Rise of the Notorious (25 page)

He barely recognized her sultry yet vindictive expression. She wore red now, her body draped in a dress that reminded him of blood. As she stared at him, those blue eyes he’d loved suddenly burned with ice cold fury, and his own widened as a jolt of fear shot through him.

Suddenly, a car drove past her at a rapid speed, blocking her momentarily from his view. He jumped in his own skin, his heart galloping wildly within his chest. In that heartbeat of a second, fear choked off his breath and trembled through his child’s frame.

The car passed, and his mother was gone. In her place stood Madison, wearing the same dress and cruel facial expression. He swallowed the lump that filled his throat, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing. Before he could do more than blink, his niece’s face twisted in an expression of absolute horror, just before the car struck her and the world went black.

He jolted awake, his eyes flying open and sweat beading on his forehead. His breath came out in rasping coughs as he stared frantically around his darkened bedroom, as though expecting to see the women there.

After a few moments, he managed to calm himself down. His heart was still beating furiously fast, but at least it had been just a dream.

A mortifying dream, but still nothing more than his imagination.

He tumbled out of bed, noting the clock read just past two o’clock in the morning. Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a strong drink. He took it with him into his office and collapsed in his favorite armchair.

The image of Madison’s face blurred with that of his mother in his mind, replaying over and over again as though hell bent on burning into his very skull. He fought to keep his eyes open as he sipped the bourbon, attempting to ward off the image.

Despite his efforts to be rid of them, the two most important women in his life continued to haunt him.

He had often compared the two of them, acknowledging the similarities that came from the bloodline. Madison possessed the same elegance, clever mind, and determined nature that his mother had. So it was no surprise that he should dream of them together, their faces meshing into one, stunning creature.

A creature of death.

He shuddered as he polished off the rest of his drink, his face strained and contorted with grief and disgust. The information he had learned earlier that day had changed everything he knew about the love of his life—his mother. His denial had been immediate, but there was no getting past the cold hard facts of what had been laid out before him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t rationalize it, and couldn’t accept it.

His mother had helped cover up what his father had done. Because of it, she was just as guilty of murder as Cyrus had been. Just as guilty as Madison was.

Marshall grit his teeth as anger surged into him, causing his hands to shake as he seriously considered hurling the glass he held into the wall just to have the satisfaction of destroying something. Had he been twenty years younger, he might have. Now he just didn’t have the strength left to do something so violent.

So instead he set the glass on the little table beside his chair and reached for the Army file he had received that morning. He opened it up again, scanning the documents inside.

This Paul Morgan had done a good job of covering for the murders. He had systematically stamped each of the eyewitness accounts as inconclusive, citing the confusion and terror of wartime. The report listing the evidence of rope around the bodies was also stamped as inconclusive, disproved by a follow up report confirming the presence of rope in that vicinity used for securing cargo on the trucks.

Every supporting piece of evidence that should have placed the blame on Cyrus Vasser was quietly buried under Morgan’s discrediting stamp.

But what he hadn’t thought to hide was the note, likely by his secretary, documenting the visit of Stella Vasser on October 2nd, 1944. Naturally, one would expect that he had scheduled the meeting with the wife of the accused soldier in order to explain to her his final ruling on the case and the actions to be taken against her husband.

Except that the date his secretary had stamped on the file was October 5th, 1944. Which could only mean that Stella had visited with Morgan and convinced him to initiate the cover-up. There was no other explanation; Morgan would not have covered up the crimes on his own, and Cyrus was overseas in France at that time, trying to get back to the States. The only person within the Vasser family who met with Morgan was Stella.

Which meant that Stella had known of the murders, accepted them, and assisted Cyrus in covering them up.

The very thought of it made Marshall sick to his stomach.

But what was almost worse than discovering the true nature of the mother he had worshiped his entire life, was finding out the incredible connection that Paul Morgan had, not only to his own family, but to the greatest enemy facing the Vassers. His contact had unearthed the information and written a note to him enclosed with the file.

The note had disturbed him more than the file itself.

Morgan’s wife had been of Vasser lineage, which explained how Stella was able to blackmail him. If the Vasser family had been torn to shreds by murder, then he and his wife likely would have suffered as a result of the association.

And Morgan’s son, Jack Morgan, was now running for a senate seat in South Carolina.

He was going up against the incumbent, none other than Senator Warren Shaw.

Marshall shut the file and tossed it aside, apprehensive and fearful for his family. He had no way of knowing if Shaw knew of this connection, but if the man ever found out, he’d surely use it against his opponent. Who wouldn’t? It was incredibly damning.

If Shaw did go public with it, what would this Jack Morgan do to soften the blow? Would he throw the Vasser family under the bus to save his own hide? Or would he join with them in combating the truth?

Only time would tell. But the whole mess left a bad taste in Marshall’s mouth and a feeling of dread in his gut.

For the very first time, he felt his age. Burdened by life and jaded by its cruelty.

He was helpless to do anything now. It was up to the young ones to protect the family. He didn’t have the strength left to fight.

Grant sifted through
the paperwork on his desk, pleased by what he saw.

Even though the press had begun to move on to other topics, Madison had left an impression. The New York Hotel had seen a healthy rise in reservations, and the deal that had been struck with the CEO of the McAllister Hotels had been publicly announced and well-received. The concept of Vasser luxury tied with McAllister convenience and affordability was a home run, and suddenly the cloudy future for his family’s company appeared lined with silver.

But being a born and bred cynic had him doubting the glowing, bright stars appearing on their horizon. Surely something was bound to happen that would put a wrench in their plans. That was what always happened, and he’d rather be prepared for the inevitable instead of starry eyed like his brother was. Even Madison seemed more optimistic, her ambitious spirit in full gear and her determination unstoppable.

The deadline for enacting the changes Madison had planned for the family was looming closer, just under a week away. Grant was surprised to see that both Cy and Duke seemed to be more accepting of this inevitability as it got closer. It was as if their eyes had suddenly opened to the possibilities. Or they had just lost steam in their battle against it.

Regardless, he was happy to see his family getting along better these days.

Shaw had quieted down since Lynette had gone to see him, which unnerved Grant. He didn’t believe that the man had ceased his efforts, only that he was biding his time. It was highly possible he was waiting for the good press to fade, in order to yet again dredge up the past as it related to his opponent.

Jorja had continued with her outspoken disgust with the Vassers, vainly attempting to keep the subject of Win’s suicide in the public eye. But people seemed to have moved on and less and less talk shows and publications were willing to humor her now.

He wondered if being brushed off like this would make her slink away, shamed, or if it would only encourage her to double her efforts.

The woman had always been a wild card.

His office door opened suddenly and Duke strolled in, looking oddly pleased with himself. There was a gleam in his eyes that Grant couldn’t interpret, but he decided the man was probably just in better spirits.

“Good morning,” Duke greeted, shutting the door behind him before taking a seat across from his cousin. “I assume that Madison is happy.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

Duke grinned, his hands tapping against the arms of his chair. “She’s putting her little plan in motion a week early, and it’s proving to be successful already.”

“The opportunity presented itself; we would have been foolish not to accept.”

“Right.” Duke nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it is a smart move. Not one I would have made, of course. But then again, I’m not the one in charge.”

He laughed, which made Grant a bit uneasy. “No. But your input is valued, Duke.”

“Right. Anyway, I wanted to come by and let you know that I’ve talked with my father. He says the reservation numbers are up at the casino, and that the protesters have left.”

“There were people protesting outside the casino?” Grant asked sharply.

Duke nodded. “The Hollywood types are all on Jorja Hale’s side. They have been protesting in front of the L.A. hotel and the casino for a few weeks now. But since Madison’s little display of arrogance, they’ve dwindled in numbers. Today, they didn’t show up at all.”

Grant let out a slow sigh, irritated that his cousin had not shared this information with him sooner. Then again, they were all so busy with their own obligations these days…

Before he could respond, Quinn knocked politely on the door to his office and poked her head in.

“Grant, the mail just arrived for you.” She lifted the stack of envelopes she held. “Would you like me to go through it or do you want to?”

“The man can open his own mail,” Duke asserted, gesturing for Quinn to come inside before shooting a look at his cousin. “Let the poor girl get back to more important things.”

“Oh, well, I don’t mind.” Quinn paused in the doorway, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she stared at Duke. When she turned to Grant, she asked again. “Would you like me to deal with it?”

Grant shook his head, fighting back his annoyance with Duke. “No, I’ll handle it.”

One of her eyebrows arched curiously but she nodded, bringing the stack over. She stumbled over something and a few of the envelopes fell from her hands, landing on the floor at her feet.

“Oops.” She laughed at herself, kneeling down to gather up the mail. “I swear, I’m the only person alive who can walk over a perfectly smooth surface and still manage to trip.”

A smile tugged at Grant’s lips as he rose to his feet to help her, while Duke stayed where he was, watching her gather up the mail silently.

As Grant picked up one of the stray envelopes, his gaze focused on Quinn. “Should I buy you a helmet?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

He smiled and accepted the stack of mail from her. He glanced down at the envelope he had picked up, and as he did so his smile faded.

The envelope had no return address. His name and the hotel’s address were typewritten in plain, black ink on the front. He started to open it, only to be interrupted by the phone.

“Oh, crap,” Quinn muttered under her breath and ran out to her desk to answer the phone. Seconds later, she called out to Grant. “It’s your mother. It’s urgent.”

He let out an impatient sigh as he answered the phone. “Good morning.”

“
Kennedy didn’t come home last night
,” Charlene cried, her voice ragged and frightened.

“What?” Grant gripped the phone tighter in his hand. “Calm down. What’s going on?”

“
I don’t know what to do, she won’t answer her phone. Something’s wrong.
”

“Have you called the police?”

“
No, not yet. I didn’t know what to do. If she’s doing this on purpose just to mess with me…
”