The Manuscript: a short story

The Manuscript

a short story

 

by Shawn Ann Murray

Copyright © 2012

approx. 6000 words

"The Manuscript" first published by Midwest Literary Magazine, April, 2012, reprinted with the permission of the author.

She dropped the manuscript on his desk with purpose. He looked up at her almost angrily.

“What’s this?” he asked.

"Something you should read.”

He pushed it back toward her.

“That’s what I hired you for. I don’t have time for this. I have another appointment.” He stood and as he did so, his chair slammed backward into the wall.

Jessica stood her ground.

“This company is called Chad King Literary Agency. That’s you. You call the shots around here. I don’t see Jessica Marlow on the marquee out there. I can’t do a damn thing without your signature. You didn’t hire me, remember? You brought me in as a partner. You needed me. Don’t you think it’s about time you sign the papers to make me a full-fledged partner? It’s been nearly a year since you brought me aboard.”

“I needed your money,” he said as he continued his forward momentum toward his goal of getting out of the office.

She stood between him and his goal; the doorway of his office blocked with her 5’2”, 110 pound frame. When he first laid eyes on her, he wanted to get her into bed. That was mostly his motivation for inviting her to join him. That and her capital. But he had just gotten involved with Kyleigh Jones, the woman who changed his world. Getting mixed up with Jessica would have ruined all that. Now, just listening to her voice raked across his nerves.

“Oh, and now that you’re THE Chad King, agent to the stars, you don’t need my money anymore.”

He smiled sweetly, his eyes sparkling, “Jessica, dear, now I need you. I can’t run this agency without you.”

She glared at him, unaffected by his famous charm. “You don’t run this agency. You’d have to be here to do that. You’re here for five minutes a day to sign a few documents and then you’re gone, gallivanting around with Miss. December, or Miss Texas, or Miss Sunshine, whatever whore du jour, all the while your wife lines your pocket with an allowance. How do you think  Mrs. King would feel if she knew about all that?”

He dropped the charm. “What do you want, Jessica?”

“I want you to sign the papers making me a full partner, legally, and give me the authority to push through these manuscripts,” she said, picking up the manuscript she had dropped on his desk. “You know, our bread and butter. Just because you’re a kept man, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need a paycheck.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll sign them tomorrow.”

“Nice try. Sign them today. I know you’re flying out to meet Kyleigh in the morning.”

“I don’t know where the papers are.”

“They’re in the top middle drawer of your desk. The exact spot you put them eleven and a half months ago, the day we agreed to become partners.”

“I don’t  have time for this right now.”

“Well Chad, make time, cause I certainly have plenty of time to call Kyleigh. Should I tell her you’ll be at the Hilton with Miss Sunshine or Miss Hawaii, or both? Give me your room number and I’ll be sure she can dial straight through.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“It’s not blackmail when it’s what you’ve promised me.”

“Fine.” He turned on his heels and circled back around his desk to retrieve the papers. She again stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, the manuscript clutched to her chest. He gave her a dirty look as he bent over the papers to add his signature. He straightened himself and hastened to exit the room. She still blocked his way.

“Not so fast. I need your signature on more than one page before it’s legal.”

“What’s the hurry? You still have to file it anyway. It’s not like you’ll file it tonight, it’s already noon. You’ll never make it to the courthouse in time in this L.A. traffic.”

“If you haven’t noticed, your lawyer friend and I are now dating. I’m sure he’ll be able to handle that.”

“You and Gerald? No way! Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”

She gave him a cold hard stare. “There’s a lot of things going on around here Chad, of which you haven’t a clue. Like the two manuscripts I sold last week for a total advance of seventy-five thousand. Brings us a nice chunk of change when I sign the contracts. And I won’t do that until you sign those papers.” She nodded her head toward his desk.

“Well, good. Keep up the good work.”

“Just sign the papers, Chad.”

He grudgingly returned to the desk and flipped through the pages, signing as he went.

He looked up as she approached the desk. “Now, can I go?” She snatched up the contract, flipped through it and once satisfied, she smiled.

“I take that as a yes.”

“I’ll have Gerald file this first thing in the morning.”

“Just remember, you’re responsible for half the expenses around here, now, too,” he said as he gathered his jacket and briefcase.

“Like I haven’t been responsible for them since the day I got here.”

“Yeah, and if you’re going to put your name on the marquee and everything else, it comes out of your half.”

“That’s okay with me,” she said smugly.

Chad gave her a suspicious look but shook it off. “By the way, why do you call her Miss Sunshine, her name is Sharon.”

“Whatever. Are you sure you don’t want to read this manuscript? I think it’ll be as big as Kyleigh’s tell-all, if not even bigger.”

“There couldn’t be anything bigger that Kyleigh’s memoirs right now; a box office hit movie, a song at number one on the Top 40 music charts with an album still climbing, a hit TV series and a best seller. Who can beat that?”

"I’m just saying…”

“Do what you can with your little manuscript. I trust your judgment,” he said as he finally left the room.

“My judgment is not what you need to worry about, just now, Chad King, of Chad King Literary Agency, Agent to the Stars. Kyleigh Jones’ memoirs are just a drop in the bucket,’ she said as she turned, left his office, clutching both the manuscript and the contract, turning out the lights as she went.

 

Jessica sat in her office reading over a manuscript when she heard someone in the outer office. She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes past 9 p.m.. Carrie and Jason had gone home for the day and she wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. She quietly set the manuscript down and looked around the room for something to use to protect herself.

Chad poked his head around the corner. “You always work this late?”

“Christ Chad, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”

“It does still say Chad King out there on the marquee, though I see your name is on the door and the stationary now too. King Marlow Literary Agency? Couldn’t you keep our first names too?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in a chair across the desk from her.

“Chad King Jessica Marlow Literary Agency is a bit of a mouthful don’t you think?”

“I was kind of partial to just Chad King Literary Agency.”

She gave him a dirty look.

“Well, you could have at least called and got my input.”

“You were on location in Shanghai for the last two weeks. I couldn’t get you on the phone.”

“You might have left me a voice mail or something. And speaking of voice mails, I did get an interesting voice mail from Carole over at Random House.”

 Jessica visibly stiffened.

“She was very anxious to get her hands on a new manuscript that we were auctioning off. Know anything about that?”

“Yeah, the manuscript I tried to get you to read before you left town.”

“Something called Big Man in Town? Carole wanted to rename it Mr. Jones.”

“It’s a fictional memoir of some big shot Hollywood type. Shopping it around to a dozen houses. I got a bid from Carole just this morning.”

“What’s the bidding up to?”

“Well, Random House and Penguin/Putnam are in a bidding war. It’s up to 1.5 million for First North American serial rights and movie rights. But the guys over at Paramount just entered the bidding war for the movie rights.”

“Maybe I should read this script before we make any decisions.”

She pulled a copy of the manuscript from her desk and tossed it to him. “I thought you might.”

She began gathering a couple manuscripts and shoved them into her briefcase. “I’m calling it a night. Since you’re in town, think you can open up shop tomorrow? Gerald and I were planning a long weekend, our year anniversary, you know. We’re headed up to Denver to get some skiing in. Won’t be back till Monday. All the players for the script know to make their final bids by next Wednesday. I’ll be back in plenty of time. You’ll have Carrie and Jason to help with the calls and emails.”

Chad was distracted as he read over the manuscript.

“Have a good weekend, Chad,” she said as she was leaving her office. She glanced back over her shoulder for a moment, a huge sinister smile slowly spread across her face.

“Mmm, oh yeah, you too,” he replied, never looking up.

She continued on her way.

The cover page read Big Man About Town: A Fictional Memoir by Robert Jones. 314 South Main Street, Sandusky, Ohio, 44870, 555-742-7878, Novel 100,000 words.

Chad turned  the page and read the first few sentences.

            As a very young boy, my  younger brother Seth and I would stare up at the stars at night and imagine a world where we were adults and controlled our own destiny. That is until our older brother would come along and tell us to grow up, live in the real world and git inside before Momma called after us. It wasn’t long before the real world hit us smack in the face. Seth was killed, mauled by one of the pit bulls Daddy had bought to mate with the bitches we already had. Daddy’s new get-rich-quick-scheme to train the pups for dog fighting. Momma shot the dogs dead herself when Seth died. Daddy sat worthless on the front porch as she picked them off one at a time as they fought against their chains. Daddy was never the same again. He and I left one morning early to go fishin’. Daddy went off by himself and we never saw hide nor hair of him again.

            I left soon after to find my destiny and never went back.

            My Momma called me Charlie. Daddy called me Charles when he was after me with a switch. But everyone calls me by my new name now, Carl Taylor. 

The hair on the back of Chad’s neck stood straight up. He’d never told a soul that story. How in the hell did some hick in Sandusky, Ohio get his story. He jumped several pages ahead..

            No one ever knew his real name, or at least no one I knew. We called him Pops. He looked 60 years old but he was probably 40 or so. We thought he was wise. He’d been on the street longer than anyone we knew. And he had survived, if you could call that surviving. He taught us when to raid the dumpsters for food that hadn’t spoiled yet, how to finagle a cheap hotel room between guests so we could all take a hot shower, what shelters we could trust when it was just too cold to sleep on the streets and how to spot a mark and clean his pockets. Pops even introduced us to the Public Library, where especially if we were fresh from a hot shower we could even find a nice quiet corner and sleep for a couple hours out of the cold without being disturbed.

            But it was there that Pops taught me to read. None of the others were much interested in learning but I was fascinated with all the people, places, and things that happened in those books. I traveled down the Mississippi with Huck Finn, flew among the stars with Buck Rogers, played with Thing One and Thing Two. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on. But it was the book Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill that changed my life.

            Pops five-finger-discounted the book from a bookstore and gave it to me on my birthday. Said he knew it was my birthday cause it was the only day of the year I spent my money on something sweet. After I read it I asked him why he didn’t use that stuff to get himself off the streets.

            He said he had used it. He’d been someone important when he was younger but he’d done something so terrible, he didn’t deserve a life anywhere other than the streets. Never did find out what that was though I think it had something to do with his kid.

            But that book was the best present anyone ever gave me. I read it over and over. At night, I’d find a park bench and stare up at the stars and imagine Seth whispering in my ear all the wonderful things I would have and do and see someday.

            Then Pops introduced me to a world I’d never known before. He snuck me into a movie theater. I watched in awe as E.T. flew across the moon. It was in that moment I knew I was going to Hollywood.

            It was difficult to hide much from the others but I managed, with Pops help, to stash money aside. I was going to get a one way bus ticket to California before the next snow fall. The only time I spent any money was when I couldn’t sneak into the theater and had to buy a ticket. I was in heaven as I watched the actors and actresses on the big screen live the lives I could only dream of. I was going to be an actor. I was going to be famous,…and rich.

            I think it was his birthday or maybe his kids birthday but one night Pops found me. He was drunk, really drunk. He usually had a few to drink but he always said he was too afraid to drink too much cause he already didn’t have much control over his life as it was. Drinking just made everything worse, he said. I didn’t much like the stuff. Too many memories for me.

            But he found me and he started crying. I hugged him like I always did when he got this way. And he held on tight. And he kissed me. He’d never kissed me before. I tried to back away but he held on tight. He pushed me back against something and turned me around. I was bent over and my feet couldn’t touch the ground. He cut my pants and hurt me like I’ve never been hurt before. I was fourteen years old.

            When he finished, he staggered away and collapsed against the wall. I fell to the ground and gathered my pants around me. There on the ground was the knife he’d used. I grabbed it and lunged at Pops.

            He was dead.

            I found some money in his coat pocket, took his pants, bought a bus ticket to California.

            And never went back. 

Chad had broken out into a cold sweat. How could someone know this stuff? The details were a little off but the gist of it was his life. He hadn’t even thought of Pops in over 25 years. He flipped back to the front cover of the manuscript and found a phone number. He scrambled to the phone and dialed. He got a voice mail.

“You’ve reached Robert Jones. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”

Beep.

Chad’s throat was dry. His head was swimming. He hung up the phone and began to pace around the room.

He stopped and spotted the manuscript again. He lunged after it and flipped halfway through its pages.

I had just finished my meeting with Denise and Derry and had given Derry the papers to draw up so Denise and I could sign them. I hadn’t really wanted a partner but I could see no other way to keep the Agency afloat. I would have preferred just to hire another underling to read through the slush pile and hand off anything decent to me. But I needed Denise's money. I was 45 years old and about to fail miserably in yet another career choice without Denise’s substantial influx of funds. Damn those silver spoon rich kids with Daddy’s deep pockets who had everything handed to them. Denise would be insufferable to work with let alone have her as a partner. I tried to put it out of my head. It was done. I’d have her daddy’s check in the morning and I’d get the landlord off my back. He’d be forced to stop the eviction.

I picked through the slush pile that had accumulated all around my office. A bright pink envelope caught my attention.

Pink.

It was headed straight to the circular file cabinet. But the return address caught my eye as it fell into the waste basket. Chelsea Jackson Agency. I knew that bitch. She was one of the many Agents who slammed her door in my face when I was looking for someone to represent me in my acting career. She  said my two bit roles as an extra were beneath her and I’d never have a shot of making it in Hollywood.

I picked the pink envelope from the trash thinking I should have left it there but the idea of sending her a rejection letter carefully worded to let her know that her work was beneath the Chad King Literary Agency’s standards and that she’d never make it in the publishing world was just too appealing for me to not read what was inside the pink envelope.

I was in for a big surprise.

Chelsea hadn’t written it after all.

She was just forwarding it for a client of hers.

A big client.

Camilla Jones.

It was her tell-all autobiography. Everything from her start with the Mickey Mouse Club and meeting Mr. Disney himself just days before his passing, to the teen heartthrob she was, to the adult mega star she’d become. She’d gone into detail over her week long romance where she eloped with her best friend and divorced him six days later after he slugged her and left her with a black eye. She wrote about her second marriage to fellow cast member which ended up as a publicity stunt on his part to bolster his playboy image. She wrote about her affair with the producer of the show and all the kinky fetishes that his wife wouldn’t indulge him in. It was a tell-all book to top all tell-all books. I wondered how I’d gotten so lucky.

Only thing was, it was written horribly.

It jumped all over the place, past tense to present in a single sentence, just about every single sentence. Typos everywhere, words completely omitted, and formatting all wrong.

It was going to take a complete overhaul.

But I wanted it. I wanted it very badly. She was going to save me.

I dialed Chelsea Jackson’s number and prayed that no one else had picked up the manuscript yet.

I found out later that Camilla and I had been at the same restaurant at the same time about six months earlier. She had asked about me. She thought I was cute and I reminded her of her father. When she learned I was a literary agent, she rushed home to finish writing her memoirs. She then had Chelsea send it to me and only me.

I scheduled a meeting with Camilla for the very next morning. Googled her and found out her favorite food, flower and favorite color. Picked out a pink button down shirt and tie to go with my grey Armani suit, bought a dozen pink long stemmed roses, and made sure the restaurant had Pink Salmon Almandine, strawberry pink chiffon pudding pie and pink champagne with strawberries. By the end of our lunch, we had signed a contract and she was smitten. How easy it was to sweep a young, naive 22 year-old actress off her feet. I spent the next six months working with her, traveling with her on location, plying her with small tokens of my affection and devoted attention but never once acted inappropriately. We spent every free moment wrapped up in words. Finally the manuscript was ready for publishing.

I shopped it around, generated interest and put it up for auction. Her TV series had just been renewed for its fourth year and was all the buzz. She’d gotten a record breaking deal to sign on for another season. Rumors were flying around the movie on which she’d just wrapped and the soundtrack she’d just released was climbing the charts fast. Her song, Baby, Baby, Baby would hit number one and stay there twenty two weeks before the movie was ever released.

We had twelve bids in less than a week. Seventeen more a week later. Her book sold for more than any other book out there. Overnight, I became the Agent to the Stars.

I met with Camilla for lunch to give her the good news. She smiled but didn’t seem very happy about it.

I’ll never forget the look on her face when I asked her why she was unhappy. She said, “but this means we won’t be able to spend  time together anymore.”

I got her.

I stared at her for a moment before I reached across the table and kissed her.

The words came tumbling out of my mouth, gushingly calculating.

“Marry me. Marry me right now.”

She whispered, “Yes.”

We drove to Vegas and got hitched that very same evening much to the chagrin of her live in boyfriend and costar, Brian Dexter.

Chad smiled at the memory as he let the manuscript drop in his lap. That was six months ago. He’d moved in. Dexter, otherwise named Jason Ramsey, moved out. The whole world watched as Ramsey fell to pieces. He’d call the house or Kyleigh’s cell phone repeatedly until the numbers were changed. He’d send her dozens of pink long-stemmed roses to the set and to the house. He’d show up at all hours of the night or day where ever she was. He had a total meltdown. The final straw was when he was fired from the show. He tried to kill himself that very evening in her dressing room. Luckily a janitor found him and he was admitted to a small private psychiatric hospital in Texas where he could be near his family. That three months of torture took its toll on Kyleigh and their relationship. The honeymoon had ended early. Just one month into the marriage and the sex had already stopped completely. Kyleigh needed time to herself and had gone off  to the Rivera for six weeks before she was needed on location in Shanghai. The last two weeks with her had been the first time they had seen each other in nearly two months. He had missed his wife. He especially missed her deep pockets when they were together.

And now things just weren’t the same. She looked happier, more relaxed. But she was distant, withdrawn. He felt as though the sex was perfunctory. Either way. He was fine with seeing his wife for a few days here and there when she could pencil him in. He had his distractions. As long as he had access to her accounts and credit cards, he’d be fine.

But this book threatened all that.

He realized that he was still in Jessica’s office. He got up from the chair he’d been sitting in for several hours and hauled himself and the manuscript to his own office. He tossed the manuscript onto his desk and made his way to the outer office to make a pot of coffee. He was determined to read the entire manuscript tonight.

He set the coffee pot to brew.

He was drawn back to the manuscript. He opened it almost automatically to the page he dreaded.

My secretary’s voice over the intercom announced that I had a call from a Peter Smith. The name was familiar but I couldn’t place it. I looked at Kim who once again was in my office badgering me about signing the damn papers. I shrugged my shoulders as I reached for the speaker phone.

In a huff, Denise left my office.

“This is Carl Taylor,” I spoke to the air between me and the phone’s mic. “How may I  help you?”

“Mr. Taylor. I’m not sure you remember me but you hired me to draw up some documents for you several years ago…”

I quickly picked up the phone from its cradle.

“Mr. Smith, yes, I remember you.”

“Good then, Mr. Taylor, I won’t have to go into detail. Congratulations on your recent nuptials and that hefty advance you got for the sale of your wife’s book.”

“What do you want?”

“I just think you should share the wealth a little.”

“How much is a little?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Half a million,” I said rather loudly, but quickly got a hold of myself. “Hold on.” I put the phone down, circled around my desk toward the door. I quickly glanced to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. No one. I closed the door and went back to pick up the phone.

“I don’t have half a million dollars.”

“Your wife does. Get it and meet me at the same place you picked up your documents, tomorrow, noon, or I’ll be sure to tell the new Misses that her married name really isn’t Camilla Taylor.”

“I can’t get that kind of money that fast.”

“Well, Carl, get creative.” The line went dead.

Get creative, he said.

I sat in my office until 3:30 am. How was I going to come up with that kind of money? I couldn’t just ask Camilla for that much money. The advance for the book was nearly gone. I was determined to call his bluff when a plan began to hatch in my brain.

I pulled out the lower desk drawer and found what I was looking for; my latest acquisition – my insurance policy. It’s dark steel shining brightly.

I met with Peter Smith at noon, as he requested.

He would not be requesting any more meetings or demanding any more money from me. Too bad, too. He’d been highly recommended as the one to go to for fake ID’s and documents. I hoped I would not need those kinds of services again.

But just in case, I decided that I would need another type of insurance policy. I went to the nearest ATM, withdrew as much cash as I could on my wife’s credit card, drove to the nearest bank and got a safe deposit box to hide the money. I’d find a way to skim off the top of her bank accounts and credit cards, divert some of her investments into my business and skirt a little from the business itself. I’m not going to find myself in this predicament again. 

It was almost as though he, himself, had written this manuscript. It was uncanny how similar it all was to his own life. The guys name was Smith but his first name had been Paul. Of course, if he had written his life story, he would have omitted that bit about Paul Smith, and Pops and that bit of him and his Daddy going off to fish. But then, it wouldn’t have been much of a story if he’d left out everything that could crucify him.

He went to pour himself a cup of coffee, the biggest cup he could find, and added a little something besides cream and sugar.

When he returned to the manuscript, he was feeling quite buzzed. He turned to see how this story was going to end.

I stood and faced the jury as the Foreman stood to read the verdict.

“How do you find the defendant in the charge of First Degree Murder?” asked the Judge.

“We find the defendant guilty.”

“Mr. Taylor, or should I call you Mr. Rose. You have been found guilty in this courtroom for the premeditated murder of Peter Smith. You have also been found guilty by a jury of your peers in two other courtrooms for the murders of your father, Charles Rose and David Simpson, otherwise known to you as Pops. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It was all self-defense, your honor.”

“Uh, huh. You may have been able to use that defense in Georgia and Pennsylvania to charm your way out of the death penalty, but not here Mr. Rose. I sentence you to death by lethal injection. Sentence to be carried out one year from today. That should give you enough time for your lawyer to file for appeal. I look forward to seeing your sentence carried out Mr. Rose. Now, get out of my court room.”

As the officers came for me, I glanced around to see my now ex-wife standing next to my ex-partner and my mother. They were all smiling. Behind them stood Tiffany, Tonia and Sara; Miss Texas, Miss Hawaii and Miss Sunshine, all happy to have their revenge.

 

‘Miss Sunshine?’ Carl thought to himself. ‘Everyone knew Teresa was Miss Texas and Barbara was Miss Hawaii. They were contestants in the Miss U.S.A. pageant but Sharon was just an actress. No one called her Miss Sunshine except for….’ Realization dawned across his face as sunlight began streaming in through the window behind him. He reached again for his insurance policy.

He jumped up from his desk and stormed from the office. Thirty minutes later he was furious as he pounded on the front door to Jessica’s apartment.  She opened the door still in night clothes.

“You’re early. I thought we said…” She stopped mid sentence as she realized who was standing at her front door. “Chad? What are you doing here?”

“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” He said seething, as he stepped toward her. She stepped away as he entered her apartment, slamming the door behind him.

“Were you going to blackmail me or something with that manuscript?”

“What are you talking about?”

He could see it in her eyes that she knew exactly what he was talking about. He pulled out his gun. She froze.

“It was perfect, damn near perfect. I was going to call up this Robert Jones fella and offer him quite a bit of money just to get that manuscript off the market. Even got his voice mail.” Chad was advancing toward her as she backed away. She’d never seen him so deranged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She searched around herself looking for something with which to protect herself while keeping an eye on him.

“But you would have won even if I hadn’t read that manuscript; get it published, humiliate Kyleigh, force her to divorce me, I lose everything, I go to prison, you win. Is that how you figured it? Did you really think I’d believe some hick from Podunk Ohio would be able to write my story by accident?”

“Your story? What are you talking about?”

“You can quit playing stupid. I’m on to you. I just don’t know how you did it. How did you get all that information about me?”

“You mean that was you, the kid who watched his brother die and killed his own father? The one who was raped on the streets and then kill the man who did it? The one who murdered the man who tried to blackmail him? That’s you?”

“Don’t be coy. You’re no good at it.”

Jessica’s lip curled up into a snarl. “Your life is an open book if you know who to talk to, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother contacted me shortly after your picture hit the front page of all the tabloids announcing your marriage to Kyleigh.”

He was taken aback. “My mother?”

“Yeah, your mother. She told me all about your childhood.  She’d even followed you to Pittsburgh and got the whole story of your time there from some girl who hung out with you and Pops. She even told your mother what Pops had done to you and what you did to him. The girl saw it all. And she’s willing to testify.”

Jessica began advancing on Chad ever so slightly.

“You might have been cleared of those murder charges had you stuck around to take responsibility for your actions. Even your mother said your father’s death was ruled an accidental drowning until a neighbor girl told her that she saw you push him in the water and hold him down.”

Chad was disoriented. Jessica was nearing her way to the kitchen and the drawer where she kept the kitchen knives.

“But Paul Smith, that’s another story.”

“How did my mother know about that?”

“She didn’t. The Private Investigator Kyleigh hired did. He contacted Paul Smith to ask about the fake ID’s and Paul contacted you rather than give any information to the P.I.. It was only a matter of time before your mother, Kyleigh and I put it all together. And when our accountant discovered all the money you’ve embezzled from the company, I had to do something before the IRS came after us, came after me. I’m sure you wouldn’t have stuck around to explain everything to them.”

“Kyleigh had me investigated?”

Jessica looked incredulous. “Of course she did. She knew the minute she married you that she’d made a mistake. And when money came up missing from her accounts, she contacted me to ask if you’d used the money to help the agency. That’s when we hatched this whole plan.”

“You’re lying. She’s not that smart. She would have divorced me instead of going along with this whole elaborate scheme.“

“And lose half of everything she has to you in a divorce? So you could get away with all the money you’ve stolen from her and the agency and get away with murder in the meanwhile. No, we figured this was best, having the ghosts of your past rise up from the dead to haunt you, one way or another. She’s a marvelous actress, that wife of yours. The last two weeks in Shanghai. She deserves an Oscar for that. One thing I don’t understand, though.”

Chad was deep in thought. Jessica quietly pulled the kitchen drawer open behind her.

“How did you figure it was me?”

“Sharon.”

“What’s Sharon got to do with this?”

“You’re the only one who ever called her Miss. Sunshine.”

Realization dawned over Jessica’s face. “My bad,” she said as she grabbed a knife from the drawer and charged at Chad, the carving knife aimed at his chest. The gun fired hitting Jessica in the left shoulder. They fell to the floor as the gun scuttled across the room. They fought as she pushed the knife further into his chest. She broke free and raced for the gun. She picked it up and turned on Chad. He was slumped against the hearth of the fireplace looking down at the knife and blood gushing from his chest..

He looked up at her. “I guess you’ll have to rewrite the ending,” he said as his eyes glazed over and he slumped sideways.