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Chapter Thirty-Six
Three days later found them sitting in what her mother insisted on calling “the parlor” at David’s house like she lived in some grand manor house instead of a McMansion. Arthur had asked for the sit-down and got her mother to agree by saying it was about the scene she, Saoirse, had caused at the party. It had been her idea but the fact that her mother had agreed so readily still made her seethe.
Hopefully her mother would find something, someone else to be angry at after this conversation. And if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be for Arthur’s lack of trying.
His PI had gotten back to him on Sunday with information about David’s financials. Just as he’d thought, they weren’t as rosy as Renata must have believed when she married him.
He was up to his eyeballs in debt, about to lose his boat, his credit cards were almost all maxed out. He’d taken out a second mortgage on the house and as far as the PI could tell, didn’t have any obvious means to get back in the black. Which meant either losing everything or turning to less than legal means.
Or, as seemed to be the option David had gone with, getting Renata to dissolve the trust she’d set up for Saoirse and using that to dig himself out of the hole. The last and grossest option as far as Saoirse was concerned was that if her mother had merely written her out of her will that Renata might have an “accident” sooner rather than later. Yes, she was frequently at odds with her mother but she didn’t want her to be murdered.
She hadn’t been able to see Arthur in court while she’d been staying with him since he’d been on leave with her, but he was in attorney mode now, crusading for her instead of one of his plaintiffs.
“Go ahead, Renata. Ask him if he did it. Ask your husband if he drugged your daughter at your own party so you’d cut her out of your will for embarrassing you and leave everything to him. And ask him what he said when Saoirse came to him and asked for advice about how to handle the professor who sexually assaulted her.”
She’d seen Arthur in court before, knew he was magnificent, but somehow he seemed to shine even brighter here in David and her mom’s home. Some people would look at Arthur with his stylish hair, his manicured hands, and his impeccably tailored three-piece suits and see someone soft. But she knew better. Under that civilized veneer lurked a man with a knife, just waiting to slit his enemy’s throat. He wouldn’t have to be showy about it, or bulky with muscles though he was plenty strong. No, he would sneak in, get the job done, and wipe the bloody knife on a handkerchief so it wouldn’t get his favorite tie soiled.
“That’s ridiculous,” her mother protested. “That doesn’t make any sense. David has far more money than I do, why would he want mine?”
David, meanwhile, sat there stone-faced and rigid, his jaw clenched while his eyes flashed.
“Also, David and Mark Teufel, the piece of shit who assaulted your daughter, were at prep school together which I didn’t put together until your party when I saw David’s cufflinks, and then I had to double check against Teufel’s bio. You didn’t tell Saoirse to keep it to herself to protecther, you did it to protecthim. And if she did come forward, her ‘erratic behavior' would call her character into question.”
“Two birds, one roofie,” Saoirse muttered from her seat on the uncomfortable couch.
“David, tell him he’s crazy,” Renata demanded. “Tell him my drama queen, shit-stirring daughter is plying him with lies, trying to drum up sympathy since she knows I’m done with her theatrics. David?”
Her mother had gone shrill as David’s face paled and Saoirse didn’t envy the man. Then again, there wasn’t much to envy about her situation either but she wouldn’t trade being in David’s shoes for anything right now.
“That’s a very disturbing story your daughter has concocted, Renata,” David said, sounding strangled. Good, because Arthur was basically standing on the man’s neck, and he deserved it. “Perhaps we should be looking into committing her to a mental institution instead of sending her to rehab. She clearly has some very serious psychiatric problems.”
Renata tipped her head, her knife’s edge bob swinging. “You seem awfully calm for someone who’s been accused of drugging a young woman.”
“Well it’s preposterous. And it’s not as though they could prove anything.”
The lawyer in her—though not as finely honed a blade as Arthur’s prosecutor’s mind—rejoiced. This motherfucker was going to regret messing with her.
“We can, actually,” she said, reaching into her tote bag and pulling out the damning pieces of paper. She stood up and walked them over to her mother, avoiding David’s scathing gaze. Her hands shook, but her voice was steady and that was going to have to be good enough.
Once she’d handed the papers over to her mother, she walked quickly back and sat on the couch with Arthur who’d taken a seat as though he’d rested his case.
Not giving a shit anymore but needing her daddy so, so badly, she reached for his hand. Her shoulders dropped when he squeezed back.
Her mother scanned the first piece of paper, a lab report that showed the presence of a common date rape drug. And if Renata didn’t recognize it by name, Saoirse had included a printout on the details. It also showed her blood alcohol content which was scant, nowhere near what it would need for her to be visibly drunk. Saoirse had included a printout on that too. To be thorough.
When Renata looked up, her expression was one of shock, until she noticed Saoirse’s fingers knitted with Arthur’s. Her brows drew together.
“What is this?” she asked, lifting her chin.
Saoirse looked to Arthur. They hadn’t talked about when or how they were going to tell Renata about their relationship, only that they would and probably best sooner rather than later. It wasn’t fair of her to heft this onto him because it was going to be ugly for him as well, but…
“Saoirse and I have been seeing each other,” he said simply.
“Seeing each other?” One of her mother’s perfectly plucked and shaped brows arched up. “I know what you’retryingto say is that my daughter has been living with you for two months after having a nervous breakdown at school and you’ve been acting as her guardian. Because any sort of romantic or sexual activities between the two of you would be revolting. She’s twenty-five, and you’re fifty-two. You’re old enough to be her father. Hell, youwereher father and continued to act as her father after we got divorced. And now you’refucking?”
“You don’t have to like our relationship but your disapproval isn’t going to change it. And perhaps you might want to concentrate more on the fact that your current husband drugged your daughter instead of the fact that two consenting adults are involved.”
“I think I’m going to concentrate on whatever I damn well please. What the hell, Arthur? I sent her to you because I thought you could be trusted and—”
