And it does.
I pause, frowning. If he left it unlocked, or the key so easy to find, there can’t be anything of import here. But then I reason to myself that since the cabin has been empty of both guests and contractor for two months, maybe Tag just left it unlocked because he was the only person here.
Until me. And he probably never thought poor little rich girl, Weatherly, would ever catch on to his ruse.
Whether my logic is flawed or not, I know it won’t hurt to at least look while I’m here. So that’s what I do.
Going through the drawers, I flip through notebooks and papers, files and folders. There are all sorts of things about the running of Chiara, things any caretaker might track, but nothing suspicious. I find information about the passing of Joseph Barton, Tag’s father. The death certificate, the obituary, some pictures of their family in the early years. Nothing that I need, though.
I’m about to give up when I see an envelope sticking out from underneath that stack of papers. It’s simply labeled Jameson Gregory Randolph III.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I read that name. Jameson Randolph is the owner of Randolph Consolidated, the company that has been staging a hostile takeover of my father’s company. Why in the world would Tag be in possession of something that references him or belongs to him?
A week ago, I wouldn’t even have considered going through Tag’s things this way. A week ago, I had no reason not to trust him and every reason to give our marriage a real shot. But today isn’t a week ago. Today everything is different. Today I don’t have the luxury of trust. That’s why, with trembling fingers, I turn over the envelope and reach inside for the contents.
There are two letters inside, one on plain, white copier paper, the other on thick, creamy stationery. I unfold the white one first.
Dear Mr. Barton,
My name is Franklin Evans. I am the lead attorney for Randolph Consolidated as well as the personal counsel for Jameson Gregory Randolph, Jr. I realize this will come as a surprise to you, but I beg you to read the enclosed letter in its entirety and then call me at my home number, listed below. There are some very important matters that we must attend to regarding the death of your father and his estate.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Franklin J. Evans, Esq.
I set the first letter in my lap and unfold the second, my heart thumping heavily against the inside of my rib cage. Some primal, intuitive part of me knows that I will not like what I find within the rich, vanilla folds of the second letter, but I have to know. The gloves have come off. The fight has gotten dirty. And in a battle like this, information is power. I’ve heard my father say that all my life, but I never thought it would hit so close to home one day.
Tag,
This is probably the first you’ve heard of me and I’m not going to apologize for that. Your mother and I made the decision jointly to keep you removed from my world, to let you grow up outside the dog-eat-dog business that she hated so much. I doubt she ever even told you about me, but I’m your father. Your biological father, that is.
I met your mother many years ago when she was working as a maid here at my home. I was married, but she was young and beautiful and I was accustomed to taking anything I wanted whenever the mood struck me. But your mother was different. She wasn’t like the other women I’d grown used to. She was kind and wholesome, too good for a man like me. That’s why when she told me she was pregnant, we decided to part ways. She could never have been happy here and I wanted to do right by her for once. That’s why I let her go.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my wife was barren. It wasn’t a concern until I had my first heart attack just over a year ago. Since then, I’ve been trying to convince Stella to tell you about me, but she refused. She wanted to honor the memory of the man you’ve always known as your father. I understand that, but I find that I can’t abide by her wishes any longer. I have an empire that I’d like to see live on after I’m gone, a legacy that should be passed on to the next generation of Randolphs. I don’t want those greedy bastards on the board to take control, so I have to bequeath my shares and all my personal holdings to someone. I’d like that person to be you.
I don’t expect that I’ll be alive very much longer. This might even reach you after I’m gone. I just ask that you at least hear what my man, Franklin, has to say before you walk away from your inheritance.
Although you didn’t know it until now, on the day of your birth, you became Jameson Gregory Randolph III. Regardless of the name your mother gave you, your blood is Randolph. Live up to it.
Sincerely,