Page 5

Chapter 5

Jacqueline Bennett Carter

Watcha Cove, July 2015

When her children came rushing down the hall and burst into their—well, now her —bedroom, she didn’t know what she was going to say. It hadn’t even occurred to her to go get them.

Jacqueline was transfixed by the sight of her husband’s dead body. She folded his arms tastefully across his chest before laying a white sheet over his five-foot-nine-inch frame. Then she second-guessed herself and pulled the sheet back to reveal his face, then opted for the first option again and put it back. It was hard to know what to do.

She let her body sink into a plush chair that she had designed expressly for this spot facing the window. She felt like her bones were collapsing underneath her skin. They seemed to be changing structure, liquifying into something soft and weak. She heard something slam into the house. A branch? An exclamation point to the hurricane ravaging the tiny Massachusetts island they were on. The storm keeping away interventions from the outside world.

She went into the bathroom where, an hour ago, she’d stumbled upon her husband (or was he her former husband now?) sprawled out in such an unbecoming fashion. Many times over the decades that they had been married, she’d flippantly wished that her husband would just hurry up and die, but the reality of his passing was so much more painful than she’d anticipated. Jacqueline always thought of him as a Jack Russell terrier, so small and smart and territorial, with such a sense of bravado that you really couldn’t help but be convinced that following his scent was the only path forward. Mostly, she felt completely ill equipped to live life without him. William Carter Jr. was many things, but head of his own household and head of his own company were his two favorite identities.

The room still smelled like him, a mixture of his bodywash and shaving cream lingering in the air. In the bathroom, she tried to keep herself busy, coaching her body back into sync with her brain. She drained the remainder of William’s beard hairs down the sink. She ran the silver razor under the water and felt the weight of it in her palm, the last bit of luxury that he’d held. She returned the razor to its stand behind the tall mirror on his side of the double vanity, then shut the door. She had the fleeting thought to complete his shave for him. She knew that he would prefer that it wasn’t left unfinished.

She straightened the rug where he fell and used a plush white towel to mop up the shaving cream from the floor and counter. The Italian linens were custom designed for this property, stamped with the stenciled outline of Martha’s Vineyard. She had thought it a unique touch. Before they moved William Carter Jr.’s body from the floor, a team of the domestic staff had helped her adjust his clothing and clean off his face. Then six people had maneuvered his body onto a sheet, lifted him up by holding the edges, and carried him as if he were already in a casket. They’d deposited him gently on one side of the king-size bed. Jacqueline would have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

She smiled slightly. Even in his death, William was able to dictate everything she did. Satisfied with the bathroom being returned to presentable, Jacqueline ventured over to her own vanity and opened up the mirror. Her children were bickering with one another in the other room. To officially transform into the grieving widow character, she would need some assistance.

A pristine arrangement of orange pill bottles was organized at her eye level. The pharmacy, as she liked to call it, was where she stored her prescription medications, of which there were many. She reached her right hand forward, surprised at how wrinkled it looked, confused as to whether her hands had always appeared so old or if it was something that had just happened in the last hour. The faint pink of her almond-shaped manicure was youthful compared to the lines and ridges on her brown skin. William Carter Jr. liked to say she was the same hue as the inside of a tree that had been cut open; the tawny undertones of her face were like a spotlight shining from within. He thought it was remarkable that she was both bright and brown at the same time.

She closed her hand around two different pill bottles and shut the mirror. Her reflection, which showed her deep smile lines, mocked her. She wasn’t smiling. She was tempted to take a Klonopin and a Xanax but hesitated with the latter.

She ran the water in her sink, not bothering to reach for a glass. She flipped her hair to one side, dipped her whole head directly beneath the faucet, and filled her mouth up with lukewarm tap water. She opened her mouth again ever so slightly to let the tiny baby blue pill in and swallowed everything together. Though it was impossible for the medication to work that quickly, she swore she felt she was being gently rocked as it made its way down to her stomach. She considered adding the Xanax again, but she didn’t want to mix too many sedatives. Not that anyone could really judge her—her husband just died, after all—but she suspected she should probably be more present than double-dipping in medications might allow. She had a second thought and popped a Xanax from the bottle anyway before she returned it to shelf, pocketing the pill for later.

Her phone, still in hand, started buzzing. Given the storm, she was somewhat surprised to have reliable cell phone service. She frowned at the caller ID. It was the Carter Corporation’s CFO, Jermaine Davis. Jacqueline considered him William’s other wife. Jacqueline managed the home, his children, and social affairs, and Jermaine managed his money, sort of. Truthfully, there were several people whose job was to look over the Carter wealth, but Jermaine was definitely William’s most trusted staff member. The Carters employed many people who tried to ingratiate themselves with William over the years, but Jacqueline had once found a discarded note from Jermaine in an office waste bin that read, “I aspire every day to make you proud. Your work ethic and what you have built remain a guiding light for me. You are a true beacon for the community, for your family, and for the world. I want you to know that you can always count on my loyalty and support.”

The note was nauseating in its sincerity. It was clear to her that Jermaine wanted, more than anything, to be considered family by William, which was normal-ish, she supposed, for the amount of time they spent with one another. But over the twenty or so years that Jermaine worked for William, Jacqueline found his sycophancy desperate.

She began to answer cautiously, not really sure what she was going to tell him. “Hel—”

“Is it true?” Jermaine asked before she’d even finished her greeting.

Jacqueline, stunned into silence for the second time that day, didn’t immediately respond.

“It’s on the news,” Jermaine said.

“No,” Jacqueline whispered. “I mean, yes,” she corrected herself. It was true that William had died, but she thought she might at least have one day before having to deal with William’s death on a public stage. It had barely been an hour since William’s passing. Everywhere had eyes and ears.

“Where was it broadcast?” Jacqueline asked. Someone in this house had to have leaked William’s death, and now the world was aware that her husband’s $18 billion in net worth was floating in the financial ether.

“Jacqueline, it’s everywhere—CNN, the Times , Wall Street Journal , Forbes . Everyone is reporting on speculation. Obviously, there’s been no official statement, but apparently there was a nine-one-one call?” Jermaine asked.

She put pressure on the bridge of her nose and inhaled. “Yes, there was. I think he had a stroke, but we have no idea. No one can get here because of the storm. His body’s just lying on the bed.”

“Okay, I’m down island, but I can probably get to you within an hour if I leave now.”

“Jermaine, you can’t. The storm. It’ll be dangerous to drive, and who knows what the roads are like. Trees are probably down everywhere.”

“We have an eighteen-billion-dollar problem. I’m on my way,” he said before hanging up.