Chapter 11
Hank
AFTER THE ALIBI
My assistant, Lila, riffles through the mountain of paper on my desk while I rub my hands across my face. I ended up sleeping on the couch last night instead of going home, and by the way my body feels this morning, I’m going to regret that decision all day.
“I picked up your dry cleaning on my way in so at least you’ll have a clean suit to put on.”
When any new intern starts, they think Lila’s a pushover because she’s little, barely over five feet tall, and looks about ten years younger than she really is.
Hell, when she applied for this job I thought there was a typo on her résumé because I would have sworn she was still in high school.
But she’s a force to be reckoned with, and they find out quickly they don’t want to get on her bad side.
“I’m guessing we need to clear your schedule as well as look at Ben’s calendar. ”
“Yeah, cancel anything you can for me this week. Maybe next week too. Ben’s stuff gets priority.
Also, I need you to make a few calls for me.
First, reach out to the company who monitors our alarm system and see if they can send a security guard over.
If they don’t offer that service, see if they can recommend someone who does. ”
Lila spins around. “You think we need that?” She’s worked here long enough to read between the lines. I didn’t have to tell her how Ben died for her to guess it was foul play. The news coverage showed the police response, which is only typical for a crime scene.
I shrug. “I’d rather be overly cautious.” Until we find out who killed Ben and why, I’m not taking any chances with the safety of those who work here.
She nods and picks up her notebook. “You want them here just during working hours?”
“Yes. And tell everyone for now, no one is to be on the premises after hours. If they need to, take the work home, but I don’t want anyone here without a security guard present.”
“Okay, what else?”
“Call that psychologist we used as an expert on the Henderson case and see if he’s available to speak with anyone who is struggling with this.
And let me know if anyone needs time off.
” The firm employs twelve people, and from the receptionist to the paralegals to our own personal assistants, all of them saw Ben on a daily basis.
This office is like a family, so it’s expected we’d struggle with the loss of one of our own.
She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. “You can take off a few days too. No one says you have to jump into work less than twenty-four hours after you find out your partner’s gone.”
Partner. If she only knew. I have not shown her his request yet, since I was hoping to talk him out of his decision to part ways, but Ben’s assistant, Tricia, knows since she was the one who typed up the proposed dissolution agreement.
It’s probably only a matter of time before that news spreads through the entire office.
“The idea of me being home alone for the next few days is ludicrous and we both know it. I’d lose my mind.”
“It was just a suggestion.”
“Did you tell Tricia she can have some time off if she needs it?”
“I did, but she’s coming in anyway. Said she may take a few days once she knows the time-sensitive stuff is taken care of.”
“Did you hear Ben wanted me out?” I debated bringing it up but then decided if the staff is talking about it, I need to be aware of it.
Lila gives me a sad smile. “Yeah, Tricia mentioned it last week. I think she was trying to give me a heads-up in case I needed to be looking for a new job.”
I nod. “It’s good y’all look out for each other. It feels strange that last week I was thinking the same thing. If anyone is worried or concerned about the change in leadership…”
She watches me struggle to get off the couch then silently moves to the closet in the corner of my office and pulls out the brace. “No arguments. Put it on. You’ll thank me later when you can actually walk to your truck instead of limp.”
I take it from her begrudgingly, even though I know she’s right. I sit back down and pull up my pants leg, exposing the deep scars that crisscross my knee, then wrap the neoprene tightly around it.
She drops down on the couch next to me. “Whatever you’re thinking—stop.
Ben was a great guy and a good boss, but he insisted on keeping a professional distance from the staff.
You went out of your way to get to know everyone here.
If he would have forced you out, half of the office would have left with you, including me. ”
Her words give me some relief but they don’t change the tragic circumstances that made this problem go away.
She gets up once she’s delivered her pep talk and takes command of the mess on my desk in a way I never can.
Once she seems satisfied with the piles she’s made, she looks back at me still on the couch.
“Let’s get your calendar cleared first, then Tricia and I will tackle Ben’s desk.
We’ll triage so we know what can wait and what can’t.
She mentioned he had a trial that was starting on Wednesday, but she’ll alert the judge this morning and start the paperwork for a postponement. ”
Lila is trying to be all business, but there are mascara-stained tears rolling down her face.
I limp my way to her and pull her in for a hug, knowing we both could use it. “Thank you for coming in.”
She nods against my shirt. “We all know you don’t like to be here by yourself.”
Laughing for the first time since I got the call from Camille, I give her one final squeeze before letting go. “You’re getting a big-ass bonus as soon as this all gets sorted.”
Lila glances at her watch. “Everyone should be here by now so let’s get this part over with.”
After an extremely emotional staff meeting where there were more questions than answers, I send Lila to help Tricia with Ben’s desk and his files so we can get a grasp of the width and breadth of his work and financial life.
The sound of my door opening draws my attention away from the file I was working on. Assuming it’s Lila, since she’s the only one allowed to walk into my office when the door is shut, I’m surprised when I see Camille’s dad, Randall Everett.
I stand from behind my desk when he enters the room. It’s presumptuous of him to let himself in this way, but I give him the benefit of the doubt that the shock and grief we’re all feeling are driving his actions.
“Mr. Everett, come in.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk.
We shake hands before he takes a seat.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
His mouth turns down and his expression is pinched. “Wanted to come in and check on you. See if I can offer any assistance. Ben’s death has been a huge blow to our family and I imagine to you as well.”
I nod and swallow hard. I’m not good at talking about my feelings with anyone, much less a man I barely know.
“It’s been devastating to us as well. We all thought the world of Ben.The fact that everyone came in first thing this morning and jumped in to make sure his clients get taken care of shows just how much they loved him.”
He gives me a sad smile. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. I know how difficult times like this can be on a business, especially since Ben was the captain of this ship, so to speak. It’s easy for things to fall apart when there’s not a strong leader to take up the slack.”
Even though I get what he’s trying to say, I can’t help but bristle at his description. Ben may have started this firm, but I more than carry my own weight and contribute just as much to the success of this firm.
I don’t respond to his jab, mainly because I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me sound like an asshole.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”
“Yes. Coffee sounds good. Black.”
“My assistant is busy helping in Ben’s office so give me one second to grab it.”
I could text Lila and get her to bring him a cup but I decide to get it myself if only to give me a few minutes to get in the right headspace for this visit.
Randall Everett is not to be taken lightly.
Even though the Everetts don’t live in Baton Rouge, most people here have heard of them.
There have been whispered stories about their family for years.
Freak tragedies that go unsolved, disgruntled former employees who conveniently disappear when they get a little too loud, and wealth that has not grown from legal means.
All the good gossip involves the Everett family in some way.
Randall pretty much owns the entire town and surrounding area of Corbeau, just south of here, and his son, Silas, is being groomed to take over the reins when it’s time.
The bulk of their income comes from the endless sugarcane fields that surround the small town and stretch across the parish, and the pockets of natural gas underneath those fields.
The rumor of how the Everett family obtained that land years ago is a much more interesting story.
It’s said that Otto Everett, Randall’s great-grandfather, won a small farm in Corbeau during a poker game in New Orleans when he was in his early twenties.
He packed up and decided to give the life of a gentleman farmer a try, but the work was hard and it wasn’t long until Otto was looking for other ways to monetize his newfound property.
Then Prohibition started and Otto Everett had an idea.
He made a deal with some moonshiners, and using the waterways and rail systems that would normally take his meager crop to the sugar exchange, he cornered the bootlegging market instead.
As his coffers grew, he bought up tract after tract of land, with little care whether the farmer actually wanted to sell.
The elder Everett put family and friends in important positions in the small town, ensuring he was the one really running things.
The law officers looked the other way. The bankers helped hide the money.
Once liquor became legal again, the business changed but not his hold on the town.
A hundred years later, an Everett still rules Corbeau. They are as corrupt as they are wealthy.
I worked with Ben for almost a year before I discovered Camille was Randall’s daughter. She never talks about her family and quickly brushes off any comments when someone else does.
I return to my office with a cup of coffee in each hand, setting one down on the desk in front of Randall.
He takes a sip then settles in his chair like he’s in no rush. The silence should be awkward, but we both seem content to sit and watch each other. Finally, he says, “Ben told me when he brought you on that you became the executors of each other’s wills. Is that still the case?”
I nod. “It is.”
Randall shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if he had changed that after he decided to ask you to leave the firm.”
Direct hit.
And again, I decide there’s no appropriate answer to his question.
But he’s not finished. “Do you feel it’s right that you remain in that role? As well as taking his cases as your own?”
It’s a series of aggressive questions I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’m sure you understand my position,” I say.
“Ben handed me a draft for the dissolution of our partnership but it was far from settled. In fact, I believed there was a possibility we could figure out a way to stay in business together. And as far as the rest, I am the executor on record as well as the only living member of our firm, so I’m legally bound to handle both his estate and the clients who are represented by Bayliss and Landry. ”
We stare at each other another long moment.
“Seems like Ben dying before he could remove you from either of these positions has worked out really well for you. Has anyone asked you where you were on Saturday night?”
It takes everything in me to match Randall’s cool and calm demeanor, because I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his comments have pissed me off.
“I suggest if you plan to throw insinuations around then you need to be prepared for me to protect my name and my reputation. What you are suggesting is abhorrent.”
Randall smirks. “According to your original partnership agreement, Camille is entitled to compensation, a percentage of the income made from the firm for the next ten years. Between that and handling his estate, you have your fingers in every aspect of her financial well-being. Ben believed he had cause to have you removed from his practice, but his death prevented him from seeing that through. If I feel that you do not have my daughter’s best interests at heart with regard to either of the roles you are currently fulfilling, I will make sure a suitable replacement is found. ”
I sit there, stunned, and watch Randall Everett exit my office. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s a text from Camille.
Mom just told me Dad is on his way to see you. I have no idea why and I’m sure he’s going to be an asshole. I’m apologizing in advance.
I read her message then put my phone back on my desk. Camille had always made it sound like she and Ben didn’t spend much time with her family, but it’s clear her dad was still in close contact with Ben. That’s the only way he would be that up to date with the inner workings of this office.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t focus on the work in front of me. Randall Everett’s flippant comment regarding my whereabouts on Saturday night has me rattled. Sullivan didn’t ask me where I was when Ben was murdered, but he will.
And while Camille was able to show a clear digital trail of her time spent in St. Francisville, I don’t have anything as ironclad.
I went home after I dropped Ben off. Changed into some old clothes, stained by oil and grease, and spent the rest of the day buried underneath the hood of the 1970 Pontiac GTO I’ve been restoring.
And while it’s normal for me to lose hours in my garage, there’s not a single person who can verify where I was or what I was doing.
As far as alibis go, I’ve got an extremely weak one.
Once it’s known Ben wanted me out, it will only take a few whispers in the right ears to catapult me into the top spot of suspects. Especially given how I am financially benefiting from his death.
If Randall Everett decides he wants everyone to believe I killed Ben, that’s exactly what will happen.