Page 7 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

He handed the phone back to her, his face expressionless once again. “We can certainly discuss that when I examine the other stones.”

“How soon would I get paid? Do I have to wait until you sell them?” Amber needed that money in her hands and safely tucked away before Jackson was released. Her careful planning in landing Jackson as her husband and overthrowing Daphne as the reigning queen of Bishops Harbor wasn’t going to be for nothing. All those months of pretending to be Daphne’s friend, researching cystic fibrosis, working her ass off on Daphne’s charity for her dead sister. It took a toll, having to act so sweet and obsequious, posing as a loyal friend who loved Daphne and her little brats. She thought back toall those boring evenings at Daphne’s house, pretending to understand Daphne’s grief over losing her sainted sister. The hours they spent talking about the illness that had claimed their sisters’ lives, even though Amber’s three sisters were very much alive and well—not that it would have bothered her much if one of them had died. After a while, Amber almost believed the lie herself.

And then her fawning over the powerful Jackson Parrish. Making him feel like he was a god. Reading the books he read, schooling herself in art and music masters so that she could hold her own with the most erudite. She’d worked her ass off at Parrish Industries, spending her off-hours learning the ins and outs of the business and becoming indispensable to Jackson, until one day he also started to notice how good her legs looked in short skirts. She’d stroked his ego and made herself into the perfect younger replacement for his wife. He’d fallen hard for Amber and given her everything she thought she wanted. But now she no longer held Jackson in her thrall, and she wasn’t about to let him move back in and control the purse strings again. Amber was finally rich, the kind of rich she’d envied and coveted from the sidelines, but only as long as she was with Jackson, because all the money belonged to him. Amber had come from nothing, had clawed her way to the top, and now a golden opportunity had been dropped in her lap like a gift from the gods. Finally, the money would be all hers and hers alone. No way was she ever going back.

“No. As soon as I take possession, you will be paid. A wire transfer will be sent to your bank immediately. If you would like, I can take these three stones and wire the money to your account while you’re here. Did you by any chance bring your bank information with you?”

She had opened an account in a Barbados bank, one recommended to her by a lawyer referred by her friend Remi Whitlock. He’d advised Amber to open the account in her son’s name, and Amber, as his mother, would be custodian with power of attorney.The lawyer took care of providing the bank with certified copies of Jackson Junior’s birth certificate and the other required documents. For all intents and purposes, the money would be at her complete disposal, but there was less likelihood of too much scrutiny or too many questions asked if it looked as though it was just a mother putting money away for her son. The key, Amber was told, was that first step of opening the account and getting the money into the banking system. Once in, she could transfer money from there to anywhere in the world and to as many banks as she wished without any questions being asked.

She thought a moment. “I have the bank information for you, but I’d also like some of the money in cash. Can you do that today?”

“I can, but that would cost you a bit more.”

She appraised him coolly, remembering the look of hunger in his eyes when he saw the photos of what was to come. Amber understood greed well. “I can understand how that might apply if I were selling one diamond, but let’s be honest, Mr. Stones. You stand to make an extremely handsome profit once you’ve sold all I have. And since you take a larger share for those without provenance, in a way, my lack of proof of their origin works to your advantage. I believe you can well afford to give me cash for the three I’ve brought without any sort of markdown, don’t you agree?” Amber’s eyes locked with his.

He seemed to consider her for a second. “I think I’m able to give you some accommodation, Mrs. Parrish.”

“Wonderful. In the meantime, I’ll leave these with you and take the cash for them now.”

“I’ll calculate your earnings and have my assistant get your money ready.” He put his hand out to Amber and they shook. “By the way,” he said with a slight smile as they rose from their seats, “an interesting fact you might enjoy…a briefcase of two million dollars in $100 bills weighs twenty-two pounds. Fill it with euros in denominations of 500 and you can fit 8 million in that samebriefcase. Unfortunately, the U.S. mint stopped issuing $500 bills in 1969.”

Twenty minutes later, Amber left with a dark brown leather briefcase weighing fourteen and a half pounds. Next stop was the safe-deposit box she’d opened yesterday.

– 4 –

DAPHNE

By the time I get home, I’ve talked myself out of it. What was I thinking? Allowing Jackson back into our lives is not the answer. There has to be another way. Maybe I’ve been wrong in keeping the truth from my daughters. They’re young, yes, but old enough to understand danger. As much as I’ve wanted to shield them from the naked truth about their father and all he’s capable of, wouldn’t it be better in the long run if they knew that I didn’t make the decision to move them away lightly? I sigh as I pull into the drive, my heart heavy. The house is quiet when I enter, my mother at the kitchen table doing a crossword and Tallulah nowhere in sight. Bella is still at school.

“Has she come out of her room at all?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen.

“She let me make her some pancakes for breakfast.”

“Did she say anything?”

“I tried to ask about it, but she got very angry and jumped up from the table. I apologized and told her I’d mind my own business. She sat down, ate her pancakes, and then went right back to her room.”

I look over my shoulder, making sure Tallulah’s not lurking in the hallway, and lower my voice, recapping my visit with the psychologist. “Tallulah’s so angry at me for keeping her from Jackson. Dr. Marshall thinks it was too abrupt a rift.” I hesitate, knowing theimpact my next words are going to have. “She wants me to take the girls to see him this summer.”

Her eyes are wide with disbelief. “You can’t be seriously thinking of letting Jackson see them?”

“I don’t know what else to do. What if she runs away? She could be trafficked, anything. I can’t risk it.”

She scoffs. “I’ll tell you exactly what you do. You tell her the truth. What kind of man he really is. You keep that monster away from my granddaughters! Letting him back into their lives will not end well. Keeping him away is for their own good.”

“Is it? I’m not so sure any longer. She’s clearly in a lot of pain.”

“Well, letting Jackson near her isn’t going to make things any better.”

“I have to do something. The therapist is very concerned and so am I.” I stand. “I’m going to check on her.”

I knock but Tallulah doesn’t open the door. Pushing it open, I enter, and she gives me a rebellious look, one eye obscured by a lock of long brown hair. She’s got headphones on and I can hear the rock music coming from them. Her pink Chuck Taylors are strewn on the floor next to her jean jacket and she’s lying on her stomach,The Hate U Givepropped on the pillow in front of her.

“I told you to leave me alone!” She turns back to her book.

“Please, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you. I just want to understand.” I move closer to the bed and pull her headphones off and lay them on the bed.

“She’s such a bitch!” she spits out.

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