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“But these things have a way of coming out. You know that the opposition is always digging around to find dirt. How can I be sure I’ll be anonymous?”
Whit fumed inside and tried to keep his voice even. How many times did he have to explain things to this dolt? He’d never understood why the vice president had brought Horner in.
“For the hundredth time, Horner, we’ve set up four separate LLCs, each one owning the next, just to be safe. The resident agent is a dead guy with an address of an abandoned lot.”
“But don’t you have to give a contact number or email, or something?” he said.
Was this jerk for real? “Look, the Gmail address I created in the dead man’s name is the primary mode of communication, and the state is none the wiser. There is no way anyone can connect any of us to the new company. We dissolved the old LLCs to stay one step ahead.”
Everyone was looking at Horner. “Okay, fine,” he finally said. “I guess I’ll sign.”
“All right, everyone.” The vice president rose and nodded at each of them. “Job well done. Now we sit back and wait for the windfall.”
There were slaps on the back and laughter as they gathered everything up and went to their cars. Whit couldn’t stop smiling as he drove away, picturing the extraordinary new life he was about to embark upon.
They were back in business, all their problems solved. Sloane’s death had eliminated the last one—how to hide the money. The succession of bank transfers until the money landed in an offshore account was becoming too cumbersome for the large amounts hewas now making. But like a miracle, the Emerson-Chase Foundation had come to his rescue. Triad III was just the first shell company he’d moved money through. With sole control of the giant entity, he could now move money around with ease. It was just a matter of ironing out the final details. And then, no answering to anyone or anything. He felt like the king of the world.
- 64 -
WHIT
The next morning, Whit woke up early and in a good mood. Sloane’s funeral would take place in two days—a private affair for family only—and then he could get on with his life. This entire ordeal had been hard—her illness had taken a toll on him. He was ready to go back to a normal life: one with no sick spouses, no clinging women looking to him to solve all their problems. After showering and dressing, he sat down and dug in, savoring the taste of the sausage—an indulgence he rarely allowed himself. Taking a final swallow of coffee, he grabbed his briefcase and headed to the foundation, where he would take charge.
When he arrived, the receptionist greeted him.
“Good morning, Senator. I’m so sorry for your loss. Mrs. Montgomery was a wonderful woman. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Thank you, Rebecca. Just some coffee. Black.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I take it to Mrs. Montgomery’s office?”
“Please.”
He continued to Sloane’s office, which would now belong to him. He’d already contacted a decorator to redo the office—he’d keep the de Kooning, of course—and combine his with Brianna’s next to it. He needed more space.
He turned the knob on the office door, but it was locked. What the hell? He was about to go find Rebecca when she appeared in front of him with his coffee. He bit back his irritation and spoke in even tones. “The door’s locked. Do you have a key?”
“Oh no, I don’t. Let me see if Brianna’s in yet.” She scurried past him and was back in moments. “I’m afraid she’s not in yet, butshe should be here any minute. Would you like to have a seat in the waiting area until she arrives?”
“Fine.”
He followed her back and took a seat, fuming. Firing Brianna was going to be his first order of business. He needed his own finance person anyway. One who would cooperate and be paid handsomely to turn a blind eye to all the money that would be flowing through the charity. He checked his emails and read through some news updates while he waited. At 9:05, she finally arrived.
“I’m so sorry, Senator. I didn’t know you were coming in today. I’ll get the key right away.”
“I emailed you last night to let you know that I needed to take care of a few things this morning. I guess you don’t check your email after you leave here.”
Brianna didn’t answer. He followed behind her as she wheeled down the hall. She went into her office and came out with the key. “Here you go. Apologies for not seeing the email. But I’ve been so upset with Mrs. Montgomery…I can’t think straight. She was a wonderful woman. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” he said coldly, and turned on his heel.
He inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. He could still smell Sloane’s perfume in the air. Oh well, all traces of her would be gone soon enough. The high-backed chair was turned facing the window. Suddenly, it swiveled around to face him.
Whit’s mug crashed to the floor and his mouth dropped open. He clutched his chest as sudden pain telegraphed across it. He must be seeing things. Impossible—Sloane, alive! Smiling at him.
He felt his knees threaten to buckle and grabbed the back of a chair for support. “B-but…how c-can…you’re dead,” he stammered, his voice growing hoarse.
She laughed. “That’s funny. I feel very much alive.” She looked past him and spoke again. “Don’t I look alive, Emmy? What do you think, Athena?”