Chapter 19
Christmas Eve
Laird
“You seem familiar with my mom,” Fenella says rhetorically, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes, we are,” Sharon answers before I can say anything. “You never come home on Christmas Eve, so Laird’s the one who always visits. I can’t even tell which of my kids actually belongs to me.” She sighs and walks back to the kitchen.
Fenella scowls. I can tell she’s feeling guilty now.
“So,” she says, clearing her throat as she drops onto the sofa beside me, “do you come to Boston every Christmas?”
“Yup. There’s an attendance rule if I still wanna be recognized by my father.”
She eyes the eggnog in my hand. “Does my mother also check your attendance every year?”
“Yup. She rewards my presence with something holy.” I lift my glass before taking another sip.
“Oh…” Fenella curls her knees to her chest. “I thought you came to see me.”
Her words hit me like a slow realization. Only then do I get what she’s thinking. She must’ve been disappointed, thinking the only reason I showed up was her mom. She’s so damn easy to read.
“I thought you asked for some space,” I say with a crooked smile, remembering what she told me at Gene’s office the last time I saw her.
Since that day, she hasn’t answered my calls or texts. Just one message saying she’s in Boston. At least she kept me in the loop. So that’s what I did. I respected her wish to cool off and sort things out before coming back to Beacon Hill.
“Yeah, but—” she huffs. “Forget it.”
I raise an eyebrow at her tone. Not wanting to tease her too long, I set my glass on the table and scoot closer. My thumb grazes her cheek.
“Are you still mad at me?”
Fenella curls up even tighter, but that doesn’t stop me. I lift her chin gently, forcing her to look at me.
“Weren’t you the one who was mad at me?” she shoots back. Her eyes shimmer, ready to spill tears any second, but she still narrows them at me with that stubborn glare.
I frown. “I wasn’t mad at you.”
Hearing that, she lowers her knees and sits cross-legged on the sofa, her posture stiff.
“Yes, you were,” she fires back. “You saw that ad at the office and lost it. You stormed into Gene’s office and beat up Alan because of it.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, baby. Take a breath.”
I raise both hands in surrender. “Calm down,” I say, my voice low and steady, hoping she’ll actually listen. “Alright, I admit it. I saw the ad. I got angry. I threatened Alan. But didn’t you say you’d try to trust me more and work on better communication between us?”
Fenella’s forehead tightens. Her lips press into a thin line. She’s waiting for me to explain, and I’m not here to fight her again.
“My adrenaline got the best of me, sure. But one thing’s certain—I’m not the one lying to you. Yeah, I was jealous of Alan. And now we know who he really is. You saw it yourself, how that bastard kissed me just to provoke me like some kind of sociopath.”
Fenella’s eyes widen. Her jaw drops. She scoffs. “Maybe you’re the one with the problem. Possessiveness, anger issues—you name it. You said he was tailing us, studying us. Now he knows how to push your buttons. Can’t you control yourself for once? What if he presses charges?”
“That won’t happen.” I shake my head, arms crossing over my chest. “He wouldn’t dare report it. He’ll avoid the cops at all costs.”
She blinks, eyes narrowing. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because he’s being investigated for money laundering.”
My voice is calm, almost too calm—and that silence hangs heavy between us. Fenella stares at me, speechless. Then a car horn blares outside, snapping her back.
Her voice falters. “What do you mean, money laundering?”
“You know what it means. He’s suspected of being involved in serious criminal activity. That’s why Golden’s targeting him through that DUI case.”
Fenella goes quiet, taking it in. “So, it’s not some personal revenge against your father?” she asks, disbelief flickering in her eyes. I shake my head.
“He’s just being professional, taking every opening he gets.
In fact, he came down from the feds’ office to work with the state DA once he heard about the case.
That’s why Alan lost it during the arraignment, remember?
I’m sure he didn’t expect a federal prosecutor to take an interest in that petty case. ”
“I still don’t get it. You mean Mr. Golden actually wanted to go after money laundering, not the DUI?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice tight.
“Exactly. If the DUI case had gone deeper, they could’ve legally looked into Alan’s entire business operation,” I say evenly.
“Unfortunately, the judge didn’t care, or didn’t want to deal with it.
So, she let him pay a fine instead of doing time.
The best they got out of that was forcing him into monthly court-ordered therapy. That’s one way they keep tabs on him.”
Her lips part. She covers her mouth with both hands, her face going pale. She rubs her temples. “This is insane,” she murmurs. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”
“Why do you look so upset? Don’t tell me you still care about him,” I say, frowning.
“It’s not that,” she groans. “He came here earlier.”
“Yeah, your mom told me. What did he say?”
Fenella licks her upper lip, pauses, and then tells me everything—Clark Thomson before he became Alan Schmidt, the name change, the past he buried. I listen, connect dots in my head. Peter Morgan’s investment flowing into Alan’s company? That seals it. My suspicions hit the mark.
Forget the idea that Alan did all this just to get her attention. The man has always been playing a bigger game. From the start, he wants control, not affection.
“So this confirms Peter’s involvement in Alan’s operation,” I say slowly. “The money flowing from Peter’s accounts is what the feds are tracking.”
“Is it really that bad?” she asks, biting her lower lip.
“It’s worse. Senatorial corruption, illegal transfers, ties to international crime groups—everything’s connected to Peter Morgan, and Alan’s the money machine,” I tell her, my voice low.
“Wait. Are you serious? Isn’t that too extreme for a normal businessman?” she asks, brows furrowing.
I press my lips together. She’s never seen how deep this world runs: how clean people look on paper and how dirty their money really is. I’ve seen enough to know. That’s why I walked away from law, too many compromises, too much darkness. It’s not what I wanted for my life.
“Fenella, I know this is hard to take in, but people like that exist. Remember the guy who saved you and put you in at Gene? He was in the same world.”
She shivers and hugs herself. “Yeah. I guess he was involved in something, but he never told me the details.”
“They all have one thing in common, money. That’s what this is about. Now you see why I need you to stay away from Alan. This isn’t about jealousy anymore.”
I cup her face gently. She looks up at me, eyes soft but alert, and nods slowly.
“And I want him out of our lives for good. I don’t want us living with this fear anymore. He and Amy have been pulling the strings from the start—lying, trapping, manipulating. Now he’s after you again, isn’t he?”
Her voice trembles. “You don’t mean… kill him, do you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “We’ll put them away. For good. Let’s end this the right way.”
Fenella’s face goes even paler. She finally gets how dangerous this is. We’re about to take on those mobsters.
“Can we?”
I lift an eyebrow at the doubt in her voice. It’s nothing like the tone she used to take when she talked about Alan—as if he were some heroic prize. That spark is gone, replaced by something softer, unsure.
“Golden and I have a plan.” I lean closer. “Right now he and the FBI are digging into data tied to Alan’s business empire. They’re mapping how the operation runs, following the money. But they need someone on the inside. They need solid names, solid evidence of involvement.”
I let that sit. The silence stretches. The clock tick somewhere behind her.
“So...” she whispers, still lost.
“So what we can do,” I say, slow and steady, “is help the investigation by providing inside information. From someone Alan trusts.”
“OMG. No. You don’t mean—”
“I know it’s not ideal,” I say, hands up. “But think about it. Don’t you want revenge? If you ask me, I want them out of our lives for good.”
“Yes, Laird. They kept us apart for seven years with their dirty tricks. I don’t understand how he can still deal with those people.” She rubs her temples, her voice brittle with frustration.
“Exactly. We’ll never know when he’ll stop. I’m done running into him. As long as he’s free, he’ll keep messing with us. I don’t want that anymore.”
Fenella gets up and paces the living room. Her hands fly to her mouth. She bites her nails, stares at the carpet like she’s trying to read a future there.
“Would a restraining order work?” she asks suddenly. “No. He’d find a way to stay close.”
“A restraining order won’t help unless he actually harms you,” I say. The idea of that possibility makes my jaw hard.
I reach for a glass of eggnog and take a careful sip while she paces, the drink cooling in my hand. I focus on the taste to keep my head clear.
“There’s something I haven’t told you, Laird.” She stops. Her shoulders tense, and fear runs across her face.
“Tell me,” I say. I don’t want to push her into a panic. She’s fragile around Alan.
“Promise you won’t get mad,” she says.
“I promise.” I nod.
She runs upstairs, feet thudding. When she comes back, she’s holding a small red velvet box. She sits beside me and offers it like it’s a confession. “This is from Alan. He said he’d wait for me forever.”
My chest tightens. My blood rushes hot. I already know what’s inside. “That son of a bitch,” I growl through my teeth.
“You promised,” she says, voice thin.
I stare at the box, hands trembling. I open it. A massive diamond ring blinks up at me—flashy, arrogant, exactly like him. Pretentious bastard. I look up at her, waiting for her to explain.
“I’m going to get engaged to him,” Fenella says.