LITMIR.BIZ

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ducked his head. It smashed on the ground, a bottle.

      Suddenly, the police formed a barrier between their small group and the larger crowd, and they got to the ambulance. As the doors slammed and it pulled away, Charlotte was propelled to another waiting car, and she turned to see who was helping her.

      Scarsford. He didn’t let go until she was in the car, and when he did, her arm felt suddenly cold.

      Faces pressed up against the window, struggling with the police, fingers pointing, rage, anger, and … loss. She could see sadness and panic on these faces and suddenly realized what her father stood accused of. And she realized in the same moment that he was guilty and that life was never going to be the same again.

      THE SCENE WAS similar in front of her apartment building, although there were fewer police to protect her. Scarsford kept his arm around her shoulder, and she ducked her head, but she could still hear the insults and threats people were throwing. Not to mention the photographers.

      “Come on, gorgeous, they’re going to love you in jail. Give us a smile.”

      “Over here, bitch, over here.” “Look up, Charlotte. Let’s see you.”

      They wanted something to put on TV, just as Emily had said, and she was damned if she was going to give it to them.

      And then someone said, “I hear you fuck your father for money, Charlie.”

      She looked up, enraged and horrified, and a million flash bulbs went off. That was the shot the tabloids would run of her. She looked terrible: furious, scared, but still hot as hell. Editors ate it up all over the country. It was a shot that would haunt her forever.

      Scarsford yelled at the photographers to get back, and they got close enough to her building for the doormen to step in. Suddenly, she was in the lobby, safe.

      Scarsford took out a handkerchief and wiped her face. It came away red.

      “Am I bleeding?” Charlotte was surprised.

      A brief smile flickered across his face. “No, more traditional. Tomato. Someone threw one, I guess, and splattered you.”

      She looked down at her suit. Oh, yeah. All over her. “Just as well I picked navy.”

      Scarsford’s phone rang, and he stepped away to answer it. When he looked back a few moments later, she was gone, the distant chime of the elevator the only trace of her. The lobby guard was watching him expressionlessly, and after failing to come up with a legitimate reason to go after her, Scarsford left.

      THE ANSWERING MACHINE was full, but the apartment was empty.

      Greta and Davis had left, presumably to go home, but Greta had left her enough food for three dinners, and Davis had left a big note on her bed with his cell number and an exhortation not to go anywhere without calling him first.

      Charlotte was glad to be alone. She needed to think.

      She wandered upstairs and took a long shower, trying to relax and get rid of the smell of the downtown jail. Operating almost on auto pilot, she hot-oiled her hair and wrapped it in a warmed towel, then covered herself with pure shea butter warmed in her palms. A floor-length Turkish toweling robe and slippers made her feel almost cozy, and she curled up in her dad’s chair in the den, flicking on the plasma and curling her fingers around a fresh cup of hot chocolate.

      She flicked from channel to channel for a while but couldn’t help herself. She turned to CNN. She spilled her cocoa.

      Emily was on the screen, apparently standing in front of her building. The subtitle said, “Family Friend,” but Emily didn’t sound all that friendly.

      “Yes, Mr. Williams was always at work. We hardly ever saw him. Charlotte was basically raised by the servants.”

      Servants? Davis and Greta weren’t going to like that at all.

      “It really isn’t surprising that Charlotte went off the rails like she did.”

      Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Emily disappeared, replaced by the horrific shot of her from earlier. Great. She looked like that Munch painting. The announcer was talking about her.

      “Jacob Williams has a daughter, of course, the socialite Charlotte Williams, who was nearly expelled from Yale a year ago for allegedly burning down a building in a lovers’ spat.” Then they showed a variety of party shots of her, a few of them quite risqué. Where had those come from? Surely Emily wouldn’t have—

      “At this time, Miss Williams is not a suspect in the fraud, but the authorities might well have questions going forward.”

      Charlotte turned it off. Somewhere in the apartment, her phone was ringing. Then the house phone started. Her phone stopped, then started again. Charlotte realized there was no one in the world she wanted to talk to. No one except her dad, and he wasn’t taking calls right now. Unless it was him calling? She leaped up but didn’t make it in time. Standing there, she hit the play button on the answering machine.

      Many of the messages were people yelling, which made her wonder how they’d gotten the number, but then she realized that they were her dad’s investors, and he’d presumably given out the number himself. Note to self: Change the number.

      Suddenly, a friendly voice came out of the machine, making her gasp.

      “Miss Charlotte, it’s Miss Millie here. I saw the news about your daddy, and I just wanted to remind you that God loves you, and so do I, and that you’re special and good, and whatever happens, you need to remember that, do ya hear? I think of y’all all the time and pray for you every night. Give my love to Miss Greta and Davis and, of course, to your lovely self. Come to New Orleans if you need to. We’ll be here! ‘Bye now.”

      Other messages weren’t so nice.

      “Charlotte, this is Michael Marshall.” Her dad’s partner had surfaced at last. Charlotte went to pick up the phone, forgetting for the moment that it was just a message. Marshall had paused, but then he continued. “I … uh … I’ll try you again later.” Click.

      She called him back.

      “Michael, it’s Charlotte. Are you all right?” He sighed.

      It was a funny thing. When Michael Marshall had joined her father’s firm, it looked as if his daughter, Becky, and she were going to be friends. They were the same age, went to similar schools, had similar hobbies. For the first few months, the two families hung out together quite a bit: dinners here and there, a trip to the beach. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Becky didn’t return her calls, ignored her texts, unfriended her online. She’d been upset and tried for a while to get her to explain what had happened. Eventually, she’d given up. Now she had the sinking feeling she knew what had happened. Maybe.

      “I’m fine, Charlotte. How are you? Were you able to see your dad?”

      “Yes. He’s pretty confused, I think. Did they question you, too?”

      There was a long pause. “Charlotte, I have to tell you something.” He sounded very old, and almost close to tears. “Your father was very good to me, and in many ways, he’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known. But he was breaking the law, Charlotte, and I knew it. For a while, I kept quiet, hoping it would stop or blow over or change in some way so I could leave with my conscience intact. But it didn’t. And I couldn’t look my own children in the eyes anymore, because I was involved.”

      Charlotte’s blood grew cold. “So you turned on him to protect yourself?” Her voice was soft.

      “They were catching on to us, anyway, Charlotte, I could see it was just a matter of time.”

      “So you threw him to the wolves and presumably cut some kind of deal. That’s nice, Michael. Loyal. My father would be impressed.”

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