Chapter 11
Even as a little girl Savannah had loved poking through the stacks of old books and boxes in the presidential records room.
Her love of history had often driven her to spend time here discovering the stories behind the Willard Treasure and the early
days of the university. It felt a little like coming home to step into the space steeped with the scent of old leather and
paper. She had a few minutes before meeting Hez and Simon for dinner.
The only way she could end the vendetta with Michael was to find out more about the way it had started. Her father’s old journals
might hold the answers.
She flipped on the overhead lights, and one of them began to hum loudly. She made a mental note to let maintenance know, even
though she was likely the only person to come in here much. Had past presidents spent time in here hoping to glean wisdom?
Her mother had often spent afternoons scribbling in journals when Savannah was growing up, but she wasn’t certain those records had been kept.
If they were incriminating to her father, he would have destroyed them, but maybe he’d missed one or two.
Savannah hadn’t found them among her mother’s belongings after her death, but maybe a few had made it to the records room because Mom had been the president’s wife.
It wouldn’t hurt to search, and Savannah would even be happy to find some of her mother’s poetry.
She had all the published works, but it would be wonderful to discover poems that hadn’t made it to publication.
Stacks of old books stuffed every inch of the bookshelves lining all four sides of the room. The back ones held her great-grandfather’s
journals, and those records would be older than the ones she hoped to find, so Savannah turned to the ones on her right. She
started with the shelves to the right of the door. When she lifted the top book, dust motes tickled her nose. It was an accounting
ledger, so she moved it to one side and delved farther down into the stack.
She gasped at the sight of her parents’ wedding album. She hadn’t seen it in decades, and she flipped through the pages before
stopping at an engagement picture. Her mother’s green eyes were so hopeful and joyous. At this captured moment in time, Marie
Corbin had no idea of the tragedy her life would become.
Savannah’s gaze went to her father, and she couldn’t help the old admiration from surging a bit. He’d always been handsome,
and charm oozed from him in the photo. They’d had so much going for them at the start of their marriage. How had it all gone
so wrong?
She closed the album and moved it atop the accounting book to reveal a fine leather journal.
She sneezed and opened the cover to discover her father’s distinctive bold script sprawling across the first page.
While she’d hoped to discover her mother’s words, her father’s perspective might reveal things she longed to know.
She carried it to the table by the door and pulled out a chair.
The dates at the tops of the pages ranged from 1985 to 1990. She turned to the first entry.
My first day as president of TGU. I’ve dreamed of this day. My father will never raise his fist to me again, and he’ll never
control me with money either. There will be no more whispers of how Andre Legare ruined Tupelo Grove University. My visions
will remake it all. Once I implement all my plans, this university will rival Yale and Harvard. I started raising money for
Legare Hall last month, and the architect’s plans will ensure it’s a monument to my vision for this place.
Savannah grimaced at the thought of his grandiose plans for the crumbling marble building. She’d been struggling with whether
to have it razed or try to finish it. It was more of a lesson in how to mismanage money than any kind of accolade in her father’s
honor. His extravagant ideas rarely came to fruition.
Her attention caught on the “raise his fist” comment. Had her grandpa Andre beaten Dad? The text seemed to say that. She’d
always wondered about her father’s unquenchable desire for admiration and power. Maybe he’d been powerless to stop his father’s
abuse growing up. Grandfather Andre’s blight on the university could have trained her father in corruption too. If so, he’d
been an apt student.
She scanned through the next pages where he cited distractions and his need for more and more money.
It was one thing they could agree on—funding was a constant problem, and she’d found life as TGU’s president to be full of meetings where her role was to stroke egos and hold the hands of donors and staff.
It wasn’t how she’d envisioned making a difference here.
The next page was written in 1987.
$10 million in TGU’s coffers! A generous gift from the Willards in memory of Helen’s daughter and grandson. I can put the
money they got from the malpractice suit to much better use than her sons. They must be such a disappointment to her.
Such callous boasting. Reading her father’s journal made her feel dirty and guilty, and she almost shoved it aside but made
herself turn to the next page dated a month after her birth.
My private burdens make it difficult to accomplish the great works set before me. Marie blows hot and cold between depression
and condescension. She insists on thinking the worst of me and locks me out of the bedroom. It’s hardly my fault that women
can’t keep their hands off me.
She barely speaks to me since Savannah was born, and I caught her with a bottle of pills yesterday.
She saw me watching her and dumped them down the kitchen sink.
She had the nerve to say she couldn’t leave our daughter in my care.
Like she’s any kind of a decent mother. All she does is cry and watch me with accusing eyes.
Besides, I’ve heard rumors she’s been dallying with Michael Willard, so she has no moral high ground. She denied it when I
confronted her, but I’m not so sure. It would be just like Michael to use Marie to get back at me. He’s full of hate after
the misunderstanding about his sister’s settlement. He’d like nothing more than to humiliate me by shaming me with my wife.
She’s a beautiful, fragile flower, and she could be crushed by—
The door opened behind Savannah, and Hez burst into the room. Her gut clenched at the sight of his agitated expression. She
rose to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Michael filed his own adoption petition—and Erik has agreed to it.”
She pressed her hand against her heart where it hammered against her chest wall. “We can still fight it.”
“We can try, but I don’t think we can win, Savannah. I’ll talk to Scott, but . . .” He gave a helpless shrug.
The anguish in Hez’s face hammered home the truth. They were going to lose Simon.
“What are our odds?” Still warm after a run with Hope, Hez tugged on the collar of his shirt.
Scott frowned and drummed long, bony fingers on his walnut desk.
“Of getting your petition granted without Andersen’s consent?
Probably zero now that he provided a DNA test confirming he’s Simon’s father.
You might be able to defeat the Willard petition, but that will depend on the evidence we can present. ”
Hez’s ears perked up. “What kind of evidence would that take?”
Scott shrugged thin shoulders. “Proof that letting Michael Willard adopt Simon wouldn’t be in his best interests. The judge
is supposed to consider anything relevant to Simon’s best interests, so we can put on basically whatever evidence we want
as long as it’s arguably tied to Simon’s well-being. Also, the court will appoint a guardian ad litem for Simon, so we’ll
want to persuade both the guardian and the judge.”
Hez chewed that over for a moment. “Several drivers for Michael’s trucking company got caught smuggling artifacts a few months
ago, and law enforcement raided the company. Michael and the company weren’t indicted, but maybe they were just more careful
than the others. Plus, I’ve heard rumors that Michael has other criminal ties.”
Scott shifted, drawing a creak from his leather chair. “I’ve heard the same rumors—but rumors won’t do us any good in court,
of course.”
“Of course. If we can get admissible evidence to back up those rumors, would that be enough?”
Scott stared into the middle distance for a moment, rocking his chair as he thought. “Probably. It would depend on how good the evidence is, but it should be easy to persuade the judge that Simon’s best interests aren’t served by letting a career criminal adopt him.”
Hez’s spirits lifted. Building a criminal case was his strong suit. Maybe he’d even find enough evidence to get Michael arrested.
He got up, eager to get started. “Great, I’ll start digging.”
Scott rose and walked him to the door. “You know you’ll be digging in a minefield, right?”
“Because Michael is a dangerous guy?” Hez shrugged. “I’m used to dealing with those.”
Scott’s gaze went to the left side of Hez’s head, where a craniotomy scar peeked out of his hairline. “And you almost died
not too long ago, right?”
Hez’s stomach muscles tensed at the memory. “I’ll be careful.”
Scott gave him a grave final stare. “Good. Let me know how it goes.”
Hez walked out into the warm spring sunshine. A gentle sea breeze blew down the street from Bon Secour Bay, carrying the mingled
scents of salt and coffee from the French Quarter cafés. Smooth melodies floated down from a second-story apartment where
a skilled jazz pianist practiced. It was a nice day.
Hez had been about to go back to campus and put in a few hours of work before spending the evening investigating Michael Willard.
But maybe a coffee and a walk on the beach would be better—especially if Savannah could join him. They had a lot to talk about.
A silver Mercedes E 350 pulled to the curb beside him. The passenger window slid down and Pierre Legare smiled at Hez from the driver’s seat. His perfect teeth and white polo contrasted with his tan. Aviator sunglasses hid his brown eyes. “Can I give you a ride back to campus?”
Hez didn’t really want to talk to anyone except Savannah, least of all her father. “No, thanks. I was about to grab a cup
of coffee and head for the beach.”
“Great, I’ll join you.” The window slid up before Hez could respond, and Pierre turned off the engine.
Hez exhaled with resignation as Pierre got out of the car. “Were you waiting for me?”
Pierre nodded as he walked around the Mercedes. “You’re sharp. I always liked that about you. The secretary said you had a
meeting here, so I thought I’d try to catch you.”
“Why did you want to catch me, Pierre?”
He clapped Hez on the back and gave an easy laugh. He smelled of cherry pipe tobacco and lemon drops. “For one thing, it’s
always good to see my once and future son-in-law. Let’s get that coffee you mentioned. My treat.”
Pierre made small talk about the university and sports as they walked down the block to the Petit Charms take-out window and
placed their orders. He grew serious as they strolled toward the beach with their cups. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye,
Hez, but we’re on the same side when it comes to Simon. I don’t want that slimeball to get our boy any more than you do. I
can help you stop him. I beat him once and I can do it again.”
Hez stared at the older man. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know how I got Marie back after Michael stole her?”
“No.”
A triumphant grin split Pierre’s face. “I hired a private investigator who dug up the truth about Michael Willard. I showed his dossier to Marie, and she came crawling back to me. And I told Michael that if he ever came near her again, I’d make sure he spent the rest of his life in prison.
He left with his tail between his legs.” Pierre’s smile turned crafty.
“And it just so happens that I’ve been updating that dossier every few years. ”
Hez clamped down on the hope surging in his chest. He knew Pierre too well. “Great! Can I have a copy of the dossier and talk
to your investigator?”
“Of course. I’m happy to help you and Savannah—if you’ll help me too.”
Here we go. “What kind of help did you have in mind?”
Pierre looked him in the eye. “Put back the money you took out of my trust. Restore the income streams you cut off. Drop the
lawsuit you filed against Education Management.”
Hez crossed his arms over his chest. “The lawsuit was brought by the university, which Education Management cheated. And that
money isn’t yours or ours. It belongs to the university. It never should have been in the trust in the first place.”
“Nonsense!” Pierre’s face darkened. “I’m the former president of TGU, and I deserve an adequate retirement. Savannah has the
power to give it to me. And as the university’s lawyer, you can write whatever documents are necessary to make it all legal.”
“We can’t just give you university money. That’s not how it works.”
Pierre flicked his hand like he was shooing away an annoying insect. “That’s how it worked when I was president.”
The way things worked during Pierre’s presidency had nearly destroyed the university.
And it sickened Hez that Pierre was using Simon’s fate as extortion leverage.
Hez took a long sip of his coffee to give himself time to think before he responded.
“Things are different now. I’ll talk to Savannah, but don’t get your hopes up. ”
Pierre smiled. “I have faith in you. Like I said, you’re sharp—and I know how much you both care about Simon.” He glanced
at his watch. “I have a tee time I need to get to. Let me know when you’ve made a decision.”
Pierre turned and walked back toward his car. Hez watched the retreating figure, loathing the man more than ever. At least
his sleazy proposal had been a subtle ray of hope: If Pierre could find enough dirt to checkmate Michael Willard, Hez could
too. But could he do it before the hearing on the adoption petition?