Hollow Victories

Wyck's cell phone rang just as he stepped into his hotel room, arms laden with white, Chinese takeout containers. He was emotionally drained and exhausted. All he wanted to do was eat and collapse. Find some oblivion. Not discuss business. He dropped the food on the coffee table and fished the phone from his suit pocket.

"What," he answered shortly, collapsing onto the lumpy couch.

"Well, aren't you Mr. Sunshine," Davis cracked wryly.

Wyck suppressed a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, Davis? It's been a long day."

"Just wanted to give you the good news, man. Spoke with that attorney this afternoon. Carrington signed over the last of his assets right before he died. So we're all set - no probate battles ahead."

Davis chuckled. "Hell, the poor bastard even took out a loan against his house with a big balloon payment coming due. Like he thought he'd actually be able to cover that after we destroyed his business. Dude was delusional."

Wyck sat forward, hand dropping from his ear. After all these years, his revenge against Jonah Carrington was complete. But instead of triumph, he just felt hollow. Strange.

"Wyck? You still there?" Davis asked loudly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here." He cleared his throat.

"Well, congrats, brother! We need to celebrate properly when you're back. I'm talking a night of serious debauchery." Davis sounded ready to party.

But Wyck's thoughts were churning. "Hold up. Did you say he mortgaged the house?"

"Uh, yeah. We passed it off to Mack already though. Wasn't worth messing with."

Wyck scrubbed a hand over his face, confusion mounting. "Right. Of course."

"You good, man? Thought you'd be psyched." Davis sounded perplexed by his subdued reaction.

"I'm fine. Just wiped out. I'll touch base in a few days once it's all sunk in."

"Okay, man." Davis' voice concerned. "Let me know when you're headed back."

"I will. Thanks," Wyck answered distractedly.

After hanging up, Wyck leaned forward with his head in his hands. This should've been the pinnacle - his ultimate victory against the man who had derailed his life. But instead of satisfaction, guilt was seeping in.

Because in destroying Jonah, he'd also taken the last shred of security from Harper and her family. Their home. On top of grieving their father, now they'd soon face eviction.

"Damn it," Wyck muttered under his breath. How had his revenge gone so horribly off course? He thought justice meant stripping Jonah of everything, the way the man had done to him. But now innocent people would suffer too. Why hadn't that even occurred to him before now.

Wyck stood and paced the small room, emotions at war within him. He could try offering to let Harper's family stay in the house. But he knew she'd see it as pity, not the apology he intended. She'd refuse out of pride. And he'd have to confess what he'd done. He wasn't at all sure Harper would forgive him. Not with their history.

Stopping by the window, Wyck stared out at the stars winking over the shadow of the mountains, blurred through his own exhausted reflection. He hardly recognized the man looking back - hardened, cynical, driven by bitterness.

By seeking to destroy Jonah, he'd lost sight of everything else, including his own humanity. And he may have lost any chance at reconciliation with Harper in the process.

Wyck pressed his forehead to the cool glass. He didn't have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear - it was time to leave the past behind. And try to become someone Harper could trust again, instead of despise. But how?

 

***

 

 

Monday morning, Harper, her mother, and sisters sat in a large conference room at the family attorney’s office waiting for the man to arrive. Mr. Morton of Morton, Wilcox & Grimes, had been the family attorney Harper’s entire life. She thought of the silver-haired man as more of a member of the family than paid counsel. He was at every bar-b-que, every party, every major event in their lives as well as helping her father with his many business ventures. Today, he was unusually late.

“Where is he?” her sister, Elizabeth, hissed, checking her watch again. Her prevailing emotion over the last few days had been anger. Harper supposed it was better than the constant crying her baby sister had been doing.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” Harper soothed. At least she hoped this would be the case. She glanced at the large round clock on the wall. She felt her reserve starting to crack like an eggshell around the edges. She needed to get this over, pack up, and get back to her life in Raleigh as soon as possible. Escape this place again.

“Anyone have any more Kleenex?” Brenna sniffed, wiping her red rimmed eyes. The tears seemed to flow almost continuously from her baby sister’s eyes, even though the ugly sobbing had stopped over the weekend.

Harper dug in her purse and handed her one of the packets she had stuffed there for the funeral. She hadn’t used one. She thought she should probably be worried by that, but maybe the numbness was a good thing.

Everyone collectively flinched as the door to the room finally cracked open and a man in a somber black, pin-striped suit entered the room. He wore a blood-red silk tie with matching pocket square – a power ensemble if she’d ever seen one. Mr. Morton shot an enigmatic look her way before nodding and addressing the family. “Mitzi. Everyone. So sorry I’m late and let me extend my deepest sympathy for your loss,” he said with a deep, modulated tone, one Harper associated with funeral directors and doctors of mental patients. Her brow furrowed. Something was off with the normally genial attorney. A chill skittered up her spine in foreboding. Her hand reflexively gripped Cam's fingers tighter.

Cam leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Love, are you okay? Do you need some water?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.” She felt her friend’s warm hand gliding up and down her back soothingly.

Mr. Morton shuffled papers at the end of the table, studiously not making eye contact with anyone. Finally, he looked at Mitzi when he spoke again. “At a time like this, nothing is easy, but I regret to have to be the one to tell you that Jonah had been having significant financial difficulties when he passed.” Harper watched him look nervously around the table, his gaze finally settling on her. “Unfortunately, there is very little left in the estate.”

There was silence in the room for several moments as everyone stared at him with incomprehension. Finally, Mitzi asked in her soft, dulcet tones, “What do you mean by 'very little'?”

Mr. Morton now seemed to have lost his composed demeanor entirely. He tugged at the collar of his shirt like it was a size too small for him. “To put it simply, there are only a few thousand dollars left in the accounts and a second mortgage was recently taken out on the house. He made some risky investments in the last few months. Investments we tried our best to dissuade him from, by the way, and they didn’t pan out. Most of his holdings have been taken over by a large development company. I’m so sorry.”

“Goddamn it, Daddy!” Elizabeth swore, getting up from the table and pacing at the side of the room. Brenna just started crying again, and their mother looked shell shocked. Harper squeezed Cam’s hand so hard, she thought it might break but it was the only way she was keeping it together.

“What does this mean, exactly? What do we do?” Harper fought the quaver in her voice.

Mr. Morton grimaced. “I’m not sure, Harper. You have six months on the mortgage and then a balloon payment is due, so you do have that time to decide if you want to sell or come up with the funds to pay it off." He shot a pained glance at Mitzi, who was staring at the wall, seemingly in shock, before addressing Harper. “I’d be glad to meet with you separately to review everything in detail. You are the executrix, you know.”

“Me?" Harper asked incredulously. "Not Mama?"

The attorney nodded. "He was very determined about it when we last updated his will."

Harper looked around the room as everyone's eyes rested on her. She tried to swallow down the large lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "How soon can we meet? I can't believe this."

Mr. Morton stood quickly, obviously desperate to escape the room full of grieving women. “I'm sure we can accommodate you tomorrow. Check in with Melissa on your way out. She can set you up with an appointment and we’ll go over everything.” He turned to Harper’s mother and rested a big hand on her shoulder. “Again, Mitzi, you can't know how sorry I am about all of this.” Mitzi didn’t acknowledge his words before he left the room for the family to try to process what had just happened.

Harper looked around at the devastation her daddy had left in his wake. She had a sudden feeling of foreboding

that her life was about to take an even more unexpected turn than she had thought.