Secrets Told

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  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

  Secrets Told

  By Allie Everhart

  Secrets Told

  By Allie Everhart

  Copyright © 2018 Allie Everhart

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Waltham Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by Okay Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, things, and events are fictitious, and any similarities to real persons (live or dead), things, or events are coincidental and not intended by the author. Brand names of products mentioned in this book are used for reference only and the author acknowledges that any trademarks and product names are the property of their respective owners.

  The author holds exclusive rights to this work and unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book is to be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  Chapter One

  Kate

  I walk into the lobby of Walcott Investments and am greeted by a willowy older woman wearing a navy skirt and matching blazer, her gray hair wrapped in a tight bun.

  "Good morning," she says, squeezing out a smile from her thin, pursed lips. "I assume you're Kate." She extends her hand to me.

  "Yes." I shake her hand. It's cold as ice. "I'm here to see Mr. Walcott."

  "He's been expecting you." She turns on her heels and takes off down a long hallway. "Right this way."

  I follow her, hurrying to keep up. She walks fast for an old lady and I'm not used to wearing heels, so walking at this accelerated pace has me worried I'm going to trip.

  She stops at a set of double doors made of dark wood and lightly knocks. "Mr. Walcott."

  "Come in," I hear him say.

  She opens the door just slightly. "Ms. Norris is here to see you."

  "Let her in," he says.

  The old lady pushes the door all the way open and steps aside.

  Mr. Walcott is standing there in a black suit, white shirt, and silver tie. His gray hair looks shorter than I remember, like maybe he just got it cut. His face is tan, likely from his recent vacation to the south of France, which I only know about because his assistant told me he was there when I tried to schedule this meeting for last week.

  "Ms. Norris," he says, offering me his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

  "You as well." I shake his hand. Unlike the old lady, his hand is warm, almost hot.

  "Ms. Dreesen," he says to her, "I assume you offered Ms. Norris a beverage?"

  "No thank you," I say before she can answer. "I don't need anything."

  Ms. Dreesen looks alarmed at the fact that she forgot to offer me a beverage. Maybe she gets in trouble if she doesn't.

  "Very well then," Mr. Norris says. "Ms. Dreesen, you are excused. Ms. Norris, please have a seat." He motions to the two black leather chairs opposite his desk. Ms. Dreesen scurries out and he closes the door behind her.

  I walk to the chair to sit down, my already nervous stomach twisting and churning. I'm so afraid I'll screw this up, worried I'll say the wrong thing, causing Mr. Walcott to lose confidence in his investment and take back the money he gave me.

  I'm also nervous because I don't know if Mr. Walcott is one of them. The "them" I'm referring to is the secret group of powerful men that I know exists but know little about. Even my dad doesn't know much about them, even though he's seen some of the things they've done. It's why my dad wanted out of the police force. He was tired of covering up the sins of these powerful men, letting them do whatever they wanted without any consequences.

  The existence of this group is a secret I'm not allowed to tell. If I did, and someone found out, my dad could be in danger and so could I. That's why I haven't told Gavin. But I really wish I could because I'm convinced his father was involved with them before he died. My dad thinks so too. We think this group might've been planning to rig the Senate election to make sure Niles won. But the plans ended when Niles died.

  "So...Ms. Norris..." Mr. Walcott leans back in his leather chair, tapping a pen on his desk. "How's our restaurant coming?"

  When he said 'our' I felt a twinge in my chest and wondered, for the millionth time, if I made a mistake by taking his money. I've been pondering that ever since I signed the paperwork, thinking that maybe I should've turned down the money and tried to get a bank loan instead. But being young and having no history as a business owner, no bank would give me a loan, so realistically, Mr. Walcott's money was my only option.

  "You can call me Kate." I pause. "As for the restaurant, the renovations are on schedule." I say it in what I hope is a business-like tone. "And as of now, we're on budget."

  "Excellent." He rests his elbows on the desk and tents his fingers, the tips just barely touching. "What are your projections for sales once we're open? Let's start with gross sales then work our way down to net."

  I gulp and sink down a little in my chair. I have no idea how to answer that question. I should at least have an idea of what I expect for opening week sales, but I don't. I haven't had time to think about it. The past few weeks I've spent all my time coordinating the renovations, hiring contractors, picking out fixtures. I've had no time to work on things like sales projections.

  This is why I was worried about coming here today. I knew Mr. Walcott would ask me questions I wouldn't know how to answer.

  I'm a great cook, a decent waitress, and I can manage a kitchen and staff better than most, but that's where my skills end. I know almost nothing about business. I'm just faking it here, trying to get through this meeting.

  "Relax, Kate." He sits back, a smile on his face. "I didn't expect you to have an answer, although if you had, I would've been both surprised and impressed."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Walcott. It's just that I'm kind of new to running a business and these past few weeks have been a little overwhelming."

  "That's understandable. And as for the business component, let us worry about that. My team will help with sales projections, as well as other components of the business side of things. You just concern yourself with the menu and staffing and getting customers in the door."

  "I can do that." I smile, relieved that he and his team will be handling that stuff. That was another reason I agreed to take his money. When it comes to the business side of the restaurant, I need all the help I can get.

  "When can I stop by and see it?" he asks.

  "It's a mess right now but if you want to stop by, feel free. Although I'd prefer if you wait until it's closer to being finished."

  "Then I'll wait. But keep me posted on its progress."

  "I will."

  At least he's trusting me to do the renovations. I thought he might send his people over to inspect what I've done and make changes, but so far, he hasn't.

  "So who on your te
am will I be working with going forward?" I ask. "For the financial side of things?"

  "You'll be working mainly with me. I'll have my number crunchers and analysts assess the sales data once we're open, but as for the on-site visits, those will be done by me. As will meetings such as the one we're having today."

  I'll be meeting with him? The boss? The owner of Walcott Investments? He has billionaire clients. Why would he waste time dealing with a young, inexperienced restaurant owner?

  "What type of meetings will they be? What will I need to prepare?"

  "They'll be status meetings, so bring whatever you need in order to tell me how the restaurant is functioning. What needs to be fixed, what's working well. That's basically it. Sound reasonable?"

  "Yes. That's fine."

  "We'll meet once a week to start, then gradually decrease our meetings to once a month."

  Once a week? He's making that much time for me? I don't understand why he wants to be so involved in this.

  "Do you have time for that?" I ask. "I mean, I appreciate that you're interested in the restaurant, but don't you have other, more important clients to meet with?"

  "Every client is important. And as for my time, I choose to make time for my young entrepreneur program. It's very important to me. I enjoy helping young people achieve their dreams. That's why I started the program in the first place."

  "So what other businesses have you helped start?"

  "A woman's clothing store. A bakery. So far, that's all we've done in retail. The program has mostly dealt with tech ventures, some of which have been successful, some of which haven't."

  Haven't? So some of these businesses have failed? I guess I just assumed with his financial backing and involvement he'd make sure they all succeeded.

  "Don't let the failures discourage you," he says. "Not every business is a success. There are many factors to success and not everyone has the ability or drive to make each of those factors a priority. And if one is neglected, the whole business can fail."

  He's piqued my curiosity. I really want this business to succeed and if there are things I can do to make that happen, I want to know what they are.

  "I don't mean to sound naive, but what exactly are these factors?"

  "We'll discuss them when the time comes, but I'm pleased that you're asking. It shows initiative. Drive. A determination to succeed. All factors that led us to choose you as this year's young entrepreneur."

  "I'd rather not wait to know how I can help make this restaurant a success. Is there something I could read to start learning more? Maybe some books you'd recommend?"

  "I can suggest some readings, but really, business is best learned in the real world, not in a text book or business journal. Certainly those can be helpful but they can't help you solve the problems unique to your business. They can only offer up what's worked for others. And your situation, in particular, is like no other, or at least not something you could ever find in a business publication."

  Your situation? What does he mean by that? I'm afraid to ask. The way he's looking at me, his smile now a smirk, his dark eyes directed at mine, I feel like he's trying to tell me something.

  I'm tempted to ask what that is but just as I'm about to, he leans back in his chair and says, "So have you never considered going to college?"

  "I went for a semester but then decided it wasn't right for me."

  "College isn't for everyone. Some people become a tremendous success without ever stepping foot in a college classroom. But if you ever decide you'd like more formal business training, in the way of academic coursework, I could arrange to have you take a course or two at Moorhurst."

  Moorhurst. My mind immediately goes to Megan and her theory about Moorhurst not being just any college but having some kind of secrets she has yet to uncover. I've tried to convince her it's just a college like any other but she refuses to believe it.

  I'd never admit this to Megan, but I, too, think there's something going on at Moorhurst and I think it has something to do with this secret group of powerful men. A lot of them send their kids to Moorhurst, or donate large sums of money, or offer to speak at school events. Their involvement with Moorhurst seems excessive for such a tiny school in a remote part of Connecticut.

  "Kate?" Mr. Walcott says. "Did you hear me?"

  My mind wandered and I realize I haven't been paying attention. "Yes. Go ahead."

  Mr. Walcott hands me a brochure for the Moorhurst School of Business. "Look this over. If any of these classes interest you, let me know. I understand it's a bit of a drive from here to campus but I think it's worth it for the knowledge you'll gain." His smirk appears again and a chill skitters through me.

  I don't think the knowledge he's referring to is limited to the classroom. There's something else he wants me to learn and it has to do with Moorhurst. Maybe there really is something going on there.

  "Okay," I say, pretending to review the brochure. "I'll look it over."

  "My daughter is starting there as a freshman." His smirk is now back to a smile. "She says she's excited for college but truthfully, I think she's feeling a bit apprehensive. She's never been away from home before and her mother tends to coddle her. My son, on the other hand, couldn't wait to leave home. He graduated in May. Works on Wall Street now. He'll train there, then come back here and work for me."

  "Where did he go to school?"

  "Moorhurst."

  Maybe I'm reading too much into it but it seems odd that both his kids went to the same college. And if his son was so anxious to leave home, wouldn't he want to go to a school that's farther away?

  "You sent both your kids to Moorhurst? That's unusual."

  He cocks his head. "Why is that unusual?"

  My stomach was finally calming down but now it's knotting up again. "It's just that siblings usually go to different schools, unless it's some kind of family tradition. Did you go to Moorhurst?"

  "I went to Yale, but my wife went to Moorhurst."

  "And what does she do?"

  "She tends to our home. Does charity work. Organizes events. She has no need for an actual job. As I'm sure you've garnered from being at our house, I do quite well financially."

  I nod, remembering the huge mansion he lives in. I catered at least three or four parties there. In addition to the mansion, the property also has a pool, tennis court, putting green, and a large guest house.

  "Speaking of your former occupation," he says, "how is Carol doing?"

  "She's been busy with events so I haven't talked to her for a couple weeks, but last time I did she seemed to be doing well."

  "Simone would like to have an end-of-summer cocktail party. She's hoping she can convince Carol to cater it, but last I heard, Carol's schedule was booked through the fall."

  Simone is Mr. Walcott's wife. She's short, not more than five feet tall, and very thin. When I first saw her, I thought she was a child, but then I saw her face and realized she was probably in her late forties. When I catered functions at her house, she was very quiet. I'm not sure I've ever heard her speak. She's completely different than Celeste, Gavin's mom, who isn't shy about giving orders and raising her voice when her parties aren't going exactly as planned.

  "She's done quite well for herself," Mr. Walcott says.

  "Who?"

  "Carol. Your former boss."

  "Yes. She has." I fiddle with the brochure I'm holding, bending one of the corners back and forth in an effort to lessen the nervousness that's eating away at my stomach right now. I just want to get out of here. I've been here long enough, and now that we're no longer talking about business, I see no need to stay.

  "It seems her business really took off after she started working for the Bishop family. Perhaps it was her connection to a politician that made her more appealing to the socialites of southern Connecticut." He smiles, as if that's a joke, although I'm not getting the humor in his statement.

  "I'm not sure what you mean," I say.

  "So how is Gavin doing? St
ill struggling with the loss of his father?"

  "He's doing okay."

  Why are we talking about this? Mr. Walcott's a busy man so what am I still doing here? Why are we still talking?

  "And his job in New York is going well?"

  How did he know about that? Did Niles tell him when he was still alive? Or did he hear it from someone at a party? Sometimes I forget how interconnected these rich people are. They all seem to know each other's personal business, even if they're not friends.

  "He likes the job. He's not crazy about the commute but he's getting used to it."

  "He must really love you if he's willing to forgo living in the city in order for you to fulfill your dream to open a restaurant."

  I just nod, not sure how to respond to that.

  "That boy has a bright future." His eyes zero in on me as he taps a pen on his desk. "And so do you. You two will be quite a success someday." He pauses. "If all goes as planned."

  A cold chill races through me. He's trying to tell me something. But what? What does he mean?

  "We're just starting out. We don't really have any plans yet."

  "Of course you have plans. You're opening a restaurant that I'm certain will be a success. Gavin has a job that will lead him down a path to greatness." He stops tapping his pen. "The plans have been set in motion. Now you simply wait for them to play out, which they will. They almost always do."

  Seriously, what the hell is he talking about? It's like he's speaking in code. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Thinking he might be connected to that group has my mind conjuring up all kinds of hidden meaning to his words, which may or may not be true.

  "Well." He stands up. "I suppose you should get back to the restaurant and check on your crew."

  "Yes." I quickly stand up. "Thank you for meeting with me."

  He chuckles. "I asked for the meeting so I should be thanking you. I appreciate you coming down here on short notice. My schedule is unpredictable so I'm sorry to say our meetings going forward may also need to be last minute."