“My first husband was perfect.” She turns back to us, blue eyes blazing. “Do you hear me? Perfect. And the media ruined him. His business partners deserted him. His greatest friends abandoned him. A few years ago, these same people who now want nothing to do with my husband used to flock to him like flies to a pile of shit. I was happy then. But it was an illusion. It was all just a facade.”
She gazes at me again, blonde eyebrows raising, the crazy clear to see. “Don't you see, darling? My husband and I always dreamed of being a part of the one percent. We thought we'd hit the jackpot when we got our hands on a little money: Enough to go to the clubs, to buy the nicest clothes, to get a snazzy car and a fancy penthouse. And it was great. For a while. We had a little money, and we could buy our way into the clubs. But then, one day, the invitations stopped arriving. The calls were fewer and further between. The next thing I knew, my husband was bankrupt. So, of course, he had to do what he had to do…to provide. To protect our family. Our assets. Who in their right mind would send a decent man like that to prison?”
She laughs, but there's no amusement in it, the humor sucked right out of the room and replaced by the stench of her insanity and liberally applied floral perfume.
I hold on tighter to Andrew.
“He was only trying to have a little fun,” she continues. “You know, to get us to live the life he knew we deserved.”
She pauses for a moment, and I think I can hear Andrew's heart beating faster. “But, of course, people like you don't understand. You haven't lived your life. You don't know what it's like. I don't care how you jeopardized my husband's future. I don't care how you ruined our little party. The party's over, Andrew. No more pretending. It's time to get serious.”
“Serious about what?” Andrew asks, eyes hard. “What do you want, Paisley? Why the hell on earth are you doing all this?”
“I'm doing what any loving wife would do,” she says. “I'm helping my husband survive.”
She reaches out towards me, and Andrew bristles, looking like he's ready to pounce. She's not yet close enough, but for a moment, I think she's going to put her arm around me and whisper sweet nothings into my hair.
But instead, she leans forward, her eyes bouncing between us, as Andrew keeps his stare on the gun still in her manicured hand.
Paisley exhales out loud.
“You see, darling, my husband was a finance wizard. He made a lot of money for a lot of people. And then, without warning, they turned their backs on him. He’s not a criminal. He's not even a bad guy.” Tears began to stream down her face. “He's a victim of circumstance and society. I don't know what he did to you, but I can assure you that nothing he did was wrong. I know he made bad choices. I know he made mistakes. But I also know that he was a good man. A kind man. I know he was generous. And I know he loved us.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
She points to the wall. “What I should have done a long time ago. Recoup my husband's assets. Rebuild the broken relationships. Get back what belongs to my family. The money. The prestige.” She rolls her eyes. “Even that little bar you seem to love so much. Never understood why my husband had any interest in it in this first place…but I guess it's not my place to judge. Either way, it's mine.” She spins back, glaring at me. “And I'm making sure Reed Hutton makes it so.”
“Reed Hutton?” Andrew inquires, brows pulling down into a frown.
“Yes. Reed Hutton. He owes me. Owes Chris. Owes my family. All the palm-greasing that Chris did to help our son get on that coke-head producer's little tattoo show…and that orange-faced asshole had the nerve to screw us. Screw over Brett…” She trails off. “My baby…who still doesn't understand.”
And then I remember who she is.
My heart's back, but now it's lodged firmly in my throat.
Carol Jackson.
Chris Jackson's wife. Before his company imploded. Before he was arrested and went to prison.
A once regal woman who I believed was ruined by her ex-husband's bad behavior, but now it sounds like she was a part of it. Actually involved…
Every step of the way.
“You have no idea, do you? Not a single clue. Not a single understanding of what's at stake here. My husband couldn't help the things he's done… He was desperate. When he tried to explain that he'd had no choice in the matter, that they'd forced him into it, the Fletchers, the Quinns… They pretended they hadn't heard him…”
I realize what she's talking about.
Chris's swindling of Andrew's grandfather.
His swindling of Lachlan's grandfather.
The whole big mess, which caused the two businesses to partner.
I flinch for a moment, but I quickly stifle the feeling and stand straight, my blood pulsing in my ears. We can fix this. We can figure out a way to show the world that he never did anything wrong.
“But the Fletchers heard him. The Quinns heard him. They were in it together. And they ruined him. They ruined us. And now I'm going to ruin them. And I'm starting with that little cunt. The one your grandmother appointed to handle the estate. The one who has power of attorney over the money that rightly belongs to Chris… That blonde pop-tart Jonathan is marrying: Hannah.”
She whips around again, gun pointed at Andrew. And he's edging towards her, hands raising slowly…
“Stop!” I yell.
And she turns to look at me. Curious eyes stare over the barrel of the gun.
“I know what you're
