The story deals with adult subject matter and occasional description of explicit sexual abuse. Not meant for underage readers. Read at your own peril. And oh, Twilight belongs to SM. This is just a fanfiction.

Beautiful Sorrow

End of Chapter 15:

"Tell me everything, Carlisle. From the beginning. Don't shut me out. I am not stupid, but I need to hear it from you. What have they done to you?"

Carlisle was looking out the window, into the pitch-black, night sky. He took a deep breath and without taking his eyes away from the window, in a halting and unwilling voice, began to recount the tale of his woe, and the confession of his crimes.

Chapter 19

Carlisle, November 2009

The days immediately following the explosive encounter with Dr. Weber were not very kind on Carlisle. It brought to the forefront of his mind what he had known for some time but didn't want to acknowledge - he was losing control. Looking back at his own conduct and behavior during the meeting, he realized that he had practically confessed to being a manipulative, abusive asshole. How could he allow that to happen? He had always been so good at keeping his mask in place. He spent a lifetime perfecting it and it had not let him down until now.

He wondered if the clever woman had set things up just to achieve that goal; to make him act with irrational rage that would draw him out in the open and make him rant like the mad man that he was.

Over the past months, he had eavesdropped occasionally on the sessions his wife had with Dr. Weber. Not every single one of them, but just enough to get an idea of the general direction they were headed towards. Also, he was somewhat curious to hear his wife speak. Given the chance, would she tell the doctor what her life was really like? What he had done to her? It was the same sick fascination that prompted him to watch her with the telephone; would she, or wouldn't she?

As things turned out, she didn't. Yet, somehow the doctor had picked up on the signs and laid an ingenuous trap for him in the guise of 'exploring future treatment plans' for his wife. Stupidly, he had walked right into it.

He was angry at Dr. Weber and his wife, but more than anything he was angry at himself for letting such an amateurish ploy get the best of him. Now he would have to go to the trouble of making sure that the doctor didn't go to the police.

As soon as he returned to his office after the disastrous showdown with Dr. Weber, he had called in his Chief of Security, Frank Riley. He already had a file on the doctor from when he was screening for a therapist for his wife, but this time he needed to know more about the woman.

He had to pinpoint her weaknesses and gauge how strong an opponent she could possibly be. He instructed Riley to dig up everything possible on Angela Weber and her family. He had never stooped to blackmailing an enemy into silence before, but dire times called for dire measures. He authorized Riley to pull in the resources of his PR division, who had significant expertise in covert electronic surveillance.

He then called the office of Jenks and Cohen, LLP to gather up a legal team to form a pre-emptive line of defense should the matter escalate to that point. They managed to ease some of his immediate worries. In the hypothetical case where a psychiatrist or a therapist were to suspect domestic violence or abuse against a patient, he or she was not legally obligated to report it to the law enforcement authorities. Apparently the good doctor had bluffed and succeeded in getting under his skin with her steely conviction.

However, she was free to act on her suspicion, even at the risk of violating the patient confidentiality clause, should she believe that she had sufficient evidence to substantiate her misgivings, and felt it was in the best interest of the patient.

Some senior members of the team discreetly tried to ask about the potential veracity of the hypothetical allegations: Was there any possibility that material evidence or eyewitnesses could turn up at the least opportune moment? How difficult would it be to punch holes in the credibility of the health professional in question?

Carlisle reflected back to the video feed his entire property was wired up to. There was absolutely no way to implicate him in using those in ways other than what they were meant for; to maintain surveillance and security. He had equally strong faith in his housekeeping staff. However, Mrs. Cope gave him a pause.

One of the junior attorneys suggested that scheduling an out of state vacation for the alleged victim could be a good strategy to throw the police off their trail. It wouldn't do away with the problem, but it would buy them enough time to form a rock solid defense case. Resources available to the police to follow up on reported abuse cases were seriously strained. If they couldn't get a hold of the victim or any witness right away, chances were it would be a while before they sent someone else to sniff around. Cold cases rarely received any attention.

Carlisle contemplated the suggestion. But he decided he didn't want to ship his wife over to her parents, and he didn't have the time or inclination to accompany her on a protracted world tour. And damn if he'd allow anyone to force him to retreat from his home base. He would have to find a way to make sure Dr. Weber never carried through with her threat. His best bet was to have Riley excavate all of the skeletons she had in her closet.

But when Frank Riley checked back with him at the end of the week, he was less than pleased with the findings of his report. Dr. Angela Weber had a squeaky clean past. Graduating at the top of her class from Yale, she had excelled in her chosen field of profession. She had an impeccable reputation and impressive success record when it came to her patients, which explained why she was so highly sought after by families in need; Carlisle included. Even the theories and approaches she posited in academic journals were well received and generally agreed upon by her peers.

She was forty-six and was married to a Benjamin Cheney; fifty-one. She'd retained her maiden name as many women in academia do. They had two children; a boy, fifteen, and a girl, twelve. They lived in an affluent suburb near Seattle. Both of her parents were deceased. She was a law abiding citizen who didn't even have a speeding ticket to her name.

The fruitlessness of Riley's mission caused him much aggravation. The only consolation he had at this point was that his surveillance team confirmed that she had not made any attempt to contact the authorities - yet.

Carlisle flipped through the pages in annoyance. Just before he was about to throw the folder away, he spotted something that could potentially be of some use. Benjamin Cheney, owner of a chain of restaurants in Seattle, appeared to be eyeball-deep in debt. He had taken out a huge loan last year to open two new outlets which were yet to turn a profit. Not only weren't they making him money, the two new restaurants were bleeding him dry. To compensate for that, Cheney had to take out an even bigger loan, putting up pretty much all of his earthly possessions as collateral.

Carlisle quickly checked the name of the bank that had Cheney by the balls. There were two: the first was a mid-size bank with branches only in Washington, and the second was a private investor, presumably a loan shark.

A cold smile broke through his face. He could work with this. He would buy Cheney's account from the loan shark, and if need be, he would buy the bank as well. This method had always been his preferred weapon of choice in eliminating opponents - buy out the ground on which they stood upon and watch as they stumble through space as the realization hit them that there was nothing underneath their feet.

He had learned over the years that very few things in life didn't come with a price tag, and fewer still were those that he couldn't afford. So when the occasion arose, he employed his near endless wealth to sway the course of events to favor his wishes and interests.

He never felt the need to apologize for it. After all, would someone fault a singer for making use of their voice to climb the ladder to stardom? Or a world class athlete for endorsing consumer products? They utilized the tools and skill-set they had to make their life unfold the way they wanted it. Wealth was his instrument, and he utilized it to the best of its capacity. It had seldom let him down.

Buying out opponents was his favorite tactic above all else. To witness the disbelief and shock in the unsuspecting faces when it dawned on them that they had been out-manoeuvred was quite priceless. It wasn't always as straight forward; sometimes he had to follow labyrinthine pathways of several secondary operations vaguely linked through dummy corporations. But the end result was always gratifying.

It wasn't like he had only ever used his riches to crush the innocent and the vulnerable. He had done it to help others as well. He recalled with a bitter sense of irony how he had bought the whole apartment complex that Elizabeth Masen used to live in to ensure the rent would always stay the same and she wouldn't have to move to a cheaper, less safe part of the city. He bought out full control of Ion One to make sure she would always have a steady source of income and employment.

Yes, his actions were guided by his own concern for his brother, but he didn't do it for any personal gain or adulation. In fact, Elizaeth Masen went to her grave without ever knowing the ways in which he had made her life easier; she never had the chance to thank him and he never expected one either.

The errant thought of his brother wiped away the small smile that graced his face moments earlier.

Edward.

Carlisle wanted to give him everything, yet he chose to steal instead. Why? For a woman? Was she worth it?

He doubted that time would lessen the intensity of the betrayal, or heal the gaping schism left behind.

He loved Edward unconditionally and without reservation nearly all of his adult life; he practically raised him like a father would. He could recall his first steps, first words and first day at preschool.

How could he do this to me? How could he throw it all away? Did I mean nothing to him?

Carlisle pushed away the painful thoughts to focus on the task at hand.

He would have to move fast. He called Riley to dole out new instructions. This time he wanted everything there was to know about the bank and the loan shark Benjamin Cheney was indebted to, and he wanted that information a.s.a.p. Purchases of this scale would take time; time he didn't have much of. At least he didn't expect much delay in appropriating the lending books from the private investor.

He wasn't particularly relishing the prospect of actually having the conversation with Dr. Weber whereby he would have to reveal the ace up his sleeve, but there weren't many alternatives available to him either.

As soon as he had worked out all the paperwork, he would have to confer with the doctor and inform her, in no uncertain terms, that going up against him would not only land her neck deep in a civil suit for slander, but she could likely be rendered homeless. His wife would never make a statement against him. In the end, would it be worth risking her career and livelihood, not to mention the future of her children, just on a hunch? After all, did she know for sure that he had ever harmed his wife in any shape or form?

He could speculate with a high degree of certainty that her answer would be 'no'.

But he mustn't get ahead of himself. In order for that conversation to go the way he planned, first he would have to procure the strings that were attached to Benjamin Cheney's financial hide.

Over the next few hours, he made calls and dispatched orders to make sure that as soon as he had Riley's report he would be able to make his move to acquire the assets he had set his eyes on.

He was fairly engrossed in his work when he heard a knock on his door.

Eleazar.

Like always, he circumvented the standard protocol of announcing his visit ahead of time or making an appointment with Carlisle.

Things had been stressful between the two men ever since their shared flight to Europe when Carlisle had unburdened his soul to his uncle.

"Come in," he said.

As predicted, Eleazar entered his office with his usual cranky disposition. To Carlisle he seemed older; withered somehow. As if he had aged ten years in the last few weeks.

Because of me. The burden of my confession did this to him.

"Carlisle, what's up with Riley? He just requisitioned twenty thousand in additional funds for equipment and surveillance. Is there a security breach that I don't know about? What's going on?"

Carlisle sighed. He knew it wouldn't be possible to keep it a secret from Eleazar and he wasn't even trying to. What would be the point anyway? Eleazar knew everything there was to know about him, and his wife.

Eleazar stepped closer to his desk and lowered his heavy form into one of the chairs across from his nephew, sweeping Carlisle's face with his keen and calculating eyes.

"What's going on? Would this have anything to do with Isabella?"

Didn't it always these days?

AN1: Story rec - Plight Thee My Troth by Gingerandgreen

Summary: England, 1795. Lord Edward Masen and Miss Isabella Swan promise to love one another for all time; but will the harsh realities of life allow two souls from very different backgrounds to fulfil their vows? EPOV, AH

It's not easy writing a period piece; getting the tone and facts right is a challenge that few can overcome. But this one is beating the odds with flying colors. If you like historic stories, please give it a chance.

AN2: Come find me on twitter: ToTheDreaming.

A huge round of thanks goes to lulabelle98, for making all this readable. I couldn't do it without her. Please read her story The Long Walk Home and The Healing Touch.

Thanks to Detochkina for pre-reading and pointing out holes the size of Chicago! She is awesome. Don't miss out on her story Sinnerman. It's amazingly unique.

Thanks to WutheringBites for validating my story at Twilighted. I am most grateful.

Thanks BelleDean for helping me with the legal jibber-jabber. Her story Crash is one of the best out there. You should read it.

I am thankful to all those who've read, alerted and fav-d my story. But reviews are like Thanksgiving dinner - they make you feel loved and fulfilled. Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians, by the way.

Kindly review and let me know what you think. They make me insanely happy!