as he reached for her, touched her shoulders. “What is it? Is Gran okay?”

“She’s fine.” Sheila wished she didn’t have the overwhelming urge to burrow into him, to let him hold her as she cried out useless tears that wouldn’t show themselves. She didn’t blame them. Once she started, she didn’t know if she’d be able to stop. “She’s as feisty as ever. Wanted to make sure I knew that no matter what I wasn’t to let Nichols Mortuary handle any part of her funeral arrangements. Can you imagine?” Her eyes continued to burn. “Sorry. I, um. I need to go.” She pushed past him and dashed toward the stairs and left an echoing emptiness behind her.

“Sheila, wait.” Boy she was lightning fast even on those killer heels of hers. She’d pulled open the door before he’d reached the landing, the sound of voices brisk and short erupting from the porch. “Sheila.”

“What the hell did you say to her?” Ty barked as he came in the front door.

“Stay out of this.” As much as Malcolm wanted to go after her he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

“Malcolm?” Alcina was pushing herself off the chaise when he entered her room. “Where have you been? I thought you were going to be here when I met with—”

“I need this, Gran.” He popped the lid off the ceramic cat and took out the key to Chadwick’s office. He expected a protest, an argument, or even a demand of an explanation. When none came, he faced her and found her watching him, a mixture of sadness and encouragement on her face. “Gran?”

“Do what you have to do.” She nodded and folded her blanket. “It’s taken you long enough.”

“What is going on with you and Sheila?” Ty asked, but Malcolm shoved him aside, the sight of the navy blue suit his brother wore making him sick.

“Go with him, Ty,” Alcina’s voice echoed in the hallway as Malcolm unlocked his father’s office door. “This involves you as well.”

“What involves me?” Ty stopped in the doorway as Malcolm flipped on the light and let out a long breath as he headed for the bookcase. The fear and unease he expected didn’t descend. Instead, a wave of calm crashed over him as if confirming he was doing the right thing.

“What are you doing?” The panic in his brother’s voice sent Malcolm spinning to that day twenty-plus years ago when he and Ty had sneaked into their father’s office in an attempt to find out why he preferred spending his time in this room instead of with them. Little did they know being discovered by their father racing their Hot Wheels around his desk would leave Ty’s backside stinging for days—a punishment Ty blamed Malcolm for.

Chadwick had created a rift between brothers that day. A rift their father had been exploiting ever since.

“It’s time you heard the truth,” Malcolm said.

“Not this again.” Ty’s knuckles whitened on the doorframe where he continued to stand as if an invisible shield prevented him from coming inside. “Everyone else has moved on from what happened five years ago. Why can’t you?”

Malcolm trailed his fingers over the line of leather-bound books. “Maybe I have trouble with the fact my kid brother thinks I was capable of betraying everything I helped to build. And for the record, I wasn’t the only one who was set up.” He tilted Dante’s
Inferno
forward and revealed the keypad. A few seconds later, the bookcase slid forward, the lights to the safe room flickering to life.

Like a bug drawn to a zapper, Ty stepped into the office. “Do you know what Dad will do if he finds us in here?”

“I am past caring. You should be, too.” The room was as Sheila described, from the crookedly stacked boxes to the empty frames leaning against one another as if in support. The shelves were unorganized, as if some contents had been packed away while others had been abandoned. But it was the boxes he wanted. And the papers inside.

Malcolm skimmed the notes scribbled on the outside, setting some boxes aside until he uncovered one from the year in question. “It wasn’t my signature on the contract selling the water system to Worthington, Ty. It was yours.”

“Five years and that’s what you came up with? You can’t be serious.”

“Look where we are and tell me I’m not serious.” Malcolm stopped long enough to glance at his brother. “Nothing’s changed, has it? You were always so desperate for his approval you believed anything he said, especially after he made you a VP. Do you even remember how much paperwork you had to fill out when you started working for the company? How many contracts you signed?”

“Of course I don’t.” And there it was. The thinnest sliver of doubt on his brother’s face.

“I was twenty-four hours away from signing over those rights, Ty. No one was going to see a penny of profit, not me, and certainly not Oliver Technologies. You tell me, how okay would Dad have been with that? He played me. He knew the one thing that would get me out was to show me proof you’d screwed up, that you’d put your entire future and the future of the company at risk to impress him.”

“So you’re looking for—”

“That damned contract he showed me that night.” Malcolm slammed another box onto the table but this one proved as fruitless as the others. “The one selling off my invention for profit instead of giving it to charity like I’d planned. The one you signed. Because apparently seeing it in black and white is the only thing that will make you believe me.”

“I never signed it.” Ty said, then added, “That I knew of.”

Malcolm sagged, bracing his hands on the table and dropping his head. “And there’s the difference between us.” He looked over at his brother. “I believe you.”

Ty lowered his arms from where he’d braced them across the opening to the safe room, but his continued silence convinced Malcolm he was fighting a losing battle. He didn’t have time for this. Not anymore. He had what he wanted most, the company back. Why he continued to punish himself by banging his head against the brick wall that was his brother’s stubbornness was beyond him.

“Why am I bothering?” He swept his arms across the table and sent the files and boxes flying. The years of anger, of betrayal, of having been ostracized from his life surged to the surface. “Do you think I’m here for a family reunion? He’s driving the company into the ground, Ty, and he’s put you up front to take the blame, but before he does, he’s going to bleed it dry.”

Ty’s spine stiffened and he rose to his full height, glowering at Malcolm. “Oliver Technologies is doing just fine—”

“Dad’s been selling off his shares in Oliver Technologies for the past eighteen months.”

“Bullshit.” But the color drained from Ty’s flushed face. “He would never—”

“Jesus.” Malcolm scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m just not going to break through, am I? He’s broke, Ty. He’s planning on leaving the country, for Christ’s sake. He’s got so many gambling debts he’s circling the financial drain and desperate enough to be selling off shares and not paying attention to who’s been buying. And guess what? Your new board member Veronica Harrison? She works for me.” He wished he could take pleasure in the shock on his brother’s face, but all he felt was exhaustion and more sadness than he expected. “As of this morning, I own Oliver Technologies, a company that is so close to tanking I may as well rename it the Exxon Valdez. The high employee turnover, his refusal to invest in anything that costs capital. Dad has no plans to move the company forward and without that, the company cannot and will not survive. And there you are, right beside him, running it into the ground because you’re not steering the ship, are you? Dad still has his hand wedged firmly up your—”

“Malcolm, that’s enough.”

Alcina’s calm voice broke through his anger. He sucked in a breath as if he were an overworked vacuum cleaner. “Gran—”

“It would seem I’ll be needing to make some adjustments to my will after all.” She strode into Chadwick’s office, looking around as if she’d never been inside before, disapproval and disappointment mingling on her strained face. She brushed a slightly tremulous hand over the emptiness of her son’s desk. “Not to mention having a conversation with my investment advisor.”

“Gran, you’re not buying this? That Dad’s sold us out?” Ty swung on Malcolm. “This is what you wanted all along? Get back into her good graces, make her drink the Kool-Aid and, what, have her leave her shares to you?”

Malcolm advanced, ready to strike, but Alcina snapped her fingers, the loud crack of sound clearing the rage from his brain, and he halted. “You’ve not been gone so long to forget I won’t tolerate violence in this house, Malcolm. And you, Tyson Oliver.” Her voice took on that no-bullshit tone Malcolm had never liked being on the receiving end of. “I suggest you look me in the eye when you accuse me of being manipulated.” Alcina’s face reddened. “Or when you imply I don’t have a mind of my own. This has gone on long enough. You’re brothers. You’re family. It’s time you remember that and stop fighting each other. Think about working together to save the company instead of ripping it apart.”

“He’s had five years to concoct this fairy tale,” Ty countered, but the strength had gone out of his voice, as if he, too, was tired of arguing.