Page 97 of Free to Run
“Yes. I’m looking for Cassidy Lockwood and Phillip Freeman-Ross. I’m a courier from Watson, Rubenstein, and Dalton in New York. I have urgent messages to deliver,” the man, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and black open-collared shirt, says. His eyes scan the room until they land on my sister. “Mrs. Lockwood,” he says respectfully. He’s obviously been briefed. He turns, and I get a good look at his face.
The courier, who I know from performing his background check through Hudson, is actually Greg Anderson, the head of New York security at Watson, Rubenstein, and Dalton. Whatever he’s delivering isn’t good news. Anderson steps forward, hands one letter to Cassidy, which is formally addressed to Cassidy Lockwood, CEO, Amaryllis Events, and another to Phillip. “These are to be opened in a particular order. Mrs. Lockwood, if you would, please?”
Cassidy and Phil look at each other, and Caleb and I do the same. Cassidy uses a nail to slide her finger into the tamper-evident envelope. When she pulls out the papers and begins to read, a choked gasp escapes her. Caleb rushes to her side, and it’s a few moments before she’s able to say, “Oh my God. She resigned.” Her eyes meet Phil’s first, then Em’s. “Ali resigned from the company.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous!” Phil snaps, but he sounds nervous. He stalks over to Cassidy and rips the papers from her hands. His own start shaking. “Sweet baby Jesus.” His voice is a whisper.
“There’s no reason? No notice?” Em’s voice is clinging for something. Anything.
Phil’s frantically flipping through pages. “No, nothing. Just instructions, her logins and passwords, briefs on pending cases, operating procedures—that’s it.”
I hear Anderson clear his throat. My head turns incrementally toward his, and that’s when I feel it. This was just the first lobby. The bomb hasn’t hit yet. He nods to the other letter in Phil’s hand, the one with the instructions written in her beautiful penmanship, which simply says,Read aloud when the entire family is present.
Showing his empathy for my sister’s condition, he suggests, “Mrs. Lockwood, is there a better place for this to be read? Perhaps a place where you can sit down? When I last saw her, Ms. Freeman suggested you may want to retire to the conference room.”
Meaning whatever is in that letter is going to hit hard.
“Someone get Corinna and Holly,” Phil demands. Em turns away to call them.
I hear Cassidy mutter, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Caleb tells her soothingly, “We’ll find her, Pixie.”
“You don’t know, Caleb. Maybe it was the things I kept saying to her. I was such a hormonal bitch.” I hear my sister crying in her husband’s arms.
It wasn’t you, Cass. I did this. Because I couldn’t bend my pride enough to tell Alison the truth.
Em comes back and says, “They’ll be upstairs in just a moment.”
We all make our way upstairs with Phil leading the way, holding Alison’s letters like they’re the most precious and dangerous things he’s ever touched. Em’s not far behind him, clutching her phone as if it’s a lifeline.
Caleb is leading my sister up the grandiose staircase, murmuring in her hair, likely telling her they’ll figure it out together, the way they have since practically the moment they met.
I’m following behind, fear creeping into every step I take away from the door. I know every minute I’m here, I’m not out looking for her, making her understand that what she saw wasn’t what she thought it was.
That I’m not that kind of man. I’m not my father—I’m not a cheater.
I would never do that to someone I like, let alone someone I love.
I feel alone, even as I enter a conference room full of people. Within seconds, I feel a blast of heat. I look up frantically, wondering if Alison is in the room, ready to lambast us all. Instead, I meet Corinna’s red-rimmed, hate-filled eyes.
I lower my head in shame. It seems Alison had a moment to speak with her younger sister before she wrote her resignation and whatever is in the second letter. Now I know I need to leave. Just as I start to rise, I hear Phil ask if he should call Jason.
Anderson says the letter can’t be read until everyone is in the room.
Phil says, “I’d like him to listen to the letter. Can I call him on speaker?”
I want to rail at Phil to get on with it, but I know if the situation were reversed, I’d want Alison’s support.
Anderson hesitates, then turns and makes a quick call. “A Mr. Jason Ross will be arriving in less than five minutes.”
Phil’s relief is evident by the way he physically sags in his chair.
The grandfather clock ticking back and forth slowly is the only sound indicating the passage of time. Then the front door opening and closing, and light footsteps running up the staircase, announces the arrival of Jason.
Phil jumps up from his chair and goes running into his husband’s arms. “Jace, Ali…”
“I know. Jared called me in the city. Ali asked him to.”
