Bad Intentions - Too Bad It’s Fake

Chapter One

Noah

I’d always been told that the greatest fear amongst most people was public speaking —even more than death. I wasn’t quite in a state of existential dread, at least not yet, but hearing that I was winning the Governor’s award for my charity work with the politically oppressed and would have to make a speech in front of hundreds of people certainly grated on my nerves. I liked things to be just right, and this night had to be perfect.

They had informed me of the award well in advance. Not only that I had been considered for this year’s gala, so I could show up just in case, but that I had actually won. It was both considerate and disappointing at the same time. But at least I had a few weeks to find a date and invite most of my family — not that I really wanted them to come.

Really, an award for charity work struck me as a bit odd in general. Growing up, I was told that charity was its own reward and had my mother quoting that the left hand wasn’t supposed to know what the right hand was doing. An attitude making me fairly sure that she wouldn’t be all that impressed with my recognition and certainly wouldn’t want to come to the awards gala.

However, she would kill me if I didn’t ask.

Deciding to put the worst call first, I picked up my phone in my office at Howell and Howell Law Firm and dialed my mother, who was one of the few people in the northern hemisphere to still have a landline. I had gotten her a cellphone for Christmas a few years ago, but according to my sister, Mom used it primarily as a paperweight to hold open her recipe books while baking. She was always quite resourceful when it came right down to it.

“Hello! This is the Wells residence. How can I help you?” Mom nearly sang when she picked up the phone. She was always so proper. I could just imagine her standing in the drawing-room of our family’s hundred-year-old mansion, clutching her designer pearls.

“Hi, Mom,” I started.

“Noah, darling! How are you? Don’t tell me that you are calling to say you have to work on Sunday again. I just won’t hear of you missing another family dinner.”

“It’s not that, mother,” I said, hedging my bets. “Listen, I have news.”

“News?”

“Yes.” I leaned on my desk and took a deep breath. “I’m getting the Governor’s award for my charity work. You know, for the legal cases I’ve been doing for free for those jailed for unfair political reasons and those denied basic human rights.”

“Such good work,” Mom chimed in sweetly. “You know what your grandfather used to say—” She hesitated a second so that I would repeat the words with her— “Because we Wells were gifted with wealth, it is our job to help those less fortunate.” She tittered, sounding like a strange little bird. “But always within reason. No need to give away the family fortune.” It was a line that she liked to repeat often and always thought it was a great hoot. I, however, wondered how anyone could spend the whole Wells’ family fortune. There was plenty of money for generations.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, making a quick mental note to get a haircut before the week was up. “Anyway, I was calling to see if you and father would be interested in going to the gala. I would understand if you want to decline.”

I was hopeful that she would decline. My fantasy of the evening was so much smoother without my family there.

“Of course, we will attend, why wouldn’t we?” she asked, sounding confused.

Boy, was I wrong. Damn.

“I don’t know. It’s just not that big of a deal.” I started to regret calling at all. However, Dad was friends with the governor and would find out about the award one way or another. Then there would be hell to pay.

“Not a big deal? It will be in all the newspapers, darling.”

“Of course.” I had forgotten that the Governor’s Gala was one of the biggest events on the socialite calendar. There was no way Mom was going to miss having her picture in the paper — she could rub it in the noses of all her snooty friends. “I thought, you might be too busy to go,” I said, back-pedaling like a unicyclist going down Everest and not wanting to get in a fight about the importance of the family’s reputation.

“Oh, I see, no nothing like that. We’d all love to go over here, even your sister, and I’ll invite that nice Gina you used to go out with. I always liked her.”

A shiver ran through my body, and I slumped into my desk chair. Not Gina! That would be a disaster.