Page 59 of Behind These Four Walls
He frowned. “I need to get back to the office. That call from Japan? There are some things there at the office I need to follow up on because of it.”
She readily agreed, hustling to the couch and grabbing her bag and blazer, feeling off kilter and relieved and a host of other things. Like she’d dodged a Jackson-size bullet.
At the door, he stopped, and she crossed the threshold. “Isla,” he called, casting a spell that made her feet involuntarily rotate to face him again when her mind said to keep walking. He was looking at her again, his head inclined like he knew things about her she didn’t know.
“Let’s do this again. Yeah? I think our time would be well spent.” His eyes lingered where they shouldn’t have, his thoughts practically playing like a movie reel.
She shuddered, not even caring if he saw her do so. She gave him a tight smile with no answer and left like the devil was chasing at her back.
Chapter Forty-Six
Incoming docs. What do you want to do?
Isla sat in her room, her laptop glowing faintly as she read. The documents Rey had sent filled her screen—financial records, emails, and damning evidence of the accounts Bennett and Danny had opened to put the Corrigan Group’s siphoned funds in. The more she looked, the clearer it became that Matthew Leonard’s death wasn’t just a tragic accident—it was the result of a carefully orchestrated cover-up.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she debated the best recourse for the evidence Rey had sent her. Should she take this immediately to Victor and Myles and let them rectify what Bennett and Danny had done, knowing that whatever Victor did, if anything, would be internal and that it wouldn’t see the light of day because he would protect Bennett and the company’s image? Matthew Leonard hadn’t had that luxury of protection. He’d been thrust out in the open, his name destroyed for something he didn’t do. His wife and baby left alone to shoulder everything else. What was the fairness in that between the haves and have-nots?
As much as she was beginning to like Victor and see him in a different light, for once, the have-nots needed a win. Her fingers pressed the button to send.
Isla slipped her off-network laptop into the far corner of her closet, behind a laundry bag, just in case Brooke or even Bennett had someone enter her room. She couldn’t be too sure that everyone who worked here could be trusted.
The phone rang, and it was Mae on the other end, summoning Isla to Victor’s office in the main house. She didn’t want to admit that she was apprehensive about meeting Victor. She’d given him and the main house distance since the incident, but it seemed there was no more avoiding it, and Isla would meet her fate. Victor would either send her packing or have the cops waiting.
She ran through any possible scenarios and how she might keep herself on the estate if Victor did decide to get rid of her. It was a beautiful day, and the trees and flowers in their autumn colors made for a beautiful view that Isla hadn’t enjoyed since she’d been here. She took a deep breath. It was going to be what it was going to be.
Isla turned right on one of the now-familiar pathways to the house, her thoughts on her visit to Jackson’s home and how he played into everything. She had a pretty good handle on everyone else. But Jackson was a mystery. He didn’t work with Brooke like Dixon did with Victor. His role on the estate seemed more like that of an observer with a gum addiction, and the Brooke whisperer.
Victor was considerably older, and his impatience toward his wife was evident. But Jackson ... a tall, clean-cut, Midwestern-looking dude might be more Brooke’s cup of tea. A good-looking, available man who was at Brooke’s beck and call and happy to be that. Outwardly. When Isla was with him, she had a sense that Jackson held something deep inside, and it might not be a good thing.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She entered the house through one of the side entrances and found Brooke at a table in one of the attached lanais, arranging a vase of vibrant bluish-purple hydrangeas. Isla had kept a distance from Brooke ever since the almond incident, unsure of how to best deal with someone who would go to such lengths to force her out. She tried to pass by unnoticed.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you,” Brooke’s voice rang out, stopping Isla just as she was passing. “Your time is growing short.”
Isla stopped just in the doorway. “I wonder if you also said that to Eden after you framed her for setting off Holland’s allergy to almonds,” Isla chanced. “Who will you use those on?” She motioned to the poisonous flowers whose errant leaves Brooke had snipped.
Brooke gripped her gardening shears, her head snapping up. She would likely use them on Isla if she had the chance, but Isla left before anything more could be said or happen.
Dixon was waiting for Isla outside Victor’s office. She tried to read him and failed, which was maddening. He could have given master classes on the art of maintaining a poker face.
She motioned for him to bend closer to her height. He hesitated, casting her a curious look before he obliged.
“Am I fired?” she asked, trying to get ahead of the problem and come up with a quick solution.
She might be able to come up with something to save herself if she had a little heads-up.
“Just let me know so I’m prepared. I didn’t purposely poison him. Honest.”
For a split second, there was a crack in Dixon’s facade, and humor shone through, shocking Isla. She’d thought the man was devoid of all human emotion. “Only way to know is to go in, Miss Thorne,” he said, his polite refusal to give anything away annoying her even more. He was too damn loyal. “Let’s not keep him waiting any longer.”
Victor was standing at his desk. Papers were spread out before him as he studied one he was holding in his hand. He didn’t move as she approached. Usually, she was cool under fire, but the night before had done a number on her.
“Are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to have a seat?” He put the paper he was holding down and moved around the side to his chair. She took a seat, but not before her eyes swept the documents; she recognized ledgers and printouts of what looked like account transactions.
“I can explain about the drink,” she began, wanting to get ahead of everything.
He waved her off dismissively, taking a quick look at her. “You seem nervous. Aren’t you supposed to be some intrepid journalist? What happened toher?”