Page 36 of Smuggler's Cove
“As far as I know. He is supposed to accompany me to Penn Station. I ordered room service again. It will be nice not to feel like a hostage.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of creepy.” Lincoln knew his sister bore the brunt of the chaos. He was glad he had maintained a low profile in the swirling society of New York money. “Let me know when you get to Nana’s.”
“Will do. And Linc? Please be careful out there. Just because they have not zeroed in on your scent yet does not mean they won’t.”
“I am thinking about changing my appearance. Maybe get a mullet.”
“That is so 1980s!” Madison teased.
“A bowl cut. A little fringe in the front. Maybe bleach it blond.”
“You? Going grunge?” Madison cackled.
“Well, no one would recognize me.”
“True. How about a baseball cap and call it a day?” she joked.
“I’ll think of something,” Lincoln reassured her.
“Okay, bro. I will check in with you when I get to Nana’s. And whatever you do, do not talk to strangers.” She chuckled.
“Roger that. You be careful, too.”
“No worries. I have secret service agents,” she said wryly. “Love you.”
“Ditto.”
Madison checked her watch. It was time for the evening news. She clicked on the remote to see if there were any further pieces of humiliation. Sure enough, the charges against her father were beginning to become known. She watched with detached curiosity. She knew he was not a nice person. Cordial, yes. Nice? She had no trouble processing the situation he had created for himself and her family. Now she had to move on from the shame.
The more she thought about it, the less she felt the indignity. It was not her fault. She could not bear any of the blame. This was something she was going to have to remind herself of now, and for the years ahead.
They say if you are not part of the solution, then you are part of the problem. Could she solve it? Absolutely not. But she could not do the math to conclude she was part of the problem, either. It washisproblem. Yes, there would be financial repercussions as far as her lifestyle, but she could maneuver them. Hackley had been more than an academic education. At least she could be thankful for the one thing her father insisted upon. It taught her independence and individuality, and that was something she could take with her. And Mr. Jinx.
Chapter Seven
Making a New Life
Madison and Lincoln’s maternal grandparents had never been particularly fond of their son-in-law and avoided any conversation about him if possible. As far as they were concerned, if they never had to hear his name again, it would be a blessing.
Gwen had returned to give her deposition and easily agreed to a lie detector test. She was compliant and wanted the feds off her back. Once they were satisfied, she vanished again. This time it was Canada. Morocco was a bit too exotic for her cosmopolitan taste, and she wanted to have easier access to her children. She had pangs of guilt for abandoning them, but she also knew they were equipped to manage things. Regardless of all the creature comforts that were availed to them, her kids had grit. Despite her husband’s material indulgences, she did not raise entitled brats. There was a great possibility his absenteeism had worked in their favor.
* * *
Madison was about to graduate from RISD, and Lincoln was finishing his sophomore year at Baruch. It had been two years since the arrest, and the trial was about to begin. As the evidence of their father’s misdoings unfolded, with it came a media circus. Nana and Pops suggested it would be in the siblings’ best interest to change their last name. They decided to adopt their mother’s maiden name, and at twenty-two, Madison Taylor became Madison Wainwright, and Lincoln Taylor was now Lincoln Wainwright.
Their father was sentenced to one hundred years in a federal penitentiary for wire fraud, grand larceny, and tax evasion. Neither his wife nor his children ever saw him again. Except for the chaos he created for the family, it was as if the man had never existed.
* * *
While Madison was attending RISD, she spent many weekends with Olivia in Boston. One night when they were at a St. Patrick’s Day celebration, she met Eric Fuller, who was studying to be a marine biologist.
After their year-long, long-distance, train-travel relationship, Madison embarked on finding a job and moving to Boston. With her credentials from FIT and RISD, she secured an entry-level position at a high-end design house. She never mentioned or referred to her family. Not even with Eric. She would talk about her brother but kept the family name on the down-low. She was far enough away from New York and several years from all the publicity, and she took the opportunity to begin to reinvent herself. She was now Madison Wainwright, assistant designer.
She had a keen eye for style and began to make her own clothes from leftover fabric and notions. Her boss recognized her potential and began to give her more complicated assignments.
Metallics were all the rage. Anything shiny, from pants to shoes. But Madison did not care for a discombobulated look and began to design separates, with a mix-and-match theme. Using similar color palettes and design elements, the customer could choose a skirt, top, jacket, and pants that could be intermingled. It was just like when she made her first collage as a child. You could create several different looks with the same four pieces.
The company loved the idea and allowed her to create her own line of clothing under the banner of Valencia Fashions. Her simple approach to building a wardrobe became all the rage, and the line collected blow-out reviews designating Valencia Fashions ahead of the game in ready-to-wear.
