Jeff looked down at the newspaper again. It seemed appropriate that the article was covering all of the work he’d been doing.

“I can’t be down here forever, Lane.”

But he did have something he had to take care for himself. In addition to Lane’s newest laundry list of demands and bright ideas.

“What about senior management?” Jeff asked. “Did you bribe them, too?”

“Not at all. For that bunch of suits, I put them on unpaid administrative leave for the next month. I figured there was enough evidence so that it was justified, and the board is sending them notice. The middle managers will pick up the slack until I find an interim CEO.”

“Gonna be hard with this out.” Jeff tapped the front page. “Not exactly a good recruiting platform.”

As Lane just looked across at him, Jeff felt a splash of figurative cold water hit his head. Putting up both his palms, he started shaking his head again. “No. Absolutely not—”

“You’d be in charge.”

“Of a torpedoed ship.”

“You could do anything you want.”

“Which is like telling me I can redecorate a house that’s in the middle of a mudslide?”

“I’ll give you equity.”

Annnnnd cue the screeching of tires. “What did you just say?”

Lane turned away and went to the door. “You heard me. I’m offering you equity in the oldest and finest liquor company in America. And before you tell me I’m not allowed to, blah, blah, blah, may I remind you that the board’s in my back pocket. I can do whatever the hell I want and need to.”

“As long as you can find the money to pay them.”

“Think about it.” The slick bastard looked over his shoulder. “You can own something, Jeff. Not just crunch numbers for an investment bank that’s paying you for being a glorified calculator. You can be the first non-family shareholder in the Bradford Bourbon Company, and you can help determine our future.”

Jeff went back to staring at the article. “Would you have ever asked me if things were going well?”

“No, but that’s because in that case, I wouldn’t be involved in the company at all.”

“And what happens when all this is over?”

“Depends on what ‘over’ looks like, doesn’t it? This could change your life, Jeff.”

“Yeah, there’s a recommendation. Look what it’s done to you. And P.S., last time you wanted me to stay you threatened me. Now, you’re trying to bribe me.”

“Is it working?” When he didn’t answer, Lane opened the way out. “I didn’t like strong-arming you. I really didn’t. And you’re right. I am thrashing around here like an idiot. But I’m out of options, and there is no savior coming down from heaven to give me a miracle and make this all go away.”

“That’s because there is no making this go away.”

“No shit. But I’ve got to deal with it. I don’t have a choice.”

Jeff cursed. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What do you need from me so you can?”

“After all this? I’m not sure I ever can.”

“Then be self-interested. If you own part of what you’re saving, if there’s a tremendous upside—and there is—then that’s all the incentive you need. Think about it. You’re a businessman. You know exactly how lucrative this could be. I give you the stock now, and then things turn around? There are Bradford cousins who will be dying to buy the shit back. This represents the single best chance of an eight-digit capitalizing event for you—outside of the fucking lottery.”

On that note, because the bastard knew precisely when to pull out, Lane left, closing the door silently.

“Fuck. Me,” Jeff muttered to himself.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Lizzie shucked her khaki shorts and put them on the counter in Lane’s bathroom next to her work shirt. As she straightened, the mirror showed her a reflection that was familiar, but also strange: Her hair was fuzzed up from her ponytail, the sunscreen she’d put on earlier in the afternoon made her skin too shiny, and her eyes had bags under them.

All that was normal, though.

Picking up the black dress in front of her, she slipped it over her head and thought, okay, here was the weirdness.

At Easterly’s last big party, less than a week ago, she had been firmly in the staff camp. Now, she was this odd hybrid, part family by virtue of being engaged to Lane, but still on the payroll and very much involved in the preparations and staging for the visitation.

Yanking the tie out, she brushed her hair, but it had a kink in it from the rubber band and looked bad down.

Maybe there was time for a—

Nope. As she looked at her phone, the numbers read 3:43. Not enough for even one of her in-and-out showers.

In seventeen minutes, people were going to start arriving, the buses carrying them up from the parking area down on River Road to the top of the hill and Easterly’s grand front door.

“You look perfect.”

Glancing over to the doorway, she smiled at Lane. “You’re biased.”

Lane was dressed in a navy blue suit with a pale blue shirt and a coral-colored tie. His hair was still wet from his shower, and he smelled like the cologne he always wore.

Lizzie refocused on herself, smoothing the simple cotton sheath down. God, she felt like she was wearing someone else’s clothes, and jeez, she guessed she was. Hadn’t she borrowed this dress from her cousin a decade ago—also for a funeral? The thing had been laundered enough to fade out around the seams, but she’d had nothing else in her closet.

“I’d rather just be working this event,” she said.

“I know.”

“Do you think Chantal will come?”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Lizzie wasn’t too sure about that. Lane’s soon-to-be-ex-wife was an attention grabber, and this was a prime opportunity for the woman to assert her retained relevance even though their marriage was no longer happening.

Lizzie fluffed her hair up and brought it around front. Which did nothing to help the kink.

Screw it, she thought. She was leaving it down.

“Are you ready?” she said as she went over to him. “You look worried. How can I help?”