CHAPTER4
Morning dawned bright and clear and cool, as if determined to lift Ian’s mood. He dressed and entered the breakfast room with a clear head. The night’s hard confession had left Ian facing the day with a semblance of calm.
After breakfast he went for a long and meandering stroll through the maze of old San Luis Obispo. The burdens he had carried since his manager’s disappearance had not vanished. That would be far too much to ask. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Ian was able to ignore them, at least for a while. The town’s heart was charming, a lovely throwback to bygone California. After a time, he had the feeling that Amelia had joined him. Walking the quiet tree-lined lanes. Introducing him to part of her adopted world.
During his early years, Amelia and her partner had lived a fast and expensive life. Soon after her partner’s death, Ian’s aunt had written to say she was unable to make the promised journey and join Ian for a live concert, because she was short of funds. Ian had sent her a check by return mail, glad his growing success allowed him to be generous. Six months later, his grandfather passed. The old man left the family’s Annapolis town house to Ian. His will did not even mention their only daughter.
After weeks of deliberation, Ian decided to keep the home. He brought in an architect and ordered a total redesign, hoping that by gutting the place he could strip away memories of his wretched early years. He sent his aunt a check for half the home’s value, never mentioning his grandfather’s final vindictive act. Amelia, in her wisdom, did not ask.
When Ian returned to his room at the inn, he found a message from the lawyer, asking him to show up half an hour early. Ian showered, hurriedly dressed in his least wrinkled clothes, and set out.
When Ian entered the law office, Regina greeted him with a smug smile and the words, “There’s someone who is desperately interested in making your acquaintance.”
A man about Ian’s age was already rising from the sofa. “Mr. Hart, I’m Danny Byrd. A real honor.”
Ian was swamped by the dread that had been dogging him now for weeks. But Byrd did not look like a reporter. He was tall, well dressed, very fit. And intense. A man on the move.
Danny asked the receptionist, “Would you tell Megan—”
“I’m here.” The attorney then stepped into the reception area and offered, “Good morning, Ian. May I call you that?”
“Of course.”
She turned to the other man. “Give us a few minutes, Danny.”
“Megan, you know how tight our timeline—”
“Danny. Sit. Wait.” Gentle but firm. Like she was ordering a well-trained pet. “Ian, come with me, please.”
She led him down the side corridor and stopped by the corner office’s closed door. “I’m sorry about that. I intended to speak with you before Danny arrived. But he showed up early.” She knocked, opened the door, and asked the man inside, “Ready?”
“Yes. Good.” An older gentleman rounded his desk and walked over. “Mr. Hart, I’m Sol Feinnes. Can I offer you a coffee?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Please, have a seat. My wife and I have been fans of your work for years. Megan told me about your current situation—”
“What I know, which isn’t much,” Megan corrected.
“The sort of tactics you’ve experienced are a disgrace,” Sol settled into a chair opposite them. “I take it you don’t have legal representation?”
“I can’t afford any,” Ian replied. “Not with my assets frozen.”
“Like I said, a complete and utter disgrace.” Sol was a heavyset gentleman in his fifties, balding and fit. He had the air of an aging boxer readying himself for the next fight. And he seemed genuinely angry over Ian’s state. “I’m due in court, but first I wanted to personally address your issues. May I dive straight in?”
Ian glanced at Megan, whose attention was now focused intently on the older gentleman. “Sure thing.”
“What you need to understand is this. Opposing counsel has no intention of ever bringing your case to court.”
“They’ve already had the judge set a trial date.” Ian pressed a fist to his gut. Fighting back the gorge, an act that had become all too familiar. Sorry that the good feelings had not lasted longer than they did. “Nine weeks from yesterday. My home is scheduled to go on the block five days later. They’re already showing—”
“Won’t happen,” Megan said, interrupting. “Not in a million years will they go before a judge and reveal what they’ve been up to. Which means their threat of an auction is bogus.”
“They seek to pressure you,” Sol continued. “They want you to find a way to cover the missing funds. And, if possible, show a direct and ongoing connection between you and your manager.”
“I have no idea where he is. Well, I’ve heard Aruba, but—”
Sol waved that aside. “I’ve had a word with a friend in Baltimore. She is a well-known trial attorney. She is more than willing to sign on.”
