When Empires Fall (48 page)

Without a word, she whirled around to face her father and slapped him hard across the face, her fury over Wyatt fueling most of the power behind the act. Win nearly toppled over from the blow, not having seen it coming. He yelped and stumbled, clutching the side of his face gingerly as he fought to process what had happened.

Madison only glared at him, her eyes dark and cold, her lips curled into a snarl.

“You ruin everything,” she said then, her voice hauntingly level and filled with contempt.

He only stared up at her, bewildered. “W-what?”

“Leave him alone, sweetheart. Can’t you see that he’s been through enough?” Wyatt growled, straightening as he pushed away from the wall and approached her. “For Christ’s sake, he saw his goddamn father murder a man. Show some sympathy.” He paused, a dark smirk twisting his features callously. “Oh wait, I forgot. That heart you used to love me with is all black and withered now. You can’t feel a goddamn thing.”

“Don’t lecture me on sympathy, darling,” Madison responded coolly, keeping her fury in check as she stared at him, her knees nearly trembling beneath her. But she wouldn’t fall, oh no. Under no circumstances would she give him that pleasure. “You’ve always had a blackened heart. Makes me wonder just what it was my father gave you in return for this allegiance of yours. Was it Vasser money? Was it property? A new car?” She sauntered towards him then, her lips curling into something precariously caught between a snarl and a smirk. “Tell me, Wyatt. Did you only pretend to love me for my money? And then when a better gig came along you left town without even an explanation?”

She was close enough now that he could both smell and feel her, electricity roaring like a live wire just under her skin. She was primed for the fight, fearless and raging, with fire in her eyes and a façade of stone cold resolve over her face. It was an incredible contradiction. But then again, she had always been exactly that.

Her words had shaken him. Just as her unresponsiveness to his statements had swiftly turned the tables on him, making him the target and her the sharp and poisoned arrow. For a few moments, he fought with himself over how to respond, on what to say. Hell, he couldn’t tell her the truth, not here, not in front of her family. It wasn’t the right time, not yet, to explain to her the reasons he had left all those years ago.

So he would wait. He would wait for as long as it took for the right moment to arrive. Patience, after all, was a virtue.

“I never pretended to love you, sweetheart,” he said simply, his eyes revealing nothing as he stalked around her and approached Win, who was standing wide-eyed with Jorja at his side, supporting him as he fought to stay upright. “Let’s go, Win. I’d say we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“You’re all crazy,” Jorja muttered, shaking her head as she led Win down the hallway. Win glanced back over his shoulder at his kids, misery and confusion in his eyes.

They disappeared into an elevator and were gone.

Grant and Linc stood awkwardly together, staring at the elevator. They shot each other a swift, nervous glance before turning to face their sister.

Before they could say anything, Madison tilted her chin up confidently and eyed them, one eyebrow cocked arrogantly, as if daring them to comment.

Linc spoke first, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. “I better call Rubenstein, fill him in. Get his take on what we should do.”

As he walked away and dialed the family lawyer, Grant turned to Madison, his expression hard to read.

“Marshall lied to those people in there. He told them that there is no proof that Winston’s death wasn’t a suicide.”

Madison nodded, pursing her lips bitterly.

“But we know better, don’t we, darling?” She met his eyes, her own softening ever so slightly as she went to him, seeking his comfort. He held her tightly, shutting his eyes briefly as he warred with the uncertainty and the fear in his heart.

His sister sighed against him softly, and when she spoke her voice was almost too quiet for him to hear.

“What are we going to do, Grant?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. She knew exactly what had to be done. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be the one to have the burden of it. Cyrus’ letter was hidden discreetly inside her purse and she dreaded the moment she would have to reveal it to her family.

Grant thought of the file folder upstairs in his office, the one containing all of Rosalie Owens documents and letters. The contents of that folder proved that his grandfather was not only the murderer of one man, but of four. How would his family take the news when he finally told them? And just how much damage would it cause the hotel?

While he had been planning on waiting until the next day to share the file with his family, he had a feeling it would only be detrimental to put it off any longer. They had to know the whole truth to prepare themselves for what was coming the minute the press got a hold of the official police report.

It was going to be a long, exhausting night and, without a doubt, a game changing one.

“I don’t know, Mads,” he murmured, pulling away from her to meet her eyes once more. “Let’s go back inside. The night is almost over.”

An hour or
so later, the guests began to leave.

Charlene and Marshall stood at the doors to personally thank everyone who had been present and to say goodnight. Grant, Madison and Linc stood with them, shaking hands and offering words of gratitude.

When the last of the guests made their way to the door, Grant broke away and went to Quinn. She was standing alone in the hallway, staring out of the same window Madison had been plotting at hours earlier.

Quinn sensed him as he came up beside her and tilted her head up to offer him a warm smile.

“How are you?” she asked, sorry to see the strain and exhaustion in his eyes.

He tried to return her smile, wanting to give it to her as some kind of consolation for staying through the entire evening and not running away like most women would have done. How could he blame her if she had? “I’ll be fine. Why don’t I walk you downstairs? There’s going to be press everywhere; I don’t mind escorting you.”

“Oh, no, I’ll be okay.” She smiled again and turned to face him, her hands twisting together anxiously in front of her. “The press doesn’t know who I am, anyway.”

He nodded, glancing over as the last few guests trailed towards the elevators and disappeared inside. His family had gone back into the ballroom, most likely to give instructions to the wait staff. Which meant he was finally alone with Quinn, something he hadn’t even realized how badly he had needed until that very moment.

Without a word, he suddenly closed in and pressed her against the wall beside the window, his hands in her hair as he leaned in. His mouth was a breath away from hers as his eyes closed on a long sigh.

He reveled in the feel of her against him, in the softness of her hair under his hands. Intoxicated, he closed the gap between their mouths and kissed her, diving in without reservation, needing some sort of relief to quell the chaos raging in his mind and in his heart.

She was eager against him, her hands running up his back as she gave him all she had, seeking only to comfort him and give him what he needed. Her heart ached as she screamed her love for him over and over in her head, knowing it would only complicate things and yet understanding that it was undeniably true. He was everything. What good was she unless she could be for him?

He murmured her name as his mouth trailed over her face, drinking in her scent and her breath like water. And when her eyes flew open and met his, the green in them bright and heavy with need, he saw the dedication and the love she felt, as clear as day.

Seeing it staggered him. Seeing it nearly brought him to his knees before her, unable to do more than lie speechlessly at her feet.

Could she possibly love him? After everything that had happened, the scandal, his callousness to her, his sister’s rudeness. Could Quinn seriously still want him, despite all of it?

She saw the humility and the disbelief come into his eyes as he stared at her. Basking in it, she reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m here for you, Grant.”

He only pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, accepting her offer without words. She held on, biting back what she so wanted to say at that moment. Maybe sometime soon, she’d tell him. But until then all she could offer him was this.

On impulse, she backed away from him and reached into her purse to pull out a small piece of notepaper and a pen. She hastily scribbled her cell phone number on the paper, then handed it to him. “If you want to talk, or need anything, just call me, okay? Anytime, day or night.”

He stared down at the number dully, unsure what to do about the grasp she had over his heart. It hurt and yet at the same time it soothed. What madness…

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her again, slower this time, drawing it out so that he could commit her taste, the feel of her, to memory. When he pulled back and straightened, he tried to smile at her again. He wanted to reassure her that everything was going to be alright, even though he knew better. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

“Goodnight.” She stared after him for a moment as she began to walk away, wishing more than anything that she could stay. But his family needed him more than she did at that moment.

When she turned and stepped into the elevator and the doors began to close, she felt the tears in her eyes begin to fall.

They met up
fifteen minutes later in one of the conference rooms on the second floor. Grant sat at the head of the thirty person conference table, his brother to his right and his sister to his left, Marshall beside Madison and their mother beside Linc. They all watched him quietly, waiting on his instruction of what they should do. Knowing just how much they relied on him was a responsibility that weighed heavily upon him, especially in that moment. But he carried it nonetheless, as he had been born to do.

In front of him sat the file containing Rosalie’s evidence, and he tapped his fingers against it softly as he determined where to begin. Beside him, his sister eyed the folder curiously.

With a heavy sigh, Grant got down to business.

“I think we can all agree that tonight did not go over as well as we had hoped. It wasn’t a complete disaster, but it certainly wasn’t picture perfect, either.”

“Goddamn Win.” Marshall scowled, fury brightening his eyes as he clenched his fists in front of him at the table.

Charlene eyed him bitterly before looking to her oldest son. “You should have never let him in.”

“At the time it would have looked worse to force him to leave. The press had already gotten a look at him and Ms. Hale,” Grant told her curtly, dismissing the indignant snort Linc made beside him at the mention of Jorja. “Regardless, it’s done. Now we need to determine our next course of action.”

“Take cover,” Linc suggested wryly, feeling useless and frustrated. “Before the shit hits the fan tomorrow. Goddamn press.”

“What’s in the file, Grant?” Madison interrupted, eyeing her eldest brother coolly.

He glanced over at her, meeting her eyes silently before opening the folder and passing it to her. As she began to look through it, he turned and addressed the rest of his family.

“When the detective came to meet with me yesterday, he informed me that he had not been entirely forthcoming with information on the case with us. He didn’t have just a letter from Rosalie Owens detailing the murder. He had an entire file filled with evidence.”