Behind His Eyes

Chapter 7 The Accident - September 2010 (Consequences - Chapter 19)

There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed.

—Napoleon Bonaparte

The whole damn deal hung by a thread. How many hours and millions of dollars had been wasted researching and reviewing this investment and securities firm to have it fall apart over some stupid disagreement about benefit buyouts? Sitting at the head of the long conference table, Tony listened to the debate until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke above the fray, “you have my offer. Your company won’t stand as it is another six months. You can either take the deal or file Chapter 11. With my offer your employees will receive appropriate compensation in exchange for their loss of benefits.”

“Mr. Rawlings, with all due respect, you’re offering pennies on the dollar.”

Standing, Tony adjusted his jacket and ignored the vibration of his private cell phone as he replied, “Yes, Mr. Collins, I am. I’ve also spent over a year learning the ins and outs of your company. You have no other prospects. I suggest you take the offer. The federal bankruptcy courts won’t be as generous.”

While the murmuring at the conference table intensified, Tony placed the documents and his laptop into his leather briefcase and nodded to his team. Addressing the assembly, he announced, “I expect an answer by tomorrow at noon, or I’ll assume that you’re taking your chances with the courts. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”

The room fell into a stunned hush as Anthony Rawlings and his protégés gathered their belongings and walked away from the bargaining table. Once they stepped beyond the glass doors and neared the elevator, Tony heard Tom exhale. The team that accompanied him consisted of Tom Miller, his associate, Sharon Michaels, and David Field, one of Tony’s negotiators. Only their private assembly entered the small elevator. When the doors shut, Tom leaned toward Tony and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know you know how much it’ll cost if this falls through. We’re talking about—”

Remaining professional, Tony’s eyes met Tom’s, interrupting his words. Tony hissed. “I am well aware. We can discuss this further in the office.” The conversation was officially stalled. Tony didn’t care that it was still early in the afternoon and that their meeting was scheduled to last until much later. He could only present the same information in so many different ways. He had neither the patience nor the inclination to entertain the assholes in that conference room upstairs another minute. They wanted what he wasn’t willing to give. He knew that their company needed him more than he needed it. At this point, he needed a few minutes to decompress. If he didn’t, he’d be willing to take the whole damn thing as a tax write-off.

The silence continued as they entered the waiting car. They weren’t scheduled to return to Iowa until the morning, and they all knew that they’d spend the rest of the day and possibly the night dissecting every last document in their arsenal. Despite Tony’s comments, too much had been invested; somewhere there was a definitive piece of information that would insure this deal’s success. By all estimations, they had a long night ahead of them.

Just as Tony’s nerves began to calm, he again felt his pocket vibrate and reached for his iPhone. Touching the screen, he saw: TWO TEXT MESSAGES

Further investigation told him that they both were from his press secretary, Shelly. He read the first:

MR. RAWLINGS PLEASE READ THE ATTACHED PRESS RELEASE THAT JUST CAME ACROSS MY FEED. IT WILL NOT APPEAR FOR A FEW DAYS. IT HAS BEEN PURCHASED BY ROLLING STONE AND PEOPLE. I DON’T THINK I CAN STOP IT.

The car moved in jerky bursts. Tony hated New York City traffic. That was one of the reasons he chose to live in Iowa. Of course, there was traffic there too, but it wasn’t this stand-still shit. Instead of reading the attachment, he read the second text, also from his press secretary:

MR. RAWLINGS I’VE CONFIRMED THE SALE OF THE RELEASE TO BOTH MAGAZINES. IF I ATTEMPT TO STOP PUBLICATION IT MAY BACKFIRE. PLEASE ADVISE IMMEDIATELY.

“They’re bluffing.” Tom’s voice broke the silence within the car.

“I don’t bluff,” Tony replied. “I’d rather lose the preliminary costs than deal with those assholes. I won’t be at their mercy. We’ll find something that’ll make them beg for my offer, and we’ll find it tonight.”

Tom didn’t respond, nor did anyone else. Tony didn’t expect responses. After all, he wasn’t asking. There was a mission and it would be carried out. When the car stopped in front of the tall office building, Tony and his associates silently entered the building. It was another quiet elevator ride as they made their way to the sixty-second floor and the New York satellite offices of Rawlings Industries.

The pretty brunette receptionist immediately stopped her work as Tony and his entourage entered the lobby to the executive offices.

Before she could speak, Tony said, “Kelli, we’re planning a long night. Call for food. We’ll need sandwiches and coffee delivered.”

“I’ll get right on that, Mr. Rawlings.” Kelli handed him a small stack of papers. “Sir, Shelly has called multiple times. She’s very anxious for you to read a press release. I took the liberty of printing it for you.”

Taking the printed pages, Tony thanked her and walked into his private office; only Tom followed. He started to sit behind his desk when the title on the page caught his attention. Suddenly, his body ceased to move and the air left his lungs.

“Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’ Life Agrees to a One-on-One Interview.”

His cheeks paled as the blood drained from his face.

“What’s the matter?”

Tony heard the concern in Tom’s voice. Although their relationship wasn’t just that of business, Tony didn’t feel like sharing. Prying his eyes away from the article in his tightening grip, Tony forced himself to make eye contact with his longtime friend. “I …” he hesitated. “I-I need a minute. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get started.”

“Are you sure? Is there something I can—”

“A minute—now,” Tony cut him off. It wasn’t the volume of his voice that demanded action; it was the authority.

Tom nodded and headed for the door. Within seconds, Tony was alone with the press release that Shelly had tried so desperately to share.

He scanned the pages. Words and phrases jumped out from each paragraph: Since May of 2010—Anthony’s special woman—she agreed to sit down—freelance writer—Meredith Banks—Claire Nichols—Tony’s blood boiled. The tips of his fingers blanched and lost feeling as his grip upon the helpless pages intensified.

More scanning: long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Slowly his knees buckled and Tony’s tall, muscular body perched on the edge of his large leather chair. He continued reading: Anthony Rawlings has long been seen as a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. He dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens. However, none of his previous relationships lasted long. That is until now, now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. And since that time, they have been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well as taking on two of the nation’s biggest cities, New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).

Intermittently, he flipped back and forth between the pages and the photos of Claire with him. With each word and each picture his vision blurred. Red seeped from every direction, threatening to cover everything in its wake. The pages, his office—hell, his life were all dripping in red.

Such basic rules—how could Claire have been so stupid as to break the most basic of his rules? It wasn’t like he demanded that much from her.

There was still more article to read, but Tony’s eyes couldn’t focus. He envisioned Claire the other night at dinner in Chicago. He remembered the dress—it was tan and had sequins, even her jacket had sequins. They caught his attention because of the way they reflected the lights as they walked along the street from Trump Tower to the Cadillac Palace Theater.

Refocusing on the story, he saw the dress—it was in a picture of her with him—on the page before him, prepared for the world to see. Privacy! Why was that so fuck’n hard to ask? It wasn’t just the damn reporters taking their picture. No, that happened all the time. This was betrayal. This was disloyalty—insubordination!

Tony tried to reason. The other day at the barbeque, he’d jumped to conclusions. Could this be another misunderstanding? He looked at his watch—2:37 PM, East Coast time. He could be home before 6:00 PM.

He quickly folded the pages and placed them in the inside pocket of his jacket. Next, he dialed the phone on his desk. “Tom, I have to fly immediately back to Iowa.”

Tom was understandably shocked. They hadn’t reached any resolution on their deal, and they had hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. Tony wouldn’t give Tom specifics—only that something had happened back in Iowa, and he needed to be there. Tom assured his boss and his friend that he’d work diligently to keep the deal afloat.

Less than forty minutes later, Tony was airborne and headed west. The three-hour flight gave him ample opportunity to read and reread the article. Each time something new latched onto his consciousness:

Why Claire? What makes her the woman for a man like Anthony Rawlings?—She didn’t deny living in the Iowa City area—Claire and Anthony enjoyed the performance of “Wicked.”—Ms. Nichols spent the better part of the day enjoying all the comforts money could buy at one of the most exclusive day spas in Chicago—shopping at such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue, Anne Fontaine, Cartier, Giorgio Armani, and Louis Vuitton—Ms. Claire Nichols was ushered to the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower, the private city dwelling belonging to none other than Mr. Anthony Rawlings.

By the time the plane touched down in Iowa City, Tony knew he’d need to print another copy of the press release for Claire. The one in his hand was nearly shredded by the fervor of his grasp. He hadn’t been willing to let it leave his hand the entire flight.

Each time he told himself to be reasonable, Tony remembered Claire sitting at the dining room table a month ago, pledging her loyalty. He hadn’t asked for it. First, because he rarely asked, but more importantly, he never assumed he’d get it; nevertheless, on that evening after he’d returned from Europe, she’d offered it.

At the time, he questioned her motivation. After all, they’d just been through an episode, a glitch of sorts, and Claire had emerged stronger and more compliant than ever—a very appealing combination. He remembered thinking that perhaps glitches were an advantageous element in producing the woman he was creating.

That night in the dining room she’d volunteered, “Your absence was advantageous on many counts.” He remembered staring at her, stunned by her candor and unsure of where she was going. Finally, she broke the looming silence. “I believe it helped me recognize I owe you much, not just the money to repay my debt, but the confidence you’ve shown in me.”

He watched for signs of manipulation, yet she never faltered.

She had continued, “The confidence to trust me with your intimate beliefs …” She added, “I will not betray that confidence.”

Tony remembered allowing the silence to prevail as food came and the staff went. Once they were again alone, he replied, “Claire, if you’re sincere, then you never cease to amaze me. If, however, you’re playing me, you will regret it.” Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t be a successful businessman if he couldn’t read people, yet as much as he tried to see Claire’s deception—he couldn’t.

As Tony entered the front door of his estate, he realized his own mistake. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see Claire’s deception. It was that he wouldn’t. He wanted to trust her—hell, for the last month or more, he’d wanted to do more than that. He’d wanted to—dare he admit—have feelings. Now it was clear; Catherine was right: Claire had fuck’n played him!!!

Tony’s body trembled with the revelation as he walked toward his office. He needed to print a readable copy of the press release before he confronted Claire. He was done being a push-over. Forget her resolve and bravado. Screw her green eyes, soft skin, and sexy smile.

He brought Claire Nichols to Iowa for one reason—she had a debt to pay. Not the goddamn money. Tony didn’t give a rat’s ass about $215,000. No, Claire Nichols was the proverbial sacrificial lamb for the entire line of Nichols descendants—a child of a child. The vendetta rang in Tony’s head. He’d heard it over and over for twenty years. So what if he’d extracted some pleasure from her consequence? That was acceptable; however, her blatant disregard for his rules, her insubordination and disloyalty, were intolerable.

The ridiculous idea running through his mind these past few weeks, that there was anything more between them than business, would end today. Tony would stay strong and deliver the consequences Claire deserved.

When Tony initially entered Claire’s suite, he knew his mission: confront her about the interview, entertain the idea of a misconception—at least superficially, and deliver the appropriate punishment. It was a solid plan; however, that was a long time ago. As he sat in the chair near Claire’s sofa and minutes turned to hours and hours passed like days, Tony’s restraint evaporated. With each tick of the clock, his body stiffened and the red colored his vision.

Three hours! He’d been waiting in her suite for three fuck’n hours!

Catherine told him that Claire had gone to her lake for the day. Tony glanced toward the windows, as darkness fell over the land and enveloped her suite. He told himself, the damn day is done!

During the entire three hours that he’d been there, Tony hadn’t moved or turned on a light. Truly, he thought it was interesting how well his eyes adjusted. Never before could he remember experiencing each moment of diminishing illumination. As the darkness prevailed, the crimson hue grew.

He worked to contain the fury in his chest and soul. It had been years since he’d experienced this depth of rage. Honestly, he hadn’t moved because he feared if he did, he’d break something or some things. That’s what used to happen when he was younger. He would break an object or punch a wall. There was one time at Blaire Academy when he punched another kid. The kid deserved it. He had said something about Tony’s grandmother. The damn teachers broke it up and no one was seriously hurt; nevertheless, his grandfather didn’t care about the why. He warned Anton to never let it happen again, and he hadn’t. It was surprisingly easy—remain detached. That was how he could buy companies and fire a roomful of people. They weren’t people: they were marks on a ledger.

Initially, this technique worked with Claire, but with each day she’d become more than that. Now, in the quiet suite, with time standing still, his thoughts ran together: He’d allowed her to become more than that—more than just a Nichols! He’d trusted her—hell, he sent her to the spa, allowed her to shop, and even allowed her to remain in Chicago without him. For what? So that she could spit in his face? So that she could publicly discuss their relationship? What else had she told Meredith Banks? Maybe she had the whole thing planned. Of course, it was her plan to get away from him.

That was probably it … she arranged it from the spa—hell, he never thought about her using a phone from the spa, or maybe she used a pay phone? He’d supplied her with enough cash. What if she bought one of those disposable phones? The release said Claire and Meredith were sorority sisters. Claire probably contacted her for this purpose!

There were so many possibilities of how she’d betrayed him. It was true—he didn’t know the exact mode, but he knew the final result. The papers were lying on her table—the black and white evidence of her deceit! She’d never meant a word of what she said that day in the dining room. The whole damn speech about trust was a sham, and he was a goddamn fool for falling for it.

Tony’s train of thought came to a screeching halt as the sound of the opening door filled the otherwise silent suite. While the moonlight pooled in rectangles on the soft carpet, Tony stepped into the dark shadows and neared the woman who’d consumed his thoughts for the last eight hours—no, for years!

Before she could turn on the light, he stepped behind her. With the redness nearly beyond penetration, her presence and her scent fueled the fury and pain within him. He wrapped his arm around her throat while pulling her ponytail with his other hand. Nearing his lips to her ear, he attempted speech through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Tony heard the desperation in his voice as it filled the dark room. That desperation poured more crimson onto the fire of his rage. No damn woman, especially a Nichols, would have this much control over him!

She didn’t speak!

He spun her around—he wanted to see her face, see her lying eyes. Gripping her shoulders, he questioned her again. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Tony,” she gasped. “I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”

His patience expired hours ago. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He slapped her cheek. Damn her, why wasn’t she apologizing for her disloyalty? Why wasn’t she answering his fuck’n question? “I have asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.”

His palm stung as it once again connected with her cheek and temple. The red behind his eyes obscured the growing physical evidence of his more forceful contact. Truly, he didn’t even see the tears as they began to fall from her pleading eyes.

“Tony, please stop. I was hiking in the woods.”

Letting go of her shoulders, he shoved her onto the sofa and followed. Leaning over her petite body, his words sounded too desperate for his own ears. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

“I was in the woods”—lies— “The sun was setting”—bullshit –“It was so beautiful.”

He couldn’t take it anymore! He wanted the truth! “Shut the fuck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home, and you didn’t want to face me after what you did!”

“I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home on Saturday—this is still Friday. I haven’t done anything.”

She was lying. He struck out again. Claire reached for her cheek as she tried to hide her face. He pulled her chin toward him; she wasn’t looking away! His breath bathed her tear-drenched face. “Liar!”

He searched her eyes. Why weren’t they contrite or smug? She’d successfully humiliated him, broken his rules—why wasn’t she assuming credit for her deceit?

Tony stepped away. He couldn’t look at her expression another minute. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the sound of her sobs from his ears and stepped toward the light switch. While the light filled the suite, Tony concentrated on inhaling and exhaling as he walked toward the table. Maybe if she read the release she’d accept responsibility.

The sound of her whimpering on the sofa tempered the red, causing it to wane, but when the tips of his fingers touched the pages of the news release, the crimson violently resurged through his veins. He didn’t want the red to be so intense—if he didn’t keep it down, he knew it had the ability to control him. Tony didn’t want to give in to it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving that control to Claire. His neck stiffened. He refused to proceed lightly; it was his choice. Claire’s damn emotions weren’t going to deter his quest for truth. Stepping toward her, he held out the pages and steadied his voice. “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding.” The pages in his hand shook. Despite his best effort, his words came out too close together. “I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”

Tony wondered why he was giving her the chance to talk her way out. Maybe he wanted to push that bravado. Would she try to talk her way out of this? Most people would know better—they would accept the consequences and leave him alone. Should he even allow it?

Claire’s voice interrupted his internal debate. “Tony, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

He threw the pages toward her and watched as they scattered on the floor near her feet. He didn’t move; instead he stared and watched as Claire moved to the floor. Tony knew every word—hell, he’d read it fifty times. He watched as she fumbled with the pages, and her breathing became ragged.

“Tony, oh my God, I did not agree to an interview.”

He was once again beside her. What kind of pull did she have on him? He pointed to the picture. “So you’re telling me that the picture of you talking to this woman is a print shop fabrication and this is a colossal misunderstanding?”

“It is me, but—”

He seized her shoulders, lifted her from the floor, and pinned her against a wall. The falling picture and fear in her eyes didn’t register.

Her voice begged for understanding. “I wasn’t giving an interview.”

She was lying to him! He slapped her again! If he had to, he’d force the truth out of her. He leaned down until their noses almost touched. Would she have the audacity to look him in the eye and continue lying? “Then what in the hell were you doing?” He shook her again. “Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you, and I believed you. I sent you to a spa day. This is how you thank me? This is how you repay me? By breaking all my rules? By public failure?”

Abruptly, he released her shoulders. He wasn’t going there. He refused to reveal how betrayed he felt. That would give her too much power. She didn’t have the power, he did. And he would prove it!

When he turned around, Claire was scurrying to pick up the papers. The sight of her face finally registered: it was red and blotchy, yet her voice fought for steadiness. “What is this?”

Fine—he could be steady too. “It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. It’ll run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone.”

In an effort to control the emotions he didn’t want to feel, he stepped away, went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. The release served as a small vent. After a deep inhale, he answered, “Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy. I flew home as soon as I could.”

While she read, Tony walked to the sofa, sat, and watched. The pages in her hand trembled as tears fell onto the printed words. What the hell did she think—that he wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t know she’d betrayed his trust?

“Tony, I did go to school with Meredith. She did come up to me the other day and start talking. I didn’t know she was a reporter. I wasn’t giving an interview. I didn’t say anything about you.” She cried, “Your name was never mentioned!”

Tony didn’t speak; instead, he nodded toward the pages. Claire continued reading. When it appeared as though she were finally done, she didn’t move. She didn’t look up, or speak—or anything. Tony waited. The only sound in the suite was that of their breathing. Tony’s was getting louder while Claire’s became shallower. Eventually, she laid the pages on the carpet and kept her eyes downcast.

His fury had ebbed. On much steadier legs, he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire. How many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture, right here, of you sitting with her, the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate. It’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”

He wasn’t yelling; he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire still didn’t look up. He wanted to see her face; instead, all that he could see was the top of her head. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail and hung in front of her eyes. “Get up,” he ordered.

She didn’t move—not a flinch.

His volume increased. “Claire, get up!”

Still looking at the carpet she begged, “P-please, Tony, I-I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her arm, lifted her, and said, “The entire way home I was praying that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this, not after I put my trust in you, but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding, there had to be consequences. There had to be punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules.”

Claire wouldn’t look at his eyes. When he reached for her chin, she moved away from his touch. The red returned and filled every molecule of the suite. How dare she pull away from him! He moved again, not to lift her chin, but to strike her face. If she were going to pull away, he’d give her something to pull away from. His hand caught her pearl necklace, and Tony watched as the small pearl charm flew across the room.

He would do more than punish her physically for her betrayal. Next time, she would remember to follow his rules. Tony emphasized his control over her liberties as he continued, “I believe some time away from people, some time alone in your suite, will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

The betrayal combined with the fear in her eyes was too much. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear. She was fighting him or protecting herself. Tony wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense.

It was like the boy at the Academy—only multiplied. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop. Claire’s behavior caused him pain. At the moment, the only thing he could think to do was return the favor.

How long did he hurt her? Tony truly didn’t know. It wasn’t until she stopped fighting, stopped begging, and stopped moving, that the red disappeared.

When it did, the only thing that remained was Claire.

“Claire, get up.” She didn’t move. “Claire?” Tony reached for her shoulder as she lay upon the floor. Blood trickled from her lip, and her face was beginning to bruise.

Tony fell to his knees and shook her. She still didn’t respond. He tried again. This time his touch was soft and gentle. He wanted to shake her harder and wake her from this sleep, but he couldn’t. The rage and fury, which seconds earlier had consumed his entire being, faded into nothingness. Momentarily, his soul felt empty. Then, slowly, the void within his chest filled. It filled with fear—a fear like he’d never known.

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” he murmured. Reaching for her pulse, he said a prayer. Tony really wasn’t sure to whom, but at that moment he knew the thing he wanted more than anything else in the entire world was for her to live. Not because he didn’t deserve to pay for what he’d done. He prayed for her to live, because Claire didn’t deserve to die or to suffer as he’d made her suffer. “Please, don’t be dead. Oh God, help … Claire … please, please, let her wake up …”

Before his fingers found her pulse, the suite door opened.

“What have you done?”

His eyes met Catherine’s, but words failed him.

She knelt beside Claire and pushed Tony’s hand away. Finally, she said what he’d prayed to hear. “She has a pulse.” Catherine stood. Her stance straightened as her expression turned stoic. There was no understanding or compassion, only determination in her steel-gray eyes as she looked down at him. “Anton, you need to think straight. What are we going to do?”

Tony didn’t answer. His mind couldn’t process. Did Catherine actually think he wanted this to happen? Had that ever been his desire? Seeing Claire’s crumpled body, he couldn’t remember what they’d wanted or planned. Instead of answering, he scooped her petite, unconscious frame into his arms and carried her to her bed. Catherine exhaled audibly, followed, and pulled back the blankets. Tony gently laid Claire upon the soft mattress and watched as she lay still, exactly as he placed her. Sitting next to her, his shoulders heaved as his head fell to her chest. Catherine waited.

After a deep breath, Tony sat straight, turned toward Catherine, and said, “Call 911. She needs medical care.”

“No! You can’t do that. Don’t you know what will happen to you?”

Slowly, he covered Claire’s body with the blankets and tenderly placed her hands above the covers. Taking her hand in his, he momentarily caressed her soft skin with his thumb. Next, he smoothed her disheveled hair away from her battered face and gently kissed her forehead. His thoughts moved much slower than before, as if all his adrenaline were gone. Even his words sounded far away. “She looks like she’s sleeping.” He looked to Catherine for confirmation. “That’s it, isn’t it? She’s sleeping?”

“We can take care of her, like I took care of—”

“No,” he interrupted. His determination was back. “She needs a doctor.”

Catherine moved near Claire’s head and touched her cheek. This situation wasn’t negotiable; he wouldn’t compromise. After a moment of obvious internal debate, Tony saw Catherine’s shoulders droop and heard the slightest hint of compassion. “Then we need a story. You helped me. I’m here to help you.”

“Well, there’s a difference. When she gets better, she’ll be able to tell someone the truth. Unlike before, they never got that chance.” Tony reached for his cell phone.

Before he could dial, Catherine touched his arm. Her voice was calm and reassuring. “Listen to me and listen carefully. Claire went for a walk. The ground was wet; she slipped; she didn’t come home. I called and told you. We were worried. You rushed home. You went looking for her and found her—like this. Maybe someone else was out there?”

Tony looked around the suite. It was as if he were looking at the path of a tornado. How did this all happen? The picture that usually hung near the fireplace was lying on the carpet. The pages of the news release were scattered near the sofa. Shaking his head, he replied, “No, I deserve whatever she tells the authorities.”

“If she’s able to tell them.”

“She will be. I’ll spare no expense. We’ll get her anything she needs. One day, she’ll have the opportunity to send me away for this.”

“And maybe she won’t. Why confess now? Let’s see what happens first.”

Tony caressed Claire’s right cheek; the left one was turning a darker shade of purple by the minute. “I need to get her help. She didn’t deserve this.”

“Then call Dr. Leonard. If you call 911, the police will come. Just call him directly.”

Tony nodded. Telling the authorities would be Claire’s decision. He needed to get her well enough to do it. Searching his contacts, he found the doctor’s number. Moments later he heard a voice on Dr. Leonard’s private line. “Hello, Dr. Leonard, this is Anthony Rawlings. I need you to come to my estate immediately. There’s been a terrible accident …”