“Yes.”

“What about children’s advocacy?”

“I’m doing some work on weekends and evenings when necessary for Judge Bowen and Judge Thorpe. It can get intense.”

“Is this goal of yours legal?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

Grayson suddenly realized how much he was enjoying this bizarre conversation. He liked being with her. When she smiled, a dimple appeared in her right cheek, and her eyes fairly sparkled. Damn, she was pretty. Everything about her appealed to him. Whatever perfume she was wearing was a real turn-on. It was so feminine and sexy. So were her legs.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what your goal is?” he asked.

She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. “No, not really.”

THREE

To his credit, Grayson didn’t pressure her to explain. She wondered how he would have reacted if she’d oh-so-casually said, “My goal? I want to put my father in prison . . . or die trying.”

Okay, maybe the “or die trying” was a little over the top, but she was more certain than ever that she had to do something to stop him.

Everyone has a breaking point, and Olivia would never forget the night several months ago when she’d reached hers. She had just passed the bar and wanted to celebrate with her aunt Emma. The day hadn’t started out great. In fact, it was hellish. It was a Saturday, she remembered, and there were a hundred things she’d wanted to get done before nightfall. Unfortunately the best-laid plans . . .

She had overslept a full hour because she forgot to set her alarm on her iPhone; her right front tire had blown out while she was driving sixty miles per hour on the highway; she had tripped over a small pothole she hadn’t noticed when she was crossing the street, skinning both knees; and the strap on her favorite purse had snapped. The most upsetting offense of all: the leather on her brand-new shoes got scuffed. Needless to say, by five o’clock she wasn’t in the best of moods.

Emma would fix that. Just being around her aunt made everything better. Olivia changed her clothes and headed over to Emma’s gorgeous colonial house to have dinner with her. Her aunt was such a sweet, loving woman; she had a knack for making everyone she was with feel good. Olivia would leave her frustrations and worries at the door, and she knew that by the time she sat down to a delicious dinner prepared by Emma’s longtime cook, Mary, she’d be laughing and having a fine time, listening as Emma regaled her with the most wonderful stories about her travels around the world. Whenever she spoke of her late husband, Daniel, her voice would soften and sometimes her eyes would get misty with her memories. After all these years, Emma’s love hadn’t waned, and some of the stories she told were so romantic.

Olivia missed her uncle very much. He was a kind and generous man, and though he was an extremely successful businessman with tremendous demands on his time, he never left any doubt that Emma came first. It was obvious to everyone who knew them that they were crazy about each other. While Olivia knew better than to wish for marriage and happily ever after, she loved listening to her aunt talk about him and their life together.

Olivia arrived at Emma’s house at dusk. She drove through the gates and up the long driveway that circled in front of the three-story Georgian mansion. A dark sedan sat parked near the steps that led to the main door. Olivia didn’t recognize the car, and as she got closer she could see the figure of a man sitting in the driver’s seat. She had to pass the car to reach her usual parking space behind the house, and when she was a few yards away, she recognized the man. He was Carl Simmons, her father’s attorney. He was looking down at his phone and didn’t turn his head or look in her direction. Olivia felt a knot forming in her stomach. If Carl Simmons was here, that meant her father was inside with Emma. She hadn’t counted on running into her father tonight, and she didn’t look forward to the encounter. She pulled around the house and parked outside the garage as was her habit when she had lived with Emma. She entered through the back door, and as soon as she walked into the kitchen, she could hear raised voices. The housekeeper, a robust woman named Harriet, looked relieved to see her.

“What’s going on?” Olivia asked.

Harriet put her finger over her lips in an unspoken command to keep silent, then motioned for Olivia to follow her into the laundry room. She pulled the door shut behind her and whispered, “I’m so thankful you’re here. Mary certainly got hold of you quickly, didn’t she? She only just went upstairs to get her phone so she could text you.”

As if on cue, Olivia’s phone beeped, indicating she had just received a text.

“No, I stopped by to have dinner with all of you. I heard shouting when I came into the kitchen.”

“It’s a fight,” Harriet said, nodding for emphasis. “A big one. Your father and your aunt are having it out. Something terrible happened and Emma is enraged. Mary and I have never seen her like this. And your father is getting meaner and meaner. He threatened her, Olivia, and he’s saying such terrible things about your mother.”

“The fight’s about my mother?” she asked, trying to understand.

Harriet shook her head. “I don’t think so, but your father dragged your mother into it. From what I overheard, it’s about some charity that lost money.”

The poor housekeeper was beside herself with worry. She kept folding and refolding a dish towel. “Emma never raises her voice,” she whispered. “So you can see how serious this situation is.”

“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “Harriet, you said my father threatened Emma?”

“He did. Something to do with your mother. Whatever it was upset Emma.”

Olivia opened the door. “All right. I’ll go in now and see what I can do.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If I were you, I’d listen at the door to find out what’s going on. Once Emma sees you, she’ll stop the argument, and you’ll never know what it was about.”

Harriet was right. Since Olivia was a little girl, Emma had tried to shield her from any unpleasant family conflicts. Even though Olivia was an adult now, Emma continued to protect her.

Olivia didn’t like the idea of eavesdropping on a private conversation, but she thought she just might linger at the door for a few minutes to get the gist of the argument. That wouldn’t be considered eavesdropping, would it? Of course it would, she admitted. But right or wrong, she was still going to do it.

As it turned out, she couldn’t lean against the door because Mary had gotten there first. That didn’t matter, though. Olivia could hear every word from down the hallway.

Her father’s voice was furious. “If you try to make trouble, I’ll leave Deborah, and you know what that will do to her. She says she can’t live without me. Shall we find out?”

“Do it,” Emma challenged. “Leave my sister. You’ve made the threat to divorce her how many times now? I’m not giving you any more money to stay with her. I made that mistake years ago, and I won’t make it again. My sister may be a fool but she deserves better, and if she can’t see it, then she’ll have to wallow in self-pity when you leave.”

“If Deborah does anything crazy, it will be on your hands.”

“Are you suggesting she might harm herself? What do you suppose that will do to your reputation, Robert? Investors want stable managers, and they don’t like scandal. Tell me,” she continued, “did you ever love Deborah?”

Olivia stopped a few feet from the door. Mary, Emma’s cook for the past twelve years, a sturdy German woman who always wore her silver-gray hair pulled back in a tidy bun, stood in front of her, unaware that she’d approached. Looking embarrassed to be listening in on a conversation that had become so personal, Mary turned to leave and saw Olivia standing behind her. After giving her a sympathetic smile and a pat on the arm, Mary went down the hall toward the kitchen. Olivia stepped up to the door. It was open a crack and the voices were loud and clear. She waited for her father’s answer to Emma’s question, but she didn’t hear one.

Then Emma asked, “Are you capable of loving anyone but yourself?”

“The question’s ridiculous. You still haven’t told me what you plan to do—”

“About Jeff Wilcox?” Emma asked. “That depends on you. Are you going to stand by and do nothing while Jeff goes to prison because of your lies?”

Olivia leaned forward and peeked into her aunt’s study through the tiny opening in the doorway. She saw her father pick up a magazine from the desk and flip through it nonchalantly as he responded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Stand by and do nothing. I didn’t put a gun to his head and force him to give me the money and make the investments for his charity.”

“Believe me, if I had known that he was going to do that, I would have put a stop to it immediately. If Daniel were alive, he would never have let Jeff get involved with you.”

Olivia recognized the name. Jeff Wilcox had been her uncle Daniel’s protégé. He was the son of close personal friends of her aunt and uncle, and when he had graduated from college, he had gone to work for Daniel. Olivia was away at school at that time, but she remembered seeing Jeff at a couple of gatherings. She’d heard her aunt and uncle speak of him many times. From what they said, he was a courteous and easygoing young man who often expressed his gratitude for the opportunity her uncle had given him and the kindnesses shown to him by her aunt. Shortly after her uncle died, she’d heard that Jeff had taken a position with a charitable organization.

“He knew there were risks,” she heard her father say.

“You set him up,” Emma cried. Olivia had never heard her aunt so upset. “You lied to him. He would never have invested the charity’s funds if he had any inkling that they weren’t safe. I know Jeff. He’s honest and decent. He has a wife and a new baby now. He wouldn’t risk that. Have you no conscience?”

“I only did what he asked,” her father answered. “It’s not my fault if his board of directors thought he misappropriated the funds. I offered him several investment strategies, and he made the final decision.”

“Decisions based on the lies you told him,” Emma countered.

“Wilcox isn’t such an upstanding citizen,” he snapped. “Greed was his downfall. He demanded a fee from me for investing the charity’s funds, and I’ve got the signed papers to prove it.”

“Lies, all lies,” she cried out. “Jeff would never—”

“It’s his word against mine,” her father snapped. “And when the authorities investigate, they’ll see that the evidence is on my side. The documents clearly show that there were risks with the investments and no guarantees. Documents that he signed, I might add.”

Olivia had heard enough. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked inside. Neither Emma nor her father noticed her. They stood with their backs to the door. The window was on her father’s right and she could see his reflection. His eyes were cold and his jaw was clinched.

“How much did Jeff Wilcox give you?” Olivia asked.

Robert MacKenzie turned to her, the contemptuous scowl gone, replaced by a dazzling smile. She’d been told that women adored him and that, if he hadn’t decided to go into the Wall Street world, he could have made millions as a movie star. Tall and fit, with thick silver-tipped hair and eyes as blue as hers, he was considered devastatingly handsome, but it was his charm that captured his clients. Men believed they were in his inner circle, and women thought he wanted them in his bed. He had never cheated on his wife, though, for to do so would diminish his carefully constructed persona. He had learned to use all of his attributes to captivate and to hypnotize. Besides, money was far more important and arousing than sex. Very few people knew the real Robert MacKenzie, the devil hiding beneath the angel’s wings.

“Hello, darling. How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Not long,” she lied. “I just heard you talking about Jeff Wilcox. What have you done to him?”

“Nothing. Your aunt was misinformed,” he said, shaking his head and never letting the smile fade. “As usual,” he added. He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her on her cheek. “How are you feeling? Are you taking your medicine every day?”

It always came back to her health. She believed it was her father’s way of reminding her that she was flawed in his eyes. He knew how to manipulate her and make her feel inferior. When she was younger, it had worked, but no longer.

Olivia looked at Emma to gauge her reaction. Her aunt’s gaze was locked on Robert, and her face was flushed with anger.

Olivia stepped back, then walked over to stand next to her aunt in a show of loyalty. “Father, I haven’t had to take medicine for years. You know that.” Turning to Emma, she said, “Tell me about Jeff Wilcox.”

“Don’t answer that,” Robert ordered. “Olivia doesn’t need to concern herself with business matters, especially in her weakened condition.”

“Will you stop—” Olivia began to protest.

Her father cut her off when he said to Emma, “My daughter is so starved for affection, she’ll believe anything you say, Emma, and she’ll try to help because you’ve shown her that you care. If you get her involved in this, the stress could prove to be too much for her.”

“For God’s sake, Robert, your daughter has grown up and is quite healthy. Stop trying to make her an invalid.”

“Tell me about Jeff,” Olivia repeated. She folded her arms and leaned back against the desk, leaving no doubt that she wasn’t going to budge until she got an explanation.

Her father refused to respond. Emma didn’t have any such qualms. “Jeff became the manager of the Walden Foundation. They help the indigent and the homeless by providing housing and job programs. They’ve had a tremendously successful track record. The man who started the charity had, himself, been homeless and had been helped by a kind stranger. When Walden’s luck turned, he vowed he would help others, and he started the charitable foundation. He died several years ago, but he left thirty-two million dollars for his charity to continue, and Jeff was brought in as its director. The position was perfect for Jeff. He always wanted to do work that would make a real difference in the world. And he was doing a great job I understand . . . until he met your father.”