Convicted by Aleatha Romig
When she finally raised her eyes, he saw a familiar gleam—one he remembered from years before. It was a look she had when she was working on Nathaniel’s vendetta. If she’d had it when she entered his office, he’d missed it; however, he recognized it now.
Tony deepened his tone, “Catherine, I’m sure you remember—I don’t like to repeat myself.”
She pulled her shoulders back. “Well, you see, in your absence there have been some changes. You may remember that you named me executor of your estate.”
“I remember.”
“As such, I’ve modified and altered a few things.”
Tony looked toward the pictures and flowers. “I see.”
Moving to the edge of her chair, she explained, “Not just appearances Anton,” Catherine went on to say how she hadn’t been sure if he’d return. Even if he were alive, she figured as long as he was suspected in Claire’s disappearance, he’d need to stay hidden; therefore, there were matters she decided to deal with herself—the first was Sophia.
Catherine’s eyes brightened. “Anton, you were right—when you told me my daughter would need me! She’s so beautiful, and I’ve wasted too many years not knowing her. I should’ve listened to Nathaniel—and to you.” Before breaking their gaze, she added, “It’s a shame you’ll never have this experience with your child.”
The pencil he’d been holding splintered in his grasp. The loud crack caused Catherine to jump back in her chair. He didn’t respond to her last comment; instead he confirmed, “So your guest is Sophia? She’s here and knows you’re her mother?”
Catherine shook her head. “She’s here. I haven’t told her of our relationship. The time hasn’t been right. In time, she’ll understand how much she needs me.”
Tony contemplated; if he pressed about additional guests, then she may become suspicious. “You don’t want her to know I’m here—in my house?”
“Anton, you can’t tell anyone you’re here. The FBI will arrest you.” Furrowing her brow, she asked, “Why are you here?”
“As I just stated—it’s my house.”
“Yes, of course it is. Do you plan on staying?”
“I plan on ending the Rawls—Nichols—Burke vendetta once and for all.”
Catherine’s serious expression morphed—her whole guise brightened, from her gray eyes to her round cheeks, as her smile extended from ear to ear. Tony suddenly wondered how Nathaniel had loved her—the smile combined with the coldness behind her expression made the bile in his stomach rise, leaving a foul taste as he worked to swallow.
“I want that too—I want to be done!”—she leaned closer—“and we can—Anton, we can! Our goals are in sight. The end is so close! We must hurry, before there are more. I know we don’t know where Claire and the child are, but we can find them. We can finish this once and for all!”
Claire and the child?! Tony sprang to his feet; the poor chair sailed helplessly backwards until it crashed against the cherry bookcase. “No, Catherine!”—He towered over her—“No, I’m stopping it from going any farther. It’s over—now!”
“Anton, we can’t stop—not now.” Her voice mellowed as she reached up and caressed his cheek. “You look so much like your grandfather. He had eyes—”
A cold chill ran down his spine as he recoiled and every muscle in his body tensed. It was as if her touch were from the devil himself. Tony seized Catherine’s hand, and by the pained look on her face, he was squeezing too tight—Tony didn’t care. His words came slowly, through clenched teeth, “Do—not—touch—me—ever!”
It was then he noticed the white gold cross with the large pearl hanging from a fine chain around Catherine’s neck—Claire’s grandmother’s necklace—Emily’s grandmother’s necklace! Releasing her hand, he grabbed the pearl and tugged the delicate chain. He’d broken the damn thing before—he could do it again. Once it was free, he shoved the necklace deep into the pocket of his slacks.
Catherine gasped and reflexively touched her neck. “How dare you! It isn’t like Claire will ever see it again.” Again, her features morphed. Standing defiantly, Catherine brushed invisible debris from her expensive clothes, and walked toward the open room. When she turned, her eyes displayed both hatred and vengeance. Tony remembered that look when she used to talk about his parents. As their proximity decreased the distain in her voice increased. “Are you so love sick over the woman who played you for a fool that you want the necklace as a memento?”—She’d never spoken to him in this tone—“That’s fine. Who knows, they may even let you keep it in prison. If not”—she sneered—“I could always send it to you. I hear they deliver boxes all the time. ”
All coherent thought forgot to register—the grand office was a hue of crimson. Though Tony didn’t know what he was about to do, he knew, without a doubt, it was about to happen. He took two steps toward her, and Catherine’s gaze didn’t waver. He took one more step—when suddenly, the phone on the desk rang breaking the deafening silence. They both turned and stared at the source of the ring, as if it were an alien life form infiltrating their private storm. Finally, their eyes met. The phone which was ringing was the estate’s private number, known only by a few people. On the fourth ring, Catherine asked condescendingly, “Mr. Rawlings, would you like to answer that?”
Clenching his jaw, he took a step back and motioned toward the phone. Although seconds earlier they’d both been visibly upset, as she answered the call, her voice held no indication of unease. Tony stood and listened.
“Yes, this is Ms. London.” “I see.” “When did this happen?” The menacing smile from earlier reappeared as she replied, “That is terrible.” Walking around to the other side of his desk, Catherine sat and reached for a paper and pen. “Can you please give me that information one more time?” He couldn’t see the words as she scribbled on the blank page. “Thank you, for the information. I’ll pass it on to Mrs. Burke. Please, keep me informed.” “Goodbye.” When she hung up, she leaned back against the soft leather and shook her head. “Tisk, tisk—It’s such a shame.”
Her words, combined with her expression, sent shivers down his spine; nonetheless, Anthony Rawlings had never backed away from a challenge—today wouldn’t be an exception.
“I believe you’re in my seat.” Ice dripped from his words.
“I believe I am”—she stood and motioned toward it—“Please, enjoy it while you can. I believe it would be better for you to hear this news while seated.”
He didn’t move forward; instead, he stood taller, towering over her with every bit of his six and a half foot build. “Why? What have you done?”
“Yes, it’s always me, isn’t it? Mr. Anthony Rawlings never got his hands dirty! We all know how important it was to appear innocent.”
“Catherine?”
She lowered herself once again to his chair and explained, “As executor of your estate, I’m kept abreast of pertinent Rawlings Industries information.”
He nodded.
“It seems as though one of Rawlings’ private jets has gone down.”
Tony’s knees buckled as he fought to remain standing. “Down?”
“There was a distress call, and shortly after, the plane disappeared from radar. The FAA is investigating—it’s assumed the plane has crashed. There’s no information regarding survivors—none are expected.”
“Why, Catherine? Who’s on that plane?”
Before Catherine could answer, they heard a knock at the door. Turning toward the sound, they both stared in silence. The second knock echoed as they waited. Finally, deliberately, Catherine walked to the door and opened it—at first, only she could see the person on the other side.
Initially, Tony didn’t recognize the voice. “I’m sorry, if I’m bothering you, I just finished the movie. If you’re still busy, I was thinking I may go for a walk—your gardens are lovely, even this early in the Spring.”
Catherine opened the door wider and ushered Sophia into the office. “No, Sophia, you aren’t bothering us”?
Surprised by Catherine’s candid introduction, Tony worked to keep his external calm.
Sophia stopped and stared. “But I thought you were—”
Catherine interrupted, “We all did—it’s a miracle. He just came back moments ago.”
Tony stepped forward and offered his hand in greeting. “Mrs. Burke, I apologize for my abrupt departure a few months ago. I so wish we could’ve continued our conversation—I believe it would’ve been very enlightening.”
Before Sophia could respond, Catherine interjected, “Sophia, my dear, please have a seat. I’m afraid I have some terrible news to share.”
Tony’s back straightened, the muscles of his neck twitched, and the hairs stood to attention. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Catherine was about to say.
“My dear”—Catherine sat on the sofa next to Sophia. Taking Sophia’s hand in hers, she began—“We just received a call. I don’t know any way to say this, except quickly.”
Sophia eyed Catherine suspiciously. “What? Did something happen?”
“The Rawlings plane your husband was on—was on its way back to Iowa—and it went down.”
Sophia stared in disbelief.
Catherine continued, “The FAA is investigating.”
Shaking her head, Sophia found her voice, “Down? No—no—it isn’t true. There’s been some kind of mistake.”
Tony watched in horror as Sophia’s world crumbled around her. The display was both heartbreaking and educational—Tony was too late to save Derek. As Sophia’s tears fell, he also witnessed the previously unrecognized emotional toll of Nathaniel’s vendetta. Obviously, Catherine’s plans were in motion; suddenly, Tony’s mind swirled with possibilities—ways to stop further tragedies. As the whirlwind of thoughts cascaded, he heard another familiar name. Instantaneously, Tony felt the pain he’d just witnessed.
“...others on board...Rawlings’ employees...and...Brent Simmons.”
Before he could register his movements, Tony was standing in front of both women and his tone was harsh, “Catherine, we need to speak in private—now!”
Sophia sobbed quietly while Catherine stood and faced Tony. “I’ll get her settled, and then, I’ll return”—she straightened her shoulders—“Your concerns can wait. We both know, accidents happen—a few more minutes won’t change the past.”
Tony stepped backward, displaying restraint, solely for Sophia’s benefit. At this moment, he wanted to harm Catherine, more than he’d ever wanted to harm anyone. His reply came through clinched teeth, “Return quickly, this will end today.”
With that, Catherine led Sophia out of the office. Tony heard her say, “My dear, let me get you something to calm your nerves...”
Her voice trailed away, leaving Tony alone to reel with the news. Pacing the length of the office, he contemplated his best friend—the man with whom he’d finally been honest—the man who had a wife and children. Nausea erupted in Tony’s stomach as he thought about Courtney, Caleb, and Maryn. Did Courtney know? Had she received a similar call? His pocket vibrated.
The text was from Phil:
“LONDON’S TAKING BURKE TO SECOND FLOOR. VANDERSOLS ARE IN THE ROOM LABELED ‘S.E. SUITE’.”
Tony immediately texted back:
“CLAIRE’S OLD SUITE. ARE THEY OK?”
Response:
“NO SIGN OF DISTRESS”
Tony:
“KEEP THE MONITORS ON THEM. TELL ME IF ANY THING CHANGES.”
Phil:
“CAMERAS IN OFFICE WERE DISABLED—THEY’RE NOW ONLINE.”
Tony sat at the desk and accessed the computer. He didn’t know if he was more upset that Catherine hadn’t changed the passwords or that she knew his. Either way, he now knew exactly how his grandfather felt. Despite Tony’s best efforts—he too had trusted the wrong person. Accessing Catherine’s email, he found her correspondence with Emily. The Vandersols had come as a result of Catherine’s invitation. He wondered what exactly she had planned. Before he could give it more thought, he turned toward the opening door.
By the time she closed the door, he was half way across the room. “You bitch! You arranged for that plane to go down, didn’t you?”
Sounding somewhat apologetic, she explained, “I never intended for Brent Simmons to be on board. He wasn’t on the original manifest.”
“So, you’re admitting it?”
“I’m saying that when Claire felt she had no one else—she needed me. I thought it would be the same when she came back, but it wasn’t. You let her walk all over you! You were too blind to see how she manipulated you! Now we know why—it was only for your money.”
With the mention of his wife’s name and each step toward her, the crimson hue of the room darkened.
Catherine continued, “Sophia doesn’t need money, you saw to that, but with her husband gone, she’ll be alone—now she’ll need me.” Seemingly unaware of Tony’s rage, Catherine added, “Besides, her husband was a Burke.”
“Don’t you see how out of hand this has become?”
“Really”—Catherine explained—“Mrs. Simmons should consider it a gift.”
Tony stared in disbelief. “Sick! You’re not only crazy—you’re sick!”
“Mr. Rawlings, you’re dead wrong.” Smirking, she added, “I’ve waited a long time to say that.” Before he could respond, she continued, “You see, in your absence, your friend has been well—forgetful”—Catherine stepped closer—“You probably don’t remember how your grandmother suffered”—she laughed—“Of course, everyone says that. They say it’s the patient that suffers, but in reality, it isn’t. Oh, don’t get me wrong Sharron was a sweet, loving woman; however, the one who really suffered was Nathaniel. Every day, he sat with her, talked to her, held her, even when she couldn’t respond. It was tragic.” Catherine shook her head, lost in her own thoughts. “No one should ever have to deal with that. So you see, with Brent heading that direction, because forgetfulness is how it starts—Courtney has received the gift of not having to witness her husband suffer.”
Tony listened in disbelief to Catherine justifying her actions. Had Brent been forgetful? Or was he just walking an invisible tight rope when with Catherine, keeping his knowledge hidden? Tony wanted her to stop. He wanted to release the crimson that wouldn’t go away. Without thinking, Tony slapped her cheek. “Shut up! There’s no justification for what you’ve done.”
The action was supposed to help him; however, instead of making him feel better, memories of slapping Claire came rushing back. The crimson continued to infiltrate. Turning toward the desk, he saw the vase of flowers. In one swift movement, he hurled it against the wall. Shards of crystal, water, and flowers littered the carpet as the vase shattered.
“You will never be the man your grandfather was!” Catherine screamed. “He never would’ve struck someone he loved.”
Tony turned maliciously, his eyes meeting hers. “If you’re referring to me—at this moment—neither did I! And as for my grandfather—he did. I saw him!”
“You’re lying.”
Tony’s face burned as he remembered the scene. “I watched from the doorway”—he pointed toward the doors—“He slapped my father.”
Catherine shrugged. “He probably deserved it.”
“So do you! You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies! Brent had a wife and kids!”
“I loved your grandfather, but even I realized that I couldn’t watch him take the same path as Sharron.”
Tony tried to process her words. Same path?
“With each visit to the prison, he became more and more forgetful. He’d ask me the same questions over and over. Some days, he’d talk about someone, and then tell me the same story again. Mostly, he’d talk about the past.”
Tony seized her shoulders. “My grandfather had a vitamin deficiency. That, combined with the anti-depressants the prison prescribed can create dementia-like side effects. I f
Catherine’s eyes blazed. “No! He was losing it. I was there—not you. He trusted me—I had to take care of him.”
“Take care of him?”
“It was very simple. My mother believed in herbal cures. When I was a teenager, she thought she could cure my uncle’s drug use with herbs and plant extracts. She taught me about plants—those that heal—and those that kill. It’s actually very ingenious. The natural extracts don’t register on normal toxicology screens. Oh, it can be found, but only with specific tests.”
Tony collapsed onto the leather sofa and studied the woman he’d known most of his life. He could scarcely form the words to his question, “You poisoned my grandfather?”
Catherine stood taller and shook her head. “Don’t you dare make it sound bad! I did—what I did—to save him, from himself. You know, like how you planned to have Claire take the insanity plea—to save her from you.”
His volume rose with each word. Tony suddenly feared the reason the Vandersols hadn’t heard their argument or exited the suite. “Who else? Who else have you poisoned?”
She shrugged. “Well, after I knew it worked, I tried it with Sherman Nichols.”
Tony couldn’t believe his ears. “No! He died of natural causes, years before we started any plans.”
“Years before you started any plans. I was tired of waiting. His death sustained me until you were man enough to get involved.”
“But I paid for accidents.”
Smiling, she beamed. “And quite a bit too. It’s made a wonderful nest egg, thank you very much. The poisoning resembles a heart attack, as you probably remember from Nathaniel’s cause of death; therefore, the only difficulty is determining the perfect time of ingestion, for example, before someone gets into their car to drive, or goes on a dangerous hike—it works amazingly well and is rarely questioned. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to administer it, just a little in a drink or on their food. Finding a willing executioner wasn’t difficult. It also wasn’t as expensive as accidents.”