The Next Wife by Kaira Rouda (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

CHAPTER 56

KATE

We sit facing each other across my desk.

“Are you doing OK, honey?” I ask. “You haven’t changed your mind about the publicity shoot, have you?”

“I want to do the photo shoot with you,” she says. “But I’m worried about Tish. What she’ll do to you and to the office.”

“She won’t do anything to me. Wouldn’t dare,” I say.

“I hope you’re right,” she says. “Mom, I know Dad hurt you, so much.”

“Thanks for saying that. You’re right. We built a full life together. Family. Business. He threw it all away,” I say.

“But you were the last person he called, ever. I have the proof on his phone. He still loved you,” she says.

“Maybe, but there was a lot of damage done.” I swivel my chair back and forth. “All of this is a moot point. It’s the past. We need to get going. We need to move forward.”

“Mom, one last question. Why did you use the name Mabel to communicate with Dad?”

“Oh, that. You know Tish wouldn’t allow your father and me to talk directly, and there was a lot we needed to cover, with the IPO and everything.”

She nods. “I get that. But why the name Mabel?”

“It was a nickname, from when we first met. I know, sort of sentimental.”

“Tish knew it was you, despite the name,” Ashlyn says. “You really got her fired up, that’s for sure. Maybe on purpose?”

“No. I was just helping Dad through the stress of the IPO. If she read into things, what can I say, honey? Makes me look smarter than I am,” I say.

I can tell Ashlyn is about to ask more questions when a text lights up my phone. It’s from Bob. You are right. Mary Loveless and Sarah Byrne will admit, for a price, they never witnessed John sign anything. Congratulations. We have an attorney taking their statements now. Handwriting expert agrees John’s signature is a fake, too. We have enough to take to the judge and get this thing invalidated.

“Yes!” I leap out of my chair.

“What is it, Mom?” Ashlyn asks.

“We found our crack in the will. The witnesses were phony, and they’ll admit it. The handwriting was faked. It’s over,” I say.

“That’s great news!” Ashlyn says.

Jennifer knocks on my office door. “Ready?”

“More than ready,” I answer. Glad for the diversion. “Come on, Ashlyn. Let’s go show the world who’s boss.”

The world should know Kate Nelson is holding all the cards.

CHAPTER 57

TISH

I’m pacing back and forth in my kitchen. The same kitchen I can’t wait to off-load onto some unsuspecting new owner. The heating and cooling guy was here earlier and disconnected the thermostats from the app. He says they’ll work like regular ones now, thank god. The tech guy Chris called should be here any minute to unlink the music system from that app. I’m getting my damn house under control.

The real reason I’m pacing, truth be told: I’m lonely. Nobody at work will talk to me. I don’t have any friends. I need to start playing tennis. Stat. And what was stupid Kate saying about owning most of EventCo? I don’t understand. I need to find a way to scare Kate some more. I like it when she’s afraid of me. But no one at EventCo would tell me where the lame photo shoot was, and mostly, it seemed, they were laughing at me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Uncle George. We have trouble, sugar. They bought off our witnesses. Better fold up the con. Move on.

What? No. I text: No way. I don’t understand. Call me.

I wait. He doesn’t call. I call him, and it goes to voice mail. I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room.

This isn’t a con, not really. This was my life. But now it’s over. I’m surprised when tears spill over my eyes. I’ve lost. Kate won. I’m glad I left the office. I can’t have anyone seeing me like this. I need a new plan, apparently. I dab at my eyes, careful not to ruin my makeup. Fine, I will forget about the company, I’ll forget about this place.

Which reminds me, I haven’t heard from that real estate hunk yet. No worries, though. I’ve decided I’ll be in residence at the Canopy by Hilton downtown until I find the perfect place. I won’t spend another night in this horrible home. I swear it’s haunted. Even as I hope it’s not me who is haunted.

A brief yet terrifying image of John as a ghost flies through my mind before I push it away. John died a cheater, and in that sense, he earned what he got. He’d better not be haunting me because he knows I always win. At least he knows that now.

I pull two large suitcases out from the storage closet as the whole house music system begins blaring the song “Who Are You” by the Who.

The windows are closed, and for once, the house is a pleasant temperature. I can outlast a little loud music. I open my suitcase, find my noise-canceling headphones, and pop them over my ears. One point for Tish.

I toss a few outfits into my suitcase, sexy dresses for evening and a couple of workout and tennis clothes for next week. Shoes and purses, five in each suitcase, are next. I open the safe and put on one of my most expensive gifts from John, a long gold necklace with diamonds sparkling every half an inch or so along the chain. It’s to die for, darling. I pull out my largest diamond studs, and instead of my travel wedding ring, I’ll wear the real rock from John. I will look like the spoiled wife I was when I check into my suite downtown.

I close the safe and realize somehow I need to get all of this out of here and into my new place. The only things I care about are my clothes and jewelry. The rest is all John’s stuff.