When Monteverdi cleared his throat, Lane thought, Ahhhh, so the man had gone that route already and been shut down.

“I should think, Lane, that you’d prefer to take a more personal interest in this.”

“And why is that?”

“You have enough to keep out of the press as it is.”

“My father’s death is already on the news.”

“That is not to which I refer.”

Lane smiled and got up, heading back to the bar set-up on its brass cart. “Tell me something, how are you going to release the information that my family is broke and not send yourself up the river?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I mean, let’s get it all out in the open, shall we? You’re threatening me with some kind of reveal, and even if it’s an anonymous tip on your part, how exactly is that going to play out for you when your board learns about this loan you and my father thought up together? We’re not a good bet right now, and you must have known that going into the loan. You have access to all the trust information. You knew damn well how much was, and was not, in those accounts of ours.”

“Well, I would think you’d want to spare your mother the ignominy of—”

“My mother hasn’t been out of bed for almost three years. She’s not reading the newspaper, and the only guests she has are her nurses—all of whom will adhere to any gag order I give them or they’ll lose their jobs. Tell me, did you try that one out on my brother, too, when you spoke with him? I don’t imagine it got you very far at all.”

“I did nothing but help out an old friend. Your family, however, will not survive the scandal—and you must know that your mother’s trust is severely depleted. Unbeknownst to me, your father made a withdrawal of nearly the entire corpus a day before he died. There is less than six million remaining in it. Your sister’s trust is gone. Your brother Max’s trust is empty. Edward’s assets are at zero. And lest you think this is all our mismanagement, your father became the trustee on all of them as soon as he had your mother declared incompetent. And before you ask me why we allowed him to do what he did, I will remind you that he was acting within his legal rights.”

Well. Wasn’t all that a lovely little news flash. Sixty-eight million had seemed like a big deal. And then the hundred and forty million. And now …

Hundreds of millions were gone.

Lane turned his back to Monteverdi as he lifted his glass. He didn’t want the other man to see his hands shake.

The six million in his mother’s trust was a fortune to most people. But with Easterly’s household expenses alone, that figure would be gone in half a year.

“I would have explained this to your brother,” Monteverdi murmured, “but he wasn’t inclined to listen.”

“You went to him first and then to Babcock.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Did Babcock tell you where my father put all the money?” Lane shook his head. “Never mind. If he had, you wouldn’t be here.”

Lane’s brain skipped around, and then he looked at the liquor bottle he’d just had in his palm.

At least he knew where he could get his hands on some cash.

“How much time will ten million buy me?” he heard himself say.

“You don’t have that—”

“Shut up and answer the question.”

“I can give you another week. But I’ll need a wire. By tomorrow afternoon.”

“And that will reduce the debt to forty-three million.”

“No. That is the price for me risking my reputation for your family. The debt level will remain the same.”

Lane shot a glare over his shoulder. “Aren’t you a gentleman.”

The distinguished man shook his head. “This is not personal, Mr. Baldwine. It’s business. And from a business perspective, I can … delay things for a short period of time.”

Thanks, you bastard, Lane thought. “You’ll get your blood money. Tomorrow.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

After the man gave him the details of where the funds needed to go, Monteverdi bowed at the waist and showed himself to the exit. In the quiet that followed, Lane took out his phone.

He knew where to get the money. But he was going to need some help.

FOURTEEN

“I need you to do this.”

As Edward held the receiver to his ear, his brother Lane’s voice was grim—and so was the news. Everything gone. Trusts drained dry. Accounts wiped out. Generations of wealth dematerialized.

“Edward? You have to go see her.”

For some reason, Edward glanced around into the kitchen proper. Shelby was at the stove, stirring something in a pot that smelled shockingly good.

“Edward.” Lane cursed. “Hello?”

Shelby had a strand of hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail, and she shoved it behind her ear like it was irritating her as she stared down into the soup. Stew. Sauce. Whatever it was.

She had changed her jeans, but not her boots, her shirt but not her fleece. She was always covered up, he noted absently, as if she were cold.

When had he started to catch these little things about her?

“Fine,” Lane snapped. “I’ll go and take care of it—”

“No.” Edward shifted his weight and turned away from the kitchen. “I’ll go.”

“I need the wire by tomorrow. Monteverdi gave me the routing and account numbers. I’ll text them to you.”

“I don’t have a cell phone. I’ll let you know where to send the account details.”

“Fine. There’s another thing, though.” There was a pause. “They found something. Of Father’s. I tried to call you earlier.”

“Oh? A little piece of the man left behind? Does it have a monetary value? We could use any help we can get.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“You just told me that there is no money anywhere, essentially. Fairly reasonable optimism given the cash constraints.”

There was another period of quiet. And then Lane explained what had been found in an ivy bed.

When Edward said nothing, his brother muttered, “You don’t seem surprised. About any of this, actually.”

Edward’s eyes went to the drapes that were pulled over the windows.