The cluster of intimidating hotel porters reached the front desk, and the clerk sent them over.
“I’m suggesting that you follow us into a meeting room so we can have some privacy,” Lucy said with as much calmness as she could muster. Anything to escape the uniformed men heading their way.
“I wouldn’t follow you into Buckingham Palace,” Margaret said in a snarl that caused more heads to turn.
“Can I be of assistance?” A man in a formal suit backed by two hotel porters approached. His voice was polite, but his face was hard.
Thankfully, Uncle Thomas was more levelheaded than his wife. “Please forgive the disturbance. It has been a trying day. We’ll repair to a meeting room to carry on this conversation in private.”
Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. Nick led the way down the gilded hallway and toward the carved mahogany door of a meeting room. He waited until all four of them were inside before he closed the door with a gentle snick.
The room was dominated by a conference table surrounded by a dozen chairs, but everyone remained standing. Lucy had memorized the words the lawyer had instructed her to say, and spoke them verbatim.
“I have two sets of papers,” she said calmly. “One is a contractual agreement to sell the Drake valve at no more than seventy-five percent markup from the cost of production. The other is a report I can sign and file with the police, complete with an account of my experience at Ridgemoor, an affidavit from Dr. Schroeder claiming he acted under your directive, and the letter you wrote to my father fourteen years ago, which proves your pattern of caging people in mental institutions. If I submit these documents to the police, you will be convicted of kidnapping. You might even be able to share a prison cell with Dr. Schroeder. On the other hand, you can sign the first set of papers to start selling the valves at a reasonable price. You can keep the money you’ve gouged out of people over the years; we don’t want it. But make no mistake, one of these documents is going to be signed within the next ten minutes. You get to decide which one.”
Uncle Thomas’s face was chalk white, but his eyes were sharp. “I want a lawyer.”
“Too bad,” she replied. “You now have nine minutes to decide which of these papers gets signed. Otherwise I sign the complaint to the police.” She set both stacks of paper on the table and pulled out a chair. “Please. Feel free to read them.”
Uncle Thomas picked up the valve contract, his eyes moving over the pages of the ironclad agreement. Aunt Margaret seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and gaped in horror at her husband, her hand clutching the lace at her throat. That hand flashed a sapphire large enough to clog a sink drain. Lucy didn’t feel sorry for her.
With two minutes left on the deadline, Uncle Thomas signed the contract lowering the price of the valve. The pen scratched in the silence of the room. He didn’t speak a word and didn’t look at them, but Margaret’s glare was pure malice. After the papers were signed, Thomas rose and reached for her hand, but Margaret had a parting shot.
“Do you think you’ve won?” she spat. “Sometimes mosquitos can land a bite, but they always get slapped down in the end. I promise you, no matter how long it takes, I will see you and everyone you love swatted down like the nasty pests you are.”
Lucy felt no need to reply, only an overwhelming sense of relief as the pair left the room without a backward glance.
It was over. The rest of her life could begin.
She was wrong. A day after coercing Thomas into selling the valves at a decent price, a new and unexpected phase of the battle began. Like every Sunday, she and Nick rose early to attend services at the small church down the street. She bowed her head to give thanks and pray for wisdom as she ventured into the next chapter of her life.
Only ten minutes into the service, Nick stiffened beside her, triggering every nerve ending in her body. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Old Jacob Drake just walked in,” he whispered back. “Don’t turn around, but he’s a few pews behind us. He’s got a bunch of those henchmen with him. They’re watching us.”
Her mouth went dry, and her heart thumped with a force that made it hard to sit still. What did Jacob want with them? She sat pinned in the pew, helpless as poisonous old feelings came flooding back, urging her to fight, to flee, to strike out in vengeance. All she wanted was for this to be over. Jacob might be here to appeal for his son and grandson, or he might be jockeying to seize control of Drake Industries again. All she knew for sure was that if he meant them well, there would be no need for bodyguards. The nearest police station was six blocks away, and she doubted they could get there if Jacob’s goons wanted to prevent it.
The service was interminable, and the words of the minister washed over her without penetrating the hard shell of her anxiety. At the end of the service, Nick’s hand locked around her wrist to prevent her from rising.
“Let’s see what they do,” he said in a low voice.
The other parishioners filed out, but she and Nick remained motionless in their pew, her unease creeping higher with each passing minute. She tilted her head to peek behind her. Sure enough, the church was almost empty, but a flinty old man glared at her from four pews back. The entire row was filled by brawny men who made Sneed and Wolfe look like choirboys. After a few minutes, only the organist and an elderly man kneeling in prayer remained in the church. The voices of parishioners drifted in from the lobby, but soon they would disperse as well. Jacob and his henchmen showed no sign of moving.
“I don’t want to be alone with them,” she whispered to Nick, and he nodded.
“Let’s meet them on the street,” he said. “They wouldn’t dare do anything in full view of the congregants.”
They rose quickly and strode down the center aisle. As if on cue, the bodyguards all stood but made no effort to block her or Nick as they headed toward the front door. As soon as they passed Jacob’s aisle, the men began shuffling out of the pew to follow them.
“Don’t turn around, don’t look at them,” Nick urged.
She clasped his hand as they headed out the door and down the dozen steps leading to the street. Clusters of people mingled on the sidewalk. As soon as they reached the walkway, she and Nick joined the others and turned to face their great-uncle. A pair of his bodyguards lifted his wheelchair and began the treacherous journey down the steps. Despite herself, Lucy held her breath as Jacob swayed like the mast of a ship in a storm with each descending step. She breathed again when the wheels were safely back on solid ground. Jacob stared directly at Nick as one of his bodyguards wheeled him closer.
“Let’s go somewhere private to talk,” the old man said.
“Let’s talk here,” Nick replied.
Jacob shook his head. “Too many people, and we have business to discuss. Important business.”
“I’m listening.” Nick folded his arms across his chest but made no attempt to move.
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “In case you aren’t aware, I despise young men who have no respect for their elders. It’s a sign of stupidity and an inability to function in modern society.” He reached into his coat pocket. Lucy and Nick instinctively took a step back, which seemed to amuse Jacob. “Oh, for pity’s sake. If I wanted you dead, you’d both already be dead,” he groused, then handed Nick an official-looking set of papers.
Nick unfolded it, his brow clouding in confusion. “What’s this?”
“It’s a report from my private investigator claiming you’ve been building reproductions of the Drake valve out of spare parts and installing them in tenement buildings.”
“If you think I’m going to confess to anything illegal, you’re both stupid and crazy.”
Jacob raised a warning finger. “What did I just tell you about lack of respect?”
“You haven’t exactly earned it, old man.” Nick tossed the papers down on Jacob’s lap. “Those papers prove I’ve got a functioning brain in my head, but I don’t know the same about you, do I?”
“I built a for
ty-million-dollar fortune starting with nothing. You don’t think I’ve got a functioning brain?”
Lucy couldn’t remain silent. “But you didn’t start with ‘nothing,’” she snapped. “You started with my grandfather’s valve.”
Jacob didn’t even turn to look at her, keeping his gaze locked on Nick. “We both know that without me, Eustace would have had a box full of half-completed inventions and nothing but two dimes to rub together.”
“Fine, you’re a smart man,” Nick acknowledged. “That doesn’t mean I have to like you.”
Jacob braced his hands on the wheels of his chair and rolled it forward. Nick refused to step back, and their knees bumped before Jacob came to a stop.
“This is a copy of my last will and testament,” Jacob said as he swatted another stack of papers against Nick’s chest. “I am prepared to leave my entire fortune to you . . . provided you prove yourself worthy of it.”
Lucy sucked in a quick breath, stunned at the magnitude of what she’d just heard. Given the way the bodyguards responded, this was news to them as well.
Even Nick looked surprised, but he masked it quickly and pointed to a vacant bench a block away. “Let’s talk,” he said grimly.
Two minutes later, Lucy and Nick were seated on the bench with Jacob in his wheelchair opposite them. Pedestrians had to navigate around him, but the old man didn’t seem to care as he passed the copy of his will over. Sure enough, Nick’s name was listed to inherit one hundred percent of Jacob’s estate, and a paragraph specifically disinherited both Thomas Drake and Tom Jr.
“It’s only fair that Lucy should get half,” Nick said.
“No good,” Jacob replied. “This fortune was built on the invention of a plumber, and it shall be inherited by a plumber. That’s the way I want it, and how my brother would have wanted it. There is a poetic justice in it that appeals to me.”
Nick locked gazes with Jacob. “If I inherit, I’m giving half to Lucy.”
“Nick . . .” she tried to interrupt, but he silenced her with a raised hand. She didn’t need half of Jacob’s fortune, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Nick get his hands on it. Jacob seemed like a volatile man, the sort who might change his mind if Nick proved difficult. And Nick could be very difficult.
For the first time, Jacob turned to look at her. His steel-gray gaze pierced her like a blade. “Show me your hands,” he demanded.
She had nothing to be embarrassed about. She raised her hands, displaying her short nails, no jewelry, and a ridge of hard calluses on her thumb and forefinger. Jacob’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction, but he turned back to Nick without saying another word to her.
“I won’t have my money going to support a useless foreign aristocrat,” he said to Nick. “Oh yes, I’ve heard about your sister gallivanting around town with a fortune hunter. I won’t let a dime of my money support a freeloading aristocrat, so she’s out of the will. She can’t be trusted.” He turned back to her. “Although I like the fact that you have those calluses,” he added grudgingly, and Lucy had the strangest sensation that she’d just been paid a compliment.
“And how will you stop me from giving half to Lucy after you’re dead?” Nick challenged, and it took an unusually long time for Jacob to respond.
“I’m afraid you will discover that ghosts have a way of haunting a man,” he said.
A smile curved Nick’s mouth, and it sounded like he was struggling to hold back laughter. “Are you telling me you have the power to haunt me from the grave? You’re even more arrogant than I thought.”
“You’re a fast learner.” Jacob looked up and down the street, then pointed to an Italian bakery on the corner. “Let’s get something to eat. This sun is annoying.”
He was already wheeling himself toward the bakery when Nick’s voice stopped him.
“Are you going to treat my sister with respect?”
“Will you treat your elders with respect?” Jacob demanded.
“It depends on who’s paying for breakfast.”
Jacob’s laugh was papery, as though it had been a long time since he’d found anything amusing.
The bakery was cramped, with small, round café tables packed so closely that diners were in constant danger of knocking elbows, but Jacob didn’t seem to mind. He dismissed his bodyguards, keeping only the two men responsible for carrying his chair up and down stairs. It felt surreal as she, Nick, and Jacob squeezed around a tiny table with plates of Italian almond biscuits and strong black coffee. Jacob wasted time complaining about the biscotti before getting down to business, but when his offer finally came, it was stunning.
He wanted Nick to quit his job at the Water Authority, move to Albany, and learn the art of business. It was bound to be a deal-breaker. Not only did Nick love his job, but living under Jacob’s roof would be like tossing a lit match into a powder keg. The two men were getting along at the moment, but they’d been in the bakery for less than ten minutes.
“Why can’t Nick learn business here?” Lucy asked.
“Because I’m rich enough to demand what I want, and I want him in Albany,” Jacob snapped.
This was going to be a disaster. Nick was a plumber, not a man of business or whatever Jacob wanted him to become.
“I want to go,” Nick said.
Her jaw dropped. “But Nick! You love working for the Water Authority. What will you do if you can’t build and fix things?”
“I don’t know, Luce . . . but I want the freedom to find out.”
And over the next hour, Lucy learned just how big that freedom would be. Although Jacob had been tricked out of sixty percent ownership of Drake Industries by his own son, it represented only a tiny fraction of his assets. Over the decades, Jacob had diversified into railroads, oil, and mining. The immensity of his holdings was why he insisted Nick come live in Albany to learn how to wield the reins.
Nick leaned forward to catch every syllable Jacob uttered. The spellbound concentration on his face was fascinating but worrisome. Even though Lucy and Nick sat as close together as sardines in a tin, a distance had taken root between them. Soon he would leave his workaday job and move upstate. Instead of fitting pipes, he would live in a fancy house and learn how to navigate in an entirely new world. Nothing would be the same after Nick left.
She toyed with her cold cup of coffee. Her world was changing quickly, and she didn’t know if it would be for the better.
Chapter
Twenty-six
Precisely one month after Colin’s last break with Lucy, he forced himself back out into the social whirl by attending a gala celebration in the Egyptian wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Hundreds of the city’s finest had flocked to the museum, where torches had been lit, musicians hired, and waiters carried silver platters of Middle Eastern delicacies as the crowd mingled among the sarcophagi, granite statues, and immense slabs of stone friezes taken from Egyptian temples. The dimmed lighting cast the monumental statues in flickering shadow, adding to the exotic appeal.
It made Colin feel stifled. He was determined to shake the gloomy mood that had haunted him ever since the night he’d quarreled with Lucy. In hindsight, he admired how she could walk away from the legacy of acrimony that haunted her life. A piece of him longed to do the same, but with ninety tenants depending on him, he couldn’t blithely declare the game over the way she had. In his less proud moments, he admitted feeling jealousy. What must it be like to have the freedom she seized for herself?
She certainly looked happy. He’d seen her four times since that fateful night. Twice waiting for the elevator, once in the cafeteria, and once walking to the streetcar stop. Each time she sent him a tentative smile and a nod, which he managed to return without too much bitterness. What was there to be bitter about? They had made no promises to each other, and just because he desperately missed her was no cause to resent her newfound freedom.
A waiter approached with a tray of miniature teacups. “Sahlab, sir?”
Colin gathered
that sahlab was an Arabic drink of hot milk with vanilla and rose water. Earlier in the evening, the waiters had been proffering seared monkfish filets and something made of sesame paste and pistachios. All of it tasted odd to him, but the guests had been scarfing down the delicacies faster than the waiters could supply them. Perhaps the association with the exotic made people excited, but he’d rather have some of Nanny Teresa’s shortbread.
“No, thank you,” he said to the waiter, then headed toward a cluster of people mingling by a re-creation of an Egyptian tomb. The Allentons were there, and Melanie Allenton was unattached, of sound mind and body, and most importantly, rich. There was nothing wrong with her, he just didn’t feel an ounce of attraction.
It didn’t matter. She was an eligible heiress, and Whitefriars needed a new roof. For the millionth time, he envied Lucy’s freedom.
“There’s the man of the hour!” the oldest Allenton brother boomed as Colin approached their group. Ever since Colin’s name had been linked with the arrest of Tom Jr., he was the toast of New York. The combination of Tom’s downfall, a foreign title, and a dash of derring-do was tailor-made for the gossip pages. Instead of having to seek out heiresses, women were now flocking to him.
“I hear the trial is scheduled for next month,” George Allenton said. “The reporter covering the story for the Times expects Drake to plead guilty in hope of getting a shorter sentence. What do you think?”
“If Tom is smart, he’ll take the deal,” Colin replied. Felix Moreno had already pled guilty and confessed to his role in the scheme, so it was going to be hard for Tom to claim ignorance of the plot he’d been participating in.
Melanie Allenton’s brown eyes warmed as she took a step closer to him. “What was it like to work with the Secret Service?” she asked in a breathless voice, gazing at him like he was actual royalty.
“It made me appreciate the joy of a boring office job.”
The group pealed with laughter. They continued bombarding him with questions about the notorious assassination plot, but he didn’t like claiming credit for bringing Tom down. He wasn’t the hero, Lucy was. She was the one who first recognized the telegrams for what they were. She escaped through the sewers and voluntarily walked into Ridgemoor. She was the one brave enough to walk away from a lifelong obsession in order to do what was right.
A Dangerous Legacy Page 28