Was he out on a chartered trip now? That didn’t make much sense. All of Cape Hill was here.
So, why wasn’t he?
Emery’s accusatory voice wafted through my head. Lucas Ridley was probably Jillian’s friend as much as he was mine. He owned a boat and certainly knew how to sail.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found his number and thumbed out a text.
Me: Hey. Did you go to Jillian’s memorial service today?
The three dots appeared on screen to tell me he was typing, but then disappeared. As I waited, my odd sensation prickled. Again, he began to type and then the dots disappeared. This wasn’t that hard of a question to answer, and yet he struggled.
Lucas: No, I’m in the Caribbean. How was it?
Me: It was nice, but difficult. Are you working?
It took him even longer to respond.
Lucas: No. Just felt like getting away.
That made it sound spur of the moment, but sailing down the Atlantic coast was at least a five-day trip. One that would require planning and preparation.
Me: Let me know when you’re back. We should grab lunch.
This time, there was no response.
Maybe I’d caught him at a bad time, or in a place where cell service was spotty, but my suspicion intensified. I didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because the door behind me swung open with a creak and heavy footsteps announced someone’s approach. I turned to see a man making his way toward me, who wore a black suit and a weary expression—one that was atypical for him.
Uncomfortableness stiffened my posture. “Wayne.”
He tried to disguise his displeasure but failed. When Jillian and I had been together, he’d insisted I call him by his first name, claiming we were family. After the break-up, it was clear he’d prefer I go back to addressing him as Mr. Lambert.
Today was the first time I didn’t enjoy the irritation my supposed lack of respect caused him.
“Christ, it’s cold out here,” he muttered. He came to stand beside me at the railing, his gaze focused on the horizon. It was quiet as he stared at the sunset, but it wasn’t peaceful. The tension in me was so tight, I found it difficult to breathe. I’d had a lot of practice in my lifetime, but I still felt uncomfortable around grief.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said in a hush.
“Thank you.”
Wayne was in his late fifties, and his hairline had retreated from the top of his head, exposing a shiny dome that was surrounded by a ring of graying dark hair. He was lean and in good shape for a man his age, but his face was puffy, like dough that had been overworked.
His surgeons had made his skin look unnaturally elastic.
I glanced at the large glass back wall of the clubhouse and to the reception still going on inside. Had he come out here to escape from them? Would he prefer to be alone? There wasn’t a drink in his hand.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
He simply stared at the ocean, his cheeks pinking in the cold air. Like he was waiting for Jillian to emerge at any moment from the chilly water and his nightmare would be over.
Finally, he turned and set his attention on me, revealing I’d been so, so wrong about what he was thinking. There was calculation in his eyes, and something else I couldn’t quite place.
Dark enjoyment?
“Yes, there is something you can get for me.” His voice was sly. “Damon Lynch will be stepping down from HBHC’s board soon, which means his seat will be available.”
What he was implying was so shocking, it turned my spine into steel. We were at his daughter’s funeral, and this was what he was focused on? Becoming a board member of Hale Banking and Holding Company? Fuck, he was worse than everyone else. Did he seriously look at Jillian’s death as an opportunity?
“You’re barking up the wrong Hale,” I snapped. “I’m not on the board. If you’re interested in a seat, you need to talk to Royce.”
My brother had recently been promoted to chief operating officer of the company and was the only Hale currently seated.
Wayne wasn’t fazed. “It’d be better coming from you.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you’d be my only real competition.”
I froze. Yes, I was a significant shareholder in the company, but I’d been practicing corporate law for HBHC for less than a year. I was young and an unlikely candidate, plus this wasn’t part of the plan my father had drafted for our family.
Of course, neither was him going to prison.
“No one’s approached me about it,” my tone was frosty, “because if they had, I would have told them I’m not interested.”
He stared at me like I’d just confessed a crime. Then his expression shifted to a skeptical one. He thought I was bullshitting him—but I wasn’t. I liked living in the middle, flying under the radar. Joining the board would invite all kinds of scrutiny, not to mention cries of nepotism, and it’d put a political target on my back.