Chapter Twenty-eight
“I need you there by my side, Patricia,” Ryan said.
It had been two weeks since the debacle at Neil and Myra’s, and he and Patricia were still on the outs. Nevertheless, Ryan asked for her support. His mediation could cost him millions. Having Patricia sitting with him would keep him grounded.
“I have this major surgery in a few weeks,” Patricia said. “I must prepare. Anna and Alyssa are a tough case.”
In their kitchen, Ryan slammed his hands on the counter of the island. “This isn’t about your case. You’re mad because I told you about sabotaging Brian and Karlie’s adventures.”
She whirled on him. “Either one of them could have died. How would you live with yourself if one of them had?”
“I didn’t think they’d put them in real harm,” Ryan pleaded. “It was meant to break them apart.”
“Instead, you succeeded in bringing them closer together,” she retorted. “Now Karlie has disappeared, and Brian isn’t talking to you. He’s barely talking to me, either. He won’t answer my calls. I’m lucky he’s answered my text messages.”
Ryan hunched over. “I know I’ve messed things up royally, but we need to stay united. The devil wants us divided. He loves seeing us at odds with each other.”
Patricia rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it. You should’ve thought about that before you tried to get over. None of this would be happening if you had just accepted Karlie as your daughter.”
Ryan stepped back. “Go ahead! Dump everything on me! What else do you want to blame on me? The Ebola virus? The war in Iran? Go ahead!”
“I don’t have time for your dramatics. As it is, I can barely stand the sight of you.” Patricia stalked out of the room.
Ryan’s chest heaved. Her words cut him in ways he wouldn’t be able to verbalize. What was happening to his life? He pumped his fists in the air and railed at God. “This is all your fault! You wouldn’t stop needling me until I had to confess, and now my marriage is in shambles.” He bent his head. Ryan took everything on himself instead of handing it over to God. “My son hates me. My daughter . . . Oh, I don’t even know if she is my daughter.”
Ryan took several deep breaths.
He had a case tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to wallow in this abyss of guilt. Ryan left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom on leaden feet. He saw the light underneath the guest room.
Oh no. He wasn’t having that. Patricia was sleeping next to him in their bed. Ryan stormed over and turned the knob. To his surprise, the door was locked. Fury rocked his being, and he rattled the door.
“Patricia, open up this instant!”
“No!”
“I’m warning you. Open this door!”
There was no answer.
Ryan felt rage as he had never known before. His good sense fled, and with one strong shove, he broke the door off its hinges. Ryan stumbled as his body hit the floor. He looked up to see Patricia’s eyes huge, and her mouth slack-jawed in shock.
Well, I warned her. She should have opened the door.
He hated the fear on her face. Never in all their years of marriage had Patricia looked at him with fear. He stepped toward her.
“Don’t come near me.” She trembled. “You’re a monster, and I don’t know who you are anymore.”
A monster? That description cut him deeper than if she’d used a scalpel. “I’m not a monster. I’m a man fighting for his marriage.” He took her hands. “I love you, Patricia. You know that. There’s no woman for me but you.”
“Breaking down a door is an action of a Neanderthal, not a man in love.”
On the inside, Ryan was grateful Patricia’s spunk returned. Maybe she realized he wasn’t about to hurt her, but he was relieved her face no longer reflected fear. He looked around the room at the bits of wood on the floor. “I’ll have this repaired tomorrow,” he said.
“If only everything else was that easy to fix,” Patricia said. She gathered her sleepwear and returned to their bedroom.
Ryan secured the alarm and turned off the lights before joining her. Patricia had just showered, and she avoided eye contact. Ryan didn’t push. At least she was there.
“While I was setting the alarm, I called Pastor Ward,” Ryan said. “He’s scheduled a meeting with us for tomorrow evening at five, if you’re available.” His anger had surprised him. Tensions were high in his household, but his behavior had been abhorrent and costly.
Patricia pursed her lips.
Ryan held his breath while she debated.
“I’ll be there,” she said before diving into her side of the bed.
Ryan nodded. Thank you, Lord. He had a long way to go but was glad he had reached out to Pastor Ward.
Once he’d showered, Ryan slid under the sheets. He pulled Patricia next to him. It felt as if he was holding a wooden log. Ryan sorely missed the pliant woman he’d held in his arms on so many occasions.
He whispered a prayer for guidance before falling into a restless sleep. His only consolation was that his wife was by his side.
The next morning, he woke up to a kinked neck, an aching back, and no Patricia. Eying the clock and seeing eight a.m., Ryan didn’t have time to waste. He pulled out his tailored black suit, blue shirt, and coordinated tie and dressed in a hurry.
At 9:27 a.m., Ryan sped to the offices of Manchester & Barnes. He held onto the zippered sleeve bag holding all the documents Prim had prepared with meticulous precision.
Though Nigel had warned him about getting too cocky, Ryan felt confident he would prevail against Jackson Higgins. He had the truth on his side. That had to count for something.
Ryan greeted Nigel and gave Jackson a curt nod before taking a seat. He would have addressed the other man if Nigel hadn’t pressed a warning hand on his arm. Ryan harrumphed but didn’t say a word.
At exactly 9:30 a.m., Kyle entered. “Good morning, gentlemen. The mediator is on her way. She’ll be here in ten minutes. In the meantime, we can exchange our evidence as part of the open disclosure agreement.”
“We’re hoping your client has had time to rethink his position,” Nigel said.
Ryan’s heart leaped with hope. He could use some good news.
“No, I, uh, I want to continue,” Jackson stated.
Ryan was surprised at the younger man’s gravelly tone. The Jackson he remembered was energetic and hopeful. Now he appeared gaunt and pale. He shrugged off any concern. Jackson was after his money. Ryan didn’t have time to foster any sympathy.
The mediator, a petite blonde with thin lips, arrived. She took out a manila folder and retrieved an iPod. “I’m Eloise Stevens. I’ll be taping our session.” She looked at her watch. “I’m hoping we can have this settled before lunch.”
Kyle laid on the charm. “I hope so too. We hate to waste the court’s time on what may be a trivial misunderstanding.” Ryan hoped Eloise would remain immune to Kyle’s toothy grin.
He nudged Nigel. “Shouldn’t you say something?” he whispered.
“I’ve got this, but praying wouldn’t hurt,” Nigel said under his breath.
Ryan bowed his head. Lord, give Nigel the wisdom to kick this case to the curb.
Kyle started the proceedings. “Three years ago on October fourth, my client and Ryan Oakes entered into a binding agreement. Jackson agreed to oversee the launching of Spababies. He worked beyond the contracted hours and invested his own ideas in making it a profitable venture. Spababies is a national success and now a worldwide conglomerate. We believe Ryan Oakes knew the profit potential and paid Jackson out of his claim to a billion-dollar industry.”
A billion dollars? How could he have known Spababies would take off as it did? Who was he, God? Ryan stewed, but he knew better than to open his mouth. Nigel had warned him enough times.
“Duly noted, Mr. Manchester.” Eloise then turned to Nigel. “Mr. Lattimore, the state will hear your position.”
Nigel nodded before commencing. “Mr. Oakes entered into an agreement to pay Jackson Higgins the fee Mr. Higgins asked for. Mr. Oakes recompensed Jackson well for his labor by paying him double his fees. Jackson accepted and deposited the check with the note, paid in full. He doesn’t have a case. Mr. Higgins is demanding a whopping 60 percent based on the premise that Spababies was his idea.”
“We are prepared to submit proof,” Kyle said.
“We have records of all Jackson’s notes,” Nigel said. “We have all his proposals in writing. Spababies was and always will be the brainchild of Ryan Oakes and Michael Ward. We have substantial evidence.”
“We have a taped conversation,” Kyle said. He sank back into his chair, content to let that information marinate.
Ryan froze. Questions rushed through his mind. Was that legal? He tried to replay in his head many of their conversations and couldn’t think of anything he could have said to Jackson that would make the other man feel as if he owed him something.
Ryan loosened his tie.
Kyle must have seen his discomfort and offered Ryan a cup of water. “Do you need to take a break?”
When Ryan looked at him, he saw a snake smiling back at him. Ryan shook his head. Kyle needed salvation.
“Ms. Stevens, I would like to schedule another meeting,” Nigel said. “I need time to review this taped conversation and consult with my client.”
“Fair enough.” Eloise snapped her Coach bag open and took out her iPad. With quick sweeps, she had her calendar open. “We will meet again at nine forty-five in two weeks.” She faced Kyle. “Mr. Manchester, please submit a copy of the recording to my office before then.” She packed up her case and belongings and departed.
“See you soon,” Kyle chuckled.
Jackson scrambled behind him.
Ryan and Nigel walked out of the office into the heat. Ryan squinted against the sun. “That was unexpected.”
“It will work out. Let’s talk in a couple of days,” Nigel assured him with a pat on the back. He pulled out his phone and began rapping orders to someone on the other end.
Ryan entered his Navigator. He rested his head on the steering wheel. If he didn’t squash this thing with Jackson, his name would be plastered all over the news. He groaned. It seemed as if since he had given his life to God, his entire life had nosedived. Ryan had put his life into God’s hands, so why did he feel as if he was the devil’s plaything?
Maybe it was time Ryan played the devil’s game his way.
He reached over and opened the glove compartment and swished the contents around until he located the small business card. It was Frank’s contact information. Ryan grabbed the card. He tapped the card against the steering column.
Jackson wasn’t playing nice, and Ryan was tired of being the harmless Christian. He was among wolves, and he wasn’t about to bleat with the sheep. Making up his mind, he tightened his resolve. He might have lost his wife. He might have lost his son.
But the devil was not going to get his hands on Ryan’s money.