She suddenly seemed rattled. ‘OK. There’s a staff room we can use.’

As I waited, she pushed back from the table and led the way out of the ballroom – in a wheelchair.

Chapter 35

ELIZA TOOK US to a room provided for her event staff. A four-seater table and a television mounted on the wall were all it could accommodate. The TV was on with the sound muted.

Inside the room, she moved straight for a bar fridge and pulled out two small bottles of beer.

She manoeuvred to the table and offered me one. I declined and sat opposite, regretting judging her for ‘holding court’ when she was wheelchair-bound. Still, I was reeling from the day’s events with the non-existent Finches, and now the phantom Eric Moss. My pulse raced with anger at having been conned – again.

She twisted the cap of her beer and drank from the bottle before ripping open a bag of corn chips on the table. ‘Help yourself.’ She took a couple of chips and waited for me to speak.

‘There’s no word on your father.’ I placed both elbows on the table. ‘But you probably already knew that.’

She swallowed hard. ‘You must have something by now.’

‘I get the feeling I wasn’t expected to, given the “facts” you provided. About yourself and the man you call your father.’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘Are you serious? What’s got into you?’ She slammed the bottle on the table. ‘Is this about my chair?’

‘I don’t appreciate being lied to.’

She threw her head back and laughed. ‘That’s pretty rich, calling me a liar because I don’t wear my disability like some neon sign. Shock, horror. I acted normal and you treated me like I was. Now you sit there, all sanctimonious, accusing me of being dishonest.’ She looked me up and down, exaggerating every movement of her upper body. ‘We’re all disabled. You hide your emotional scars with swagger and self-importance. Let me guess. Your parents divorced, leaving you with commitment issues –’

My anger seethed. She had no right to lecture me on family. Attacking me just proved her dishonesty. I’d wasted enough time on Eric Moss, whoever he was. I stood to leave.

‘Lies have a way of unravelling.’ I didn’t bother to hide my irritation. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out the truth?’

‘You assumed I was like you. I just didn’t assault you with my differences.’ She took a few more, slow sips. ‘People treat me differently once they know. Case in point, you.’

‘This has nothing to do with your wheelchair.’

‘Now who’s the liar? Why is it an issue then?’

‘Because you and your father both seem good at covering up who you really are.’

‘If you want to know, I act that way so people will take me seriously. I wanted to prove to my father I was independent. It’s why I started my own business, to show everyone I could be a success.’ She gulped what was left of the beer and wiped her mouth with a serviette. ‘Well, actually, that part’s not entirely true.’

The comment took me by surprise. Judging by tonight, she excelled at what she did.

‘I have a Master’s in business studies and my resume landed me countless interviews. Only the moment a prospective employer saw the chair, they’d start mentioning someone they knew who had cancer, or a footballer who’d become a quadriplegic in an accident.’ She picked at the label on the bottle. ‘I could see them suddenly panic about insurance, workers’ comp, and whether the toilet in their inner-city terrace office would have to be refitted.

‘Now, I ditch the chair for meetings with clients so they treat me like an AB person.’

‘AB?’

‘Able-bodied.’ She made a point of enunciating the phrase.

‘Which is why your staff keep coming to you for signatures and advice.’ I felt foolish for misreading her manner. Even so, I still had to confront her about the lack of documentation for her and Eric Moss.

‘There’s something we need to get clear. Your father isn’t who you claim he is. He doesn’t exist in terms of Medicare, the electoral roll, or any other usual records.’ I ticked them off on my hands. ‘No passport, no bank account, nada, nothing. I couldn’t find a single identifying document.’

‘Really?’ She landed the empty bottle in the rubbish bin by the wall. ‘Tell me. How can someone as brilliant as Jack Morgan be so wrong about you?’

Chapter 36

Tags: James Patterson Private Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net