Page 24 of Her Submission (Monica & Henry #2)

Agency

Lyse thought she was crazy, but in tha.

“It just might work,”

way. Monica figured she didn’t have much to lose. After all, the IRS was already breathing down her neck, threatening to upend her life and the lives of her employees if she didn’t put this to bed right now.

Judith asked to be in the room when this went down at Le Salon, but Monica told her – honestly, begged her – to stay away. Huffing, Judith collected her things and left the salon before the agents from the IRS field office arrived. Lyse Fischer and one of her assistants were there to represent Monica, who had refreshments set out for everyone in the main lounge area when Agents Muller and Haskins arrived at the appointed time.

Monica didn’t waste time diving into her offer and Lyse made it clear that what was probably flagging the system was Onyx Blue’s lofty investments.

While Monica couldn’t provide irrefutable written proof that Jackson Lyle owned Onyx Blue, she knew the IRS could figure it out if put on his tail. And that wasn’t the only information she was willing to offer in return for the spotlight being removed from her.

“You were his partner over ten years ago,”

Agent Muller, who appeared to be the lead agent on this case, said after flipping through the documents Monica provided.

“Unfortunately, the farthest back we can go into an investigation is six years, and only if we find substantial errors in the past three years.”

She gestured to the papers on the table between them.

“This is from the past two alone. Isn’t that enough for you to get started?”

“Mrs. Warren…”

Agent Muller was as tall as Henry, as gauged from the way he bracketed his knees open with his elbows when he leaned forward.

“We appreciate what you’re trying to do. But unless you know of Mr. Lyle’s unpaid taxes from the past three years, I’m not sure there’s a deal to be made here.”

“Isn’t Onyx Blue proof enough that he’s funneling money into investments without claiming it on his taxes?”

“I’m not sure there’s enough here for my bosses to be impressed with us taking the laser off you, Mrs. Warren, and onto your ex.”

“I had a feeling we might head this direction.”

With a nod of affirmation from Lyse, Monica said.

“During my time with Jackson, I saw multiple instances of him buying up property across the country under multiple shell companies. About five years into our relationship, when he trusted me more, I saw some of his tax returns. At the time I didn’t understand how a man could have so many investments but not see them on his tax return. Now that I’m older and more experienced with business myself, I see it quite clearly: he didn’t claim any of it at all. Only enough to feel confident that you would not investigate further.”

Agent Muller sighed.

“As it is, our resources are quite thin already.”

“Yes, I saw in the news that you dropped the case against Francesca Blake and her husband.”

They had been in hot water for the past year for the same supposed thing Monica now accused Jackson of.

“Coincidentally, after it came out she made quite the contribution to our senator’s reelection campaign.”

It was not a senator that Monica had any love for. I campaigned for the guy he went up against. Monica saw so many things coming that she considered changing her name to Cassandra – especially since so few of the men in her life believed her.

“Funny how that works out.”

“I have no control over that, Mrs. Warren.”

“No, and I appreciate the position you’re in Agent Mullen.”

She glanced at the other, fairly younger man.

“Agent Haskins. You’re both doing your jobs to the best of your abilities. As a taxpayer myself, I appreciate it. What I don’t appreciate is having my taxes called into question when I know for a fact that your scant resources are much better directed at someone smuggling money into offshore accounts. Knowing Jackson, he’s still using the same ones he had when I was with him. I know you don’t have reach in the Caribbean or Switzerland, but you have reach in Wyoming, yes? How about Nevada? Alaska and Texas? Because I can tell you what casino he owns on the Strip under a shell company. I highly doubt he’s paid a single cent in taxes from it.”

Both agents conferred a few feet away from Monica while Lyse took notes on her laptop. They’ll come around. They always do, if there’s a bigger fish to fry. Monica knew the current political landscape, though. She didn’t have a chance. No matter who was in charge, or what faction oversaw her taxes, it affected her more than she ever liked to admit.

She always had to be prepared – and that included being able to divert attention from herself at a moment’s notice.

For my employees. For my daughter. For all my girls.

“Understand that you will need to come down to the office to give an official statement,”

Agent Muller said when he returned.

“We may be able to let you do it anonymously. I’ll have to check on that for you.”

“Appreciated.”

“And understand that unless this information is a credible lead, we cannot go forward with a deal to drop our audit and interest into your businesses, Mrs. Warren. Quite frankly, having seen what you do, your ‘Chateau’ in particular is always going to come onto our radar. I understand that you have taken great pains to be ‘legal’ with your… business… but it’s the exact kind of thing a more conservative era is going to look into. No offense. I’m merely sharing this off the record.”

He said that while looking at Lyse, who stopped typing.

“Both you and your accountants should be doing your absolute due diligence to ensure that everyone’s taxes are completely clean. Even if it means you’re paying for your primary employees’ tax filings.”

“I understand. I assure you I take all of this quite seriously.”

Despite the uncertainty Agent Muller offered, Monica heaved a giant sigh of relief when he left. This was the best news she had received in a long time.

Lyse agreed.

“That went better than I thought it would,”

she said.

“Now, I want to go over everything you’re going to tell them first. If you have some time, I’m ready.”

“What? You mean start figuring out what Jackson’s been lying about on his taxes?”

Another sigh.

“All right. Let me get a drink first. It will help jog my memory.”

While she also dipped into the bathroom to have a few minutes of privacy, she texted Henry how the meeting went and that she wouldn’t be able to stop by home before the Salon opened that evening.

“Too much to do here,”

she wrote.

“That’s fine. I might take Abby out to the movies with Eva tonight. She really wants to see the Minecraft thing or whatever it is.”

“All right.”

“Do you have any idea what the hell a Chicken Jockey is?”

“No.”

“Oh, great.”

When Monica walked back out into the lounge, she was ready. There were at least three things she could begin with – she only had to know how far back she should go.

Eat shit, Jackson. She marched to the couch where the agents had sat and grinned in giddy excitement.

This would be fun.

That wasn’t the only order of business that week.

“We’re not pressing civil charges against her.”

Monica held Henry’s hand between their chairs as they sat in the FBI office, facing a very different agent for a very different matter.

“That’s what we decided as a couple. Mostly for our sanity, but also our daughter’s. She’s… young and struggling to understand what’s happened.”

The head of the field office nodded in understanding.

“I do not envy either of you, Mr. and Mrs. Warren. This is a right mess. And considering your stations in the local community…”

He folded his arms on his desk, sharing his gaze between the two of them.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that you do not create a bigger media storm than this already has.”

Monica had been ignoring that. Outside of streaming apps, all of the TVs in their wing of the house had been turned off so they wouldn’t accidentally see the news. They were not talking to the media. Outside of the FBI and police, they talked to nobody about the incident if they weren’t in Warren Manor. Henry and Eva had patched up after their fight and Monica forgave her sister-in-law for being in a position where she had to spill the details. Jackson was no longer harassing Eva, so it was probably for the best.

It hadn’t been long enough for Monica to know if her deal with the IRS would pan out. Or if there will be a deal at all. But one thing at a time. Today was about hearing how things were going forward with Isabella.

Because while they were not pursuing civil charges against her, there were still criminal charges staring her down. Outside of a few of her friends in Bozeman, nobody was sticking up for Isabella or offering to help pay for her legal fees. She was still under house arrest in Montana with an ankle monitor strapped to her so she couldn’t harass them too much, but Monica knew there was no going back from this. Isabella was officially cut off from their family. The only way she would ever see Abigail in the flesh again was if Monica physically took her there. Or Abigail turned eighteen and decided to go for herself.

But that would come another day. Right now, the Warrens wanted to know what was happening to prepare themselves for more issues.

The field director was blunt that while there was clear criminal activity here – and that kidnapping charges would hold – they expected Isabella to use what money and influence she had to talk herself down to long-term house arrest and probation. Assuming she did not commit more crimes and violate probation, she would probably never see the inside of a prison cell.

In a way, Monica was relieved. If she could tell Abigail that Grandma was jus.

“busy in Montana,”

then all the better. Who knew how knowing Grandma went to jail for taking her to France and Thailand would affect Abigail?

“Sort of the best outcome we could have asked for,”

Henry drolly said in the back of their car as they were driven back to Warren Manor.

“Mom’s far away from us and reduced to long-distance meddling, but we don’t have to deal with a long trial or seeing her in prison. Abigail aside… that would affect all of us greatly.”

“Would it be terrible of me to say that I wouldn’t mind it?”

Before Henry could give the look, Monica said.

“Just for my fantasies. Let me have it.”

“I know more than anyone that my mother has left destruction wherever she’s gone. Especially emotional destruction. Which reminds me, who is taking Abigail to therapy this week? Do you need me to do it?”

“Ah, yes, I’ll be having my final meeting with the contractors on that day. Do know that I’ve been giving Matilda those afternoons off, so it will be just you and Abby for the day.”

“Oh, no. A father spending so much time with his daughter. Whatever will we do?”

“Whatever it is, I hope no fucking Chicken Jockeys are involved.”

Both Mom and Dad had the great displeasure of finding out what that was in the days following Abigail’s return from the movies. I actually heard Eva get angry at her for throwing popcorn all over her living room. Eva never got angry at Abby! She said.

“How could you do this to Ivy? You know she vacuums in here, and you’re being such a naughty kid, making her job harder!”

At least it got through to Abigail that it was impolite to trash other people’s rooms. Someone had to clean them.

“You so rarely say ‘fucking’ in this context, Princess.”

She snorted.

“Because I meant it.”

Her husband offered to wrap his arm around her. Monica removed her seatbelt and cuddled up next to him, content to enjoy the rest of their ride in peaceful silence.

The next day, as she prepared to take a long drive up to the mountains to help host a party at the Chateau that weekend, Monica received a phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello, Monica! This is Carly Wainright from Modern Femme magazine. I’m one of the lead writers and have a wonderful chance to profile someone from the area who is defining womanhood in their own way. Would you be interested in a feature in our magazine?”

“A… what?”

The first thing she did after hanging up was call her lawyer to make sure Carly Wainright wasn’t a scam. The second thing she did was call her husband and ask what the hell was in the air that week.

“Over here would be brilliant.”

Carly directed the photographer to the windows overlooking the grove of trees and marigolds growing along the perimeter of the yard.

“The lighting is perfect, don’t you think?”

Monica didn’t have much say over this outside of insisting that the photo shoot was in her home. Carly had pushed for the Chateau or the Salon, but Monica didn’t want to be defined by her places of business. Once upon a time, I would have been happy to feature the Chateau in a sophisticated way. But as the years went by, she became more defined by her family and her ascending the fake title of Lady Warren. Something that she also negotiated would only be allowed in the article once, to clear up any airs that she thought of herself that way.

Because she didn’t. She was Monica Warren, the wife of Henry and the mother of Abigail. Everything she did after that didn’t matter as much to her.

“You’ve been known for your elegant wardrobe and styling for as long as you’ve been known to the public, Monica.”

Carly was still enamored with the silver platter a maid brought in to serve tea.

“But it’s clear that you’ve brought such an authentic sophistication to this room. Does it come naturally to you?”

That was far from the only question she asked as they sat down after the photoshoot to catch the afternoon light. Monica kept her knees closed and her ankles off to the side as she sat up straight on the couch and offered Carly her undivided attention.

She asked about being an “outsider”

wife in such an old and prestigious family.

“I was never intimidated by it if that’s what you’re asking.”

She asked about motherhood and why Monica never had more children.

“I only felt the need to experience it once. Having that decision in my hand is one of the most powerful things about the modern age.”

She asked about her reputation for being New England’.

“most reverent madam.”

“I believe in an experience where all parties get something out of it. It’s not always money and sex. It’s companionship, expressing yourself, and knowing that nobody will judge you for what you like.”

And she asked about Monica’s quiet poise and how she could attract the attention of an entire room without ever looking at anyone.

“Do people say that about me?”

Yes, Isabella came up. It had all been in the news, after all, and Monica was able to pull some concessions here when she agreed it was the magazine’s exclusive interview.

“I do not wish to speak ill of the women who came before me in this family,”

Monica diplomatically stated, knowing who the magazine’s audience was.

“They all dealt with their relationship to the Warren name. For my mother-in-law, it was always clear that ensuring the family’s future a certain way was her most important duty. It was old-fashioned and unsuited for the modern era, and we couldn’t see eye-to-eye on it. When it comes to my daughter, all that matters is that she is prepared for adulthood. For womanhood. She will define it on her terms. She will be intelligent enough to know what direction to take her life and her family in when I, too, am out of touch and clinging to a world that no longer exists. It’s a fate that befalls most of us if we are privileged to live long enough.”

Carly was pleased with that answer. But not as pleased as when Abigail came unexpectedly running into the room after school, Eva chasing after her with the words.

“I told you that your mother had private guests today!”

echoing in the hallway.

Monica would not consent to her daughter’s face in the photoshoot but didn’t decline the opportunity to hold Abigail in her lap, hugging her and stroking the back of her head as she looked into the camera with a simple message.

“This might be the last time I ever hold her in my lap. I know it. You know it. Let’s get it on the record.”

“What’s the most important thing to you, personally?”

Carly asked after Eva took Abigail out of the room.

“A concept, as opposed to someone or a thing.”

Monica plucked one of her daughter’s blond hairs out of her lap. “Agency,”

she said.

“The ability to forge our destinies, to be the people we’re meant to be. That’s all I want for anyone. But especially my daughter.”

And myself. But that was a given. Monica had been doing just that for most of her life – even if certain people thought her the most tired stereotype in the universe.

She didn’t mind. She was perfectly content with the woman she was.

Why wouldn’t she be?