“AR?” Trevor wheezed hard. “Quitting for yournegress?”
The muscles in Chase’s jaws clenched. He glowered, knowing the dying man was trying to incite a reaction from him. “I am. For her. For myself. I ain’t leading a bunch of racists, let somebody else do it.”
The froth around Trevor’s lips thickened as he struggled to open his mouth. By the time he did, Chase was already to the door, no longer listening. The nurse was seated on the couch in the living room, filling out a sheet of paper.
“You should probably have a look at him,” Chase told her. “He’s foaming at the mouth. Think he’s really pissed about not getting those cigarettes.” He vaguely took notice of the nurse pushing the paper away then dashing across the living room as he walked out the door.
Chase looked back at the house while pulling out of the driveway. Despite knowing he’d soon have to deal with arranging his stepfather’s funeral, since he doubted the man would live out the rest of the month, much less the week, he felt lighter. He felt proud. He’d done it. The truth about him and Larke was out and he couldn’t be happier. From now on, it would be only him and her. Nothing or no one in between.
Some time later as Chase was seated around his table, going over required documents for the cargo ship, he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Through the window, he recognized the car outside as belonging to Roy Simmons.
“What do you want?” Chase asked, annoyed as he drew the door open. After just telling Trevor he was done, the last thing he wanted was to talk business. He was pulling himself out. What went on inside AR no longer concerned him. Roy would learn that soon, like everyone else.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” Chase gestured the man inside the house. “I saw your call from this morning.”
Roy, with his balding head, stared at him as if he expected Chase to say more. When Chase didn’t, he snorted and shook his head. “Right. Anyway. I didn’t come over here to see how you’re holding up. This is important.” Roy showed himself over to the table and plopped his folder on beside Chase’s work.”
‘What’s all that for?”
The accountant pinched his forehead then raised his head, looking almost fearful. “You know I’ve been managing the books for a couple of years.”
“Yeah. So?”
“As much as I like Trevor, we both know he’s not the easiest person to talk to. That’s why I’m coming to you. I couldn’t say anything before.”
“Say it, man. Whatever it is, just say it. Don’t waste my time. You see I was working over here, don’t you?” he said, gesturing to his own stack of paperwork.
“We’re in trouble.”
Chase raised his brows. “We?”
Roy gazed up from the papers he was opening. “Antebellum Resistance. Lee’s Fortress. It’s all of us. Here take a look for yourself.”
Frowning, Chase reluctantly took the papers, reading through them carefully; including the letter from the IRS citing the thousands of dollars in back taxes owed.
Shit. Was that what Trevor had been hinting at when he mentioned money was running low? But where did it all go?
Chase raised his head. Roy must have read the questions on his face because he quickly said. “The money raised from selling AR paraphernalia, from donors, and dues––most of it went toward the monthly stipend we’ve been handing out.”
The one most of the people had come to depend on because they either genuinely couldn’t find work—which was the case for a few—or they used the excuse that only minorities were getting work due to government favoritism. Chase shook his head and stared at Roy, wondering if the man didn’t realize how their own views were leading to their downfall.
But of course, the handouts had been their great experiment, meant to lure more nationalists or would-be nationalists into joining the movement. And Chase was guilty because he too, had agreed to and thought it was a good idea at the time. He swallowed hard, fighting back shame and regret.
Chase handed back the paperwork . “What do you expect me to do?”
Roy gaped. “Trevor’s a breath away from death. You’re the one in charge now. Everyone knows that. He even sent outa memo stating you’d be taking over when he dies. You’re Joe’s grandson, of course you’re in charge.”
“I don’t care.” Chase ground his teeth. “Let the IRS take what they want. Being Joe Butler’s grandson hasn’t made my life any better. Same goes for my relationship with Trevor. As a matter of fact, I don’t even wanna hear his fucking name inside my house.”
Roy’s eyes bulged behind his glasses. “I don’t know what happened between you and Tr–him, but you of all people should know it’s more than handing property over to the IRS. I’m going to leave all this here and you take some time, not too long. And then tell me, you’re out.”
Long after the accountant left, Chase sat at the table, staring at the paperwork. He didn’t need to read through the rest. He already knew what Roy meant. He closed his eyes and shook his head, torn between laughing and crying like a goddamn kid.
Chase wasn’t even sure how he got there, but some time later, he found himself standing in front of Larke’s apartment, knocking. The door slowly opened. She stood there with one arm against the wall holding the door ajar. “Back so soon?” Her lips curved into a playful sexy grin. He tried to force a smile but couldn’t. “Open the door, Larke.”
The smile on her lips froze. She held the door wide, stepping back as he strode inside.
