Fatal Flaw

By Gene Ligotti

Short Synopsis …
Fatal Flaw is an all consuming suspense filled novel. George Clayton is a lawyer who finds himself embroiled in a difficult situation. Having found out that his law firm is involved in criminal activities, and that the criminals will be coming after him, he decides to run. Taking with him something the firm values, he knows they are searching for him. George’s daughter, Cassandra, becomes involved in the search to clear her father’s name and to bring the criminals to justice.
A page turner, it will be difficult to put this novel down. Suspense and excitement prevail, especially in part three of the novel when life of the heroine literally hangs by a thread. For readers of mysteries and suspense thrillers, it is a must read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469194370

Gene Ligotti

Gene Ligotti was educated at Adelphi University on Long Island and received his doctorate from New York University. After coming down with Rheumatoid Arthritis, he had to give up his successful thirty year practice of dentistry in Huntington, New York. After he retired, Ligotti began writing as just something to do, but it soon became a driving force. He is an American Revolutionary history buff, has given lectures about the impact the Revolution had on Long Island and he has written three novels of interesting characters of the American Revolution. Ligotti is also the author of the much acclaimed, Time Never Heals; the biography of the first battalion surgeon in Vietnam. He soon began writing suspense thrillers which has become his special passion. Each suspense thriller has a love story as a sub-plot, but Twisted Deception, the sequel to the much applauded, Incredible Deception, continues as a love story with the suspense thriller element as the sub-plot. As a freelance writer he wrote a monthly column for the Guide Magazine about the history of villages in the Catskill Mountains and of the romantic Hudson River. His widely praised articles on dentistry have been printed in various Dental Journals. Gene Ligotti lives in Smithtown, New York with his wife Corbina, where they can be near their family, Gina, Lisa, Nick, and their grandchildren: grandson, Gino and twin granddaughters, Gabrielle and Juliette.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Gene Ligotti.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/20/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

113054

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Book One

Questions without Answers

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Book Two

Searching for the Truth

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Book Three

Deliver Us from Evil

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Dedication . . .

I dedicate this novel to those who mean the most to me . . . my family.

To my daughter Gina, her husband Ciro Aliperti and their handsome young son, my grandson, Gino.

To my daughter Lisa, her husband Nick Liberatoscioli and their beautiful twin daughters, my granddaughters, Gabrielle and Juliette.

And to my loving wife who remains my severest critic and my most avid fan.

I am thankful and grateful to my family for their love, companionship and encouragement in all of my endeavors; not the least of which are my novels.

*     *     *

Since this novel is about a father, I would like to also include my father, Eugene A. Ligotti in this dedication. Yes Dad, you were always chasing rainbows, but you never realized that you had succeeded in catching your dream in so many ways. Through difficult times you were a good provider and the best father any man could hope for.

Also by Gene Ligotti . . .

Historical Fiction . . .

The Youngest Patriot

Swamp Fox

Dark Eagle

Biography . . .

Time Never Heals

Suspense Thrillers

The Third Woman

Suppressed

Reversal

Ultimate Betrayal

For additional information: www.GeneLigotti.net

Acknowledgements

My grateful thanks to Thomas Kolendra for the cover art work of this novel. I am so pleased that the work of this talented artist has graced the covers of many of my novels.

Many thanks to my diligent readers, Dr. and Mrs. Al Sforza, Murray Stockfeder and my beautiful daughters, Gina and Lisa for their meticulous proof reading, copy-editing, comments and suggestions. For this I am forever grateful. And to my wife, Corbina, who tolerated my spending so much time at the computer and was steadfast in reading and re-reading the manuscript for any flaws in spelling, typos or grammar. Although we argued over the way I portrayed certain incidences, she kept me on the right track and was responsible for this novel’s readability by all.

If there are any mistakes in this writing . . . they are all mine.

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

. . . . .Oscar Wilde (The Importance of Being Earnest)

Beyond this vale of tears

There is a life above,

Unmeasured by the flight of years;

And all that life is love.

. . . . . James Montgomery

Prologue

F ATAL FLAW . . . by simple explanation or by mere definition, a flaw is a defect, a fault or an imperfection. So the clear cut question arises . . . can something as simple as a flaw be deadly? The answer is not so quickly established, but what if this flaw, that I speak of, is not a simple flaw? What if the flaw is a defect in one’s personality? Certainly if a person has a propensity toward evil, that would not be considered at all simple. Greed, avarice, malice, hatred, cruelty, debauchery, conceit, thievery, assault, battery, torture, murder, to mention just a few evils that can and do exist around us. We must all face it . . . evil does exist. A flaw can also be physical, emotional or even a mental condition as well, which can . . . not always . . . lead a person to do and/or become evil.

We have all heard the statements, ‘Live by the sword, die by the sword.’ and from Galatians VI, the quotation, ‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’ And we have seen these statements to be true, but we have been speaking only of evil defects in the nature of an evil individual . . . the evil aspects of a villain. So I have a new question for you . . . Can a fatal flaw be found in someone who is a true hero or a heroine? Can virtuous qualities also be a flaw that can or will lead to a fatality . . . the finality of death?

Perhaps all of the characters in this novel have a fatal flaw. Can an honest trusting nature, a naïveté, if you will, also lead an innocent person to his/her death? If a person knowingly puts himself/herself in a position of possible danger . . . even with all good intentions . . . would that be considered a flaw in that individual’s personality? Could that flaw be lethal?

Can love be a flaw? Can love drive a man or woman to do things any rational mind would consider dangerous . . . and lead to death? I do leave you with many unanswered questions, but I hope this novel will answer them all.

We continuously believe that good will always destroy evil, and in the end it seems that it constantly does, but we still must remember that evil, at times, does win the day. Good and evil are two sides of the same coin, just as what goes up must come down and if there is a right then there is also a left. No matter what . . . day follows night . . . or is it vice versa?

When the desire to protect one’s love one is taken to excess and into dangerous places, conditions or predicaments, then yes . . . that love . . . that ‘flaw’ can lead to a fatality. And finally, the virtue of trust can be a fatal flaw if you put your trust in the wrong person. Therefore, that trust, even though it was believed to be true, was a fatal flaw.

*     *     *

LOVE, it is said by many, is what makes the world go round and there are many different forms of love shared by one human being with another. To name only a few: the love of a parent for a child, the love of a child for a parent, the love coming from the common bonds of siblings, the special love we call friendship and the all-consuming intimate love between a man and a woman.

DEATH is the great separator and it can destroy and disconnect any of the above love relationships. Death can come through natural causes, accident or through the evil of premeditated murder. Each can leave a hole, a void as big as a chasm in the soul of the person who is left alone, desolate and wretched in grief hoping to find solace and closure. They search for something that will console and give relief and alleviation from the calamity that has befallen them. Closure can sometimes come through and with faith, sufficient time and understanding, but sometimes closure is only attained with a settling of scores through revenge and/or justice.

BUT, claims Alexander Pope, isn’t absence and separation a form of death to those soul mates who love so very deeply? If this ‘death’ is a void created by misunderstanding, confusion, quarrel, broken vows, or self doubt, then there can be no solace or closure unless total reunion is possible. How can that ever be achieved if each partner is too timid, too afraid and in so much anguish and grief to approach the other?

Can this also be a fatal flaw? What to do? What to do?

BOOK ONE

Questions without

Answers

. . . . and feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.

. . . . . Edward Young

Courage consists not in blindly overlooking danger,

But in meeting it with eyes open.

. . . . . Jean Paul Richter

Chapter One

C assandra Clayton had had a harrowing day. Exhausted from a full schedule of classes and study at Adelphi University where she was senior, she was now driving home. Mid-term exams were upon her and she was studying harder than usual so that she would maintain her high grade point average. Cassandra had just left the Swirbul Library where she had gone to study in the silence the building offered. Although she was indeed a good student, she was concerned and worried about the work still ahead of her. She had to review all her classroom notes for tomorrow’s exams and to try to get as much sleep as possible. She wanted to be fresh and alert for her exams.

The drive home took longer than usual since the roads were still slick from a quickly passing earlier snowfall on this day in February. The tedious drive just added to her overall tension from the arduous day. Cassandra hoped that she would have a quiet evening of study.

Entering her home in East Setauket, Long Island, although it was barely six o’clock, she found her mother once again furious that her father was not as yet at home. As soon as Cassandra entered the kitchen, her mother, Sylvia, went on another of her tirades of wild suppositions of where her father was, who he was with and, of course, speculating as to what he was doing. Quick as a flash Cassandra’s prayer for a quiet evening at home was gone. She listened to her mother rant on and on, but Cassandra had no doubt that her father was working; struggling to earn enough to keep the family functioning well.

After arguing with her mother throughout a quick dinner which she couldn’t finish, the twenty-one year old coed retired to her room simply to stop the bitter bantering and to avoid further disagreement with her mother who was being totally belligerent and unreasonable towards her father’s late hours. Her father, George Clayton, a lawyer, was newly ensconced with a law firm and the long hours he was putting in were demanding and grueling. Wanting to do exceptionally well to show his superiors that he was an extremely capable worker, he put in all the overtime he could until fatigue and weariness sent him home. Each night he returned home thoroughly exhausted.

After a rushed and unfinished meal, Cassandra was completely disgusted with her mother’s attitude. Once she had returned to her room, she sat quietly at her desk for several minutes to calm herself and clear the recent argument she had with her mother out of all conscious thought.

And she had work to do. Her mid-term exams were extremely important. She needed grades that were more than just ‘good’ if she expected to be accepted into the dental school of her choice . . . New York University College of Dentistry. Putting her anger aside and now sufficiently calmed, she soon was deep into her studies.

Hours later she closed her books and climbed into her bed. Grabbing her exam notes, she spent some twenty minutes carefully reviewing them for tomorrow’s early exams. After putting out the light, Cassandra had fallen asleep quickly and woke with a start with the feeling that something wasn’t right. Had she heard something? She wasn’t sure, but . . . there it was again.

Suddenly she bolted upright in her bed; clutching the blanket under her throat. Still not fully awake, she trembled as fear and incomprehension engulfed her initial waking moments. Cassandra had been sleeping soundly, she presumed, when something . . . a sound . . . had startled her. Her fear was complete now as she slowly regained her full senses. Someone was in the house! She knew it. She could feel it, sensed it, and the fear of the repercussions of that knowledge terrified her. The back of her neck felt cold and tingled as if something was crawling along the tiny hairs . . . someone was in the house! She shivered with terror as her mind raced through several horrendous scenarios. She anticipated with dread the possibility of her worst fears. Would the intruder attack her . . . beat her . . . torture . . . rape and then kill her? She shuddered at the thought. Her breathing was rapid and she felt her panic rising to full alarm. Another shudder wrapped around her body and fright slithered like a serpent up her spine; throwing her into greater alarm. Fearing the intruder might hear her heavy rapid breathing and the blood pounding in her head, she fought to control herself, but her results were poor.

Still sitting up in bed with her fingers tightly grasping the blanket and sheet with both hands under her chin, she listened carefully. Silence. Only silence. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she had indeed just been dreaming . . . but not a dream . . . a nightmare. Perhaps it was only her anxiety over the upcoming exams.

No. There it was again. Now she was sure. She heard it again . . . that sound . . . she was sure it was footsteps . . . slow, deliberate and heavy footsteps. Her terror returned. Someone . . . a stranger was in the house! Her mouth was dry and her heart continued its pounding. A stranger was in the house! A new shiver of fear overtook her and her heart began to race. Several times she heard the stairs creak. Unhurried heavy footsteps were heard in the hallway just outside her door. She glanced at the illuminated numerals on her clock. 12:47. Could it be just her father having come home this late? No. As always, he would have put on the hall light and she would see the sliver of light shining under her bedroom door.

The deliberately slow and heavy footfalls moved on down the hall. They stopped for a moment and again all was silent. Then the sound of the footsteps returned and they seemed to pause at her bedroom door. Her blood was hammering in her head as Cassandra suppressed a scream and looked wildly about the darkened room. Was there something . . . anything she could use as a weapon?

She wished her boyfriend was with her. He was the brave one. He would know what to do, but he was in his apartment in New York City. Cassandra’s boyfriend, Brad Nagler, a second year law student, would know exactly what to do; he was fearless and resourceful. Cassandra felt that she never managed to be, but always hoped to have that inner strength and aggressiveness.

Once again she smothered the urge to scream as panic and fear rose higher within her. She sat immobile on her bed, frozen with anxiety and fearful of making even the slightest sound. Expecting at any moment the door to burst open and the stranger appear, Cassandra waited for what she felt was the inevitable, but soon the footsteps moved on. Again she heard the sound of someone descending the steps. Her dread eased a bit.

What should she do? Deciding that she must warn her mother, or was her mother already a victim? Oh God, she thought and she quickly swung her legs over the side and got out of the bed. She padded to her closet in her bare feet. Knowing the relic of a baseball bat from years ago when she was a tom-boy was still in the corner near the wall, she seized it as the only weapon available. She quickly grabbed her robe and put it on.

With her heart beating wildly, Cassandra moved to the door. Slowly turning the knob so as not to make even the slightest sound, she gradually opened the door and cautiously peered out into the darkened hall. The hall was empty and again there was that foreboding silence which increased her fear. Terrified, with her hands and body shaking uncontrollably, Cassandra stepped quietly into the hallway and was slowly moving toward her mother’s room when suddenly she heard sounds coming from downstairs . . . from the kitchen. She stopped and froze in the silence that followed. She moved to the top of the stairs and could see a faint light which appeared to indeed be coming from the kitchen. Perhaps the intruder was looking for a weapon of his own . . . maybe a sharp kitchen knife.

Gaining some control over her fear, suppressing her anxiety and holding the baseball bat on her shoulder with both hands, Cassandra slowly inched her way forward in her bare feet and crept down the stairs. Knowing where to step so the stair would not creak and make her presence known, Cassandra moved steadily down the staircase. Her hands and body had stopped shaking as she came to the tiled hall at the bottom of the stairs and with trepidation she slowly approached the kitchen. The mid-winter chill of the cold tile floor raced through her bare feet, but she barely noticed this added discomfort. She pulled her lower lip through her teeth and tried to control her breathing. Grasping the bat firmly with both hands and with extreme trepidation, she crept toward the open kitchen doorway.

With her heart pounding and determination in her every move, she stepped into the lighted doorway of the kitchen. Fully expecting to confront a burglar, Cassandra was both relieved and alarmed to see her father sitting at the kitchen table. His jacket was hanging on the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. He was leaning on his elbows and holding his face in his hands.

George Clayton was the epitome of a down-trodden man with seemingly the weight of the world on his back. Seeing her father in such a wretched distressed state was traumatic and painful for her. Cassandra loved her father dearly and her heart went out to him. The relief of tension released the tears she had been unwittingly holding back. They streaked down her cheeks as she continued to stare at her father and his dispirited condition.

Cassandra’s father released a sigh that seemed to come from the depth of his very soul and shake his whole body. He looked up to see his daughter’s anguished face. He immediately perked up and attempted to put on a smiling happy face.

Cassandra.

Daddy! It’s you. You scared the devil out of me. I thought you were a burglar.

And I’m really glad I’m not. As I remember, you swing a pretty mean bat.

It was then that Cassandra realized that she was still clutching the bat in a ready position. Smiling at her father’s remark about her past baseball prowess, she placed the bat against the wall and came to stand at the kitchen table.

So it was you upstairs and with all the lights off. I heard sounds . . . I didn’t think it was you. What were you doing in the dark? I was so frightened. I thought . . . Oh My God . . . what I thought.

George Clayton stood up and looked into the face of his beautiful daughter. He reached over and brushed the tears from her cheeks and swept her auburn hair off her face. Her eyes were large and brilliant, bordered by long lashes with upturned tips as if they each had a perpetual puff of air lifting them. I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just going to my room. Didn’t want to disturb your mother by putting on the hall light when I went into my room, but . . .

Why didn’t you just go in and go to bed? You look exhausted. With both hands Cassandra brushed locks of her reddish golden brown hair behind her ears. Her sparkling bright eyes, the color of chocolate caramel flecked with gold, yearned for answers.

George Clayton didn’t answer his daughter. He looked at his hands and then ran his fingers threw his sparse dark brown hair.

It was locked! Wasn’t it? said Cassandra, her face distorted with disgust and anger beginning to boil. What’s with that mother of mine? How can she be so unfeeling?

Cassie, Cassie . . . let’s not go there tonight. I’m so tired and—

Have you eaten? said Cassandra changing the subject and calming a bit. No . . . I bet you haven’t. Did Mom leave anything for you to heat up? No . . . I guess she didn’t and wouldn’t. I’ll make you something.

No, Sweetheart . . . that’s alright. I’ll just stretch out on the couch and get some sleep.

I won’t hear of it. How about a sandwich or some eggs? I could scramble up two or three eggs with bacon and . . . and I’ll make toast, but no coffee. You need sleep, said Cassandra as she moved toward the refrigerator.

Okay. If it’s not too much trouble. Those eggs sound really great. And make it three. I am really hungry.

As Cassandra prepared a quick dinner for her father, she spoke about mundane things, but finally asked him some pertinent questions about his job.

Must you put in so many hours at that law firm? If you could only come home earlier . . . perhaps in time for dinner . . . then perhaps . . . I guess, Mom wouldn’t be on your back about your coming home so late. And she thinks that—

Yes, I know what your mother thinks. She has accused me of adultery an adequate number of times. Cassie, even if I came home earlier, I’m afraid that your mother . . . well . . . she’d just find something else about me that bothers her. The last couple of years . . . well . . . I’m at a loss as to how to please her. I thought she would be happy moving to New York . . . and living here. It’s what she wanted . . . wanted? . . . more like demanded. I thought it would please her and it would improve our marriage, but . . . Hey . . . that’s not your problem and . . . His voice trailed off and he just slowly shook his head.

But to answer your question, the law firm that hired me is quite demanding and I have to produce numerous billable hours of work. I guess I was hired just on the fine word of my good friend, Amory St. Claire. I’ve known him since my college days at Duke down in North Carolina. I knew he was a lawyer in New York and so I gave him a call when I was looking for a position. He got me into his firm and . . . Oh, mind you now . . . I do have the credentials, but I’ve always been on my own where I made my own hours and I’ve never worked for a big law firm. I want to . . . I’ve got to . . . show them that I’m a capable attorney and that means I must turn in a tremendous amount of billable hours on a daily or at least a weekly basis. Since we live on Long Island, I have to drive into Manhattan . . . well . . . the drive to and from and with the traffic . . . that’s usually another three hours . . . Sometimes more.

Why don’t you just open a law office here in this town like you had before . . . you know . . . in Cleveland?

Cassandra, Honey, I’m not a young man anymore and starting out with nothing . . . no income until the clients start coming in . . . well, we do have bills, Cassie, and moving here I needed money right away. It’s the year 2002 . . . things are expensive . . . it’s hard keeping a roof over our heads . . . food on the table . . . you need things and your mother . . . Gosh . . . how she needs things. Moving here and this house and all . . . well, it put me in dire financial straits. I was, and still am, heavily in debt. I had to find something lucrative and find it quickly. Thank God that my friend Amory came through for me and got me a job with this firm. I think I’ve told you that it’s a big firm with almost five hundred lawyers and thousands of employees, but the partners made it clear that if I don’t produce then out I go. Amory St. Claire . . . you remember him, right?

Yes, Daddy, I met him when he came by the house when you first started a few months back. Yes, I remember him.

Well, he’s been with the law firm for a few years and he tells me that he’s being considered for a partnership. I should be so lucky.

Cassandra was silent for a while and then calmly said, I could quit school and get a job. That would help.

No! No! I won’t hear of it! said George now angry and animated. Get that out of your head. You need a college education. It’s a must in today’s world. You’re so close to graduation and getting your degree . . . and you want to go on into grad school and become a dentist. I look forward to helping you start your practice. One day . . . I know it will come to be . . . I can see it . . . I, George Clayton, want to hang your shingle on your dental office. Lord knows I’m not a happy man, but that . . . that would make me very happy. You . . . you, Cassandra, are my only joy. You’re the reason I keep at it.

Daddy, I-

Now don’t you worry yourself about me. Just study hard and not for me . . . for yourself. It’s your future and I want it to be a great future for you. I’ll help you wherever and whenever I can in whatever you want to do. You’ll graduate college this May and I’m so incredibly proud of you.

Gazing off in thought, George Clayton continued, You know Cassie, I always thought you would do something with your computer knowledge. You were always a wiz . . . there was nothing you couldn’t do with that computer. Do you remember, back in high school in Cleveland, when you hacked into the school’s computers to find out your grades? When you told me, I was so worried that you would get caught and expelled. Still don’t know how you did it without anyone finding out.

It’s really easy, but I never did anything wrong . . . well, I know it was improper to say the least, but I never changed any grades and would never do anything really illegal. But that’s all in the past and you’re the only one I told about what I did. I never even told Mom.

Good.

Cassandra looked like she was about to say more, but didn’t. She placed the plate of scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon on the table in front of her father. The toaster popped up two slices of toast and she buttered them for her father and placed them next to the plate of bacon and eggs. She sat down and watched her father eat in silence. He looked up and saw the sad expression on her face.

Cassie, sweetheart, go to bed. I’m okay. Thank you for the eggs. Now please, for me, just go to bed. You have exams tomorrow and you need your rest. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Cassandra stood up kissed her father’s cheek and walked away from the table. At the doorway she stopped and looked back. Her father had resumed that slumped, downtrodden despondent position. Tears flooded her eyes once again as she turned and ran up the stairs to her room.

Pleasure comes, but not to stay,

Even this shall pass away.

. . . . . Theodore Tilton

Chapter Two

T he following morning when Cassandra came down for breakfast, her mother was already there. The pleasant aroma of strong coffee filled the air but was mixed with the noxious odor of her mother’s cigarette smoke. Wearing a light blue robe and matching slippers, Sylvia was sitting at the kitchen table and drinking from a large cup of coffee. The writing in script on the cup said in large red letters, IF IT FEELS GOOD  . . . JUST DO IT! Her blond hair was in curlers and she was devoid of jewelry and makeup. The smoke from a cigarette rose in the air causing her eyes to blink with distress. Occasionally she rubbed them to ease the discomfort.

Cassie’s mother was attractive, quite slim and it was obvious that the woman took good care of herself. Life was all about her. She looked up when Cassandra came into the kitchen, but didn’t say anything to acknowledge her daughter’s presence or to wish her a good morning. Sylvia Clayton had to know that her daughter had exams on this day and throughout this week, but said nothing at all in the way of encouragement. Her face was grim and Cassandra, as she had for many years, silently went about preparing her own breakfast . . . a bowl of cornflakes with a sliced banana and a few raisins.

Cassandra sat at the table and ate in silence; determined not to be the one to speak first. After several long drawn out minutes, it was her mother who broke the silence. Cassie had won a very small victory in their ongoing and upsetting mother-daughter conflict.

See, what have I been telling you? Your father didn’t come home last night. He probably slept at his whore’s house. She’s most likely making him breakfast right now and then—

Cassie interrupted, speaking softly at first and then her voice increased in volume and bitterness as she continued. "You seem to have a one track mind where my father is concerned and it’s always in the gutter. Oh, he came home alright last night. I made him something to eat and he slept on the couch because you locked him out of his own bedroom. I see he’s left already for work, but a lot you care about his well being. My father is working hard at this new job . . . putting in long hours . . . the commute alone . . . back and forth . . . is three hours. He’s killing himself for us and . . . and . . . Oh good God, Mom . . . How can you be so insensitive?"

Me? Insensitive? It’s your father who doesn’t care for—

Again Cassie interrupted her mother’s venomous words. No more! I don’t want to hear your incredulous ideas about what you think is his infidelity . . . all over again. They’re all lies! You have no proof at all. You just keep spilling out all this bitterness and crap about his cheating on you. I don’t want to hear it. You’re my mother and all we do is argue. I’m sick of it! How can you treat your husband, my father, the way you do?

Husband? Some husband he is! So you don’t believe me that he’s a cheating husband.

No, I don’t! Do you have any proof? Did you ever catch him in bed with another woman?

No.

Have you ever even seen him with another woman?

No.

Did you ever overhear a phone call to another woman?

No.

Have there been any strange phone numbers on the phone bill?

No.

Have you ever come across any receipts from a motel or a hotel?

No.

Have you ever called him when he should be at work and he wasn’t?

No.

"Well then, it’s all in your imagination. My father is not a womanizer. He is not cheating on you!"

I know what I know. He is cheating on me! I can feel it. So I don’t have a positive answer to any of those silly questions of yours. So what? Damn you, Cassandra, why must you be so protective of him?

Cassandra put down her spoon and looked at her mother. He’s my father and I love and trust him. I don’t need this aggravation every morning, noon and night from you. I’m leaving for school . . . I have exams and I won’t stay just to argue with you.

Sylvia said nothing as Cassandra got up, took her half-eaten breakfast and put the bowl in the sink. She looked at her mother who was expressionless and then turned, took her car keys and books, put on her coat and left the house.

The Claytons had been in this home for the past several months since their move from Cleveland, Ohio. Within a middle class community, the house, sitting on a nicely wooded half acre, was a modest three bedroom colonial with a traditional center hall. From the center hall, a stairway led to the bedrooms on the second floor. Off the center hall on the left was a living room and on the right was the dining room. Both were nice sized rooms and both were furnished well. The rather large kitchen was at the end of the center hall, accommodating a table and chairs for family eating and had a den just a little way beyond. Off the kitchen was a mud room which had two doors. One led to the garage and the other opened to the back yard.

Leaving the house, Cassandra walked along the walkway and driveway whose sides held the evidence of the recent heavy early February snowfalls. She held her coat tightly around her as the weather was quite bitter and windy. The air was sharp, cold and invigorating. It cleared her head a bit, removing only some of the anger that had consumed her.

Hoping her mother was watching her from the window; she turned and glared angrily at the house. Cassandra knew that she had to shed this anger. She must have a clear mind for the exams. Standing still, she glanced at the sky which was overcast with heavy clouds. Looks like we’ll have snow again and soon. She took a deep breath and using her remote, Cassandra unlocked her car . . . a light blue Camry. She opened the car door, tossed her books on the passenger seat and got in.

Her car had two American flags, one of either side of the car at the front windows and several American flag decals were on the bumpers. Immediately after the 9/11/2001 attack on the World Trade Center by Muslim extremists, which brought both buildings down, and the attack on the Pentagon, the country had a surge of enthusiastic patriotism. Flags were flown from houses, buildings and most cars were decked out with flags and other patriotic emblems. The terrorists had struck and Americans replied with an eager nationalistic passion and a desire for retribution. Now less than six months later, the patriotic fervor was still evident.

Sylvia slowly got up from the kitchen table . . . still holding her coffee cup and with the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, she moved slowly across the kitchen floor. With her slippers making scuffing sounds on the tile floor, she sashayed over to the front window. The strong wind rattled the window and, feeling a chill, Sylvia held the lapels of her robe closed at the neck. While sipping at her coffee, she looked through the delicate curtains and watched her daughter get into her car and drive off. With her daughter out of the house and off to school, she quickly turned and went to the phone. Her face was now animated and smiling as she dialed a familiar number.

So he with difficulty and labour hard

Mov’d on, with difficulty and labour he.

. . . . . John Milton

Friends are as dangerous as enemies.

. . . . . Thomas De Quincy

Chapter Three

T he law corporation of Brace, Brace, Robinson and Levy, LLP was housed in an impressive building on West Fifty-Seventh Street in Manhattan. Within the thirty story building, the law firm already controlled the upper twenty-three floors and had options for the remaining seven whenever the present tenant’s leases were up for renewal. The very top floor housed the offices of the partners and they were large, lavish and magnificently and opulently luxurious. From there the partners controlled the entire massive corporation. Awed by their employees and clientele alike, the partners enjoyed an almost God-like existence because of their power and way of life.

By extreme contrast, George Clayton’s office was a small windowless room on one of the lower