Page 15 of The Attic on Queen Street
“The movie based on my book, which you stole from me.” Jack began walking toward the door. “I’ve already heard enough. Maybe I can schedule a colonoscopy today, too. Anything to make my day brighter.”
Just as Jack reached the door, Rebecca jumped up. “We need a loan.”
Jack stopped, and remained completely still for a moment. Slowly he turned around with an expression I’d seen only once before, when he’d been lying at the bottom of an open grave staring up at me.
He wiggled a finger in his ear. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t hear that right. Or I’ve been suddenly thrown into an alternate universe. Because nowhere in the real world would you two evenconsiderasking us for anything, not after everything you’ve done to harm me and my family.Either you hit your head harder on those mausoleum steps than you originally thought, or you are as incredibly stupid as I’ve always known.”
Marc stood and began zipping up his coat. “Come on, Rebecca. I told you this wouldn’t work.”
She held up her hand to him, her expression fierce, before turning her attention to me. “Yes, it will, because Melanie is family.” She cupped her hands over her belly. “And because our baby will be Melanie’s goddaughter.”
The old Melanie, who’d never had a best friend or been picked for teams in playground kickball or been a bridesmaid, did a small silent cheer while the rest of me moved my horrified gaze between Rebecca, Jack, and Marc.
“Oh, come on,” Jack said. “Do you really think Melanie would fall for the ‘we’re family’ card?”
When I didn’t say anything, he focused his attention on me. “Mellie? Right?”
As much as I hated being manipulated by Rebecca, she was my cousin, and she’d even had moments when she’d been a friend to me and shared the psychic dreams she’d had in an effort to help me. I couldn’t just turn my back on her.
“Look, why don’t we all sit back down and hear them out?” I indicated the chairs in front of my desk.
Jack sent me a cautioning look. “I’ll stand,” he said as Marc and Rebecca reluctantly took seats again, “just in case I have the urge to lose my breakfast.”
I gave him one of my looks usually reserved for a whining toddler or a sullen teenager. “Rebecca, why don’t you tell us what’s going on? But I’m not going to pretend that everything Jack has said isn’t true, so do your best to stick to the truth.”
Marc sat in stony silence while Rebecca sat up with her hands cupped demurely over her barely there baby bump. She was only at the end of her first trimester, and I remembered looking like I was on the verge of delivery by the end of my first month.
Rebecca cleared her throat. “Marc—I mean, we—have had a few investments fail in the last few months through no fault of our own.”
Jack let out a huff and I sent him a warning glance.
Rebecca lowered her eyes. “And I’m sure you’ve heard about Anthony’s lawsuit against us, suing for his share of their grandfather’s estate.” She paused. “He’s claiming that Marc cheated Anthony in regards to the winery and other property.”
Jack and I looked at each other. We hadn’t known about Marc’s brother suing him. After discovering that Anthony’s romancing Jayne had been instigated by Marc to spy on our treasure-hunting efforts, we’d wanted nothing to do with him. Although it was no small surprise that Anthony had finally stood up for himself where Marc was concerned and fought back.
“As a result, we have a bit of a... cash-flow problem. We know that you’re in a stronger financial position now with the discovery of the rubies, and we’d like to discuss a loan. We just need the movie to come in on time and under budget and do well in theaters. Marc’s agent said that if it does, he can expect a huge deal for his next book.”
Jack looked around with raised eyebrows, as though waiting to hear an announcer tell him that he’d been punked. Finally, he said, “You do know that to sell a book you need to deliver original material, right? I’m not going to let you steal your next idea. Not that it matters. You’re not only wasting our time, but you’ve apparently lost all touch with reality.” He took a step toward the door.
Marc’s words stopped him. “I can give you back your career. When the movie wraps, I’ll come clean on all the misinformation that may have inadvertently soiled your image and reputation, along with those of your previous editor and agent.”
I knew that was as close as he would ever come to admitting to throwing a wrench into Jack’s career. To paying people to accuse Jack’s editor of improprieties, and monetarily assisting with Jack’s agent’s early retirement, essentially orphaning him. We would never know in full what else Marc had done, but he had taken advantage of Jack’s precarious position with his publisher after Jack’s book about our Tradd Streethouse had been canceled because of Marc’s thievery. It was supposed to be Jack’s salvation book, the project meant to resurrect his career following the dismal failure of his previous release and the public debunking of its subject matter. Instead of Jack’s book riding the bestseller lists, doors had suddenly slammed in his face, stalling his career indefinitely. For a man whose identity was so closely linked to his career, it had been like suffering a slow death.
Jack calmly faced Marc, his eyes narrowed and his face showing the same look of disbelief the twins exhibited when I tried to hide a piece of broccoli in a muffin.
“ ‘Inadvertently.’ ” Jack repeated the word with heavy sarcasm. I wondered if I was the only person who’d seen the flash of interest in his eyes.
“More or less,” Marc said, not bothering to look even the slightest bit apologetic. “Regardless of the reason, I know that your current editor is barely off of training wheels, has never read your books, and wants Kim Kardashian to blurb your next book. And you don’t have an agent to tell your editor where to shove those ideas because no agent worth a grain of salt is returning your phone calls.”
Jack gave a little laugh, but the tic in his cheek was now pulsing like a jackhammer. He casually leaned back against my desk and crossed one leg over the other. “And you could fix that?”
“I can.”
Rebecca cleared her throat. “There’s one more thing, isn’t there, Marc?”
Marc wore the look of a man sitting in a dentist’s chair. He nodded. Swallowed. “Yes. We’re prepared to give you twenty-five percent of our net earnings from the movie.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “If I loan you money.”
