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The bottle ploy had worked even better than Jess had hoped. She had surreptitiously copied Hez’s key while she and Simon were at his condo for a dinner with him and Savannah. Then it had been a simple matter to slip in while he was testifying in Beckett’s trial and drop the bottle in his trash. She’d expected him to find it that evening. That would have rattled him plenty and kept his focus off TGU’s finances—but having Savannah find it must have been devastating. No wonder he was obsessed with that bottle.
She tried not to think about the pain in her sister’s face when they met at University Grounds. The double whammy of the tenure committee’s decision and the wine bottle must have hit her like a sledgehammer. But Jess didn’t have a choice, did she?
“What about our police source?” English Cream asked. “Has the lawyer tied the bottle to them?”
Jess’s ergonomic chair squeaked as she leaned back. “Yes, but the lawyer is wrong, of course, so that’s just taking him down a dead end. If anything, it’s leading him away from the source.”
“I see.” English Cream paused for a moment. “What about you? What will you do if he accuses you?”
Jess had thought of that too. “I’ll deny it, of course. It doesn’t matter whether he believes me. Even if he blames me, he’ll chalk it up to our, ah, personal history.” This wasn’t the first time she’d done something that undermined Hez’s relationshipwith Savannah. He’d never connect the university’s finances to Jess putting a wine bottle in his trash.
“Good. Very good.” Jess could almost see English Cream’s little nod of approval. “Perhaps we should accelerate our plans—strike while the lawyer is distracted and key supervisory positions are vacant.”
“Right,” Punisher said. “Best time to rob a store is when no one’s watching the register.”
Jess’s fingers dug into the armrests of her chair. She couldn’t let TGU implode while Savannah was still there. Jess had a golden parachute carefully packed for herself, but her sister didn’t. Savannah would be in free fall—jobless and with a black mark on her résumé. And she might try to interfere with the university’s collapse. She could get hurt. “We should stick to the original timetable. Acting sooner creates too many risks.”
“I think not,” English Cream replied. “We move when the money is ready to be transferred.”
“Right,” Punisher put in. “No time like the present.”
Jess’s gut clenched. She had to save her oblivious sister from the Mack truck barreling toward her, but how?
Chapter 7
The past two days had moved as slowly as turgid swamp water. Savannah had tried to keep busy by working on her résumé and not worry when Hez answered texts with one-word responses. On paper she looked like a wonderful candidate, but she feared finding another job wasn’t going to be easy.
Before she stepped into Petit Charms, she shot a glance up at Hez’s balcony, but there was no sign he was home. Just as well. If he had time to think it through, surely he’d see her suggestion made sense. Wouldn’t he? She shook off her worry and stepped into the sweet aroma of powdered sugar and sweet dough.
Her order of six beignets was ready, and she paid for them and a coffee. As she turned to leave, she spotted Helen Willard and two men at a round iron table. Helen always looked like an approachable grandmother with white hair curling around her face. She was barely five feet tall and turned a smile on everyone—except a Legare. Savannah recognized Helen’s sons, David and Michael.
Though her last conversation with Helen had turned sour, she approached the three of them with a smile. “Goodmorning. I wanted to let you know my book was accepted for publication, and I’d love to give you a copy. I think you’ll like it. I made sure to recognize the huge contributions to TGU made by Willards over the years.”
Helen squared her narrow shoulders. “Why would I be interested in the words of a con artist? You tricked me to get access to the Willard letters for your own purposes. The least you could have done was to be honest with me. Legares have cheated us through generations. I have nothing to say to you.”
David lumbered to his feet. His gut strained at the constraints of a too-tight belt as he leaned over to help his mother up. “She’s not herself today. I’m sorry for her harsh words. I know you were trying to be kind.” He offered his mother a beefy arm.
Michael rose as well and took his mother’s other hand. He was about the same height as his brother, though his fine-boned but muscular build contrasted with the burly David. His blond hair was going gray at the temples, but Savannah had seen plenty of women give him an appreciative glance or two.
Savannah sent an apologetic smile at the group and exited first, practically running for her car. She should have known better than to approach the elderly woman. Her hatred of the Legare family wasn’t misplaced. Political winds of change at TGU had blown the old lady right out of her home, and she now lived in a run-down bungalow.
Anticipating a sweet treat to soothe the morning’s confrontation, she sped along the short drive to her office. Her phone rang as she shut her door behind her and set her coffee and beignets on the desk. Her gut clenched when she glanced at the screen.
He rarely called, but maybe he’d heard the news. “Hey, Dad.”
“Savannah, the presidential search committee wants to talk to you. Are you free right now?”
“Sure. I don’t have class for another hour.”
“We’ll be right there.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
She didn’t have the bandwidth to wonder what the committee wanted. Maybe they were considering Jess as a possible candidate. Jess would be an excellent president.
Savannah scarfed down a beignet, then slipped down the hall to the bathroom, where she washed the powdered sugar from her hands and made sure her face didn’t have a dusting of white. After she got back to her office and took a sip of coffee, her father bustled into the room with two other committee members in tow.
Her head was a blur as her father introduced the trustees, Harry Winslow and Ira Duncan. She’d never had a need to meet the trustees, though she was sure Jess would know them. They refused her offer of beignets, and Savannah pulled chairs into a circle and gestured for them to be seated. Her dad wasn’t one to sit. Standing was his way of maintaining control.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The university has always done best with a Legare at the helm. We didn’t want to contact you while you were up for tenure, but now that you’ve been turned loose, you’re free to consider what’s best for TGU. We want you to take the vacant president’s seat.”