Page 18 of Ruthless In A Suit

“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, pulling him into me for a hug. I wrap my legs around his waist for good measure, to remind of him that there’s still goodness to be had. That we’ll get past this. Together. “I’ll be here when you get back. And forever.”

“I love hearing you say that,” he says, his voice sounding gruff and potentially on the verge of tears. But he quickly pulls himself together, planting a soft kiss on my forehead, before heading upstairs to find clothes and head to the hospital. It takes him less than ten minutes, then he’s dressed and out the door.

Which leaves me alone in his house – my new house – for the first time. I don’t want to snoop (and does it count as snooping when you live there?). But I decide to take a look around.

I start in the front room, a room I imagine might get called a sitting room, though it doesn’t look like anyone’s sat in it for a very, very long time. The furniture is all antique, but just as pristine as if it were made yesterday.

Levi must have a cleaning service come in. Mahogany and brocade and ornate rugs decorate the space.

On a shiny side table perched in front of a bay window sit a collection of sterling silver picture frames. Many of the photos are black and white, showing relatives and ancestors that I doubt even Levi could name. But there’s one modern family photo that I guess right away to be Levi and his parents. In the photo, Levi is probably five or six, wearing a collared shirt, a sweater vest, and khaki pants, his hair slicked and parted severely to one side. Levi looks sullen, his father behind him in a three-piece suit, looking stern.

Only his mother is smiling in the photo, and even then it looks like it’s only on instructions from the photographer. The expression doesn’t meet her eyes, which look tired and more than a little sad.

Seeing that one image, old as it is, helps me understand maybe a little bit about why Levi is reacting this way to his father’s death. Mr. Maxon has been unconscious in the hospital since I met Levi, and yet Levi has barely mentioned it. And until I brought it up earlier today, there was never any talk of visiting. Not him, and certainly not me.

Sure, my relationship with my dad has been strained by Brenda’s arrival, but I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in Levi’s family.

I can’t imagine not rushing to the hospital to be with my father, not sitting by his side every moment of every day. There has to be some tremendous level of hurt there for Levi to be so detached, because I know what Levi is like when he loves fiercely. I’ve seen it with me in just two weeks. He’s a natural protector, and a fierce defender. I know if something happened to me, Levi would be there. He wouldn’t leave my side. So for this to be the relationship he has with his father, it can’t just be a regular falling out.

I’m pondering that dynamic, wondering about the specifics and if I might find more clues in the house, when my own phone rings. I reach for it, thinking it might be Levi with an update from the hospital, but when I look at the screen I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” I answer it.

“I’m trying to reach Cadence Fallon,” says the man’s voice on the other end of the line.

“This is she,” I reply.

“This is Albert Whitestone, with Maxon Law. I’m afraid I have some things I need to discuss with you regarding the Maxon estate. Are you free to come down to the office?”

“Oh, um, well Levi should be back from the hospital shortly. We can come by as soon as he’s done,” I explain.

“Actually, I just need to speak with you. The matter is confidential.”

I try to make sense of what he’s saying. An attorney with Maxon Law needs to discuss something with me? Regarding the Maxon Estate? Alone? None of that adds up.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, and hang up the phone.

* * *

The Maxon Lawoffices are mostly empty on a Sunday afternoon. I use my security tag to buzz myself into the elevator and through the security doors into the office. Mr. Whitestone’s office is on the top floor, in a corner of the building I’ve never visited. When I arrive, I find his assistant’s desk empty. When I glance at the office door next to his, I recoil at the nameplate.

WALDEN MAXON

Holy shit, this is the executive suite.

I step forward and knock tentatively on Mr. Whitestone’s closed door.

“Come in.”

Inside, I find Mr. Whitestone, an older man with white hair and a tan suit, his tie loosened for the weekend. He smiles when I enter, a warm smile that I’m not used to seeing within the walls of this building.

“Ms. Fallon,” he says, standing and offering me his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well, Mr. Whitestone.”

“Please, call me Albert.” He gestures to one of the leather wingback chairs opposite his desk. “Take a seat. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Sunday in an office.”

“Thank you.” I settle in. “I have to admit, I was very curious as to why you called me. What could I possibly have to do with the Maxon Estate?”