Page 25 of The Hampton Beach Café 6
“Actually, you divorced me,” she said. “In the process of committing fraud, tax evasion, and maybe most dangerous of all, lying to your daddy.”
Malcolm looked like he might be sick, and Frances knew this was her chance. It hadn't exactly been her plan—she'd known he was up to something and hoped to catch him off guard. But this? She couldn't have asked for a better confession.
“Frances—" he started.
“No,” she said, standing and turning to look down at him where he sat. “I'm speaking and you need to listen very closely. I love my life here. I get to do so many amazing and fun things running this business. It's so different to risk management. I get to explore crazy new worlds of social media—live streaming the café, for example. I think if you look just over my left shoulder, you'll see the brand new, 4K fully audio-equipped CCTV cameras I had installed after Lauren Daniels provoked Clarkson's fan base into vandalism. By your request I understand. Now, considering those cameras and all the crimes you just admitted to...”
Malcolm's lip twitched, and he glared at her with unconcealed rage.
“You wouldn't—”
“Show your father the tape of you counting down the days till he died? Let the IRS know you both actively participated in tax evasion? I would, actually.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” he asked in a low growl.
As Frances opened her mouth to reply, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. No one was supposed to be here!
“No, she's not.”
She turned to face the speaker. It was Lucinda.
What was she doing? She was supposed to be off with Vincent having a romantic breakfast...
Frances bet it was Alex. He wouldn’t say no to helping her, but he didn’t want her getting in trouble either…
“Then what the hell is she doing?” Malcolm.
“She's being a savvy business owner and protecting her store from vandals,” Lucinda said calmly as she came to stand next to Frances. “I, on the other hand, am blackmailing you.”
His mouth was gaping open again and Frances had to stifle a laugh.
“What?” he said, breathless.
Lucinda leaned forward, rested her hand on the table, and spoke very clearly.
“Leave…” she said, “…leave the café, leave Hampton Beach, and leave Frances alone. Don't call, don't write, don't ask about her. In fact, don't even think her name. Understood?”
Like a broken record, Malcolm repeated himself, “What?”
Standing up straight and repositioning herself behind where Malcolm was sitting, Lucinda grasped the back of the chair and pulled back firmly. The chair scraped across the wooden floor with a horrible noise, conflated with Malcolm's outburst of disbelief. Lucinda then expertly tipped the chair forward, forcing Malcolm to either stand up or fall onto the floor.
Luckily for what was left of his dignity, he chose to stand.
She replaced the chair on all four legs and returned to her spot next to Frances.
“It's very simple,” Lucinda said. “You delete yourself from our lives, and you get to keep your father's money. You interfere, you lose it. If he's dead, you go to jail for tax evasion.”
Watching Malcolm run through the possibilities laid out in front of him was almost comical, Frances realized. She could almost see the cogs turning.
“Do…do you want that, Frances?” he asked quietly, turning his gaze to hers.
Frances felt her heart skip a beat. He really did look heartbroken. After all, she had loved him, once.
Once, but not for a long time.
Without hesitation and with her most even tone, Frances answered, “Yes, I want you to leave and never speak to me—or about me—ever again.”
He dropped his eyes to the floor.
