Amelia is Ronnie’s birth mother. More than that, she’s the reason the movie is even on Hollywood’s radar. Though no script has been officially released, it’s no secret that the movie centers around tragedy at the Fletcher Residence, an amazing Santa Fe house designed and built by Jackson. The project, actually, that put Jackson Steele on the map and turned him from a simple architect into a starchitect—a celebrity architect with all the baggage that goes with the title.
Back when Jackson was building the Fletcher Residence for Arvin—one of the country’s wealthiest men—Jackson began dating Amelia’s identical twin sister, Carolyn. Amelia wanted Jackson for her own, and was crazy enough to impersonate her sister in bed, a single night that left her pregnant with Jackson’s child—Ronnie. After the house was built and Jackson had moved on, the little girl was born—and that’s when Amelia went completely off the rails. She killed her sister and then she killed herself, leaving Ronnie to be raised by the twins’ older sister, Megan—and attracting the attention of Hollywood’s scandal hounds.
Since Amelia had quite the lineup of men going through her bedroom, the Hollywood people don’t know that Ronnie is Jackson’s daughter, and they probably won’t make that connection until the court confirms paternity or Jackson’s petition finds its way to the press. They see only a murder-suicide that centers around the amazing house that made Jackson’s career and the love triangle that destroyed two young women, both of whom wanted the same man.
When Jackson learned that Ronnie was truly his daughter, he considered petitioning for custody right away, but he also knew that the scandal surrounding the house and the buzz about a possible movie would thrust the little girl into a media feeding frenzy. She was safe and loved with her aunt Megan and her uncle Tony, with her great-grandmother Betty helping from the sidelines. Jackson took on the role of uncle, visiting her and supporting her financially.
Now, though, things have changed. Tony passed away, and Megan’s mounting bipolar issues mean that she is no longer a good choice for guardian. Neither is Betty, in light of her failing health.
More than that, though, Jackson simply wants his daughter back. And until this damn murder trial reached out and slapped us in the face, that was what he was in the process of handling.
“So you want to designate a contingent guardian, and then set up a trust to use for Ronnie’s daily care?”
“Exactly.”
They talk for a few more minutes, with Jackson explaining that the trust will be funded with his share of the Winn Building, a retail and residential high rise in Manhattan, and also the first project he both designed and developed—and kept a piece of the income stream. “I’ve got a forty percent interest and Isaac Winn has sixty. He’s been looking to acquire a bigger percentage since day one. If we need the cash for Ronnie, he’ll buy me out.”
“I’ll seed the trust with ten percent,” Amy says. “You can add more if you need to.”
“Fair enough.”
“And the guardian?” she asks, after reminding Jackson that until his parental rights are established by a court order, he is not the one who can force this issue. “But I’m sure that Betty and the court will take your opinion into account.”
“I want Sylvia,” he says, as I press my hand over my mouth to hide my gasp. “And I want you to go ahead and set the paternity hearing.”
“The hearing? Jackson, are you sure? What if—”
“I want her to have a father. I’m tired of waiting. I want my daughter, Amy. And if the worst happens, then I want to know that the woman I love is taking care of her.”
“And Sylvia will accept the role?” she asks as my heart thuds painfully in my chest and I hug myself, not sure what I’m feeling, only certain that I am numb. “The court will only offer guardianship. They won’t force her to take it. If she says no, Ronnie could be looking at foster care.”
“We’ve talked a little. And we’ll talk more. But I think she will. I need this done, Amy. I’m living in limbo right now, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I need this to be handled. I need my daughter. And I need you to make it happen sooner rather than later.”
“All right, Jackson,” she says, her voice gentle. “I should be able to get a court date in a couple of days.”
“Thank you,” he says, and there is such relief in his voice that my eyes sting with unshed tears.
I don’t actually notice when he ends the call. I’m lost in a world of maybes. A world where Jackson is gone, and where I am raising his daughter.