Читать книгу The Hired Husband - Judith Stacy, Judith Stacy - Страница 8

Three weeks earlier

“A nother problem?” Rachel whispered. “No, Uncle Stuart, that can’t be.”

Stuart Parker shook his graying head kindly and leaned closer. “Please, Rachel, we must talk. Privately.” He bobbed his wiry eyebrows toward the other side of the room.

Across the large bedchamber Rachel’s father, Edward Branford, lay in bed, the nurses who attended him huddled nearby.

Her father. The man who’d told her bedtime stories, hugged away her adolescent broken heart and supported her at her mother’s funeral just months ago, now lay propped against his pillows, eyes closed, pale, drawn…dying? Rachel’s heart broke anew each time she looked at him.

“Rachel, please?” Uncle Stuart said.

She led the way out of the bedchamber and down one side of the twin staircases that wrapped the marble foyer. The house, located in the most fashionable district of the city, normally bustled with people and the sounds of life, yet had been like a tomb for weeks. The servants crept about silently, visitors stayed just long enough to inquire about Edward Branford’s health, then quickly departed. Her younger sister and brother rarely ventured out of their bedchambers.

In her father’s study, Rachel closed the door behind Stuart Parker. He was her father’s oldest, closest and most trusted friend. “Uncle” was an honorary title.

The scent of her father’s cigars, the smell of the leather furniture nearly overwhelmed Rachel, and for a moment she wished she’d taken Uncle Stuart to one of the sitting rooms. But she sensed this “problem” he wanted to talk about was important, and here in her father’s study seemed the best place for such a discussion.

Uncle Stuart drew in a breath. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“More bad news?” Rachel asked. “Is that possible?”

She didn’t see how it could be. Nor how her family—what was left of it—could bear up under any more troubles.

Not quite a year ago Edward had gone into semiretirement and turned over the day-to-day operation of his massive business holdings to Rachel’s older brother, George. Then came the train accident that had taken Rachel’s mother—and so much more. But thank goodness George was at the helm of the family empire.

Or so Rachel had thought at the time.

A new fear pierced her heart. “Is this about Georgie? Did the investigators learn anything about him?”

“No,” Uncle Stuart replied, “I’m afraid not.”

Rachel’s shoulders slumped. Now when she needed her brother the most, he was nowhere to be found. A few weeks ago George had disappeared. Simply vanished. The police and private detectives continued to investigate, yet had uncovered no information. At times, Rachel feared the worst.

She turned to Uncle Stuart. “What’s your bad news?”

“I received a visit from Mr. Rayburn today.”

“From the bank?” Rachel asked. “What did that pompous old windbag want?”

“He came by as a courtesy to tell me…” Stuart paused. “To tell me that your father’s bank accounts are all nearly…empty.”

“Empty?” Rachel reeled back. “No. It must be some sort of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake, Rachel. I went to the bank with Rayburn and reviewed the accounts myself.”

“But—but that’s impossible. How can they be empty?” Rachel waved her arms. “Look at this house. One of the biggest in the city. Father has business holdings throughout the entire state. Hundreds of employees. He has a whole town named after him up north. We can’t possibly be—”

“It’s true,” Uncle Stuart said, more forcefully this time. “Your father’s financial empire is teetering on collapse. Your family is nearly penniless. You could lose everything.”

Rachel’s breath came in short puffs as she gazed up at Stuart. “But—but where did it go?”

Stuart shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Rachel touched her fingers to her temple. “Oh, my gracious, what will people think?”

On top of everything they’d endured these past months the family could become destitute? There’d be talk, vicious talk. The unbearable notion of her family being fodder for the city’s rumor mill caused Rachel to cringe inwardly.

“Come sit down,” Uncle Stuart said, reaching for her.

“No. No, I’m fine—or I will be when this situation is handled. We must get to the bottom of this, Uncle Stuart. Right away. Before anyone finds out,” she said.

“I agree completely,” he replied, stroking his chin.

“We must go down to Father’s office and find someone who can look into the situation—” Rachel stopped herself. “No. No, we mustn’t do that. If we alert the employees, word will get out. Everyone will know what’s happened.”

“True, true,” Uncle Stuart said, nodding thoughtfully. “Once it’s known that your father’s business is in trouble, it could bring on even worse financial consequences.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Rachel said, realizing her uncle was right, even if that aspect of the crisis hadn’t been her first concern.

A quiet moment passed with only the ticking of the mantel clock to keep them company.

“You’ll need someone who can analyze the books,” Stuart said. “Someone who can figure out what happened and come up with a solution, a plan to return the business to solvency.”

“We must find someone from outside the city,” Rachel insisted.

“Of course. After all, we don’t know who’s involved with the disappearance of the funds. Who do we trust? In whom do we confide? Where do loyalties lie?”

Anger welled in Rachel. A thief, a trader in the heart of her father’s business? Stealing from them? Ruthlessly, callously leaving her family in this grave situation?

George floated into her mind. If only her brother were here he’d know what to do, how to handle the problem, how to solve it.

“Do you think—” Rachel clamped her lips together, holding back her own words. She’d very nearly suggested that Uncle Stuart look into the problem himself. But with her uncle nearly as old as her father and no longer as sharp as he’d once been, the job would undoubtedly prove too taxing for him.

“Do you think we can find someone who isn’t already involved in Father’s business?” she asked instead. “Someone knowledgeable who can be trusted?”

Uncle Stuart raised a brow. “Looking for a knight in shining armor?”

“I’ll settle for a bookkeeper who can keep his mouth shut.”

“I already have someone in mind,” Uncle Stuart told her. “An outsider. A man who knows nothing of the situation, except what he’ll discover in the account books and ledgers. He’ll be totally impartial with nothing to gain financially—beyond his salary.”

“Who is he?”

“Mitch Kincade. I met him during my last trip up to the Bay Area. He’s helped out in similar situations.”

“What are his qualifications?” Rachel asked.

“A financial genius, he’s been called.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“Implicitly,” Uncle Stuart said. “I learned of him from the highest sources.”

“This sort of thing happens often?” Rachel asked, troubled to think of other families suffering the same sort of problems.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Uncle Stuart shrugged. “But sometimes it’s only suspected, not confirmed. Other times a company might want an outsider to check into things as a way to keep the partners honest. And there are occasions when a fresh perspective from an outside source might reveal ways of doing things better.”

“If this Mr. Kincade is so intelligent, why doesn’t he run his own company?” Rachel asked. “Why is he working on salary for other firms?”

“There’s some prestige in being a hired gun,” Uncle Stuart pointed out.

“What about his background?”

“Nothing that caused a problem for his other employers. His credentials and references are beyond reproach. He’s worked for several men I know and maintains a sterling reputation.” Uncle Stuart looked down at her. “I’ve covered your immediate debts, Rachel, but I can’t do so forever. Something permanent must be done to contain this situation. And with George gone and your father ill, I’m afraid the problem falls squarely on your shoulders. What do you want to do?”

Impatience zinged through Rachel. The answer was obvious, of course, and she wanted to get this Mr. Kincade here yesterday.

Yet her mother’s face floated across her mind. The two of them had spent their time planning social functions, attending teas, redecorating the house room by room. Weighty issues? Matters of finance? Women involved in business? It simply wasn’t done. What would people say? It wasn’t her place. How many times had Rachel heard her mother say those things?

She’d have do it quietly, Rachel decided. Give the problem over to this stranger, let him come up with a plan. Then let him implement it and avoid the scandal.

She lowered her lashes, hoping to look demure when what she really wanted to do was race to San Francisco herself and drag that Mr. Kincade down here tonight.

“Do you think he can come right away?” she asked.

“I’ll see to it,” Stuart said.

“People will wonder why we’ve brought in this hired gun, as you call him, and given him free rein into Father’s business affairs,” Rachel said.

Uncle Stuart thought for a moment. “He’ll stay here at the house. You can explain that he’s a friend of the family, come to visit and offer assistance.”

Rachel shook her head. “Entertaining a guest so soon after Mother’s death and during Father’s illness? It’s highly inappropriate.”

“Then we’ll say he’s a very dear, old family friend,” Uncle Stuart told her. “Besides, it will be excellent cover for Edward’s illness. Everyone will think the company records are being brought to the house for your father to review.”

Rachel might have mumbled a little curse if her uncle hadn’t been in the room. The very last thing she wanted was to attempt to entertain a guest, especially a withered-up, boring accountant. She’d seen the prune-faced bookkeepers at her father’s offices, hunched over their ledgers, squinting at columns of figures. Having such a man underfoot would surely be a trial. Yet she’d have to do it.

“All right, then. It’s settled,” she said. “How long will this take?”

“Two weeks, three at the most,” Uncle Stuart said.

Rachel sighed with relief. Thank goodness. In only a few weeks time, her life would be back to normal.