Vivian’s expression did not waver as she glared at Gwen. “Did you buy him too? Poor Gwen only has friends who are on her payroll. Maybe someday you can buy yourself another husband.”
“Shut up,” Gwen said. She managed to keep her tone quiet, but her fists instinctively clenched. “Shut up and leave.”
Vivian turned away and collected her handbag. It was a pricey one, lavishly embellished with seed pearls and a gold clasp. It was surely a gift from Jasper. Before leaving, Vivian leaned in for a final barb.
“He loved me,” she whispered. “He always loved me, even on the day he walked down the aisle with you.”
Gwen remained motionless as Vivian departed, hoping Zeke didn’t sense her mortification.
“I don’t know why you tolerate that woman,” Zeke said, holding out a chair for Gwen.
She sat. “We all have our crosses to bear. Mine is named Vivian Chastain.”
“You could have her fired. The college doesn’t even teach music anymore, but you found her a position in the accounting office.”
It was the ultimate irony. Blackstone College had been established to pursue excellence in scientific research, but Jasper had always pushed for the addition of a music department, claiming there was an intersection between mathematics and music. Vivian was their first hire to teach classes in piano.
During those early years, Gwen had no idea Vivian was Jasper’s mistress. How many times had she welcomed Vivian into her home for her Friday night soirees? Even after Gwen learned the truth, she still fought to maintain a façade of domestic harmony.
Then Jasper died, and the music department soon closed. It was never a good fit for Blackstone College, but Gwen found a position for Vivian in the accounting office. Did that woman even know what Gwen had done on her behalf? Would she be less nasty if she did?
“I don’t want her fired,” she said in a gloomy voice. “There is a child to consider.”
Mimi was Jasper’s only child. Life was going to be hard for Mimi, and Gwen intended to help the sweet girl who’d been born with such challenges. Mimi spent most of her time in the safe cocoon of Blackstone College and didn’t yet understand how different she was. Gwen wanted that to continue for a few more years, which meant she had to tolerate the girl’s mother.
“Here comes my grandfather,” she said. “Please say nothing about Vivian. Her presence is an irritant to him, and he’s been pestering to have her fired ever since . . . well, for a long time.”
“I hear you, Mrs. Kellerman. You’ve got a bigger heart than me.”
Not really. She hated doing the right thing where Vivian was concerned, but she had more important battles to fight. Her grandfather was heading her way, and funding for Blackstone College was on the line.
She stood as Frederick strode toward her with remarkable vigor for a man about to celebrate his seventy-eighth birthday. She’d always been mildly intimidated by her grandfather. Frederick’s ramrod-straight posture, sharp eyes that missed nothing, and the iron mask of his expression that never showed emotion were intimidating.
“Have a seat,” he ordered once he arrived at the table. “We have much to discuss. Have you read that vile memoir by Mick Malone yet?”
Gwen was taken aback. “I would rather weed the area around the college’s septic tanks. It seems less distasteful.”
“I gather your mission to dissuade the scoundrel’s lawyer did not succeed.”
“He turned down my first offer,” she admitted. “I haven’t given up hope, but are you truly going to let Uncle Oscar make good on his threat to cut our funding?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Oscar commands more votes than me.”
That was true. Frederick controlled thirty percent of the bank, while Oscar only held twenty percent, but Oscar commanded the allegiance of the other shareholders. Oscar had a proven track record of astounding financial success, and the remaining shareholders were intensely loyal to him.
“Could you try?” she asked. “If I can count on your thirty percent stake, perhaps some of the other shareholders would side with you.”
“Or perhaps you can deliver on your promise to scuttle the memoir. If you can’t, Oscar goes to court next week to argue for an injunction against it. It’s only a court hearing, so there won’t be many people there, but I don’t like it.”
One week didn’t leave her much time, and her anxiety ratcheted higher. “What are his odds of winning?”
“Not good. What makes it even more galling is that the book is a pack of lies.” He took the slim advance copy of the memoir from his suit jacket and handed it to her. “I read it last night. Most of it is nothing more than Malone boasting about his life of crime, mixed with vitriol against our family. He still claims innocence and that the real kidnappers planted the bills from the ransom payment in his room. The only new information is that Malone finally admitted he is a thief and was planning a midnight heist of a jewelry store around the time William disappeared. What he writes in chapter five has a ring of truth to it. Start on the second paragraph.”
Gwen didn’t even want to touch the book, but she swallowed her distaste, opened it to the marked page, and began reading.
New York in February can be bitter, and the winds sweep through the city, sending sleet and misery straight into a man’s soul. I remained at my post, hour after wretched hour, watching and learning the behavior of the night watchman who patrolled the streets around the jewelry store.
The time was ripe for a heist. It was a week after someone had kidnapped the Blackstone boy, and the police were distracted searching for him. That meant the night patrols were thin, and there would never be a better time for a late-night robbery. After a few more nights of careful observation, I would make my move, and my beloved Ruby would never need to work another day in her life.
I was half-frozen to death when I got back to my boardinghouse. In those days the rooms didn’t have heat, but it was always warm in the boiler room. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I hobbled on frozen feet to the boiler room to thaw out. That was the plan, but a gang of tough-looking men were already in there. They had a little kid with them, about the same age as the missing Blackstone boy, held up close to the furnace.
The kid looked half-dead. His skin was pasty white and covered in sweat. His eyes stared off into space like they didn’t see anything anymore. He was wheezing, and it sounded like death had already settled in his lungs. The men spoke in Italian, and I couldn’t understand a word they said, but I knew that boy was in trouble. I also knew he was the Blackstone boy because he had those pale green eyes like all the reward notices wrote about. I risked my life by stepping forward and offering to fetch a doctor for the lad. It took the men by surprise. One of them dropped the kid, and another came at me swinging. I ducked, but someone clobbered me from behind, and it was lights out after that. When I came back around, I’d been hauled out into the alley like yesterday’s trash and left to die in the cold. The men and the kid were gone. That was the last I saw of the Blackstone boy.
A crushing weight of sadness settled on Gwen’s chest, and the book slipped from her fingers. Her grandfather was right. The passage in the boiler room felt real. It had been brutally cold the week her brother was taken. Maybe his kidnappers intended to return him, but when he sickened, it became too risky. They let her brother die rather than fetch a doctor.