Love, Artifacts, and You by Sarah Ready

15

Emma

After a four-hour drivefilled with tension and uncertainty, Justin and I make it to my dad. Linda called when we were two hours north of NYC to let us know he was at home.

Home is an assisted living community on the banks of the Hudson River. Dad moved in two years ago after he became too weak to manage day-to-day activities on his own. There are apartments, town homes and ranch houses in the development, as well as doctors and nurses on staff at a clinic in the main building.

Dad has his own ranch-style house with an apartment off the back for Linda. We used the money in my mom’s trust to purchase it and pay for his care—thank goodness, because otherwise he would have lost this in the bankruptcy. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that had happened. He’s never liked it here, he hates the golf course, the pool, the inability to work—he hates it all. But I think he’d hate it worse if he was forced to leave.

When Justin pulls into the drive I jump out of the car and run in the front door without knocking. Linda is sitting in the front room, on the sofa, reading a magazine. When I rush in she looks up at me and blinks owlishly at the bright afternoon light coming in. All the curtains are drawn and the house is dark and quiet.

“Is he alright? Where is he?” I ask.

Linda dog-ears the page of the magazine and then sets it aside.

She’s middle-aged with a few gray streaks in her hair. She’s always in floral scrubs and white shoes, and she has the uncanny ability to never be ruffled by anything. Right now, I’d like to shake her. She’s kept us in suspense for hours, meanwhile she’s been reading on the couch and…I glance at the coffee table…sipping a cup of tea.

Linda stands and smooths out her scrubs. “I’ll take you. He’s in his office.”

Justin walks in just as I start to follow Linda. He shuts the door behind him. I motion for him to follow. As we walk through the hushed house, I wonder why my dad is in his office if he just had a serious stroke. And why isn’t Linda with him?

Linda leads us through the hallway. The house is bare of any personal touches. Dad never wanted to decorate it. He said there was no point in decorating a home that was his last stop. He used to have maps, African masks, spears, coins and more hanging on the walls of his other homes. Not here. He didn’t want a reminder of what his life used to be. Plus, it was all auctioned off to pay our debts.

The walls are beige and the carpet is a slightly darker beige. On my left is the kitchen. The countertops are sand-colored quartz and the cabinets are a lighter sand color. On the right is the first of two bedrooms with an en-suite handicap-accessible bath and more sandy beige used in decorating than I saw in the Sahara Desert.

Linda stops in front of the office door and knocks lightly.

“Come.” It’s my dad’s voice. Linda opens the door for us but doesn’t go in.

I step into the room and Justin follows. Behind us Linda quietly shuts the door.

I pause and look at my dad. He’s sitting upright at his broad, dark wood desk in his leather desk chair. He’s slumped slightly to the left and he looks tired, but I don’t see any evidence that he’s worse off physically than he was when I saw him two weeks ago.

The only difference that I can see is that instead of his usual hard, cool-eyed expression, he looks like a pit bull about to tear into an intruder. His face is an uncomfortable shade of purple, his mouth is tight and his eyes are bloodshot and angry.

“Dad? What is it?”

“Emma. Good. You got out of the viper’s den.” He scowls, and I watch as he sets shaking

hands down in front of him on the desk.

What in the world?

I turn to look at Justin. Does he know anything about what’s going on? But he shakes his head and raises his eyebrows. He’s just as confused as I am.

“Mr. Castleton, you look well. I’ll just be out—”

“Sit down, Emma,” my dad interrupts. “Justin, glad you’re here. You can stay.”

“What in the world is going on, Dad? Linda said you had another stroke. I was scared—”

My dad holds up his hand and I stop.

“I’ll explain. Sit down, please.”

I look back to Justin. He shrugs. I move to one of the chairs in front of my dad’s desk and perch on the end of the cushion. Justin comes and leans against the back of the other. I’m glad he’s here. He has that alert, lawyer-like stance, which means his mind is working fast to figure out what the heck is going on.

Because one thing is incredibly clear. My dad didn’t have a stroke last night. Linda lied. My dad lied.

I take a breath and try to fill my tight chest. The curtains in the room are drawn and the heavy atmosphere is making me nervous. “Okay. Explain. And then apologize. Justin drove all night to get me. He missed a day in court, I’m missing a day at my site—”

My dad’s face splotches a darker shade of purple and red. “I had to get you away from him. You wouldn’t go if I told the truth. He’s dangerous.”

My stomach drops, and suddenly I realize what this is about. My dad’s irrational distrust of Andrew. I close my eyes and let go of all the worry I had for my dad. But anger replaces it. I lean forward in my chair and pin my dad with a hard stare.

“You tricked Justin and me because you wanted to get me away from Andrew? For crying out loud. That’s not acceptable, Dad. That’s not okay.”

Next to me, Justin straightens and steps back from the chair. He’s no fool, he knows when to exit a family disagreement.

“Dad, I love you, but there’s something you need to accept. I love Andrew. He loves me.”

My dad flinches as if I struck him.

I make my voice softer. Apparently my dad doesn’t want to hear this, but he needs to. “Andrew asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

My dad’s face drains of color. “He’s sicker than I thought. He’ll stop at nothing.”

My mouth drops open. Justin clears his throat uncomfortably. “I’ll just wait in the car.”

“Stay,” my dad says in a harsh whip-like voice. “I’m hiring you as legal counsel.”

“Legal counsel?” I look between my dad and Justin. Justin’s eyes narrow on my dad.

My dad’s hands shake as he pulls open his top desk drawer and removes a thick file. “I had to get you out of there without Santiago, or Carmichael as he calls himself, knowing that you were aware of his actions.” My dad drops the file on his desk and it hits the surface with a hard thud. My stomach clenches. I look at the file like I would a pit of snakes. I don’t want anywhere near it.

“Andrew hasn’t done anything to me. He’s not dangerous. He’s not out to hurt me. I don’t know what you have against him, but it doesn’t matter to me.” I scoot back in my chair. “Nothing you have to say will change my feelings.”

I know Andrew went through hell, I know it scarred him, and I know he believed that I was responsible. But all of that is in the past.

My dad’s eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. The anger in them has softened and he looks at me with an expression tinged with pity. It’s the same pitying look he gave me when he told me my mom was gone. Then he was younger, stronger—my indefatigable dad. Now he’s stooped, slumped and weakened. White-haired and made bitter by the twists of life. But the look he’s giving me is the same.

I press a hand to my stomach.

He opens the folder. Justin moves closer and rests his hand on the back of my chair. An offer of silent support.

“Andrew Santiago, now known as Andrew Carmichael, is the business partner of Dominic Sato. They own Suffolk Auction House.”

Behind me, Justin stiffens. “I’ll be…” he says. “How’d I miss that?”

My dad’s eyes flick up to Justin. “Because he wanted you to.”

I shrug. “I already know this. Andrew told me. He’s successful. You should be proud.”

My dad takes a stack of photographs from the top of the folder. They look like grainy screenshots from a low-tech security camera. A younger, much thinner and more haggard Andrew is sitting on a barstool. Even in an image of such poor quality, I can tell that Andrew is sick, nearly starved. He perches on a stool next to a lean, brown-haired man in a linen suit. “The two met in a bar in Cartagena. Santiago had one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of uncut emeralds on him, likely stolen, and a vendetta.”

I stare at the image of Andrew and I have the strongest urge to run back to him and hold him. It physically hurts to see him like that, with shoulders stooped and head bowed. I feel sick that my dad felt he had to pry into Andrew’s past and expose him like this. “I know all this, Dad. Andrew told me. He thought I betrayed him. He wanted revenge.”

My dad stops and looks at me sharply. “He didn’t want it,” he says in a choked voice. “He got it.”

“What?” I shake my head.

My dad starts to shake and cough, then I realize that he’s laughing. I look up at Justin. He lowers his brows. He seems worried. My dad’s laugh slows and he carefully spreads pages and pages of documents out in front of him.

“After Santiago left Colombia he styled himself a new man. Carmichael. He spent five years building wealth, contacts, prestige. He was relentless in hunting us, laying traps, and systematically destroying us. I wondered how a business I spent thirty-five years building could collapse so quickly. Until I realized it didn’t fall. It was pushed. Your Andrew destroyed us. Destroyed you.”

I shake my head. I’m having trouble believing what my dad is saying. “That’s ridiculous.”

My dad pushes a page in front of me. “Morocco. Five years ago.” It’s Andrew shaking hands with an official I recognize and a memo from the official stating that doing business with Castleton, Inc is against their interests. Our permit for that dig was rejected. My dad pulls out more documents and rattles off a long list of countries, dig sites, museums and private collectors that we’d been blackballed from in the past five years. I’d thought it was random bad luck. Or that people didn’t like working with me as much as my dad. I thought it had been my fault that our client base dried up. It wasn’t.

With each new page he sets down, I’m less able to deny what I’m seeing.

Andrew spent years, years, working to destroy me.

But…

The papers on the desk start to blur and I blink them back into focus.

He didn’t know. He was hurting. He…

I look at the stack of papers still waiting in the file and I start to feel ill. There’s more. “What else?” I ask, and my tongue feels thick and heavy.

“He orchestrated a set of rumors and misinformation to encourage you to make bad investments and take on hefty debts for ventures that turned out to be hoaxes.” My dad sets down a series of papers. They flutter before me. I don’t pick them up. “Denmark. Wyoming. Chad. Guatemala.”

I stare at the page he holds up. It’s the site of my last dig. Where I authenticated the find. Where it was then discovered that I’d given the museum a forgery. “I have it on good authority that he placed the forgery at the site. He set you up.”

The word “fake” flashes in my mind. My picture was plastered on newspapers around the world with fake stamped on my face, painting me as a desperate, crooked swindler.

I feel my face drain of color. Andrew did that? He spent five years tearing me down?

“I’ll kill him,” growls Justin. “I will take the bastard apart.”

“But…” I say. My body is cold and my mind feels like a blanket has been thrown over it. Nothing makes sense and I can’t form a coherent thought. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

I think of him just last night, the love and yearning in his face. But then I think of the file with my name on it in his briefcase. I’d laughed it off, but he admitted to having researched me. He also admitted to wanting revenge. To staying away for five years even though he could’ve contacted me at any time.

I look back up at my father. His face is grim. “The financials.” He holds up a sheaf of documents. “Proof of his influence on our financial collapse. This is his shell company. He bought up our debts and then called them in. The foreclosures were his doing.”

The image of my mother’s rose garden flashes in my mind. Andrew took it away?

My dad holds up another stack of documents. “Proof of his campaign to cut off our permits, museum contacts and goodwill with private collectors.”

I slump forward on the seat and wrap my arms around my stomach.

My dad waves another pile.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I say. I don’t want to hear any more.

Why did he do this?

And why didn’t he tell me?

The foreclosures and my last dig, where I was labeled a fraud, they all happened less than a month ago. Weeks even.

He couldn’t have worked for five years toward my destruction, seen the culmination and then just turned around and changed his mind about me. He saw me ruined and then two days later found me in the woods? And declared his love?

My dad slides another sheet of paper across the desk and sets it in front of me.

“His permit request for the dig in Romeo, submitted shortly after your own. He didn’t arrive by coincidence, Emma,” my dad says in a hard voice. “A week ago he witnessed the destruction of your career, your life. He came to finish what he started.”

I look up at my dad and his eyes turn soft with pity. “Emma. He doesn’t want to marry you, he wants to break you. A man like that doesn’t love. He destroys.”

I close my eyes and drop my head. My hands clench in my lap so hard that my knuckles begin to ache.

He destroyed me. He ruined me. He…

I open my eyes and look at the picture of Andrew in the bar in Cartagena. I can see the dark shadowy blur of his eyes. He looks so broken. Barely alive. I reach out and brush my fingers over his face.

Oh Andrew.

How much they hurt you.

“We’ll bring him down,” Justin says. “He won’t get away with this.”

I rest my hand over the photograph then look up at my dad. “I don’t agree with you. He has plenty of love to give.”

My dad’s brows lower and his face turns splotchy. “Emma. The bastard spent five years working to destroy you. Now he’s trying to break you through some sick scheme. Ruining your career and finances wasn’t enough.”

Justin clears his throat. “I hate to say it, Em, but Edward’s right. I don’t think his intentions toward you are honorable.”

I pull my phone from my pocket. “The last I heard, in this country we go by the tenet innocent until proven guilty. I’m not interested in a one-sided pitchfork mob.”

I hit Andrew’s number and put the phone to my ear. I stand up and walk to the other side of the office. I face away from Justin and my dad and look at the empty bookshelves. I let the phone ring a dozen times, twenty. It never goes to voice mail, it just keeps ringing. My heart thunders in my chest. I need him to answer. I hang up then dial again. The phone rings on and on.

Finally, I tap disconnect and slide the phone in my pocket. I take a breath and turn back to my dad.

He looks at the tear running down my cheek and scowls.

Justin walks to me and puts his hand to my arm. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head and shrug his hand off my arm. He gives me a look of surprised hurt.

He frowns, then snaps his fingers and gives me a reassuring smile. “Here. I’ll settle this. I’ll call Dom. We’ll figure this out.”

Justin pulls out his phone and flips through his contacts. Then he dials and puts it on speakerphone. Dom picks up on the third ring.

“Justin. What’s up? You calling about Friday? We still on for tennis?”

Justin watches me as he talks. “Dominic. I’m here with Emma and Edward Castleton. We’re on speaker. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your partner, Andrew Carmichael.”

There’s a short silence on the other end, then Dominic says, “Ah. I see.” His voice has leached of the warmth that was there earlier.

Justin raises his eyebrows. “I was wondering if you’re aware of any interest your partner may have or have had in Miss Emma Castleton or her father, Edward.”

Dominic clears his throat. I hold my breath and wait for his response. From the way Andrew spoke so fondly of Dom, I think that he’ll tell Justin that Andrew cares for me and Justin should quit being a lawyerly prick. Dom will set him and my dad straight.

“Well?” asks Justin.

“I think,” says Dom, “that you should address any questions to our in-house legal team. Shall I forward you to them?”

Justin’s mouth flattens into a thin line. My dad watches him with hawk eyes.

“No. That won’t be necessary,” says Justin.

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll see you Friday for tennis?” asks Justin in a cagey tone. I frown at him. Why is he asking about tennis after a call like this?

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says Dom. His voice has lost all warmth.

I start to feel short of breath. This isn’t right. This isn’t normal.

“Take care then,” says Justin.

They disconnect.

My dad leans back in his chair. His shoulders are slumped. He should look tired, but instead he looks vindicated.

Justin stares at the screen on his phone and shakes his head.

“What exactly did that conversation mean?” I ask.

Justin looks up at me and I can tell that he feels sorry for what he’s about to say. “It means, Em, that Carmichael is as guilty as sin.”

My chest cracks and I feel like my heart and all the happiness from this morning spills out. “What? Why?”

“Dom’s circling the wagons. Calling in the lawyers. He knew about Carmichael and whatever he intends. He just gave me fair warning.”

My dad gives a wheezing laugh. “I’ve already notified my contacts in the media. They’re running the story today. We’ll destroy him in court.”

What? No. I shake my head. “No.”

Both Justin and my dad look at me.

“No,” I say again. “That’s not what I want.”

“Emma,” my dad begins to argue.

“No.”

I look down at the picture of Andrew. Maybe he started out with revenge as a goal, but he didn’t end there. If he can forgive and move on from what happened in the mine, I can move on from this.

A sudden niggling makes me look at my dad. Then I ask a question that surprises me, even as I ask it. “Did you hire Crudell to take Andrew? Are you the reason he was in the mines?”

My voice is high and I feel short of breath. When I see my dad’s resolute expression I know the answer.

“You did,” I say.

I lean down and grasp the edge of his desk. I think of Rigo’s death, of Andrew’s scars, his fear and the terror he lived through and I have trouble staying upright.

“You did this to him.” I look at my dad and I feel sick. “Why?” I cry.

My dad clenches his trembling hands into fists and squares his shoulders. His breathing becomes more rapid and his nostrils flare. He’s not going to answer.

“Dad. Why?”

He lets out a choking breath. “You were going to quit school. Live in a hut. You would’ve given up your place in life to live in squalor with a street rat.”

I stare at him as the full import of what he’d done hits me. “Rigo died. Andrew was imprisoned for years. I was…” I choke off. I can’t continue.

“I didn’t tell Crudell how to treat him. That’s not my doing. I only told Crudell to keep him busy and away from us. I did it for you. To protect you.”

Holy…

I shake my head. “No. You did it to protect yourself.”

His face blanches. “He’s a monster. He’s proven himself a monster. I was right.”

“Goodbye, Dad.”

I look at Justin. “I’m going. Will you drive me back to Romeo?”

He looks at me, weighs what I’m saying, and then gives a nod. “Right. Okay.”

I turn my back on my dad and head to the door. Back toward Andrew.

“Emma. Don’t turn your back on me. Don’t…don’t…” He starts to wheeze again, then, “Emma. Don’t.” His words start to slur. I stop. Justin stops next to me.

“Emma,” my dad slurs.

Then I hear him slump in his chair.

I turn around.

The left side of his face has gone slack. He tries to choke out a word, can’t, and then he falls forward onto his desk.