Sophia sobbed quietly while Catherine stood and faced Tony. “I’ll get her settled, and then, I’ll return”—she straightened her shoulders—“Your concerns can wait. We both know, accidents happen—a few more minutes won’t change the past.”
Tony stepped backward, displaying restraint, solely for Sophia’s benefit. At this moment, he wanted to harm Catherine, more than he’d ever wanted to harm anyone. His reply came through clinched teeth, “Return quickly, this will end today.”
With that, Catherine led Sophia out of the office. Tony heard her say, “My dear, let me get you something to calm your nerves...”
Her voice trailed away, leaving Tony alone to reel with the news. Pacing the length of the office, he contemplated his best friend—the man with whom he’d finally been honest—the man who had a wife and children. Nausea erupted in Tony’s stomach as he thought about Courtney, Caleb, and Maryn. Did Courtney know? Had she received a similar call? His pocket vibrated.
The text was from Phil:
“LONDON’S TAKING BURKE TO SECOND FLOOR. VANDERSOLS ARE IN THE ROOM LABELED ‘S.E. SUITE’.”
Tony immediately texted back:
“CLAIRE’S OLD SUITE. ARE THEY OK?”
Response:
“NO SIGN OF DISTRESS”
Tony:
“KEEP THE MONITORS ON THEM. TELL ME IF ANY THING CHANGES.”
Phil:
“CAMERAS IN OFFICE WERE DISABLED—THEY’RE NOW ONLINE.”
Tony sat at the desk and accessed the computer. He didn’t know if he was more upset that Catherine hadn’t changed the passwords or that she knew his. Either way, he now knew exactly how his grandfather felt. Despite Tony’s best efforts—he too had trusted the wrong person. Accessing Catherine’s email, he found her correspondence with Emily. The Vandersols had come as a result of Catherine’s invitation. He wondered what exactly she had planned. Before he could give it more thought, he turned toward the opening door.
By the time she closed the door, he was half way across the room. “You bitch! You arranged for that plane to go down, didn’t you?”
Sounding somewhat apologetic, she explained, “I never intended for Brent Simmons to be on board. He wasn’t on the original manifest.”
“So, you’re admitting it?”
“I’m saying that when Claire felt she had no one else—she needed me. I thought it would be the same when she came back, but it wasn’t. You let her walk all over you! You were too blind to see how she manipulated you! Now we know why—it was only for your money.”
With the mention of his wife’s name and each step toward her, the crimson hue of the room darkened.
Catherine continued, “Sophia doesn’t need money, you saw to that, but with her husband gone, she’ll be alone—now she’ll need me.” Seemingly unaware of Tony’s rage, Catherine added, “Besides, her husband was a Burke.”
“Don’t you see how out of hand this has become?”
“Really”—Catherine explained—“Mrs. Simmons should consider it a gift.”
Tony stared in disbelief. “Sick! You’re not only crazy—you’re sick!”
“Mr. Rawlings, you’re dead wrong.” Smirking, she added, “I’ve waited a long time to say that.” Before he could respond, she continued, “You see, in your absence, your friend has been well—forgetful”—Catherine stepped closer—“You probably don’t remember how your grandmother suffered”—she laughed—“Of course, everyone says that. They say it’s the patient that suffers, but in reality, it isn’t. Oh, don’t get me wrong Sharron was a sweet, loving woman; however, the one who really suffered was Nathaniel. Every day, he sat with her, talked to her, held her, even when she couldn’t respond. It was tragic.” Catherine shook her head, lost in her own thoughts. “No one should ever have to deal with that. So you see, with Brent heading that direction, because forgetfulness is how it starts—Courtney has received the gift of not having to witness her husband suffer.”
Tony listened in disbelief to Catherine justifying her actions. Had Brent been forgetful? Or was he just walking an invisible tight rope when with Catherine, keeping his knowledge hidden? Tony wanted her to stop. He wanted to release the crimson that wouldn’t go away. Without thinking, Tony slapped her cheek. “Shut up! There’s no justification for what you’ve done.”
The action was supposed to help him; however, instead of making him feel better, memories of slapping Claire came rushing back. The crimson continued to infiltrate. Turning toward the desk, he saw the vase of flowers. In one swift movement, he hurled it against the wall. Shards of crystal, water, and flowers littered the carpet as the vase shattered.
“You will never be the man your grandfather was!” Catherine screamed. “He never would’ve struck someone he loved.”
Tony turned maliciously, his eyes meeting hers. “If you’re referring to me—at this moment—neither did I! And as for my grandfather—he did. I saw him!”
“You’re lying.”
Tony’s face burned as he remembered the scene. “I watched from the doorway”—he pointed toward the doors—“He slapped my father.”