“Madaster has a way of silencing his enemies.”
“You mean… he just got away with it?” I asked, outraged at the idea.
Evan shrugged. “Charge after charge came in against him, and he was eventually forced to resign. But he never went to court for any allegations. One by one, the charges were dropped. The news stories faded.”
He glanced up and noticed my disbelieving anger.
“He’s got a powerful team of lawyers who will do anything short of murder for him, and I’m not entirely convinced they wouldn’t do that. Trust me, I’ve been doing battle with them for seven years over my ownership of the North Twin. But in answer to your question: Yes. Noah Madaster got away with it. He’s never been punished for his crimes. Not one.”
“That’s outrageous,” I said, sitting back in my chair, stunned at the unfairness.
Evan leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. I got the impression he really wanted me to understand something.
“It is outrageous, yes. But remember I told you Madaster is a snake? A spider? He taps into people’s weaknesses and ultimate fears, and spins those vulnerabilities to his benefit. He does it as easily as he breathes. A man like him will never be trapped by the black and white language of the law.”
I swallowed with difficulty, my mind churning over everything Evan had told me. Finally, I exhaled.
“I suppose he has been punished though, hasn’t he?” I asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“That fall that he had,” I said, staring out at the black lake and star-dusted sky. “He’s like a prisoner in his own body, isn’t he? Living in that huge mansion, up in that tower… bound to his wheelchair. For someone who thrived on power and control, he’s lost the ability to manipulate even his own legs.”
“You sound like you’re feeling sorry for him.”
I blinked at the sharpness of his tone. Had I been feeling sorry for Madaster, for the owner of that bloody, clenched fist protruding out of that window? One thing was for certain: I’d never witnessed a more distilled image of helpless, frustrated rage in my life.
“No, not feeling sorry for him. I was just thinking how ironic and ruthless fate can be, how sometimes it gives a person exactly what they’ve earned during their lifetime.”
Evan grunted softly. “It’d take Noah Madaster a thousand lifetimes to ever begin to pay for his crimes,” he said with a tone of finality before he stood and picked up his plate and half-eaten dinner.
The entry road was cleared. A maintenance crew came out to set up reinforcements in the areas where the geologist had recommended.
I’d grown increasingly uneasy painting up at the overlook, ever since discovering that the Madasters lived next door. My work had suffered because of my discomfort about being observed from the South Twin’s tower. I often turned and looked over my shoulder at the circular row of windows in the distance. The one Madaster had punched had been covered with cardboard and duct tape. I was a little amazed, given their wealth and means, that no one had been there to repair the glass yet.
But despite that telltale prickling on the back of my neck, I never saw any movement or the outline of anyone in the windows. It must be my imagination at work.
Still, that feeling of being watched persisted.
The days flew by. I had an appointment next Tuesday to show a series of my Tahoe paintings to Lauren Dewerson, the gallery owner Evan knew. Despite that deadline, I found myself setting aside my brushes and leaving the overlook before I’d made any decent progress on the last painting for the series.
Evan was sipping coffee in the kitchen when I trudged inside one morning. Upon seeing him standing there next to the counter, I smiled to cover my frustrated expression and feeling of failure.
“Taking a break?” I asked him, coming around the island and going up on my toes to kiss him. He cupped my shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding a coffee cup.
“Kind of,” he said, his manner relaxed as he rubbed my upper back and arm. I always loved the feeling of his big, massaging hand on my body. He gave me so much pleasure without ever seeming to realize he did it.
“I was about to walk up to the overlook to find you.”
“Why?”
“I just got news that I’m going to have to be in San Francisco this weekend. One of the bank’s chief legal officers is flying in from the Netherlands. A meeting has been planned between him, the chief legal officer from the U.S. bank, and me, unfortunately. I couldn’t get out of it. But we can stay at the condo for the weekend. I’ll take you out to dinner Saturday night after the meeting. Anything you like.”
“I can’t leave, Evan,” I said anxiously. “I mean… I want to, but I have that meeting with Lauren on Tuesday, and I’m having a horrible time with this last piece.”
His expression grew somber as he studied my face and continued to massage my shoulder muscle.
“You’re having trouble painting up there, aren’t you? Knowing that the Madasters are living in the South Twin?”