“Yeah, Edward is the way he is now because of what was done to him down there. And there was a lot of bad history between them before that. Hell, even in his will, Father deliberately left him out. Also, you know, my brother is no one you screw with. He’s got that way about him.”

Dear God, Jeff thought.

In the silence that followed, he considered his brother and sister, both of whom lived up in Manhattan, too. They were married. Multiple children. His parents split their time between Florida and Connecticut, but had a pied-à-terre in SoHo. The whole lot of them got together for all holidays, and there was warmth and conflict and joy and tears and laughter.

Always laughter.

Lane had a nice house. With a lot of nice stuff. Good cars.

There was no comparison, was there.

The guy went over and parked it on the chair at the desk. “Anyway, enough on that. So if you didn’t leak it, who did?”

“Senior management. I mean, come on. I got the information from their sources. The spreadsheets I’m doing the analysis on are their work product.”

Lane rubbed his head like everything hurt. “Of course.”

“Look, buddy, you can’t freeze those suits out forever, and clearly, they’re not coloring in the lines, which is not a surprise. Now’s not a good time for there to be no one at the helm.”

“Yeah, I need someone to run the company on an interim basis. The board chair wants to meet with me. He’s got to be thinking that, too.”

“Well, just in case I didn’t put a fine enough point on it—unless you take control, senior management, the very assholes you booted out, are in charge.”

“But I’m not qualified. The only thing I’m smart enough to know is that I don’t know shit about a business on this scale.” Lane threw up his hands. “For crissakes, I can’t worry about this right now. I have to get through the visitation tomorrow, and then we’ll go from there. Damn it, Edward was the one who was going to take over.”

As everything got quiet, Jeff smoothed the duvet over his thighs because he didn’t know what the hell else to do. Eventually, he said half-jokingly, “When do I get the maid back? And not to clean the bathroom.”

“That’s up to you. I’m her employer, not her pimp.”

“So you are in charge of this family, huh.”

“No one else is volunteering for the job.” Lane got to his feet. “Maybe because of what happened to the last guy who gave it a shot.”

“You got this, my man. You can do it.”

Lane came over and put out his hand. “I am really sorry I’ve put you in this position. Honestly. And after this is over, I promise, I’ll never contact you again for anything.”

For a moment, Jeff measured what was offered. Then he clasped the palm. “Yeah, well, I don’t forgive you.”

“Then why are you shaking my hand?”

“’Cuz I’m one of those people who forgets easily. I know, I know, it’s backward. But it’s worked for me so far—and it’s getting you off the hook, so fuck off with your principles.”

TWENTY-SIX

“Now, this is more like it.”

As Richard Pford lanked into Easterly’s family sitting room at around nine that evening, Gin wanted to roll her eyes and tell him the nineteen fifties wanted its mores back. But the truth was, yes, she had stayed in to speak with him, and yes, as she watched him proceed to the bar as if he were lord of the manor, she was reminded of how much she despised him.

After pouring himself a bourbon, he went over and sat in the oxblood leather chair beside the sofa she had tucked herself into. The room was not a large one, and the oil paintings of prized Bradford thoroughbreds hanging on the paneled walls made things seem even smaller. Adding Pford’s physical proximity to the mix? Well, that shrunk things down to the point that the wide-screen TV showing a rerun of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills felt like it was pressed against her face.

“Why are you watching this drivel?” he said.

“Because I like it.”

“It’s a waste of time.” He took the remote and changed the channel to some financial pundit in a red tie and a pale blue shirt. “You should be looking at things of value.”

Then allow me to cast my stare away from you, she thought.

“We need to talk about the reception.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I must introduce you to Amelia.”

“Who?” he said without looking away from the NASDAQ crawl.

“My daughter.”

That got his attention and he glanced over, one thin eyebrow lifting. “Where is she? Is she home from school?”

“Yes.”

Gin extended a hand to the house phone that was discreetly hidden behind a lamp made from a sterling-silver fillies trophy from the nineteen hundreds. Picking up the receiver, she called the butler’s extension.

“Mr. Harris? Do get Amelia and bring her here? Thank you.”

When she hung up, she looked at Richard. “I need you to pay for the wedding reception we’re having here on Saturday. You can write me the check. It will be about fifty thousand. If it’s more, I’ll come back to you.”

Richard lowered his glass and refocused on her. “Why am I paying for anything?”

“Because we’re getting married. The two of us.”

“At your home.”

“So you’re going to make no contribution at all?”

“I already have.”

She looked at her ring. “Richard, you’re living under this roof, eating our food—”

He laughed and swirled his bourbon around. “You’re not actually making that argument, are you?”

“You’re going to write that check and that’s that.”

“I suggest you hold your breath for the ink to be dry, darling.” Richard toasted her. “Now, that would be a show worth watching.”

“If you don’t pay, I’ll cancel the party. And don’t lie. You are looking forward to the attention.”

Trophies, after all, needed a presentation ceremony.

Richard sat forward, the movement of his butt causing the leather to creak in a muffled way. “I know you aren’t aware of this, but there are problems at your family’s company.”