Page 136 of Family Affair
Chapter 31
“Yo! Frank Sheffield!”
It wasn’t his name that made Frank stop dead in his tracks but the voice that called it. Squinting in the bright sun, he watched Stevie Stark’s thin stooped form stride toward him.
“You have the gall to approach me,” he said to Stevie when the reporter came within earshot without having to shout. “I am in the right mood to bash your brains out, Stevie.”
Stevie scoffed, knowing Frank wouldn’t want to touch him on the street right outside his lawyer's offices, but he wisely kept his distance.Stevie was adouchebag, but not a stupid one.
Frank cocked his head. “Why are you skulking around Marcus & Ulrich, LLP? A new form of ambulance chasing?”
Stevie gave a self-satisfied little laugh. “I’m not hurting for stories. Have a new one coming out next week. If you bothered returning any of my messages, I would have told you about it. But, a determined journalist that I am, I figured I’d catch you here, give you another chance to offer a comment.”
Frank didn’t like the sound of that. “Why would I want to comment on anything you’re writing?”
“Because it’s about you.”
“You already wrote about me. Are you going to milk this non-story for the rest of your pitiful career?
Amusement made Stevie’s washed-out eyes gleam, and not in a kind way. “It was a great story, I backed it up with facts. Thanks to you, my career is on the rise. Remind me to send you a Christmas card.”
“Screw off, Stevie.” Frank made a move to walk past him. His blood pressure was reaching a dangerous level where he usually hit the annoying party. He knew adding an assault to the litany of charges he was already facing would be a dumb move, but tolerating this reporter’s gloating smirk sorely tested his delicate self-control.
“Wait, about your comment!” Stevie called to his retreating back. “When I interviewed your father, he alleged that Ward Williamson forced you to forge famous works of art so he could sell them. Is it true?”
The world shrunk into a tight little ball around Frank. He turned around slowly. “Get a real job, Stevie, and stop making up stories.”
“Is Ward Williamson more than a godfather to you?”
“He isn’t my godfather.”
“Do you work for him for money or out of some familial obligation?”
“I don’t work for him.”
“Would you agree to an interview on the condition of anonymity?”
Frank gave Stevie a pointed look. “Anonymity? I’d like to hear how you can guarantee my anonymity after all the garbage you publicized about me.”
Stevie’s smile was sly. “Just say the word, and I will make it happen.”
Frank flipped him a bird, flashing his forearm scar in the process.
“Didthe fear of exposure contribute to your attempted suicide?”
Right, Stevie had been present at the gallery when he coded.
“If you think that I will talk to you under any circumstances, you’re out of your small mind.”
“You father agreed to talk to me,” Stevie countered.
“I’m not my father. Goodbye. And Stevie? The next time you accost me, I won’t just beat you up, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Sweating through his undershirt despite a cool October day, Frank got into his car. He had had plans for the rest of the day, but he no longer even remembered what they were as he gunned it in the direction of his parents’ house. Rick better be home, damn him.
He didn’t walk in; he stormed the front door slamming it behind him so hard it nearly fell off the hinges. The housekeeper came running, alarm written all over her face. He ignored her, zeroing in on his father’s study.
Punching the study door open, he saw that the room was empty.
