24. Stuart
STUART
Iwake up the next morning in a fog, holding Brooke tightly against me to protect her from the knife-wielding man who is trying to steal her necklace. There’s no way that I’ll let him take it from her.
Wait a minute. That’s not right.
Shaking off the cobwebs, I replay the nightmare in my head. The guy who killed Mr. Champion was trying to kill Brooke. That can’t be right. Those crimes happened on different days.
A weird sense of relief floods over me when I realize it was only a dream. And even better, Brooke’s body is molded against mine this morning. Unfortunately, Mr. Champion is still dead, and her necklace is still missing.
It’s not surprising that recent events invaded my sleep though. The death of Mr. Champion was such a shock.
What’s worse is the concern that someone could be targeting the Foundation’s charity events. More supporters could be in danger at the masquerade ball. We have to put a plan in place to make sure no one else is hurt.
As I’m considering options to protect everyone, the chime of an incoming text interrupts my thoughts.
José: Jason would like to meet in our office at 11 am this morning if you are available at that time.
Me: Yes, that works.
José: Excellent. We’ll invite Ms. Bennett as well.
Me: Thank you.
That means I have to wake Brooke up. Disturbing her when she looks so peaceful is the last thing I want to do.
Nuzzling my face against her neck, I begin peppering it with soft kisses as I let my fingertips stroke up and down her arm. She moans softly and snuggles closer to me but doesn’t open her eyes. Nibbling on her ear, I whisper, “Wake up, love. We need to be at the PR firm soon.”
She groans, “Can’t I keep pretending to sleep while you kiss and caress me?”
I laugh. “I’d love that, but we promised my dad that we’d meet with Jason today. José just texted. The meeting is at 11, and it’s already 9:30.”
“Oh, no. I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. I need to go home first.”
“I hate to tell you this, but you’re not wearing any clothes,” I tease, lightly spanking her bare bottom.
She swats my hand away. “You know what I mean. I don’t have clean clothes with me.”
“No time to go home.”
“Well, none of the stores are open yet, and I’ve already used the spare set I usually keep in my office. I don’t have a choice,” she says, sitting up in bed, holding the sheet over her chest.
“You do. Let me handle it while you take a shower. I’ll also order breakfast. Coffee will help. Trust me.”
Taking the sheet with her, she slowly walks to the bathroom while I make a couple of calls.
As we are finishing breakfast, someone knocks on the door to drop off a lovely suit and lingerie for Brooke. I’ll owe the concierge an extra tip. I’m not sure who he called, but they delivered—literally.
We’re still on a tight schedule, so it’s fortunate that the PR firm is in the same building as the Lincoln Hotel. Otherwise, we’d be late. Instead, at the appointed time, we exit the elevator on the correct floor.
The receptionist is sitting behind a glass, chrome, and cherrywood desk. She’s on the phone but holds up a finger, indicating she’ll be with us shortly.
I take the opportunity to look around the expansive, modern lobby. Last time I was here, the receptionist ushered me to the conference room so quickly I barely caught a glimpse of this area.
To our left, there are two deserted sitting arrangements, each with four swivel chairs surrounding a glass-and-chrome coffee table.
Copies of magazines are artfully spread on the glass tops.
They’re probably publications sporting photos and articles about the firm’s clients.
The most impressive part is the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass.
Being on a floor higher than Brooke’s law firm provides a beautiful view of downtown LA and the hills in the distance.
At first, I’m surprised at the empty waiting area. On second thought, I’m betting they rescheduled other appointments to deal with the consequences of Mr. Champion’s death. If no other clients are around, it will minimize the chance of leaks related to our discussions.
As we wait for the receptionist to finish her call, Brooke turns to me, saying, “Hopefully, Jason will have an update and suggestions for how to proceed. It’s not going to be easy to keep everyone safe if the robber appears at the masquerade ball.
But given Mr. Champion’s death, I’d guess the guy won’t show up again. What do you think?”
“It’s hard to say. I wouldn’t think a reasonable person would risk another robbery, but this person is a murderer. They were willing to kill for a Rolex. I’m counting on Jason having ideas for better security. If he doesn’t, we can’t go forward with the event.”
“Cancelling the masquerade ball would be devastating for the Foundation’s budget, wouldn’t it?”
“It would, but we can’t risk more lives.”
Silence lets the impact of the tradeoffs and risks sink in for both of us.
The sound of the phone receiver being placed in its cradle draws my attention back to the receptionist. She apologizes for the delay and escorts us to a nearby conference room. It’s smaller than the one we used before.
We’re greeted by a somber group that includes Jason and the remaining two board members, Mr. Broadmoor and Aunt Jen.
After shaking hands and sharing our shock about the loss of Mr. Champion, Jason says, “Let’s take our seats and discuss next steps.”
“Do you have an update on the cause of Mr. Champion’s death?” I ask.
Jason nods. “Apparently, he went to the restroom during the movie. We’d invited the staff to stand in the back of the theater to watch the film, so at that time, the lobby and restroom were empty.”
“Did he have a heart attack or fall and hit his head?” Aunt Jen asks.
“Neither. The security cameras show that a person wearing a ski mask hit him on the head when he exited the restroom. The masked person yanked Mr. Champion’s wristwatch off his arm and ran out a side door.”
Aunt Jen, Brooke, and I gasp in union. Mr. Broadmoor shakes his head.
Brooke asks, “Have they caught the culprit?”
“No. He escaped without notice. The outdoor camera near that side exit wasn’t working.”
“His death is tragic,” Mr. Broadmoor adds.
Jason nods. “It is. The police suspect it was a robbery gone wrong rather than an intentional murder. Most people wouldn’t have died from the hit on the head. Unfortunately, he was taking blood thinners, and the hit caused fatal brain bleeding.”
“The only good news is that it was an isolated incident rather than someone targeting the Foundation or this project,” Aunt Jen says, her shoulders relaxing at that thought.
Jason frowns, saying, “Ms. Bennett’s necklace also went missing from the Fundraising Lunch. And we’ve just received an anonymous threat that ties the incidents together.”
Deep concern furrows Mr. Broadmoor’s face as he asks, “Exactly what do you mean by ‘threat’?”
“The receptionist received a call this morning asking her to relay a message to me.”
“What was the message?” I ask.
“It’s strange—almost like a poem. Let me read it.
Pearls are born in the sea and can vanish with a wave;
Time comes and goes;
But diamonds stay forever unless they magically disappear.”
My fists clench. “Bloody hell. I guess that answers another question. Clearly, the disappearance of Brooke’s necklace and the watch were related. And let me guess, all the jewels in the silent auction at the masquerade ball are diamonds.”
Brooke shivers, gripping the edge of the table. Her expression is a combination of shock and fear. Without thinking, I reach to cover her hand with mine.
“Exactly. We assume the mention of pearls vanishing refers to Ms. Bennett’s necklace. Time coming and going must be about the Rolex watch. And the reference to diamonds must be the ones coming up for auction at the masquerade ball,” Jason says.
The tension in the room is palpable.
Mr. Broadmoor says, “There’s only one option. We need to hire a high-end security team. My US companies use Force Field, Inc. I’ll contact them.”
“No need. We already have a top-rate firm guarding the diamonds. And we’ve called a backup company to serve as secondary security,” Jason assures.
“That’s not good enough. We need an elite group, not some generic backup team. The diamonds are worth millions, and the Foundation’s reputation is at stake,” Mr. Broadmoor says.
“Mr. Broadmoor has a point. This project is my dad’s passion. It’s already tainted, but another incident would devastate him. There’s no reason not to hire the best,” I say, thankful for Mr. Broadmoor’s voice of reason and helpful security connections.
Aunt Jen nods. “I agree.”
“Then, Mr. Broadmoor, please ask Force Field to contact me. I’ll coordinate with them,” Jason says.
“Excellent. I’ll call them today.”
“Now, let’s discuss how to handle the talk show. Stuart, you may face questions about Mr. Champion’s death during the interview today, so be prepared,” Jason warns.
“I expect those questions. How do you suggest I answer them?”
“Avoid giving any specifics. I’d simply say the Foundation is saddened to have lost such a wonderful board member and advocate. If they insist on asking questions about the cause of death, refer them to the authorities and then repeat how much he will be missed.”
“Understood. Do you also have a list of talking points for me? I want to promote the movie and opportunities for the public to become involved in the solution.”
“We do. Look for an email from Hannah. Your main goal is to encourage people to see the movie and look at the resources on the Foundation’s website for ways they can help.
Your driver has been given directions to the television station.
A visitor’s pass will be waiting for you at the front desk.
Hannah will meet you there to act as your liaison with the television show. ”
“Thank you. Please make sure they know that Ms. Bennett will be accompanying me. She’ll need a visitor’s pass as well.”
“Oh, okay. We didn’t know that you’d want legal counsel at that event as well,” Jason says, a questioning look on his face.
“I thought it was clear that the Earl requested legal counsel be present at all events here. I’m following his orders, so please make the arrangements.”
“Of course, sir. It’s no problem,” Jason reassures.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss?” I ask.
“No. That’s all for today,” Jason says.
I stand, saying, “Thank you. Brooke, we need to discuss some logistics. Do you have time now?”
“Of course.”
We leave the PR firm, enter the elevator, and I select a floor.
Brooke says, “Wait a minute, that’s not the floor for my office. That’s the one for your suite, isn’t it?”
“Good memory. I thought we could talk there without interruption from your jealous colleagues.”
“Again, I’m sorry you heard what they said.”
“Why are you apologizing? They were the unprofessional ones.”
“I know, but it reflects poorly on my firm.”
“Not on you.”
The doors open on the elevator, and we walk down the hall to my corner suite.
“Brooke, would you mind finding the menu and ordering lunch while I make a call to my dad? I’d ask you to join the call, but I want to check on his health as well as give him an update on the plan. He’s more likely to be candid if it’s just me.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of lunch. What would you like?”
“Whatever you select is fine. Be sure to order a bottle of wine. It’s already been a long day.”
“Will do. Do you want dessert?”
“Definitely, unless you’re too tired,” I say with a wink.