Chapter 27

Shattered

"I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end

Than any evil or misfortune in the world."

~ Charles Dickens

Late May 1992

In Kimberly's eyes, everything seemed to move fast in LA: the traffic, the time… the relationships.

Reluctant at first to go out with Mr. Collier, Kim had come to relish their time together because Philip always had fun, adventurous dates planned. The doting movie producer often showed up unannounced whisking her away on his yacht, attending the latest and fashionable Hollywood parties, or horseback riding and hiking around the Lake Tahoe and Napa Valley area. He seemed genuinely enamored with Andrew and Jeannie filling a noticeable void for the children whose father drowned in his paralyzing depression back in Salem. For Kimberly, Philip's "Carpe Diem" attitude drummed out the ever-growing problems she faced as for the first time in her life, demons that hadn't been properly vanquished slowly began to re-emerge and taunt her.

Within a week of settling in LA to work on the twisted abuse case, Kimberly found herself grappling with the prospect of Shane's death once again—alone because her presence wasn't needed or encouraged back in Salem.

By the time reassuring word reached her from home that Shane would pull through, the Ramsey Case was in full swing occupying much of her time in and out of the clinic interviewing fragile victims, securing a treatment course, writing mountains of reports, and working with police over the criminal aspects of the case. All the while, Kimberly returned home each day to lovingly parent Andrew and Jeannie who were far too young to be privy to the kind of work their mother performed each day. Processing the sobering realities of her work was a lonely endeavor for the embattled woman. Therefore, Kimberly had no room to open herself up to rejection of any kind. She left the ball in Shane's court to initiate more contact.

The call never came.

Thus, Kimberly's life had become an overextension of resources from a woman whose well had run dry. Suddenly and without warning, one night Uncle Eric's terrorization resumed in the form of memories flooding back into her dreams. "Let's play a game, Kimmie."

The haunting voice berated her several nights a week with Kimberly waking up screaming and drenched in sweat. Cruelly his sadistic charades hung hauntingly around her neck like an albatross as Kimberly wearily pulled herself together every morning for work. There was no reprieve from the ghosts tormenting her from the past.

Kimberly vainly attempted to push the issue aside just as she did after testifying with Eric's latest and last victim Amy sending her uncle away for his crimes. A well-engrained defense mechanism, Kimberly reasoned even now wasn't the right time to address the ramifications. In the past, the excuses ranged from the precedence of avenging her brother's death; then there was Marlena's resulting murder trial. After that, a dashing Englishmen donned her doorstep, so the prospect of seeking professional help seemed unnecessary and crippling to a budding romance. "Besides," She had rationalized: "I have it under control." The process briefly repeated several times during extreme emotional turmoil: during the kidnapping of her son, to the death of her infant daughter, to her husband's supposed death—each bringing her closer to the breaking point. The defining break was when the ever-manipulative Cal sent by Jericho as the interloper turned the obsessive suitor. His consistent presence and support morphed into an expectation of consummation after months of friends and family telling her to "move on" and "let Shane go" after a "death" she questioned vehemently. Her cry for help tragically fell on deaf ears! In Shane's unresolved absence, the manipulation by Winters (a trained operative sent by Donovan's enemies to hurt him), and misguided encouragement of family, Kim tragically crossed the Rubicon where she betrayed her heart and gave into a man she neither loved nor desired. Adding insult to injury, once her husband was discovered to be—in fact alive all that time, Kimberly didn't feel vindicated. She felt ashamed. Why hadn't she trusted in their unique love, which bound the two together in a cosmic way? The emotional foundation began to crumble opening her up to the inevitable conclusion. This particular form of betrayal coupled with Kimberly's unresolved issues set into motion a devastating pattern once the demise of her marriage set in. She slowly began to revert back to more familiar, anddestructive sexual behaviors. First seeking validation of her worth with Lawrence, and now with Philip… By the time Kimberly stumbled onto the charismatic movie producer's beachfront set, she was a severely fractured woman ripe for the fall.

Philip Collier provided a safe escape from the harsh realities of Kim's job and personal life. Whereas before Kim resorted to privacy and quiet solitude, the flurry of activities offered a pardon from the demons she privately wrestled with from her past. Slowly she began to slip away from solid friendships with the Curtis' and Stricklands' in favor of immersing herself into Philip's fantasy world.

Two months into a whirlwind affair, and she was pondering the next step as though sleeping with Philip were merely a business transaction. It felt fast and not right, yet the lessons Kimberly had learned in the confines of a healthy courtship with Shane had almost completely vanished. Kimberly felt like she was preparing to perform again. The thought never occurred to her that the experience would be "making love."

Kimberly was about to discover that the cost was about to be more than she could bear…

Friday the Third Week in May, 1992.

Becoming an increasing characteristic for a normally punctual person, Kimberly Brady was already running behind schedule. Her whole afternoon had been filled with chauffeuring children from school to Kayla before meeting with lawyers and investigators connected to the Ramsey Child Care abuse case that had brought her back to LA four months earlier. The case had garnered national attention; pressure from both sides of the legal teams bore down on the abuse clinic as they tended to the needs of their patients. Kimberly normally handled pushy lawyers more concerned about their chances in court than the victims they claimed to be representing with great ease and tact. However, it was pushing five o'clock on a Friday afternoon of a long, grueling week and the normally professional therapist retorted in a rare display of curtness and open disdain to the attorney's question.

Dr. Peter Strickland, the director of the LA clinic and Kimberly's friend, pulled her swiftly into his private office after concluding the meeting.

"Are you ok?" He quizzed.

His normally serene hazel eyes betrayed hints of serious concern over his colleague's emotional state. Cases of this scale often led to a weary staff and a few frayed nerves; however, most had a viable support system and means to decompress from the intense and emotional toll. While the Ramsey case had pushed most of the staff to their limits everyone still remained professional and upheld the high standards the clinic was renowned for. Yet, Dr. Strickland detected signs of abnormally serious distress coming from his best therapist. Peter knew Kimberly well enough to know that the working mother of two young children had endured a wretched and humiliating few years prior to this and began to question his request to have her on his team at the moment. In the past, very few in Kim's social or professional circle expressed concern how the now certified therapist could continue to balance the caseload given her own abuse history—the consummate therapist extolling the virtues of seeking treatment for the abused, yet had never sought professional help herself.

Over the past few months, Dr. Strickland observed as his dear friend and respected colleague became moody and appeared run down despite a meticulous ability to dress the part. He'd been in practice long enough to understand the dynamics of an abuse survivor who had neglected to address their issues. No matter how strong their coping mechanisms were, life tended to throw things to erode them and inevitably force the survivor to address the issue. Rarely did the circumstances arrive in a neat package.

As both her friend and knowledgeable doctor, Peter wanted to help before it was too late. To Kim's credit, she was very astute, which made it quite tricky to navigate since Strickland's only means of contact with her family was through Donovan, who had completely disconnected from their friendship. It was a minefield that the doctor knew to tread very carefully over.

Kimberly's green eyes cut sharply to the side to avoid his gaze. Straightening her navy blazer and clearing her throat,

"Look, I'm just tired lately…" She began and once the rational had been planted firmly in her mind, Kimberly lifted her eyes to address Peter's concern head on. Her voice softened. "Jeannie's going through this phase getting up several times in the middle of the night…"

The truth was Kimberly was terrified to close her eyes each night and staying up until the wee hours of the morning typing up reports, or listening to music to keep the terror at bay. Nights when Jeannie needed her merely broke up the monotonous yet treacherous routine. Ultimately, the tortured soul fell into bed sinking into a shallow and restless sleep. Sometimes the charade worked; most of the time, it failed miserably.

Her voice trailed off as Peter refused to acquiesce. The astute doctor folded his arms across his chest as Kimberly retreated to the side and gazed out the window towards the tiny vehicles zipping through the freeway a good distance away. "I'm having trouble sleeping." She confessed softly. "And I KNOW it's affecting my work."

Kimberly whirled around to face him. "But I can…I WILL get a handle on this." She pleaded emphatically with normally sparkling green eyes that looked more melancholy blue against the magnitude of whatever burdened she carried.

Casting a quick glance down to his brown loafers, Peter carefully plotted his course.

"Is that all?" He inquired with a soothing voice, which betrayed the unspoken request regarding her personal life.

Kimberly swallowed hard as her face fell.

"How is your sister's transition coming along?"

Kimberly nodded slightly in the affirmative acknowledging the question before averting back towards the window. She rolled her eyes and sighed irritably.

Yes, Kayla's move to LA had been bittersweet for the two sisters. Kimberly desperately needed the help of family to shoulder the load of parenting Andrew and Jeannie while tackling such a massive load of patients. Kayla needed a fresh start and to rectify a sisterly relationship ripped apart by her destructive affair with her former brother-in-law. The latter was something Kimberly vehemently deflected from addressing given the pain was still so intense. Much to Kayla's dismay, Kimberly preferred the surface quality of their relationship at the moment. Despite their truce, a simmering sober tension permeated the arrangement. Thus, Kimberly recognized the unspoken inference from Peter's question. The wounded woman had yet to speak to her estranged ex-husband and the duration widened by each passing week. No doubt the current status of her relationship with Shane was having a profound effect on their children and most likely the cause of the younger child's sleep issues.

Kimberly avoided the intended opening.

"Kay's doing quite well." She replied graciously. "Your reference has given her a great position in ICU. Thank you."

When he didn't respond signaling that they were not going anywhere until the matter was addressed, Kimberly sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry for my outburst in there, Peter." Shaking her head in acknowledgment of her faux pas, "I was thoroughly unprofessional and I…"

Dr. Strickland interrupted placing one hand gently on Kim's shoulder while handing a business card with the other:

DR. LESLEY J. ALLISON

LICENSED PSYCHOLOGIST

"I think you should talk to someone." He suggested firmly yet compassionately. "She's good and I think would be a perfect fit."

Kimberly bristled slightly as Peter assured her, "You're the best at what you do," And smiling admiringly he possessed the similar air of wisdom as the elder Dr. Horton when he spoke, "Which is why I requested you in the first place… but." He sighed knowingly. "This case rests on you being in top form and I don't know anyone who could endure what you have up to this point…alone."

His words and the feeling behind them pierced Kim's soul. Dr. Strickland was absolutely correct and if she were dispensing the advice to anyone else, Kim would recommend the same. Yet a deathly fear of exposure gripped her. She knew she needed help. Looking appreciatively into her boss's eyes.

"Thank you." And with a reassuring wink, Kimberly tried to sooth her superior's conscious. "But first things, first: Sleep!"

There was an infectious charm about Kimberly Brady that made even the most astute person want to believe her.

Peter laughed affirmatively. "Yes!"

And as Kimberly moved closer to the door, he added: "You'll do as I ask?"

"Yes, I will. Promise." She replied convincingly with a faint smile as tears began to form.

Kimberly rushed out of the office before her tears overtook her. She left work more distraught than ever. It wasn't a firing, but Kimberly knew the score. Slipping into her silver grey Jeep Cherokee fit for the suburban mom, she glanced at the business card once more. Grimacing, she tucked it away in her purse and sped away to her only diversion from the chaos: Philip.

Location: Philip's Malibu Home

"Enter in the numbers and get the hella' out of here, man!" Philip barked impatiently as Stewart logged in the latest financials. The self-professed, "money man" shot the younger one a stern look full of reproach. Stewart was well aware that Philip had not taken his advice regarding his new love interest. "Look if our boss gets wind of this development, he's not going to be happy." Stewart cautioned as he stood up to confront Collier head on. "There's always a possibility she's been sent to poke around in our affairs." ~ Month earlier.

Predictably, Philip took the warning as a challenge being a man addicted to risk.

"This is NOT something you want me to mess up on." Stewart retorted with gritted teeth. The doorbell rang signaling that Philip's latest girlfriend had arrived. "Slip out the side exit closest to the garage where you parked your car." Philip instructed irritably.

The movie producer breezed past him and exited the study. The mere presence of Stu's ugly mug would surely squelch his plans for the evening. Pausing to survey his image in the mirror closest to the door, Philip smiled arrogantly. Opening it, he was struck by the classical beauty on display before him.

"I'm sooo sorry I'm late." Kimberly gushed but the view of her standing on his doorstep in a satin little red sheath dress erased all grievances. Philip pulled her flagrantly to his body and enveloped Kimberly in an appreciative embrace.

"Tough day?" Philip inquired.

Kimberly smiled, but had no intention of elaborating. "Yes, but it's officially the weekend, so let's not spoil it on formalities." She winked flirtatiously.

He adored her ability to shrug off the gravity of life and simply enjoy its pleasures. Besides Kim's work was a downer, so Philip preferred to keep that out of their relationship. The unspoken agreement worked beautifully for a woman craving for something different.

"And you think you don't belong here." Philip teased as he ran his fingers through her long tresses. "Ever the fashionably late Hollywood starlet who knows how to make it up to her man."

Kimberly swatted him playfully on the shoulder and soaked in his unwavering interest in her. Only two days had past since their last date—a casual excursion with the children to a local restaurant, yet Philip showered Kimberly with affection like a sailor who had been at sea for months. His hands slid up and down her backside appreciatively. It felt good to be desired again by a man who was good, and charming, and fun!

"You like?" Kimberly purred and lifted her chin up so their lips might touch.

Philip smiled seductively.

"Yes, you're going keep me distracted all night, Babe!"

"Precisely the point." She replied impishly as Kimberly took his hand and led them into Philip's home.

Kim's heels clicked against the marbled floor as Philip led her to the backside of the home. Passing by the state of the art entertainment center in the massive living space, Philip flipped on the switch which piped music throughout the two-story estate. Not only did it create the festive atmosphere he preferred, but should drown out his bumbling manager's discreet exit in the process. The music fast and full of pep, Philip clasped Kim's hand to twirl her around leading her into the gourmet kitchen. Kimberly laughed at the dramatic flare he put into every activity.

"Come sit while I regale you with my culinary expertise!" He proclaimed exuberantly. Kimberly giggled grateful for the distraction as Philip poured the two some nice Napa Valley Chard. As Philip chattered away regarding various movie projects, Kim felt the general unease that shrouded her dissipate into thin air. One glass of wine became two. Philip's usually reserved lady relaxed even more transforming into a vivacious and enchanting creature. In the course of their light conversation, the fledgling chef noticed he was missing some ingredients.

"Oh, Babe. Could you fetch me a lime from my study?"

Kimberly finished a healthy sip of her wine and obliged happily as he motioned to his right showing her the way. Singing the ole' Harry Neilson number: "He put the lime in the coconut…" Kimberly gladly accepted the little chore. He could be annoying, but at least the man was not complicated. She mused. Entering into Philip's private study, Kim was overtaken by the expansive view of the Pacific Ocean to her right. Its roaring waves slammed into the rocky terrain below the elevated landscape that formed the perimeter of Collier's back property. Glancing to her left, Kimberly discovered the elaborate liquor cabinet display and promptly secured the lime needed for the jerk chicken being prepared in the gourmet kitchen. Her observant eyes lifted up and were instinctively drawn to the one piece of artwork on display in an otherwise lifeless room. Kimberly tilted her head curiously studying the abstract lines and monochromatic blue hues inhabiting the flat brushstrokes of the piece. Well-versed in the stylistic differences and intentions of the Art World, Kimberly found herself drawing closer for a more critical view. The cold, harden image seemed odd for a man who embraced life enthusiastically! Odder still was the arrangement of the painting, which prompted Kimberly to move closer to straighten its crooked frame.

Once she rounded Philip's stark, glass-topped desk, Kimberly recoiled at the realization of the artist's intention. Reminiscent of Picasso's Blue Period, the form appeared in distorted fashion. The subject, clearly female, was positioned in a rather erotic way. The white placard to the right of the piece displayed the title revealing the artist's tawdry purpose: "Self-Expression."

Her heart sank as a damning chink appeared in Philip's armor. Maybe he didn't truly get the piece? Maybe he didn't even buy it? Money didn't necessarily correlate with understanding the various themes found in art. She desperately needed to cling to her original narrative regarding Philip at this point. But each second that ticked by destroyed all pretenses.

Pressing on, Kimberly still held the lime in her left hand as she pushed the painting, which had been mounted on a sliding panel, to the right. Before she knew it, Kimberly was peering inside. Her jaw dropped at the sight of an impressive set of recording equipment encased in the center of the hidden built-in with shelves storing video and files of the illicit material. No, not this, she lamented. In an instant, the origins of Philip's wealth were exposed before her and this was no low level operation. Impulsively, Kim skimmed the title descriptions on the tapes. Her hand shaking uncontrollably, she thumbed through the material becoming sick to her stomach.

"Let's play a game, Kimmie." The ghost of Uncle Eric sang in her ear. "Lay perfectly still…"

Kimberly squeezed her eyes shut trying to block him out only to run right into another demon from her past.

"Oh, the money I am going to make on you, Kimberly." Linda Anderson hissed into her right ear. "You have that homespun look." She explained reaching for a few loose strands of Kim's hair to pull back. "It gets men right. in. their. wallets…" ~ November 15, 1984

Opening them once more, she gasped in horror at seeing her image reflecting back at her through the recording monitor. Self-loathing seeped into her soul. Suddenly the red sheath dress while modestly cut made her feel dirty. Somehow all roads led back to this, she concluded miserably.

Stumbling backwards in a daze, she bumped into the desk, which sent a stack of files and a black heavy ledger tumbling to the floor. Dropping to her knees, Kim hastily gathered the fallen items and discovered a black ledger containing very detailed information regarding the twisted proclivities of some very powerful people Philip was affiliated with. Money laundering was the tamest venture Philip Collier was guilty of! Time seemed to standstill as she learned the true and insidious nature of Philip's production company. One name listed in the ledger stuck out more than others. Not because of any personal preferences but due to his financial connection…an investor—one whose name she unfortunately recognized. My God! Kim's heart wailed in quiet anguish. In horror, she sank back onto her heels and collapsed on the cold, ceramic floor.

So absorbed in her thoughts, Kimberly's senses failed to pick up on the subtle click of men's loafers approaching from behind. She started to turn on her heel when a pair of grubby hands wrapped themselves around her body yanking her up into standing position. Kimberly's hands grew limp and the lime plummeted to the floor bouncing across the room. Squeezing her against his rotund frame, Stewart Perkins thrust the pearl-handled knife to her throat.

"Who sent you?" He hissed menacingly into Kimberly's ear.

By this time, she was shaking uncontrollably and honestly replied,

"Philip, he wanted…I… I…I…was just getting a lime." She stammered breathlessly. Kimberly swallowed hard scanning for a way out but each jerk to the left or right was blocked. Her purse was still in the Philip's living room. If she could just get loose and out the sliding door in the study, she'd be free!

Stewart didn't believe her for a minute. Pressing his face against Kimberly's left cheek, he inhaled deeply and pronounced the following words slowly and with menacing precision.

"This is going to go a lot easier if you will simply cooperate."

Kimberly had heard this many times before and it was NEVER easier, just more suited for the one wielding the power. And she realized mournfully that she possessed none and was quite literally at his mercy. Kim's world spun out of control. "I've done my homework on you, Ms. Brady." Stewart snarled mercilessly into her left ear. Hadn't they all.

"Please, don't." Kimberly whimpered to no avail. All her self-imposed delusions regarding her relationship with Philip Collier shattered into a million pieces. She had done it again! Only this time, there was no one to call, no one to catch her fall. The knife still pressed against her throat, Stewart enjoyed taunting her.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." He snarled. "I've no interest in you!" Stewart spit in disgust. He glanced to his left and saw the lime peering out from under the desk. Thinking quickly as the repercussions of this situation didn't bode well for all involved. Boss had been explicit in the directive early on when Stewart sought his help for him to make sure Kimberly exited Philip's life peaceably with no attention drawn to their operation. "Disappearing her will not work given her family connections." The dispassionate man relayed dryly over the line. "There are; however, other ways to handle this. You just have to be creative." Stewart resented the implication that he wasn't smart enough to figure it out on his own.

"Please!" Kimberly begged with tears streaming down her face. "Just let me go."

Justifying his course of action. "Why should I believe a whore?" He seethed.

"I promise. I won't tell." Kimberly assured him whimpering.

The faint scent of alcohol peppered her breath giving Stewart an idea.

"Of course you won't." He chuckled and with a flip of the wrist, he brandished the knife for both to see. "You see, I'm the one wielding the weapon."

Stewart's eyes flickered with recognition knowing that the whole event was being filmed. "But just in case, let's play a little game." Tightening his grip, he jeered, "I sure hope you're good at following directions."

And in a child like fashion, she complied:

"Yes. I'm good at keeping secrets." Kimberly chirped breathlessly.

Somehow, he believed her.

Stewart laughed maniacally and pulled her hair back so he could look into Kim's wide petrified eyes.

"Of course you will, dear." His toothy grin reminded her of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. It sent shivers down Kim's spine. "Because you're ALL alone out here. No one can help you! Not your brothers…"

He chuckled despicably. "And not your pathetic ex!"

Kimberly braced herself for what was yet to come. The realization that she couldn't count on anyone but herself caused something to snap. Somehow she would make them pay! Somehow they'd ALL pay. Placing the lime back into her hand, Stewart instructed:

"I'm going to do you a favor: Know that I am watching so here is how you will proceed…"

Back in the Kitchen…

"Hey, babe!" Philip greeted her jovially as he added last minute touches to their dinner. "I was beginning to send in a search part for you." He quipped light-heartedly taking the lime from Kimberly's hand. So wrapped up in the merriment of his own mind, Philip hardly noticed the stark change in his girlfriend's demeanor.

"Oh," Kimberly replied softly. "I was just taking in the view."

"I knew you'd appreciate it." He replied absentmindedly. Looking up from his chore, Philip flashed her a magnetic smile. Kimberly remained by the back wall where the entertainment center was positioned. Standing demurely in such a flattering little number, Philip held up his hands as though he were framing a shot of his desires.

"Picture Perfect!" He extolled exuberantly.

Kim flinched in disgust.

The descending sun created brilliant orange and yellow hues that poured into the wall of glass revealing threatening black shadows peering out from the furniture and collectables. Her eyes darted towards the couch where her purse lay and back to him. But Philip had strolled towards the massive glass doors, which led out towards the patio, looking more like a shadowy silhouette than human being. He was too absorbed in his accomplishments to be alarmed by robotic behavior Kimberly exhibited.

"It IS breathtaking! Isn't it?" Philip boasted cheerfully. Doubling back, he grabbed her hand pulling the reluctant woman outside towards the backdrop of the setting Pacific Sun.

The Next Day…

Philip sat defiantly arms crossed in his office chair viewing the tape as Stewart updated him on the latest events.

"You roofied my girlfriend!" He shot back incredulously learning how before Stewart exited secretly from the premises; he crept into the kitchen to spike Kim's drink while Philip showed her the stunning view of the setting sun. He had attributed her nervousness to the anticipation of an escalation in their relationship at the time.

"What the hell did you expect me to do?" Stewart spat back motioning towards the desk. "After what she saw…"

"I'm surprised you didn't try to kill her." Philip retorted sardonically.

"Believe me. It crossed my mind." Stewart muttered under his breath. "But it'd have complicated things…"

The movie producer sneered back perturbed at the dramatic turn of events.

"We'd need his help with something to that degree." Philip gritted his teeth—his piercing blue eyes emanating with rage. He had to admit the drugging must have helped because Kimberly appeared hung over with a throbbing headache and no memory of the whole evening. There appeared no visible signs of trauma or being distrusting of him, so Philip was able to give his version of the events with convincing appeal given he didn't know about the blunder beforehand. As a result, Kimberly seemed smitten with his supposed gallantry by waking in his bed fully clothed, undisturbed, yet completely disoriented. Philip gladly accepted the role without correction.

"I expect YOU to do your damn job!" Philip barked back and shot out of his chair. "And keep our business private by not leaving it around for ANYONE to see!" The irate movie producer swiped the remnants of paper situated on his desk to the side. Thoroughly disgusted with his manager's handling of the situation; nevertheless, it DID unnerve him that the question still remained as to whether Kimberly held ulterior motives for miraculously entering his life at this point. Philip marched towards the liquor cabinet pausing to count the remaining fruit that set on top of the bureau. One small, innocuous request had propelled his life into one gigantic cluster-fuck lesson in damage control!

"I told you she was no good." Stewart reiterated but less confidently than before given the barrage of fury unleashed upon him. He'd never seen his protégée behave in such a manner. Philip snapped his head back around to address the fat little troll—his curly locks resembling Medusa's serpent hair. Still hanging onto the image painted in his producer's psyche of the woman he was dating, Philip replied defensively "You don't know…"

But neither did he, so Philip grew silent for a bit. After a tense few minutes of a cold standoff, "What do you suggest we do?"

Stewart's cold, lifeless eyes lit up.

"You stick close to her to make sure she doesn't remember. For now, let's just keep it between the two of us."

Philip's brow twitched with interest.

"And exactly HOW do we accomplish that?"

He didn't trust Stewart but Philip feared his benefactor more given he had directly dismissed the man's advice.

"I have some ideas." Stewart replied forebodingly yet pleased with the prospects.