King of Evanston Page 3

  “That’s no reason to bring your bad vibes with you.”

  Taking a step back, Martin asked, “Why does it even bother you?”

  “When you disturb them.” Shaz pointed over his shoulder to the house. “You disturb me. And Roman. And Denise.”

  Martin ran a hand over his hair and tipped one brow. “All of this over an argument with Father?”

  “Yeah, you know the deal. Mom is calling out the cavalry once you and Dad knock heads.”

  “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Not when you come over here spreading sh—”

  Taking a step back, Martin folded his arms. “You’re a little hot under the collar for what’s par for the course around here. Seems you might have a little something of your own going on.” He paused and studied Shaz. “Something you might not even want to admit to right now.”

  His comment made Shaz take quick stock. If anything, the gravity of Camilla’s situation remained at the back of his mind since the day they met. But not enough to make him crabby. He shook his head. “Nah, man. Come again. The only thing putting a burr up my backside is you and the fact that you don’t know how to handle your problems. Never have.”

  The crickets chirping in the yard were loud in the beat of time before Martin spoke.

  “You know what your problem is? Because you’ve always been the favourite, you think everybody owes you an explanation.” Martin’s tone turned bitter. “Even for breathing, as if you’re some kind of god.”

  Shaz didn’t dignify his words with a response. His brother had had an unhealthy rivalry with him since childhood. All because of how they came to live in the United States. Because of the eight-year difference in their ages, their mother had made the hard choice to take Shaz—who was four at the time—and Denise, six years old, with her when it was time for her to join their father in Evanston. As the eldest, Martin and Roman remained in Jamaica in their maternal grandmother’s care for two years. Martin never forgave their parents for the way that situation unfolded. At thirty-two, Shaz couldn’t figure out why Martin refused to release the past.

  “Shastra. Martin.” Their mother called from the doorway. “Come to the table.”

  Shaz brushed past his brother. “We’ll continue this later.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Martin retorted.

  Their mother stood square in the threshold. Nobody was getting past without her running interference. When they both stopped in front of her, she looked from one to the other. “I hope you left your squabble out there in the yard.”

  “Isn’t that why you called him over here?” Martin huffed, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. “To get in my face?”

  Paula turned smoldering eyes on her eldest son. “Don’t get it twisted. I asked him to come over so Teddy wouldn’t kick you straight into next week. You may have hit forty, but when you step into our home, you’d best remember your place.”

  She took a step back and let Shaz slip past her into the house. “Do you understand me?”

  Martin mumbled something Shaz didn’t hear before tracing his footsteps through the kitchen and into the adjoining dining area. Easing up to his sister, who laid a tray of jerked chicken on the dining table, Shaz tugged her ponytail and kissed her cheek. “Hey, baby sis.”

  Giving him a mock glare, she quipped, “The only baby around here is you.”

  They both snickered at their corny joke. Because of her diminutive size, Shaz had always treated her as if he was older. He took in her usual gear of jeans and shirt before asking, “What excuse did Moms use to get you over here today?”

  Sneaking a glance toward the kitchen, Denise murmured, “None. She told me they had some news, so I was to come after leaving the shop.”

  Denise’s place of business, All Our Children, was ten minutes away. She ran a combination salon and spa for kids and had five employees, which gave her the flexibility to appear quickly whenever their mother called—unlike her sons, who were engaged in sheltering humanity and saving the world, as she half-jokingly referred to their respective professions.

  “Where’s Roman?” Shaz asked as his father walked into the room.

  Theodore Bostwick, a mature version of his three sons, pointed over his shoulder. “Just drove in. That boy is going to be late for his own funeral.”

  Everybody except Martin chuckled as they slid into the seats they’d held at the circular table since they were children. The familiar room contained two massive breakfronts, chockfull of glassware and cutlery. Some of the items, Paula shipped over from Jamaica after she landed. She was getting ready to say grace when Roman, with sleeves rolled back and his tie missing, slid into the chair between Martin and Denise.

  After Paula Bostwick gave thanks for their family and the meal, she sat back watching them. Her black hair—threaded with a few strands of gray—was pulled into a bun, highlighting her unlined mocha skin. Her deep-brown eyes glowed with indulgence as they helped themselves to the finest food this side of Evanston. For a few minutes, conversation came to a halt while they concentrated on filling their stomachs. Roman broke the silence first. “You never fail to hit the spot with your jerk, Dad.”

  Teddy Bostwick inclined his head toward his wife on his right. “Your mama’s rub adds that special touch.”

  Nodding, Shaz reached for a chicken leg but Denise swiped it first, then stuck out her tongue.

  “Greedy girl,” Shaz said, before settling for a wing and tipping one brow at his father. “So, Dad, what did you want to tell us? I hear you have news.”

  Theodore and Paula Bostwick exchanged a speaking glance before looking at each of their children.

  “You might want to tell us before we think one of you is about to die from some terminal illness,” Roman said after wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “Nothing like that,” Teddy said, clasping Paula’s hand. “You all know I’ve worked hard over the years to give you the best I could.”

  Martin shifted in his chair, which drew Roman, Shaz, and Denise’s gazes to him. Each dared him to say one word. When he sat unmoving, their father continued, “We’ve put our all into building this business, so you could have something to call your own in this land of opportunity. All of you have done well in your chosen careers. The business is flourishing.” His gaze briefly went to Martin, who’d been stubborn about working for, and with, strangers versus his father.

  Shaz shifted in his seat when Theodore Bostwick’s unreadable eyes met his for a few seconds.

  “So,” Teddy added, breathing in deeply, “your mother and I have decided it’s time for me to retire.”

  “Are you sure you’re not sick, Daddy?” Denise’s well-defined brows pulled toward each other as she stared at Teddy, whose copper-toned skin had darkened over the years and was wrinkled from too much exposure to the sun.

  He rested a hand on top of Paula’s and shook his head. “I’ve never been in better health.”

  The silence in the room stretched while he studied each of his children. “Fact is, I’ve worked like a dog since the day I landed in this country.”

  Their mother murmured, “You all know that’s true.”

  None of them could deny that fact. Teddy Bostwick had worked two jobs until he brought his wife and all the children to Chicago. The way their mother told it, Teddy denied himself every luxury to pay the immigration lawyer he hired. Then he and Paula scrimped and saved to start Bostwick Construction. Only after Denise and Shaz were older did Paula earn her qualifications and venture into the working world as a teacher. She believed, as did their father, that education was the surest way out of poverty and had instilled that belief in her children. Her Master’s in Elementary Education supported her drive to achieve and prove to her kids what they could do when they applied themselves to excelling at whatever they did.

  “Since you never relax, what are you gonna do with your retirement?” Shaz asked, after a sip of lemonade.

  “Yeah,” Roman asked.
“Next thing I know, the two of you will end up in the news.” He made two lines through the air with his thumb and index finger, imitating ticker tape. “Woman Kills Husband For Getting Underfoot After Retirement.”

  They all laughed, until Teddy cleared his throat. “Not likely. Paula and I are going on a cruise. Then we’re going to spend some time in Jamaica. We’ll be away for at least six months.”

  The blast of car horns and the cricket chorale were loud in the sudden gap that developed in the conversation.

  Roman recovered first, running a hand over his shirt. “So, um, who’s gonna run the business?”

  One by one all eyes went to Martin, whose mouth was full of chicken. When he swallowed, he cocked one brow. “Why is everybody looking at me?”

  This was not going to go well. When nobody said anything, Shaz hid a grin behind his glass.

  “As they say in those high-school yearbooks, “You’re the one most likely to …” Shaz let the thought hang while his gaze shifted to Roman and Denise, who watched him and Martin.

  “As you well know,” Martin said, laying down his knife and fork, “I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, busy building other people’s dreams while neglecting your own,” Shaz said.

  “Nobody’s all up in your business instructing you what to do, so don’t try and tell me how to run mine.” Martin picked up a slice of fried, green plantain, bit it, and chewed with a satisfied expression in place.

  Shaz opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Paula’s sharp glare stopped him. For years, their father had wanted to involve them in the business. When it was clear neither Martin nor Shaz was interested, he continued building for the future, as he liked to say.

  The way Dad was looking at him now, made Shaz uncomfortable. He loved his parents and valued every sacrifice they made to give him an education, but he was not prepared to give up what he did on a daily basis to run a construction company. He’d stated his case ages ago and didn’t look forward to what he suspected his parents might demand of him if Martin didn’t man up and take over Bostwick Construction.

  CHAPTER 5

  Vikkas tapped the glossy surface of the conference table and all the men fell silent. They moved straight into business, giving updates on agenda items and discussing their strategy for each area. Close to the end of the meeting, Vikkas’ gaze fell on Shaz. “How are you progressing with the data and recording systems and documentation within The Castle?”

  “Generally, I’m looking at everything in the administrative office, file storage area slash library. It’s a labyrinth in terms of figuring out what cords lead where and how they all tie together. I suspect that’s deliberate.” He sipped from the glass of water. “Specifically, I’m looking at New Visions Center.”

  The other eight men at the table remained still, waiting for what Shaz would say next. At last week’s meeting, he aired his concerns about the questionable practices at New Visions. Their mentor, Khalil Germaine, had intended to give childless couples a smooth adoption process. But some things had gone awry and others had gone completely rogue.

  “The lease agreement for the adoption agency seems fine. The rent is being paid and the outfit seems legit.” Shaz paused and looked at Grant, the director responsible for The Castle’s real estate dealings. Then his gaze shifted to Dro, whose role covered “special” assignments. “Some of the adoptions are questionable, including one I’m dealing with now. And they all seem to link back to—”

  “Alderman Darryl Bennett.” Dro nodded slowly and drummed his fingers gently on the table.

  “How’d you pick that up so fast?” Shaz asked, closing the file he’d been consulting.

  “Lucky guess?” Dro grinned, then explained, “He’s a director for the adoption center and his name has come up before in relation to your client.”

  Shaz tipped his head imperceptibly in thanks. He appreciated Dro not making his business with Camilla public, despite them being among brothers.

  Grant eased away from the circular table and turned toward the building pictured on the screen at the back of the room. “D’you want to me look into their operations? I’m talking about business practices. Khalil does have a seat on the board of directors and thirty percent of the shares.”

  Nodding, Shaz said, “I’d appreciate it. As fast as you can get it done, but don’t ruffle any feathers.”

  Grant cut him a hard look. “Trust that I know how to handle my business.”

  A faint smile crossed Shaz’s lips. “My bad. I should know better, but on the other side of things, my client is giving me some anxious moments, trying to take things into her own hands.”

  “Apology accepted,” Grant nodded and turned his attention to Vikkas, who pushed back from the table.

  “If there are no other matters, can someone move for the termination of this meeting?”

  Three hands went up and a moment later, the men gathered their documents and broke into groups as they filtered out of The Castle’s boardroom.

  Dro dropped into the seat next to Shaz. A low chuckle accompanied his words. “I sense there’s trouble in Camillaland.”

  After closing the file in front of him, Shaz massaged his temples with one hand. “You could say that. I’m trying to keep her out of trouble. Last week, she stormed Bennett’s office. This morning, she threatened to go to the newspapers with her story.”

  Dro’s dimples showed up again. “Lady Camilla sounds like a full-time job.”

  “Tell me about it.” Shaz got to his feet and picked up his portfolio. “I only convinced her to back down by saying I’d drop her case. Even then, she was giving me lip.”

  They exited the room and as they made it to the elevator, Shaz glanced sideways at Dro. “There’s something I’ll need you to do.”

  “Shoot.” Dro’s dark eyes focused on his.

  Shaz waited until the elevator door closed, giving them privacy, before he spoke. “I want to have a talk with the father of Camilla’s baby if possible, but before that, I need to know about his finances. Specifically, what made him so desperate he’d think it was okay to give up Camilla’s baby without her knowledge.”

  “What is the timeline you’re working with?”

  Meeting his gaze, Shaz said, “The Bennetts had the paperwork drawn up two weeks ago.”

  Concern creased Dro’s forehead. “So you’re saying they’re rushing this thing through?”

  “With indecent haste.”

  While running a hand over the back of his head, Dro asked, “How is this even possible?”

  Shrugging, Shaz said, “It’s easy when the mother is running around arranging treatment and trying to straighten out her documents. By the way, are we making any headway on that situation?”

  A muted ping indicated they were almost at their destination.

  “I’m in touch with someone from DHS, but things are looking sticky.” Dro shoved a hand through his hair, ruffling it. While smoothing the mess he made, he added, “With her passport and visa both expiring, Camilla must go back to Jamaica. The renewal of her passport is doable at the Jamaican consulate in Chicago. The U.S. visa renewal must be done from the island. There’s no getting around it. And that’s where this whole thing could fall apart.”

  The bottom dropped out of Shaz’s stomach. “In this kind of emergency, wouldn’t some leniency apply?”

  The elevator doors opened and they walked into the foyer. Only the red-haired concierge was in sight. With raised hands, Shaz and Dro acknowledged him as they strolled past the counter and waiting area that befitted a five-star hotel. When they stood in front of the building, Dro looked him square in the eyes. “Maybe five years ago, but with the government rounding up people and deporting them, I’m giving you the best option.”

  “Trust me, I understand. Better that than being herded into some facility and being shipped somewhere we’ll never find her.” He shuffled the files he carried to his left hand and held out the other to Dro. “Thanks, man.”

  Dro ignored his hand and pu
lled him in for a man hug. When they stood apart, he said, “Don’t thank me yet because I’ve got more bad news.” With a hand resting on Shaz’s shoulder, he continued, “People— mostly kids—here for life-saving treatment have received deportation orders.”

  His body went cold, but Shaz shook his head. “Nah man, that’s not even possible.”

  Dro didn’t crack a smile. “You best believe it. That’s the government’s latest strategy to get rid of immigrants. I don’t envy you the job of telling Camilla what I just told you.”

  A BMW pulled up at the entrance and a long-standing member of the Castle eased out of the vehicle. The businessman nodded at them and entered the building, now wired with Daron’s surveillance equipment.

  “That’s heavy stuff for a mother to hear.” Shaz tipped his head toward the sky, working the tension from the back of his neck. “In my line of work, I’ve delivered more bad news than most people have in a lifetime. Things could always be worse.”