Chapter 26
Mason
Things with Grace are moving at a much faster pace than I expected. She has been with me for just a little longer than a week by now, but we’ve already progressed to a stage that forces me to think about my exit strategy. I can’t keep her locked up in that room forever, but don’t feel that I can trust her enough to proceed to the next step.
A step that would grant her more freedom, without letting her go. I can’t let her go, ever. And I never intended to. She’s mine, now more than ever, and I know it won’t take that much more to make her feel the same way. She wants me, and soon enough she’ll want nothing else than to be truly mine for the rest of her life.
Until then, I have to keep her safe. Safe from a world that was never hers to be in—and safe from herself. She is my responsibility now, and I will live up to the task.
But I knew I couldn’t disappear from the scene once Grace was in my care, as much as I want to. I have to keep up appearances and show my face at the agency just as much as I always have. No one can suspect a thing. I didn’t even tell anyone about me relocating to the Westford mansion that once housed me and my sister years ago. As far as my office is concerned, I’m still residing at my townhouse in Boston, which is why Tracey, my secretary casts me a quizzical look when I walk into the office today.
“Good morning, sir,” she greets me with her perfect plastic smile, her blond locks tied up in an elaborate updo and her lips painted in a fiery red that compliments her tan skin. “Haven’t seen the Range Rover in a while! Driving out to the country later?”
Shit. I should have thought about that. The front lobby of our building is entirely glassed-in, looking out to the parking lot where I just rolled up with a car that I loudly declared to be my “countryside vehicle” when a client asked me about it a while back. I usually drive my Maybach in the city, so that’s what Tracey would expect to see when I drive inside of Boston.
“The Maybach is in the shop, had some trouble with it,” I lie, checking the time on my Patek Philippe. “I’m running a bit late. Is he here yet?”
Tracey nods, gesturing toward the corridor that leads down to our smaller conference room.
“He’s waiting for you in room three,” she says, pursing her lips. “A bit of a character. I offered him coffee or tea, but he declined, and not in the most polite manner.”
A faint crease emerges between her brows as she narrows her eyes. “To be honest, I’m not sure whether he’s worth your time, sir. I almost feel sorry for calling you in today...”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What did he do?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” she hurries to respond, raising her hands in an appeasing manner. “He didn’t do anything. It’s just... he gives me a weird vibe, that’s all. Or maybe I’m just having a bad day, I don’t know.”
She shakes her head violently, pushing a pile of files into my arms before she smiles again.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s fine, you have to trust your gut,” I cut her off. “Guess I’ll just see for myself.”
I wink at her, and she casts me a girlish smile, her cheeks blushing before she diverts her focus back to the screen in front of her.
I wonder what this is all about. Tracey has never said anything like this about a potential new client. My staff usually takes care of new inquiries, but this guy asked to speak to me specifically, which is understandable, considering the size of his planned endeavor. Apparently he’s interested in not buying one, but several larger institutions that are listed in our portfolio.
When I walk into the room, I find him standing with his back to the door, looking outside the panoramic window that stretches across the entire wall. He turns around, and I instantly know what Tracey may have referred to. He looks quite normal at first glance, just a young man in a suit, his ash blond hair combed to the side and gelled into place. But when he smiles at me, I can’t help but notice the tasteless gold crown on some of his front teeth. Who the hell still runs around looking like that? And especially a man with his kind of wealth?
“Mr. Morgan?” He presumes correctly, reaching his hand out to me. “I’m Mr. Smith, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Mr. Smith,” I greet him as we shake hands. His handshake is firm, almost painful and I notice a trace of cheaply made tattoos peeping out from under his sleeve. “Please, have a seat.”
He sits down in one of the chairs closest to him, and I decide to take my seat at the opposite side of the table, following an inexplicable urge to keep as much distance between us as possible. Tracey was right, there is something about this guy that’s unsettling. Despite his apparent efforts, he looks somewhat scruffy and not like the type of client we usually serve. There’s a rough edge to him that I’d rather place in the drug infested ghetto of town and not the upscale society we work for.
He looks like a bad boy trying to be good, which makes me think he might be trying to launder dirty money by purchasing the buildings and institutions he’s shown interest in. We’ll have to check him very thoroughly, if we decide to do business with him.
“Thanks for coming all the way out here to meet with me,” he says, throwing me a forced smile. “I know you must be a busy man. I feel honored.”
I regard him with a cautious look. “Of course, I understand your need for expertise with an undertaking of such magnitude as yours.”
He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, I have big plans.”
“My secretary told me you’re interested in the Cramson properties, among others,” I begin, opening the first file on the pile that I received from Tracey. “Why don’t we start by-”
“Actually, I’d like to have a little chat with you first,” he interrupts. “You know, get to know you a little bit better.”
I cast him a questioning look. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just that I like to know who I’m doing business with,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, this is a lot of money that I’m willing to invest here, and I don’t like to work with strangers.”
He leans forward, placing both his elbows on the table between us as he juts his chin forward.
“How does a man like you end up becoming the registered proprietor of a psychiatric ward?” He wants to know. “You were just a regular realtor until a few years ago, weren’t you?”
I’m taken aback at his question. “I still work as a realtor, a very good one indeed. Mr. Smith, as you may know, we’re highly selective when it comes to our clients, and I assure you, you’re in the very best hands with our firm-”
“Yeah, but why the ward thing?” He cuts me off, rather rudely. “Doesn’t seem like a profit-oriented endeavor, even with a private institution like yours. It kinda stands out, don’t you think?”
“It’s a personal matter,” I tell him, eager to change the subject.
“Oh, personal,” he retorts, raising his eyebrows. “Because of your sister?”
Startled, I reciprocate his interrogating look, suddenly feeling very exposed. Who is this guy? And why the hell would he mention my sister?
“How do you know about my sister?” I ask him, wary disdain lacing my words.
“Oh, like I said, I don’t like to do business with strangers,” he says. “I did my research before picking this firm. And it’s no secret, is it? There were even news articles about it at the time. What was her name again, Annabelle?”
I can’t suppress a frown when I look at him now. He’s right, sadly. I never wanted the publicity that came with my decision back then, but we were too late to stop it. Thankfully, Anna was already doing much better and no longer a patient at the ward when the spotlight was put on our family after I bought the ward and became its sole proprietor.
“Quite a sad story, really,” he goes on. “You two are twins, right? Just teenagers when your parents died?”
“Seems like you already know everything there is to know about me and my family,” I say. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with our business, though?”
I don’t like where this conversation is headed. He’s digging up a past that I was keen to leave behind. It’s true that Anna and I lost our parents in a car accident shortly after we graduated from High School. We were 18 years old, both about to start college, and not ready to deal with a loss of such magnitude. But it was more difficult on Anna, partly because she had been battling with depression even before that, and partly because the accident happened after my parents dropped her off at college and helped her move into her dorm. She blamed herself for their death and lost all will to live as a result. Depression almost took her from me, and for a long time, I had only one purpose in this world: To save my twin sister’s life.
That’s how she ended up at the ward, and that’s how I ended up where I am now.
“Nah, I was just wondering,” Mr. Smith says. “With a history like yours, it makes sense to assume that you have a soft spot for young women who lost it.”
“Lost it?” I implore, throwing him a sour look.
“You know, went a little coo-coo,” he says, twirling his finger next to his temple. “You must have particular interest in their care then?”
“Mr. Smith, I’m not sure what you’re trying to insinuate here,” I tell him, no longer hiding the fact that I’m not comfortable with this conversation at all.
“Just saying, I heard you’ve been running into a little trouble lately,” he says, clearing his throat. “A patient went missing or something?”
How does he know about that? I was adamant that the press would not be involved in this case. As far as I know there should be no public records about Grace’s disappearance.
I want to deflect, but it’s too late.
“Ah, so the rumors are true,” he says, arching his eyebrows triumphantly. “Someone did go missing? A young girl?”
I’ve had enough. This guy clearly is not here, because he wants to do business with our firm, but because he has some kind of agenda regarding me and my position at the ward.
Is he an undercover cop? If so, he’s not a very good one, and sleazy as fuck.
I get up from my chair, pointedly gathering the files in my arms before I pin him down with a stern look.
“Mr. Smith, I came here to talk about your business plans, not my personal history or classified information regarding my ward,” I let him know. “And frankly, I no longer have any interest in doing business with you. This firm is very selective when it comes to taking up new clients, and I don’t think we’ll be a good fit.”
I give him a moment to respond, but he doesn’t say a word, just grins at me with that infested gold smile, as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
I raise my eyebrows at him, impatient for a response.
“Fine,” he says eventually, rising up from his chair. “Guess I’ll have to bring my business to a more transparent realtor.”
I open the door for him and make sure to keep as much distance as possible between us when he walks past me and, thankfully, heads straight for the exit.