Wayward Winds by Michael Phillips

Author:Michael Phillips [Phillips, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC042000, FIC026000
ISBN: 9781441229540
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2015-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

55

A Skeleton

Gifford Rutherford could hardly believe his good fortune. Whether the report was true or not hardly mattered—it was so deliciously certain to ruin the man!

At least in that vixen Amanda’s eyes, which was all that mattered.

Struggling to keep a smile from breaking out over his face, Gifford nodded soberly, as if the information contained in the brief communication were all but worthless, then folded it, paid the man whose services he had made use of, and closed the door.

Now he could give vent to his delight. Ha, ha! he laughed loudly as he walked upstairs to his study, pulling out the sheet and reading its opening line again.

RAMSAY HALIFAX, 27, EMPLOYER THE DAILY MAIL, STEPSON OF LORD BURTON WYCKHAM HALIFAX (D. 1908), WAS SEEN IN MOROCCO. . . .

Ha, ha, ha! Just wait till that fool Amanda learns of this!

It would probably be best to keep his son from knowing the full truth of what he had discovered, which was that there might not be a grain of truth in it. That some people believed it was good enough for him.

Now all he had to do was put the skeleton in the man’s closet, and that would be the end of Ramsay Halifax.

Ha, ha, ha! It was really too good to be true. Heathersleigh would be in the bag after this.

Gifford calmed and fell to thinking.

What was the best way to proceed—leak the information to the Times? No, they would probably never print it without substantiation of the source.

One of the rags would be best. The Sun . . . the Mirror . . . it hardly mattered, as long as it found its way into print.

He’d take it to Elmer Farmon. After the loan he’d approved for him, his solicitor would probably do anything he asked.

Two hours later the attorney and financier discussed the communiqué the former had received behind the closed doors of the latter’s office.

“They’ll want to know where it came from,” said Farmon.

“Make something up,” replied Gifford. “You solicitors are good at that.”

“I can’t lie . . . even for you. I would be disbarred if it were discovered.”

“You would likewise be disbarred if your financial affairs were closely examined, my friend,” said Gifford. “Don’t make me remind you that you owe your reputation at present to my signature on your loan documents.”

Farmon squirmed slightly in his chair. The fact that every word the banker spoke was true only made him hate him the more.

“My financial difficulties won’t alter the fact that they will want to know where this came from,” he said, lifting the sheet of paper and holding it toward the banker.

“Then be creative,” said Gifford, turning to go. “Frankly, I don’t care how you do it, but I want to see this in print. Otherwise, the bank is going to find your file at the top of the stack when the time comes for its next loan audit. I presume I make myself clear.”

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