Rise of the Notorious (17 page)

J
ack Morgan was a desperate man. He was filled with hostility, was distrustful of others, and had always been an inherent pessimist. He had a laundry list of neurotic habits, accompanied by a childish desire to win every game, and challenge every competitor. His monstrous ego fueled his every waking thought and made it impossible for him to see reason outside of his own selfish pursuits.

But only those who knew him best, those within his inner circle of advisors, saw this side of him. The rest of the world, namely his constituents, saw him as a man of supreme dignity and class. A confident, charming leader with a heart of gold.

It was an illusion he played well. While his marriage was a lie, his children hated his guts, and he had more than one enemy out there who wished him dead, he continued forward relentlessly on his path to the top.

If only the top didn’t look so distant at the moment.

He sneered at the television set up in his Charleston office, disgusted by the continual dribble on the networks about the Vasser family and their sordid scandal. As if there weren’t more important things to talk about, he scoffed to himself, shaking his head. Instead, America seemed enthralled, eager for more and more information on the Vassers and their illustrious hotels.

It was downright maddening.

If circumstances had been different, he couldn’t have given a shit about the Vassers. In fact, he would have probably joined the front lines of those condemning the family. As a lawyer, he certainly would have found some way to profit off the scandal. Surely there was some nitwit out there ready to file some sort of lawsuit.

But, alas, he found himself an unwitting player in their pitiful fall from grace. He could only be thankful that he knew now of the connection he had to the Vassers, instead of learning of it down the road from the lips of an opponent. At least this way he could prepare himself.

Years earlier, his father had laid in his death bed, strapped to machines determined to keep his heart beating despite the heart attack that had nearly taken his life on the spot. He hadn’t had much time left, and in his remaining minutes on this planet he confided in his only son the terrible misdeed he had committed decades earlier.

Jack had learned that day that his father was responsible for covering up a war crime, an action that was second only to treason in the eyes of the law. His father had knowingly pushed aside evidence proving the guilt of a killer, burying the truth.

Then his father died, his conscience clean. He could have never predicted the drastic repercussions that would arise from his actions, the ones his son was now hampered with. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that something he had done so long ago would come back to haunt his only child.

Jack considered him a pathetic fool for it.

Anger tore through him as he reached for the glass of scotch on the coffee table before him, his fingers clenching until his knuckles were white. He took a sip, welcoming the burn, letting it fuel the violence in his blood.

Violence for the Vasser family, for their patriarch Cyrus who had shamelessly murdered his own brothers in combat and demanded it be covered up by the one man who could do it. The one man who could be blackmailed into action because of his own connection to the family.

His wife—Jack’s mother. She had been born with the Vasser blood in her veins, and as such Jack carried it as well. It was a trait he should have used to his advantage, but instead it was to be his undoing.

At least, it would be if he let it. He had no intention of letting that bastard Shaw successfully use this scandal against him, not when this election was rightfully his. He deserved that senate seat, knew it would propel him upward and give him future prospects of a cabinet position or even the presidency. The good people of South Carolina adored him and would continue to adore him all the way to the voting booth.

His eyes narrowed with sudden annoyance at the urgent knock on his office door. He took another sip of scotch before inviting the unwelcomed visitor in.

Miles Coulter, his assistant, advisor, and all around errand-boy, entered the office looking more than a little harried. He swept a hand through his crop of dusty blonde hair and faced his boss.

“The team we sent to New York followed Shaw, just like you asked,” Miles began, nervously tugging at his collar at the fierce look in Morgan’s deep blue eyes.

“And…?”

“He met with two of the Vassers at a restaurant a few blocks from the hotel.”

Morgan’s temper sparked, dread a molten hot weight in his gut. “Which two?”

Miles chewed on his lower lip anxiously. “Grant and Linc. Shaw’s daughter wasn’t there. We sent a man in to sit nearby to record their conversation. Sir, Shaw told them about your father.”

Morgan sipped on his drink, giving the news careful consideration. This undoubtedly changed things. If Shaw saw fit to tell the Vassers about the connection he had to their family, then he must be preparing to go public with it. And once that news got out…well, all hell was going to break loose. It could cost him everything.

It would have been easy enough to discredit Shaw in the media, proof or not. Facts didn’t matter if he got to the press first.

But if the Vassers corroborated Shaw’s story, if they confirmed the truth of it, then that would be much harder to combat. Not that the public trusted the Vassers, but if Shaw played his cards right that might not even matter.

What it boiled down to, Morgan realized, was that he would have to ensure that the Vassers stayed silent.

“Sir?”

His eyes shot to his assistant, clearing from the haze of thought. He scowled and took another drink. “What?”

“What is our next course of action?”

Morgan toyed with the glass in his hands. He looked back at Miles with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “We do something about the Vassers.”

“What are we
going to do, Marshall?” Charlene asked as she stared intently at the wine glass filled with Chardonnay in her hands. She watched how the light caught in the golden liquid, sparkling beautifully. If only she felt like drinking it; it really was a waste of a fantastic vintage label.

“Well, Charlene, we’re moving forward,” Marshall replied, trying to put some assurance in his voice to calm her. It was his natural instinct to protect and shelter, to make things right. “The kids are doing a great job—they’re so dedicated.”

“Of course they are,” Charlene snapped, eyebrows raised. “I would expect nothing less of them.”

He only smiled and sat back in his seat, gazing around at the crowd surrounding them in
Cherir
. There were still quite a few people dining there and at the other restaurants the hotel housed, giving him some measure of hope. Some people likely just weren’t paying attention and did not know of the scandal, while others probably didn’t care. He liked to think that maybe there were some who came to support the Vasser family, that maybe they could sympathize with the living heirs of a killer. It wasn’t as if
they
were killers, too. They were simply innocents who were caught up in a chaotic, bloody whirlwind.

And then there were those that came
because
of the scandal—the ones that fed on the drama of other’s misfortunes. Regardless, he’d take their money all the same. At least it was keeping the hotel afloat while they enacted all these changes Madison was forcing upon them.

He grimaced, thinking of his brothers and how saddened they were by this whole mess. It seemed to hit them the hardest. They had been removed from Cyrus and the New York Hotel all those years, and now their legacy was being tossed right back in their faces. All of it taken away and given to a young woman. A capable young woman, but nonetheless one that none of them would have anticipated to be crowned the matriarch of the entire Vasser family.

Even he had not known just
how
close she had been to Cyrus. Her shocking admission revealing her knowledge of his grandfather’s murder had been a major blow. The girl he thought he had known so well, the niece he loved and adored, had kept something as dark and heinous as
that
secret from him for all these years.

In essence, she had been working against him. He didn’t believe Madison when she claimed she had no idea Cyrus would grant her the power and the position that was rightfully his. Although Marshall tried his best to maintain their relationship, he still knew he could never trust her again.

“I assume Clark and Doc have left. I haven’t seen them around,” Charlene said suddenly, insult evident in the tone of her voice. “No one sees fit to tell me anything anymore.”

Marshall chuckled. “They flew home this morning. You are not that late in learning the news of their departure.”

“But their sons are staying? Why is that?”

“Duke and Cy will stay on for a bit longer to help out with the changes being made to the company.” Marshall reached for his glass of red wine, swirling it gently before lifting it for a slow sip. When he set it aside, he met her eyes. “They are good boys. They only want what’s best for the family.”

“They are jealous of my daughter,” she huffed, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t trust them.”

Marshall started laughing, his smile wide beneath his full moustache. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Charlene, but even
you
have been known to be jealous of our Maddie from time to time.”

She carelessly waved the thought away. “She gets under my skin. But I am still her mother. I want to see her get what’s rightfully hers. I didn’t marry into your goddamn family to have unsuccessful children.”

His face notably tightened, as it usually did when he was confronted yet again with her more callous, calculating nature. For all Win’s faults, his brother had at one time loved this woman. Although Marshall wasn’t sure if Charlene had ever loved Win in return. “Speaking of you marrying into my family…tell me you don’t believe Madison is responsible for tampering with the drugs Win took?”

Charlene tensed and sipped at her wine. “No, I don’t believe she is.”

“I think it was that Jorja Hale,” Marshall growled. “She always was a poison to this family.”

“That is a possibility,” Charlene replied, avoiding his eyes. “It could be any number of people. All one would have to do is buy off the dealer.”

Marshall frowned, mulling over the thought. “I wouldn’t even know where to buy drugs. Never touched the crap myself.”

“Well, these young people, they know where to look,” Charlene began, pursing her lips. “And I would not be at all surprised if that little tart secretary of Grant’s knew where to get them.”

“Quinn?” Marshall managed, laughter bubbling in his throat. “She’s as straight and narrow as they come, Charlene. Has the best smile I’ve ever seen on a woman.”

“We know nothing of where she comes from, nothing of her schooling or pedigree. If I thought I could convince him, I’d order Grant to get rid of her immediately.”

Irritation flooded over him as he glared at her. “Damn right you won’t convince him. He knows what he wants and doesn’t need you meddling in his life. Same goes for Linc and Maddie as well.”

For a long, haunted moment she said nothing, her thoughts drifting to Wyatt. When she spoke, rage flavored her words. “That bastard from Las Vegas has been staying in our hotel. When I saw him at the fundraiser, I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“I know.” Marshall sighed, reaching out for her hand in a comforting gesture. They both knew the horrendous pain Wyatt had put Madison through, and neither desired to see it happen again. “Only our girl can make him leave. And if she sees fit to let him stay, then there is nothing more we can do.”

Saying nothing, Charlene removed her hand from his and drank more of her wine. She refused to accept his casual solution. There was always more that could be done.

“I’m expecting a copy of the Army’s file on my father to arrive in the mail any day now,” Marshall said then, leaning back in his seat.

Charlene stared at him, wide-eyed. “How did you manage to get it?”

“I have a connection that finagled a copy of it for me. This way we can find out once and for all who it was who covered up the murders.”