Chapter 13
Thirteen
The guesthouse felt too quiet without Devon pacing around it.
Emery shifted on the couch, trying to find a position that didn't make her bruised hip scream in protest. The TV played some mindless cooking show she wasn't really watching, but the background noise kept her from dwelling on the fact that someone had tried to kill her last night.
Or had they? Sandy seemed convinced it was a hit-and-run, an accident by a distracted or drunk driver who panicked. But the timing felt too convenient. The escalation too deliberate.
The door opened, and Emery looked up, expecting Devon to have forgotten his phone.
Instead, her father stood in the doorway.
Her dad looked older than he had just a month ago—more gray at his temples, deeper lines around his eyes.
But his expression held the same gentle warmth that had defined her childhood, and seeing him now, in this moment when her world felt like it was crumbling, made her throat tighten with emotion.
"Dad?" Her voice came out small, uncertain.
"Hi, sweetheart." He stepped inside, and behind him came Gabe and an older man who bore a striking resemblance to him—same sandy hair going gray, same build, same careful way of moving. That should put an end to any rumors that Gabe was David’s son.
Devon appeared last, closing the door behind them. He caught Emery's eye, gave her a look that said, ’trust me” then gestured to Gabe. "We'll give you some privacy."
Gabe and Devon slipped out through the patio doors, leaving Emery alone with her father and the stranger.
"I'm Robert Maxwell," the older man said, extending his hand. "Gabe's father. Your dad asked me to be here for legal reasons—what we're about to discuss is part of an active federal investigation."
Emery struggled to stand, her hip protesting the movement. Her father crossed to her immediately, helping her settle back onto the couch before taking the seat beside her.
"You're hurt," he said, his hand hovering near the bruise on her face but not quite touching. "Devon told me what happened."
"I'm okay. Banged up but okay." Emery looked between her father and Robert. "What's going on? I thought you couldn’t talk about any of it.”
Her father took a deep breath. “Under the circumstances, it's time you knew the truth. About the insurance fraud case, about why I ended up being fired, about all of it."
"Dad, you don't have to—"
"I do. You've been carrying the weight of my choices without understanding them.
That's not fair to you." He glanced at Robert, who nodded.
"Two years ago, I was approached by federal investigators about a massive insurance fraud operation.
Multiple companies, millions of dollars in fake claims, a network of people all working together to defraud the system. "
"I know all this," Emery said quietly.
"You know the public version. But what you don't know is that I was never part of the fraud.
The real perpetrators set me up to take the fall.
" Her father's voice was steady, matter-of-fact.
"By the time I realized what was happening, the evidence against me looked damning, but I had already started preparing for battle.”
“The feds know you're innocent?"
"They do now. But two years ago, they weren't sure.
That's when Robert got involved." Her father nodded toward Gabe's father. "He was brought in as a consultant, and he was the one who’d started finding the inconsistencies in the evidence against me. He was also the one who got the feds to examine the information I’d collected more closely.”
Robert leaned forward. "The more I dug, the more I realized Michael had been framed.
But here's where it gets complicated—the people who framed him weren't just after him.
They'd also set up several lower-level employees at various insurance companies to look complicit.
People who'd unknowingly signed off on fraudulent claims, whose authorization codes had been used without their knowledge. "
"Like Gabe's mother," Emery’s father said.
"Among others," Robert confirmed. "My wife was one of several people who would have been charged as accessories if the case had moved forward as originally structured. They were innocent—just doing their jobs—but on paper, they looked guilty."
"So, what happened?" Emery’s chest hurt as she tried to suck in a deep breath. For two years, she wondered if her father—her hero—could’ve committed a crime. Could’ve been driven by greed.
Her father took her hand. "I made a deal with the prosecutors. I agreed to cooperate with their investigation, to help them build a case against the real perpetrators, in exchange for immunity for the employees who'd been set up. People like Robert's wife, who had no idea what was happening."
"You protected them," Emery said, her throat tight.
"I did what was right. Those people didn't deserve to have their lives destroyed.
" Her father's grip tightened on her hand.
"But it meant living under suspicion. It meant letting people think I was guilty while the feds built their case.
It meant watching you suffer because of accusations I couldn't publicly refute.
" Her father sighed. "I wanted to tell you so badly.
Wanted to explain why I wasn't fighting back publicly. But I couldn't risk it."
Robert stood. "I should give you two some privacy. Michael, you have my number if you need anything. Emery, it was good to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
After he left, Emery and her father sat in silence. The TV still played in the background, some cheerful host explaining proper knife technique, utterly at odds with the weight of what she'd just learned.
"I thought you might be guilty," Emery admitted, the words painful to say aloud. "I tried not to believe it, but you wouldn't defend yourself, wouldn't explain, and I started to wonder.”
"I know. And I'm sorry. I never wanted you to doubt me." Her father pulled her into a careful hug. "But I couldn't tell you the truth without putting you in an impossible position."
"When will it be over? When can you clear your name?"
"Soon. The feds are close to making arrests.
Once the case goes to trial, the truth will come out.
" He pulled back to look at her. "But there's something else you need to know.
The people who framed me—they're powerful, well-connected, and they don't want this case to go forward.
They've been trying to discredit potential witnesses, intimidate people who might testify. "
Cold understanding washed over Emery. "You think what's happening to me is connected to your case?"
"I don't know. But the timing is suspicious. You take a job that puts you in the public eye, and suddenly you're being targeted with forged documents and hit by a car?" Her father's expression was grim. "It could be a coincidence. Or it could be someone trying to get to me through you."
"That's terrifying."
"I know, which is why I'm here. I should have come sooner, should have warned you, but I thought keeping my distance would keep you safe." He took her hand again. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry."
Emery leaned against her father's shoulder, feeling like a child again—small and scared and needing his protection. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too, sweetheart. So much." He stroked her hair. "Your mother sends her love. She wanted to come, but we thought it was better if I came alone first. Less conspicuous."
"How is she?"
"Worried about you. Proud of how you handled that interview. Furious at whoever hit you with a car." Her father's voice held a hint of humor. "You know your mother—she wanted to drive out here and hunt them down herself."
That surprised a laugh out of Emery. "That sounds like Mom."
They sat together as the afternoon light faded, talking about everything. Her mother's garden, her sister's kids, the small, mundane details that made up a life. It felt normal in a way nothing had felt normal in months.
Finally, as the sun dipped toward the hills, her father stood. "I should go. I'm staying at a hotel in town for a few days, in case you need me. But I don't want to overstay and put you at risk."
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you, too.”
After he left, Emery sat alone in the gathering darkness, processing everything she'd learned. Her father was innocent. He'd sacrificed his reputation to protect innocent people. And now, someone might be targeting her because of it.
The den smelled like leather and old wood. The fireplace crackled quietly while Walter poured wine for the small gathering. Devon accepted a glass of Cabernet and settled into one of the wingback chairs, watching Gabe pace in front of the mantel like a caged animal.
Gabe's father, Robert, sat on the sofa with the kind of calm patience that suggested he'd spent years dealing with his son's nervous energy. Walter claimed the chair opposite Devon, his expression thoughtful as he observed Gabe's circuit.
And for some odd reason, the only thing Devon could think about was that Bryson and Riley were still not engaged.
"The floor’s gonna remember your footsteps," Robert said mildly. "Sit down and tell me what's got you wound tighter than a jockstrap.”
Gabe stopped pacing but didn't sit. He took a small sip of wine, set the glass down, and picked it up again. "My car was broken into yesterday."
"You reported it?" Robert asked as if it weren’t a big deal.
"Of course. Sandy's looking into it." Gabe ran a hand through his hair.
"But it's what was stolen that's bothering me.
The gun collection—the one David left me.
I'd been working with a museum curator, thanks to Emery's connections, and I had the guns in cases in my trunk.
I had to run an errand for Olivia and left the car locked in the parking lot for about 20 minutes.
When I came back, the trunk had been pried open, and the cases were gone. "