Page 15 of Collateral Claim
On the nightstand, my phone rings, and I rush over to pick up Charlotte’s call.
“Hey!” she says, sounding chipper.
“Hey,” I answer, not chipper at all.
“How is the luncheon?”
“I had to cancel.”
“Oh no. Why?”
I sit on the bed, wondering how I’ll explain that the fiancé my sister suspects is fake shot our father after forbidding me from leaving the house.
“Because I’m not feeling well,” I say.
I squint my eyes shut as the pain of lying to my sister stings my heart. My chest constricts. Look, I’m a doctor, and I know damn well there’s no such thing as emotional heart pain, but I also believe in the soul and physical expression of feelings. And when I lie to my loved ones, it hurts.
“Scar, why do you keep lying to me?”
“Because I have to.”
“Is he there now?”
Heis vague enough, not calling out anyone specific. “I’m in my room.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Charlotte, please stay away from here!” I slap a hand over my mouth. I shouldn’t have screamed like that.
“Now I’m definitely coming over.”
“You can’t come here.”
“You can’t tell me I can’t. It’s Dad’s house.”
“Well, I’m telling you no, so yes I can.”
“I’ll see you soon.” My sister hangs up.
“Charlotte?” I stare at the phone. Redial.
She won’t pick up.
Endo doesn’t strike me as a man who bluffs. When he says he wants something, he wants it, and given that he’s shot my dad, he’s deadly serious about finding his brother. Last night at the party, when he flashed me his holstered gun under his designer suit, he meant it as a threat. He doesn’t want me to tell anyone we’re not engaged.
My father is forced to operate under Endo’s rule, as is everyone around me. Risking my sister’s life so I can feel better and have someone to confide in is unacceptable.
But Endo can’t stop Charlotte from coming, and neither can I. Which means…which means I must leave before she arrives.
I grab the new pair of suitcases I bought for my work trip and throw them on the bed. The small one bounces and falls, and I leave it on the floor while I unzip the large one. I go into my closet and grab some of my favorite pieces. I fold them neatly into the suitcase, then curse myself for trying to pack well and dump the clothes with hangers into the suitcase.
I drop in my underwear, bras, socks, e-reader, and personal computer, and close the suitcase. I don’t have time to pack the small suitcase. I roll my one piece of luggage over the marble on the top floor. I don’t make it to the steps before one of Endo’s people, a woman, climbs them two at a time to get to me faster.
“All set?” the brunette, her long hair slicked back into a tight ponytail, asks.
