“I’m sorry, Chris. You caught me at a bad time. My husband didn’t have any family. He was an orphan. You have the wrong number, and as I’m sure you can hear I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Mrs. Foster, my brother wasn’t truthful with you. I’m very much alive, and very much his brother.”
“When was he born?” she asked him.
“May 5.”
“That’s right. What city?” she said quickly.
“Costa Woods, California.”
“That’s not true. He was born in Macon, Georgia.”
“No, he wasn’t. Marc Jacob Foster was born in Costa Woods, California.”
“He has a birthmark—” she began.
“It’s shaped like a boot of Texas on the inside of his right knee,” Chris finished. “He has a scar on his shoulder from falling out of a tree when he was six years old trying to reach a cat that had climbed up and wouldn’t come down. Seven stitches,” they said together.
“That’s right,” she said slowly as the reality of his words hit home.
“Why would Marc say he didn’t have a brother?”
“I can’t answer that right now, Mrs. Foster. I’ve made all the funeral arrangements.”
There was a loud crashing noise and Alexandria didn’t even want to know what was going on behind her. This day had turned out to be a day she shouldn’t have gotten out of the bed. But she knew that not looking at the mess didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be there. So she turned around.
Her brother had tried to pile chairs against the conference-room door to keep the police out, but they weren’t amused.
He was on the floor being handcuffed while their father stood by dialing his phone. No doubt calling his attorney.
“It sounds like you’re at the zoo.”
“About the same thing. It was a board meeting,” she said.
“Your husband, Marc Jacob Foster, my brother, born May 5, died in an airplane crash.”
She braced her hand on the wall and all her gold bangle bracelets rattled. “Marc can’t be dead,” Alex broke in, keeping her voice steady despite the panic that shook her rib cage. “I talked to him two days ago, and he helped me…with something.” Alex took the phone to the far end of the hallway and pressed herself into the corner.
“He’s dead, Alexandria. I know it’s hard to comprehend. But he’s gone. I’ve made the arrangements,” he said compassionately. “You’re booked on Delta flight 1135 from Atlanta to Los Angeles. There’s a layover before catching flight 231 to Del Rosa. Your seats are row 15A and 27B. A friend of mine, Hunter Smith, has agreed to be your escort so you won’t be alone. I’ve known Hunter since my days in the bureau. He’s a trustworthy guy who owns his own security company in Atlanta. The funeral is tomorrow here in Del Rosa, California. Do you have any questions?”
“Your friend is already here. Can I trust him? He’s no rapist, is he?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am is my mother. I’m Alexandria, or Alex. I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where are rows 15A and 27B? They don’t sound like first-class unless there’s a plane of all first-class seats. You know, I’ve never seen that before.” Alex tried to block out the sound of her brother gurgling.
“They’re not in first class.”
“Oh.” Her stomach bottomed out. She’d never sat in coach before.
“Where will Little Sweetie go?”
“Who’s that?”
“My Chihuahua.”
“Sorry. You’ll have to leave him home.”
“I don’t travel without him.”
Silence grew, but he broke before her. “I’ll call Hunter with an update if changes can be made. In the meantime you have two hours to pack and get to Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. Hunter’s a good man. He’s really efficient.”
“Yeah. He’s kneeling on my brother’s back now while the cops are cuffing him.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying not to cry.
“Okay,” Chris said, dragging out the word. “He’ll escort you to your home to get your essentials and then bring you out here. See you tomorrow. Again, my sympathies.”
Alex looked at the dead phone in her hand.
Hunter helped Mervyn to his feet and brushed him off.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. Her family couldn’t know that Marc might be dead. They’d really steamroll her then.
She had to get out of there, but if her father saw her face he’d know something was wrong. Then she’d break down and ask her dad to help her find out if Marc was alive or not. Then she’d be a vulnerable needy girl again, instead of a woman in control of her life and able to run a company.
Heading down the hallway, Alex scooped up Little Sweetie’s bag, grabbed her BlackBerry off the table, took Willa by the wrist and pushed her wayward group forward. Hunter followed with her purse on his arm.
“Where are you going?” her father demanded.
“I’ve said all I came to say. Now that Mervyn’s fired and on his way to jail, I guess you’re going to have your hands full. I’ll be back in a few days. Daddy, you have to collect that money and turn it in or no new projects will be green-lighted. Willa, stop crying now.” The woman’s sobbing instantly became tiny hiccups.
“Very good. Daddy, new credit cards will be issued tomorrow. The accountant will have them.”
“You will not leave here like this, Alexandria.”
“Daddy, I have to go to California. Today. Now. I’m leaving. If you have a business expense, submit it to the accountants in grandmother’s office. Do not yell at them. They’re not as nice as me. I’ll call you in a few days. Thanks. Bye, y’all.”
“In three days, this company will be back to the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Alexandria met her father’s gaze evenly. “We’ll see.”
He got in the elevator and rode down, no doubt to save his son.
Dragging Willa behind her, Alex held on to Little Sweetie’s doggie bag and shushed him. He ducked inside the bag and sat down.
“Jerry, I’m going away for a few days, okay? Do you think you can handle the phones for me?”
Her brother nodded and gave her the thumbs-up. The phone rang and he answered, “Wright Enterprises. How can I help you?”
She smiled at him. “Good job. Don’t let them take over, you hear me?”
He winked and went to work. Turning, she took two steps, and saw Hunter again, carrying her purse, clearly unhappy.
“Are you an accountant?” she asked him.
“Among other things. Today I’m here to escort you to—”
“Out of town,” she said, glancing at Jerry.
“That’s correct,” he said, picking up her cue for discretion. She wished he would step all the way back to the elevator so she could breathe, but to ask him would be rude. “Do you have a license?”
“For what?” he asked.
“Do