Rachel From the Edge Pt. 05

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 05

by G. Lawrence

Pamela confronts her ex-husband's slave girl

The Benson family's business interests were threatened when billionaire Danny Benson scandalously died in coitus with his tied-up girlfriend. Ex-wife Pamela Benson, angry and resentful, has been persecuting the young woman in the press, who nearly died of pneumonia. Now a new strategy has become necessary. By the way, a lot of Rachel From the Edge revolves around a wealthy family, their finances, relations with the media, and Rachel's cutting-edge inventions. Readers with no interests in these subjects may wish to search elsewhere. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Five

CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES

"Sweetie, are you awake?" Rory said, creeping into the darkened bedroom. "I have soup."

"Thank you, I'm not hungry," Rachel whispered, curled up on the far side of the bed.

"I can make you eat," Rory said, turning on the bedside lamp.

Rachel sat up, scooting against the headboard. She had gotten some sleep, but not a lot. She always seemed scared when someone entered the room.

"You can eat more. I know you can," Rory said, feeding her by hand. "Dr. Bellows says you're getting better."

Rachel looked up in surprise. And disappointment. Rory noticed.

"Why wouldn't you want to get better? Oh, wait. Wait a goddamn minute! Are you kidding me? If you die, your mother gets your life insurance? Is that what this is all about?"

Rachel closed her eyes. When she looked down, her long dark brown hair covered her face. Rory thought she might start crying again.

"Honey, your mother is doing fine, and you're improving. You better come up with another plan. As Grandpa Marbury used to say, that dog won't hunt."

"Your mother showed up at such a bad time. If it wasn't for that stupid will, no one would have thought twice about me."

"You can't mean that?"

"Your father is the only one who ever cared for me, and I killed him."

Rory leaned back in shock.

"That's crazy. Is this because of what those bloggers wrote?"

"They weren't the only ones."

"I don't care what any of those fuckers say. You did not kill my father. He was only sixty-two. A vigorous man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted."

Rory was tempted to say that her father had taken advantage of her, but quickly backed off. Rachel's love for Daniel was the only thing keeping her afloat.

"I have something for you," Rory said, producing a small black jewelry box.

Rachel hesitantly took it, struggling to open the lid. Her fingers were too weak. Rory helped. It was the antique engagement ring recovered from her mother.

"This isn't mine. It should be yours," Rachel said, trying to give it back. Rory wiped the tears running down Rachel's face.

"It was found in your house. Dad was going to give it to you."

"It's not my house. Or my money. I'm not stealing from Daniel's children!"

Rachel wasn't just crying now, she was sobbing, making it hard to breathe. She started coughing again. Rory noticed Rachel's hands wrapped tightly around the jewelry box, her fingers turning red.

"Take it easy, honey. Slow, steady breaths," Rory said, holding her shoulders. After a few minutes, Rachel finally calmed down.

"May I put it on?" Rachel asked. "I promise not to let anyone see me wear it."

Rory took the ring out of the box, a platinum band with a simple yet elegant diamond setting. Rachel's hands were shaking so badly Rory had to put the ring on for her.

"If I had accepted him, that first time, would he still be alive?" Rachel asked.

"God made his heart stop. Nothing you could have done would change that."

"The doctor said he was okay."

"What? When?"

"Two months ago. I got worried. Daniel went to the doctor and had a letter saying everything was good."

"The doctor gave him a letter? To show you?"

"Yes. It's on his desk at Canby Place."

"Do you mind if I visit Canby Place? Take a look around?"

"It's your house," Rachel said.

"I have something to tell you. About something bad I did. I hope you'll forgive me."

"I'll forgive you anything, Ro. I'd be dead if not for you."

"While you were sick, I sort of snooped on your private stuff."

"I know you saw some pictures, but I don't know how. They were destroyed."

"Yeah, about that. It wasn't just a few photos. Your box with the videos never made it to the incinerator."

Rachel needed a moment to think, and then caught her breath. "Oh my God," she whispered. "You saw ...? Saw ...?"

"Way too much, to tell you the truth. Along with your bank accounts, letters, college papers. I haven't read your diary yet."

Rachel was quiet. Rory couldn't tell what she was thinking, and feared confessing had been a mistake. Rachel stopped crying.

"Are you going to put the videos on the internet?" Rachel asked.

"What? Hell no! Who do you think I am?"

Rachel smiled.

"You're teasing me, aren't you? You made a joke?"

"Yes," Rachel admitted, dipping her head.

Rory thought it was too bad Rachel was so ill. And not gay. She could easily fall in love with her if things were different.

"Then you aren't mad?" Rory asked.

"I may be uncomfortable, but I won't question anything you do."

"I showed Mom the burglar video. The part where you told Dad you loved him, not the last part. She needed to see it. To know how it really was between you. I think she wants to apologize."

"She doesn't need to apologize. She didn't say anything I wasn't already thinking."

"Mom was wrong. And you're wrong. When my brother gets here, we're going to work this out. You'll like Johnny. He's a good man, and a good lawyer."

"Yes, I know," Rachel said.

"You know Johnny?"

"I haven't met him, but Daniel talked about him all the time. John, and you, and William. He talked about the good grades you got in school. Well, the good grades John got. He was interested in the jobs you were getting. People you were dating. He was very proud of you becoming a nurse."

"It never occurred to me that you guys talked about that stuff."

"He loved you all so much."

"That part in the video, about you not marrying him because of the kids. What was that all about?"

"Oh, that wasn't anything."

"I think it was. Were you afraid marrying Dad would cause problems with his children?"

"Wouldn't it? You and I are almost the same age. John is four years older. What would you think about your father marrying his sex slave?"

"Were you his sex slave?"

"No, it wasn't like that. But now everyone thinks it was."

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about what other people think. When I came out, Mom didn't like it. Sometimes you just need to be yourself."

"I don't even know who that is. I'm not sure I ever did. My whole life, I've just been blown from one storm to the next."

"You'll find your way. Just hang in there."

"I'll eat a little more soup, if that's okay?"

Rory smiled and jumped up, rushing to the kitchen. It was the first time Rachel had asked her for food. The first time she'd asked her for anything.

* * * * * *

"Good, you're finally out of bed on your own," Rory said, looking up from the musty old living room couch. She was surrounded by textbooks and her laptop. Her open suitcase and bedding were stacked against the wall.

"I need to stretch my legs," Rachel said, slowly walking into the kitchen. "I'm making tea. Do you want anything?"

"I can do that," Rory said, starting to get up.

"It's better if I do."

Rachel made two cups of Earl Grey and returned to the living room, sitting on the floor at Rory's feet. She offered a slice of black sourdough bread she'd baked herself, adding small bits of peppered butter. Rory was surprised how good it tasted.

"You have a lot of studying to catch up on," Rachel observed.

"Can't become a registered nurse without studying."

"Do you need the money?"

"No, honey. I have more money than God. I just want to be a good nurse."

"Will you have a specialty?"

"I considered trauma care, but there's too much blood. Recent experience leads me to think I'd be better at children's medicine."

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble. But you can go back to your classes now. I'll be okay."

"Think I'll stick around a while longer."

"You don't need to."

"You're not ready to fly alone yet. Another few days, maybe."

Rachel sighed, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and laid her head against the couch, pawing at the books lying on the floor.

"Where do you live, when you're not camping in my apartment?"

"I share a suite with two girls in North University Park. Sort of a small penthouse. We take several of the same classes."

"That must be fun. Do you go out a lot?"

"We don't party as much as we did. Our schedules are busy these days between school and training shifts at the medical center."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment. Did you live in the dorms at Harvard?"

"No, I was too weird for roommates. I supplemented my scholarship by cooking part-time at a bistro in Little Italy. It allowed me to rent a loft overlooking Copp's Hill. It was nice."

"Too weird?"

"I'm not good at making friends. But I bet you have hundreds."

"Don't mind saying, I'm quite popular. I got around during my party girl days. Which you probably know if you read the blogs."

"I tend to mind my own business," Rachel softly answered.

Rachel picked up a textbook, leafing through the pages while pausing for the diagrams. She put it down a few minutes later.

"Not much here on genetic modification," she said.

"Hospitals usually address more immediate needs. Have you studied medicine?"

"Only a little," Rachel said, picking up another book.

"Are you able to remember any of that?"

"Any of what?"

"Those textbooks."

"Most of it. Context and application take a little longer."

"Do you have an eidetic memory?"

"It works a little different than that, but it's essentially the same thing."

Rory picked up the book Rachel had flipped through. "What's in chapter four?" she asked.

"What page?" Rachel replied. Rory flipped the pages.

"Page 125."

"Properly applying an IV for blood transfusions," Rachel answered. "The drawing isn't to scale."

"That's right," Rory said, closing the book. "You're a genius, aren't you? That's what your professors at Harvard were saying in that box I found."

Rachel lowered her head, the hair nearly covering her face as she read a pamphlet on women's health. Rory realized she wasn't going to answer the question.

"Rach, there's nothing wrong with a woman being smart. Even if it does make some men uncomfortable."

"Proverbs 11:2."

"Not up on that one."

"When pride comes, then comes disgrace. With humility comes wisdom."

"You don't seem to have any trouble being humble."

"I'm introverted. It's not the same."

"Sometimes you don't seem so introverted."

"Your father worked very hard with me. He encouraged me to speak up. To not be afraid all the time. He said I could do good things if I was willing to engage more. I miss him so much."

Rachel turned away, tears suddenly running down her face. Her shoulders were shaking. Rory set the laptop aside and sat down next to her, offering a hug.

"Where's your ring, honey?" Rory asked, going through Rachel's robe pocket. It was easy to find.

"I miss him, too," Rory said, slipping the ring on Rachel's finger. "You go ahead and cry. Get it out."

Rachel did cry, but quietly, and only for a few minutes. There were no tissues in the living room, so she dried her eyes with her pajama sleeve.

"You have studying to do. I'll go back to bed," Rachel said, trying to get up. Her legs were weak. She had to pull herself up on the couch.

"If you're not too tired, would you help with my homework?"

"Really? You'd let me help?"

"I would appreciate it," Rory encouraged.

Rory was surprised, and delighted, by Rachel's sudden smile. It was so grateful. Genuine. She knew Rachel could be secretive, but there was nothing insincere about her.

"I'll make more tea," Rachel offered.

* * * * * *

"I am so nervous," Rachel said, sitting in a wheelchair wrapped in blankets. The late September day was cool with a brisk wind coming up from the ocean.

"Bad memories?" Rory asked, pushing her toward the house. Rachel heard birds chirping in the trees and noticed squirrels getting ready for winter. The rose gardens surrounding the parking circle were recently trimmed.

"No, no bad memories. I just don't know if I should be here."

"We've been through all this. If Canby Place isn't yours, then it's part mine, so we have a right to be here. And I'm tired of sleeping on your lumpy old couch and peeing in your tiny bathroom. Now I can have my own bedroom and my own bathroom."

"I'm sorry to be so difficult," Rachel said.

Rory spun the wheelchair around, kneeling to look her in the eyes.

"Sorry? You want sorry? Like every other thoughtless puke in America, I bought into that slave girl bullshit. I let my mother run roughshod over you. You almost died. And the whole time, you're just this sweet little thing crying your heart out for my father. That's what I feel sorry about. Can you match that?"

Rachel tucked in her chin, covering her face with a blanket.

"Okay, don't start crying. I know you're grateful. Sometimes all you have to do is say thank you."

"Thank you," Rachel softly replied. Then she looked up with big, misty eyes, getting Rory's full attention. "Thank you."

"That's more like it," Rory said.

"Would it be okay if I walk in?" Rachel asked.

"Think you can walk that far?"

"The last time I was here, they rolled me out on a gurney. I'd rather walk."

Rory helped Rachel from the chair. A squat, silver-haired matron came out to help.

"You remember Dad's housekeeper don't you? Mrs. Hemmings?"

"Of course, though I wasn't here during the week very often," Rachel explained.

"Mostly weekends. Which is why Mr. Benson didn't have me working weekends," Martha said, her gravelly voice marked by a Southern accent. "He wanted you all to himself. His great love."

"Love?" Rachel said.

"I worked for Mr. Benson for fifteen years, and he was never happier than those last two," Martha said. "He'd run around the house like a little boy. Rachel this and Rachel that. Talking about some new breakthrough you'd done at work. Saying how beautiful you are. And you are, though we've got to get the meat back on your bones."

"I have to start attending classes again," Rory said. "Martha and I will be sharing nursing duties until you're better."

"I'm okay," Rachel said, walking slowly while Rory and Martha held her elbows. Her knees were weak. Martha gripped harder to prevent Rachel from falling.

"I see you still have a sense of humor," Martha mocked.

They passed through the sunlit atrium decorated with ancient Greek statues, most of them nymphs, and entered the foyer through heavy oak doors. Before them was the sunken living room, three times the size of Rachel's entire apartment, with long ochre couches and a giant tree-stump coffee table. Rachel remembered laying on the floor near the fireplace watching Pride & Prejudice on the big screen TV. Daniel had spanked her for saying the lines before the actors did. She had cooked in the sumptuous kitchen dozens of times. Mostly breakfast.

They went down the hall to the right, passing five spacious guest rooms, each with its own bath. They saw a marble spa with a Roman tub. A billiard room, exercise room, and a library filled with sports souvenirs. There weren't many books. The maid's quarters appeared off a narrow hall on the left, the butler's quarters down a hall to the right. They paused before Daniel's luxurious bedroom at the end of the corridor, with its king-size bed, mahogany furniture, and grand windows.

"No, not here. My room is over there," Rachel said, pointing to the right.

"Sweetie, what are you talking about?" Rory asked.

"I didn't sleep in Daniel's room when I visited. I had my own room."

Rachel turned down a long hall and entered the butler's quarters. Not a large room, but plenty of storage space. Rory noticed several dresses hanging in the closet. They looked like Rachel's size.

"Dad wouldn't let you sleep with him?" Rory asked.

"Miss Benson, is that really any of our affair?" Martha said.

Rory thought it was. She looked at Rachel.

"Sometimes I thrash around," Rachel explained.

She crawled on the bed, groaning with relief. Martha wasted no time getting her into pajamas and under a quilt.

"Darling, you need anything, just push that button," Martha said, pointing to the intercom. "Let's give the little lady some rest."

Rory paused before leaving, quietly watching from the door. Rachel was lying with her back turned, as she always did. Once Rachel thought everyone was gone, she drew the small jewelry box from her robe pocket, took out the engagement ring, and gently put it on her finger, pressing it close to her face. A minute later, she was asleep.

"Spying on the child?" Martha whispered.

"Just making sure she's okay," Rory replied.

They went back to the foyer and up a ramp to the north wing of the house. The kitchen was large enough for several cooks to work at the same time, the racks filled with shining pots and pans. The stainless-steel stove, ovens and refrigerators sparkled like new. The long counters were made of polished Baltic granite, the floor laid with Moso bamboo. Rory found a tall stool at the counter while Martha made coffee.

"What do you really know about her?" Rory asked.

"Miss Montgomery? I know more than anyone thinks. More than she knows I know. But I would never say anything to embarrass her. What do you know?"

"Everything a computer and a video can tell me. Which is a lot. But she's always so afraid to talk. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm beginning to love Rachel like the damaged little sister I never had."

"She'll get better. At least, as better as she was."

"What does that mean? What was wrong with her before?"

"Well, you know. Like what they said about her at Harvard."

"That story about her being expelled from Harvard is bullshit! The Lupe Manners Network invented that lie to--"

"Hell no, honey, nothing like that. I thought you knew."

"Okay, this is getting cryptic. What's the deal?"

"Rachel is one of these ... strange, gifted types. Your father said she's like Mozart, or Clara Schumann, or even Einstein. She thinks about math all the time. She mumbles equations in her sleep."

"Rach said something about numbers never leaving her alone."

"It's more than that. Your father said she'd stop in the middle of something and start thinking about formulas, shutting everyone out. She can be rude when she's interrupted. These things going on in her head make it hard for her to communicate."

"That would explain a lot. She's a savant."

"No, dear, there was never any of that master-servant nonsense going on around here."

"No, not servant. Savant. It means--"

Martha lowered her wire-frame eyeglasses, smiling.

"Okay, you got me," Rory said.

"Miss Benson, you don't work in my profession for thirty years without learning a lot about people. Every aspect of them. Rachel is a great kid, she just needs to get out of her own way."

"That might be good advice for all of us. Are you coming to the funeral?"

"I'd like to, but someone needs to watch Rachel."

"Rachel can come, too."

"And be the center of a media circus? I don't think so," Martha warned.

"I hadn't thought about that. You're right, it would be bad."

"We'll be fine here. If they broadcast it, I'll keep her away from the television."

"Johnny is flying in this afternoon. He wants to meet Rachel, and maybe stay for dinner. We might be seeing my Mom this evening."

"I can whip something up. Ravioli. Arroz con pollo."

"We don't want to impose."

"The food is already made, I just need to heat it up. Rachel prepares meals and stores them in the freezer. They're all excellent."

"I've been eating out of her refrigerator. Everything's great. Is she really that good a cook?"

"Cooking is mathematics to her. Specific ingredients. Precise seasonings. Right proportions. Exact temperatures. Mr. Benson used to laugh like crazy describing Rachel in the kitchen, running back and forth, face smudged with flour. Cursing if everything wasn't perfect. And that wasn't the only thing about her that drove him crazy. I'm going to miss that man."

Rory looked toward the hallway, making sure they weren't being observed.

"You don't think Dad exploited her? For ... well, that and other things."

"Darling, your father was a real, old-fashioned, macho, bear of a man. He lived life to conquer, without apologies. Rachel knew that. She may be naïve about some things, but not about men. And she loved him all the same. Willing to be conquered. Without apologies."

"That's generous of you. I'm not sure if--"

"If you approve? Everyone needs to come at life their own way, dear. Your father's sins are paid for now."

"I think some of us are still paying," Rory said, looking down the hall. "With Rachel in the butler's quarters, are you in the maid's quarters?"

"Me? Hell no. I've got a guest suite."

* * * * * *

"Well, if it isn't the late Oliver Mendelson," Sheila said, taking a seat next to him at the bar. It was mid-morning, O'Casey's Tavern largely quiet. The slim businesswoman with the eyes of a panther drew many admiring looks.

"Hello, Sheba. You've been a hot topic of conversation lately," Oliver said, the trim 60ish lawyer motioning to the bartender for another round. "Gin and tonic okay?"

"Sure. Is Pam finally ready to sell?"

"About that. Pam is beginning to catch on. You might want to stay out of her way for a few days. That little stunt at Canter's didn't go over well."

"Our timing has been unfortunate. My team got to Montgomery's apartment right after you and Pam suddenly showed up."

"What were you going to do? Take her to a black site?"

"I wasn't going to let her die. Or was that your idea all along? Get rid of her to cover for Danny exploiting her."

"You know better than that."

"No, I don't. You let her go back to that rat-infested hole on 14th Street. Alone. With pneumonia."

"I didn't know she was that sick."

"How did Pam figure it out? Did you finally grow a pair and fess up?"

"She still doesn't know the whole score, and I'm not going to tell her. She had me draw up papers to cut Rachel out of the will."

"What did Danny leave her?"

"Canby Place. Half of M & B. Just under a million in cash."

"Chump change. I thought you wanted her out of there?"

"Danny shouldn't have been taking advantage of her like that. It was wrong. But he's dead now."

"Send Rachel to me. My offer is still good."

"It's too late for that. I've lost her trust."

"Should I guess why?"

"I just wanted a few days for Pam to settle down. I never would've let Rachel sign away her rights."

"Easy to say now, isn't it? Who put the kibosh on Pam's revenge? Rory?"

"Lucky guess?"

"My ferocious little cousin doesn't take crap from anyone. And she won't sit back when she sees a woman being abused. Like you do."

"That's not fair. I've always liked Rachel. We're friends."

"Except when she needed you most."

* * * * * *

"Hello, Martha. How's our patient?" Pamela asked, leaving her BMW in the parking circle.

"My patient is just fine, Mrs. Benson," Martha said, taking her raincoat.

"Are you still displeased with me? I have apologized."

"Not to her."

"That's why I'm here. To set everything right. And if you think I don't do a good job of it, set me straight."

"You bet I will. I work for Miss Rory, not for you."

"I've missed you, sweetheart," Pamela said, kissing Martha on the forehead. "Guess it's been a few years since I've seen Canby Place."

"At the 4th of July party, three years ago. Haven't had any big parties since."

"Yes, Daniel seemed to grow distracted after that."

The house looked much as before. Daniel had very masculine tastes, including racing cars and football. There were a few additions: several kitschy ceramics on the fireplace mantle. Dutch girls with umbrellas. Chinese bobbleheads. Ceramic puppies. Large cushions were scattered on the thickly carpeted floor.

Pamela went down the main hall carrying a grocery bag. As she approached Daniel's bedroom, one she had never slept in, Martha stopped her.

"Not there. Over this way," Martha said, pointing to an off-shoot corridor.

"The servant's quarters?"

"Savants."

"The what?"

"Miss Montgomery likes the smaller room better," Martha explained, softly tapping on the door. "It's me, missy. And Mrs. Benson. Can we come in?"

Waiting only a moment, Martha slowly opened the door. Rachel was upright in bed, asleep against fluffy pillows. The TV was on pause. Mr. Darcy was about to get an earful from Elizabeth Bennett.

"Missy?" Martha said.

"Mrs. Hemmings?" Rachel answered, yawning and stretching. Then she saw Pamela and quickly lowered her arms, nearly hiding under the quilt.

"I've come to visit with you, dear. Is that all right?" Pamela asked.

Rachel didn't answer, but she didn't say no, either. Pamela entered the room.

"I can stay, if you ladies need a referee," Martha offered. "But I have better things to do."

"We don't need a referee, do we, dear?" Pamela said.

"As long as you don't hit me," Rachel said.

"No hitting," Pamela agreed.

"You can't fire me again. I've already been fired."

"I promise not to fire you again."

"And I don't want to be pushed off a roof."

"No roofs."

"What are you two talking about?" Martha asked.

"Private joke," Pamela replied.

"Don't sound too funny from where I'm standing," Martha remarked.

"It's okay, Mrs. Hemmings. I'm not afraid of heights," Rachel said.

Martha studied the room, not happy with leaving them alone.

"Two rules," Martha insisted. "Missy, if you keep diving under those covers, come up for air every few minutes. You don't breathe so good as it is. Mrs. Benson, if you're going to cut this little girl's throat, you do it someplace else. I don't got time to clean up your mess."

"I'll remember that," Pamela said, looking for Rachel's reaction. The pale young woman just stared. She did not appear angry. Nervous, perhaps.

"Bring us refreshments, when you can, Martha dear," Pamela requested. "Coffee for me. A margarita for Rachel."

"A whisky sour will be fine," Rachel said.

"You two is nuts," Martha said, walking away.

Pamela set the grocery bag on the floor before sitting on the bed. Rachel scooted over for her, still clinging to the quilt. She was wearing a lovely pink nightgown. No doubt something Rory had found for her. Her long brown hair was recently washed and brushed, hanging in luscious waves over her shoulders. Pamela watched as Rachel slipped a diamond ring off her finger and put it in a small black jewelry box.

"This isn't mine," Rachel said, hands trembling as she offered her the box.

Pamela saw how difficult the gesture was. Heartbreakingly difficult. Rachel wasn't crying, but she was close.

"I have lots of rings. You keep this one," Pamela said, pressing the box back on her. Rachel sniffled and put it under her pillow.

"You're looking better," Pamela said.

"I must look awful."

"The last time I saw you, you were passed out on the bathroom floor of that horrible apartment, half-naked and covered in your own shit. Excuse me if I think you look better now."

"Thank you," Rachel whispered.

"I hear you're better at listening than talking, which is good. I much prefer talking," Pamela said. She reached into the grocery bag, took out a chocolate cupcake, and helped Rachel sit up. "This is for you."

Rachel hesitantly took the cupcake and nibbled on it, watching Pamela the whole time. Pamela noticed how frail she looked.

"First, and most importantly, I must apologize for everything I've done to you, said to you, and thought about you. I took my grief over Daniel's death and put it on you, and that wasn't fair. Do you forgive me?"

Now Pamela noticed something different in Rachel's expression. A search for sincerity. A hope for sincerity. It was the gaze of an explorer in uncharted waters, willing to entertain new ideas. Pamela thought there was a fearlessness to her despite every indication to the contrary.

"I have eleven more cupcakes for you, if you say yes," Pamela added.

Rachel smiled, her shoulders relaxing. The big brown eyes glistened with a cautious warmth. Pamela found it endearing. And as Rory had said, there was a sweetness about her. She understood now why Rory had gone on the warpath.

"Good, I'm glad we have that settled," Pamela said, making herself more comfortable. "Rory is picking my oldest son up from the airport. We're all having dinner here tonight. It will give us a chance to discuss your lawsuit."

"I'm not suing you. I was never suing you," Rachel said.

"Rory thinks you've got a good case, and so does Ollie. My personal attorney says I'm up shit's creek without a paddle."

"I'm not suing you," Rachel said, the words a little stronger.

"And then there is the subject of the will," Pamela continued.

"I'm not contesting the will."

"No, dear. The will is good for you. I'm the one who would contest it. For my children's benefit."

"I'm not stealing from Daniel's children," Rachel said, growing fierce.

"Dear, please, you aren't paying attention. You need to listen."

Pamela climbed completely on the bed, sitting against the headboard next to Rachel, and took a bite of her cupcake. Rachel frowned.

"First, there is the money. I know you say it's not yours. That's fine. But in the meantime, it needs to be dealt with. I've opened a brokerage account in your name. My children are your beneficiaries, until you say different. So, if something happens to you, they will still get the money. Isn't that fair? I think it's fair."

"Mrs.--"

Pamela put two fingers over Rachel's lips to hush her up.

"Second, there is the house. I've never lived here. My children have never lived here. Daniel bought it as a place to entertain clients, and after we split up, he moved in. You've spent more time here than anyone else in the family. Now maybe Canby Place isn't yours, or maybe it is. Until we know for sure, you need to take care of it. Am I understood? No one else in the family has the time."

Pamela removed her fingers from Rachel's lips, waiting for her response.

"I don't think--"

Pamela put her fingers back over Rachel's lips.

"Third, there is the business. Daniel treasured Marbury & Benson, but our investors are worried. It's still a valuable company, and the will says you own half. Now maybe you own half, and maybe you don't. But I need to assure the investors that everything is stable. That our future is bright. Therefore, you'll need to act as if you're an owner until we know better. You owe it to Daniel's family."

Pamela removed her fingers. Rachel remained quiet.

"Good! Good, we're making such marvelous progress. This isn't so hard, is it? Okay, number four on our agenda. I've collected all of your mother's medical bills, paid them off, and set up a trust fund for her. You won't ever have to worry about her care again."

"I don't take charity," Rachel said.

"It's for your mother, dear, not you. And it's already done."

Pamela took out a statement from the nursing home, showing the invoices were up-to-date, and then a letter from her lawyer, confirming the trust. It was notarized.

Rachel dropped the last piece of cupcake, staring in disbelief. Tears filled her eyes, and suddenly she was sobbing, both hands covering her face. The crying became so hard she had trouble breathing. Pamela wasn't sure what to do, but knew she had to do something. She slowly pulled Rachel into her arms.

"Cry all you want, darling. Everything's going to be all right from now on," Pamela promised. It took Rachel five minutes to compose herself, using tissues off the nightstand. Pamela wondered how many boxes she went through a day.

"Should I come back to work?" Rachel asked, still sniffling.

"Do you want to?"

"I should try."

"Half the place is yours."

"I just want my lab. The rest doesn't matter."

"Child, companies need managers. Budgets. Salaries. Profits and losses. The executive board meets once a month."

"You can make those decisions for me, if that's okay? I'm a mathematician. I don't know anything about running a corporation."

"What is it you do?"

"Multilayered fractal interfaces," Rachel said.

"Okay, let me ask again. What is it you do?"

"I compile data using deep net searches."

"Does this have something to do with Notitia?"

"Notitia is the codeword Daniel gave my project. It means information in Latin."

"Daniel didn't speak Latin."

"I do."

"What does this thing do?"

"It finds things."

"Oh my God, that lawsuit earlier this year. Cameron-Dyson?"

"My matrix found the missing files Daniel was looking for. It made him very happy."

"You found them?"

"The matrix did. I do the layering."

"Is this a new field?"

"More of a new concept."

"How many are doing this layering you're talking about?"

"Me."

"That goddamn bitch!" Pamela cursed. "She was trying to buy you on the cheap."

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked.

"It's nothing, sweetheart. Something my cousin said. And now I understand what Ollie's been dancing around for the last two weeks. He wasn't being honest, either."

Rachel was quiet. It looked like she had something to say, but decided not to.

"M & B's commission on Cameron-Dyson was eighty-five million dollars," Pamela remembered. "Your bonus must have been huge. How come you have no money? You did get a bonus, didn't you?"

Pamela waited. It looked like Rachel didn't want to answer.

"Well?" she finally pressed.

"It doesn't matter," Rachel replied.

"I'm going to look into this," Pamela said. "Meanwhile, there's another subject I need to bring up. A very difficult one. Would you be willing to attend Daniel's funeral tomorrow? With my family?"

"I'd rather not have people throwing stones at me," Rachel said.

Pamela paused, and then laughed.

"Young lady, you have a sly sense of humor. But really. So many terrible words have been spoken. So many cruel jokes. If you appear with Rory and I, we can throw that trash right back in their faces. You did love Daniel, didn't you?"

"Yes, I loved Daniel."

"He wanted to marry you. Did you want to marry him?"

Rachel looked down, flexing her hand. Pamela reached under the pillow, found the engagement ring, and put it on Rachel's finger.

"Did you want to marry him?" she asked a second time.

"More than anything, but--"

"No, no buts. The buts stop here," Pamela insisted.

"Thank you for being so nice to me, Mrs. Benson," Rachel said, starting to tear up again.

"I swear, darling, I don't know how Rory keeps you hydrated. You look tired. I think that's enough business for now. Are we square?"

"No," Rachel said. "You still owe me eleven more cupcakes."

* * * * * *

John Greenly Benson got off Flight 970 at LAX, the airport was crowded as always. Though he could have used a company jet, he preferred the public airlines. He wasn't opposed to flying first class. At 6'2 and a hundred and eighty pounds, with broad shoulders and a high forehead, the 28-year-old lawyer had his father's wavy auburn hair and perceptive hazel eyes. He was glad not to see any reporters.

"Johnny! Over here!" Rory shouted from the security gate. John rushed to give his sister a hug.

"It's been a year," he said.

"Because of you and all your big cases," Rory replied. "Ready for another one?"

"We'll see. Mom texted to say it's under control."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What does Miss Montgomery say about the will?"

"She wants to give the money to us."

"That's awfully stupid. Hasn't she been reading the Wall Street Journal?"

"Only if it was written by Jane Austin."

"Tell her Dad left us two billion dollars. We can afford to be generous."

"You don't hate her?" Rory asked.

"I don't even know her, other than what the bloggers are writing. If you say she's okay, that's good enough for me."

"Thank you, Johnny," she said with another hug.

"My pleasure, little sister. Got us a ride?"

"Sam is bringing the car around."

They made their way out of the airport, belatedly spotted by reporters, but making a successful escape. The limo's backseat had a bar. Rory mixed vodka martinis.

"How's that girl you're seeing? Alicia?" Rory asked.

"We're doing well, though we both have busy schedules. Are you still gay?"

"Yep. Still gay."

"How is the world treating you since you came out?"

"No one seems to care except Mom. She's getting over it."

"Seeing any girls?"

"No one special at the moment. Now that I'm mega-rich, I need to watch out for fortune hunters."

"Should these fortune hunters be taking lessons from Rachel Montgomery?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind being abused, dying of pneumonia, and falling off a 14-story building in a thunderstorm, she's a role model."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying she's had it rough, but whatever you do, don't say anything. She's very fragile. I'm getting a therapist for her."

"Since when do you weep for weak women?"

"Rachel isn't weak. She's a survivor, beaten to the ground by a goddamn lynch mob. And Mom was leader of the pack. I doubt any of us have half the guts she does."

"You've become quite the fan."

"You'll see why."

After reaching the Palos Verdes Peninsula, the car went up a winding road to an isolated ridge. There was only one residence at the top, a twelve-acre estate surrounded by tall ivy-covered walls. The compound was filled with trees, gardens, a pool, tennis courts, and a rambling ranch-style hacienda. The Pacific Ocean was visible a few miles away.

"Dad did good on this one," John said as they waited for the security gate to open. He noticed cameras, motion detectors, and subtle strings of barbed wire.

"You can stay over, if you'd rather not drive back to the city tonight."

"Think I will. No better place to see what's going on than the eye of the storm."

"Rachel was close to dying, and she's still very weak. Wait a few weeks before hitting on her."

"I'm not going to hit on her. I'm seeing Alicia."

"You haven't seen Rachel."

They parked in front of a long white stucco house topped with a red Spanish-tile roof. A bell tower overlooked the southwest corner. Three other cars were already there. Rory recognized Martha's Honda CRV, Oliver's Mercedes Benz, and surprisingly, a gold BMW.

"Mom's here," Rory said.

"I thought you weren't expecting her until later?" John said.

"I wasn't."

They disembarked and waited while Sam unloaded John's luggage. The gardens looked recently tended.

"Looks like the groundskeepers are keeping busy," John said, admiring the fall flowers.

"Thank God. Otherwise there'd be two funerals," Rory said.

"That's right. Wasn't she trapped on the lawn for a while?"

"Johnny, twelve hours in the cold and rain trapped under Dad's dead body is more than 'awhile'. And if Mr. Garcia hadn't shown up to finish trimming the trees, it might have been a week before someone found them. A week and two more rainstorms. As far as Rachel knew, no one was coming to help her."

"I hadn't thought about it like that."

"No one's doing much thinking."

"Except you."

"That's because I'm smarter than everyone else," Rory said.

"I haven't been here in years," John said. "Not since--"

"Not since you found out Dad was sleeping with Cynthia? You left her behind for law school, Johnny. She wasn't going to wait forever. Though hooking up with Dad probably wasn't a great idea."

"It was still tough to take."

"Is that why you've stayed in Boston?"

"I couldn't talk to Dad. Mom didn't seem to care. Billy doesn't care about anyone but himself. But I've missed you."

"Well, not much has changed at Canby Place. Except the owner."

They strolled through the atrium, seeing the nude Greek statues, and opened the heavy oak doors to enter the main house, stopping in the foyer. The elaborate kitchen, formal dining area, and the bar were up a level to their left. The hallway to the bedrooms went to the right. The sunken living room dropped down in front of them. Through the patio doors, John saw the lower gardens. The high beam ceilings and emphasis on open space made the house look huge.

They found Rachel lying on the living room floor in front of the massive stone fireplace. Shimmering flames kept the area warm. Pamela was sitting next to her, sharing a copy of Emma. Rory assumed her mother was attempting to manipulate Rachel, for what purpose she could only guess. Pamela had belonged to the drama club at Yale.

"Welcome home, Johnny," Pamela said, rushing up the ramp to give him a hug.

Sitting at the dining room table, Oliver set aside his Wall Street Journal and came down to shake hands. Martha waved from the kitchen. Rachel remained near the fireplace, curious and watchful. John was astonished. The famous Benson slave girl looked like a lost urchin.

"Hello. I'm John Benson," John said, approaching Rachel slowly.

The young woman looked up with big, brown searching eyes, and started to say something. But hesitated. She dipped her head, the hair falling down over her face. And then she drew the blanket up and scooted back toward the hearth, staring but not speaking. John didn't know what to make of it.

"Rachel says hello, Johnny," Rory intervened, drawing him back to the foyer. Pamela was waiting for them.

"She's just shy," Pamela said.

"You seem to be getting along well?" Rory said, taking her mother up to Daniel's saloon on the north level. John followed. Oliver returned to his newspaper.

The bar was made of rustic red oak. The tall wooden stools had black leather padding. A large mirror featured etchings of cowboys and cattle drives. Pamela found three glasses, mixing gin, orange bitters, and the tiniest splash of vermouth.

"Dears, I know what you're thinking," Pamela said. "You should understand that, over many years of trial and error, I've learned that the best way to turn an opponent into a friend is to find out what they need, and give it to them. I planned on doing that to Rachel, but she did it to me." Pamela served each of them a dry martini, adding a lemon twist with a flourish.

"What are you talking about?" Rory asked.

"Rachel has given me her proxy to handle all of her business affairs, including Daniel's share of M & B. Oh, and we're dropping the lawsuit."

"Mom? What the hell?" Rory said.

"Mother, no court would back you up on that. It's a huge conflict of interest," John said.

"Nothing is carved in stone yet, but everything is working out," Pamela said, sipping her drink with satisfaction.

"Want to fill me in?" John asked.

"Rachel is going to help me with Marbury & Benson, and I solved her mother's financial problems. I've never seen a more relieved woman in my entire life. And now look at her."

They glanced down toward the fireplace. Rachel was rolled on her side near the hearth, happily reading her book. The coughing had subsided. She seemed content.

"I'll cut you some slack this time, but I'm watching you," Rory said.

* * * * * *

The Benson family, pressed by the media and a shaky financial situation, now discover they have a mysterious young woman on their hands. And none of them have a clue what's coming.