Page 9 of Behind These Four Walls
Talk about “Black don’t crack.”Isla forgot herself, openly gaping at the distinguished chairman of the Corrigan Group conglomerate,who’d retained the looks of his youth. Victor carried a level of command that was otherworldly, never losing a step. That same air of importance and power emanated from him, stretching from him like tentacles, wrapping her in them in the small space they were in. It was equal parts suffocating and astounding, seeing him in person, being so close that if she wanted, she could touch him. Well, right before his group of men and guards ground her into dust.
Victor was every bit as large in person as he’d been in the photos and interviews she’d seen throughout the years, yet there was something else about him that she couldn’t put her finger on, even though she knew he was cutthroat.
He was flanked by several others. The ones she recognized from the time she’d spent performing cursory searches of the family were his trusted right-hand manager and everything man Dixon, who never left his side; Bennett, the younger of Victor’s two sons, from his current marriage, who looked like a model in a tailored designer suit, with a touch of haughtiness that said he knew how good he looked; and Myles, the oldest, from Victor’s first marriage, who was the spitting image of his father in both looks and demeanor. His hard-set, reserved demeanor contrasted Bennett’s softer and more conciliatory one. Another man, who was tall, stocky, and sporting a well-cut beard, had an eternally tanned look, even in winter, and spent most of his time in the gym, kept a step behind Bennett. The other men who stepped out last, she guessed, were lawyers, accountants, or security. It was difficult to tell the difference among all the suits and grim expressions.
“You’d better have answers,” Victor was saying. His tone was fierce, and though his words weren’t directed toward her, Isla still shuddered. Isla inched closer to her side of the elevators, praying one would open before any of them noticed her. She kept most of her back to them, but the urge to get a good, long eyeful of the man and the myth she’d heard about ten years ago and basically cyberstalked since then was too great, and she sneaked sidelong glances while also trying to pretend as if she wasn’t looking and definitely wasn’t listening.
He paused to continue talking, the group stopping short of bumping into each other to prevent themselves from touching him. “I want to know how this was overlooked and how he was able to pull it off. This was on your watch, Bennett, Danny.”
“Yes, sir,” Bennett and the stocky tanned one said in deference.
None of them acknowledged her. She thought they didn’t realize there was another person lurking in their bubble, listening to him grouse, or else they’d surely have shut him down, though she doubted anyone could. Victor Corrigan started walking again, and then his posse, as she inched around the rear of them to slip into the elevator they’d just vacated. She breathed a sigh, dodging that bullet, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her be.
She popped her head out through the doors as she held them open for one last peek. The group had taken a right at the corner, heading toward the conference room, but the older son, Myles, slowed a half step, his attention caught by the elevator’s ping from being left open against its will. He took a step back, and his gaze shifted in her direction. A second too late, Isla threw herself back inside, pressing against the wall and praying he hadn’t caught her watching them or, worse, wouldn’t come looking. She struggled to find the same circularLbutton she’d pressed a hundred times before. The doors began sliding shut, and when she gathered the courage to look back up, no one was staring back at her.
Isla leaned against the handrail in the elevator as it zoomed down twenty-nine floors. Now everything came crashing down on her. They didn’t recognize her. But why would they? It wasn’t her they knew. It was Eden. Still, the sight of Victor Corrigan was a gut punch back to the past, forcing all of it to rush back with nauseating clarity and memory.
She’d never met Victor Corrigan in person. She’d never known he existed until her best friend at the time, Eden Galloway, had spoken of him. That was over ten years ago, back in Daytona, where she and Eden had met.
The few times Eden had referred to this family, she’d said they were powerful, that her mother had once worked as Victor’s personal assistant and was accused of something and abruptly fired. She said her mother was driven out of Charlottesville and was never the same afterward. Eden had made them sound ominous and threatening. This family had destroyed her mother’s life and Eden’s as a result. The few times Eden had mentioned him, it had been with contempt, bitterness, and rage.
Then, after Eden’s mother Elise died and Eden and Isla decided to run away to LA, they took a Greyhound cross-country, making a stop in Virginia. When Isla asked why they were there, Eden only said she had unfinished business with the Corrigans. She left Isla alone in their motel room one night, saying everything would be over after then. That was all Isla knew.
That was the last time Isla saw Eden.
Chapter Seven
Six Months Ago
A week later Isla was at her three-days-a-week part-time job as an eldercare companion, halving one of the Tuscan turkey sandwiches for Miss Lydia so they could sit for lunch as they always did. She was half listening to one of Lydia’s daytime talk shows when the local station interrupted with breaking news.
“I’m standing on the side of the 91 East, where early this morning, a vehicle was found with one deceased individual inside.”
“Goodness,” Miss Lydia said from her spot on the pale-blue couch. She leaned toward the TV to get a better look and listen. “How awful.”
“Passersby noticed three tagged dogs several yards away from the SUV and checked it when the dogs continued to linger near it. There they found the body deceased from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound,” the anchor continued somberly. “The employee, just identified as Matthew Leonard, worked in the accounting department for an LA-based shopping mall, a subsidiary of the Corrigan Group.”
The steady slicing of the green apple set to be part of today’s lunch slowed to a stop. Isla stood in the kitchen, the knife hovering in the air, the apple a distant memory. Like Miss Lydia, Isla leaned in the direction of the TV to get a better look and listen.
“Mr. Leonard had just recently left the company after coming under increasing scrutiny for alleged misappropriation of funds andwas facing mounting legal and financial troubles. He leaves behind a wife and a baby less than a year old.”
Isla moved so she could see the screen in the living room. It flashed a smiling photo of Matthew Leonard, his arm over his wife and the baby cradled in her arms, with their faces blurred. Then the screen switched to the company doors as entering employees shied away from the cameras while reporters threw questions at them, asking if Leonard’s alleged dealings and his sudden resignation had played a part in his death.
Of course they did.Isla leaned against the doorframe as she watched Bennett Corrigan and that Danny fellow wave off the throng of reporters with no comment and enter the building.
“They move fast,” she mumbled.
“What was that, honey?” Miss Lydia asked from the couch. “This is the first in a while I’ve heard bad things about the Corrigan Group. They do so much humanitarian work. Even I know them from before I retired.”
She went on, but Isla was in her own head. Leonard had died last night, but the news already had so much information about a misappropriation of funds. Nothing about an affair. Isla didn’t know anything about missing money. How had her team missed this?
The anchor continued, “This incident has left his family and the company shaken and taken by surprise. Chairman Victor Corrigan, through a company spokesperson, said, ‘The Corrigan Group and all its subsidiaries are a family here and worldwide. One of our family was lost. The allegations don’t matter. What matters is that Mr. Leonard’s life is honored and his beautiful family is taken care of. And if you or anyone in need of help is thinking about self-harm, please dial 988 or contact any of the appropriate local numbers listed below. Please reach out to someone. We are so sorry for Matthew and his family. It is a deeply tragic loss, and we at the Corrigan Group hope you will respect the Leonards’ and our grief during this devastating time.’”
Isla’s mind started working. If Leonard had been embezzling from the company, why blackmail him with photos of an affair? What was there to blackmail? They had enough to get him and send him to prison. What’s more, why hadn’t Rey gotten wind of any of it, even with the time they’d had to pull up dirt on him? And what had driven him to make the choice he did when either choice, the affair or embezzlement, would have hurt his family? No word about his affair either.
Maybe to him, being labeled a thief was better than being labeled an adulterer. Was this what the Corrigans considered “taken care of”?
His death left a mark on her, like the deaths of others who had been in her life.