Horace waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It was hardly the diabolical move Mack makes it out to be. It was business, nothing more.”
“It went far beyond business,” Mack muttered.
“Besides, the paper is mine—”
“Ours,” said Alma. “I became part owner when I sold my mansion and invested everything in thePostand the future of this family.”
Horace breathed through his nose. “I have always been grateful for your contribution, Alma. But I needn’t remind you that your participation has always been ceremonious. Your help regarding Mack is much appreciated, but no longer needed.”
Alma’s lips thinned and her cheeks mottled. “This is a grave mistake.”
Regardless of Mack’s tenuous relationship with his mother, he didn’t like the way Horace spoke to her. It was true Horace was the face of the newspaper, but Alma was the reason he had succeeded at all. Not only was her investment responsible for the newspaper’s explosive growth, but she had wielded her remaining influence in upper-class Seattle society to introduce Horace to other leading figures. Her name might not be on the front page, but she had moved—and continued to move—mountains behind the scenes. To say her participation was ceremonious was laughable. Mack’s patience was nearing an end, but he would make one last attempt.
“Emil is not the man for the job,” he said. “I am the one who has worked day and night, year after year, to produce one of Seattle’s finest newspapers. Emil, though he has talents, would stall our growth at best and flail at the helm at worst.”
“That may be true, but he won’t be more than a figurehead,” Horace said. “As head of the board of advisors, I’ll step in when warranted.”
Mack frowned. “That seems an unnecessary move. Why not continue as editor-in-chief yourself?”
“Perhaps I want a well-earned vacation,” Horace snapped, then tugged at his collar irritably, his gaze leaping from surface to surface around the room.
Mack knew his uncle well, had learned his habits and studied his reactions over the years to navigate the all-too-often testy waters.
His uncle was hiding something.
Emil’s comments about Horace’s questionable involvement with the law came to mind. If Horace had crossed the wrong person, it was possible he was being pushed out. The longer he considered it, the more it made sense. For whatever reason, it was clear Horacehadto abandon the paper. But Mack found it unlikely the heir had been stipulated as well.
“You would rather maintain some control over an unqualified editor-in-chief than name me, your kin with differing opinions, your heir.”
Horace’s brows rose at his tone. “At last we understand each other.”
“Then you give me no choice.” He removed the envelope from his inner coat pocket and handed it to Horace. “I didn’t want to use this, but if you’re not willing to play nice, then neither am I.” He waited in silence for Horace to view the contents. It didn’t take long for his eyes to bulge.
“What is it?” Alma whispered, her hands pressed tightly against her midriff.
Horace’s attention was glued to the photographs. His cheeks were boiled red, and he breathed heavily through his nose. “Where did you get these?”
“An anonymous source.”
Horace’s gaze snapped up. “Don’t be cute with me, boy.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Alma said and snatched the photographs from his hands.
Mack almost stopped her but decided it would be better if she understood the ramifications as well. He just hoped she didn’t faint. It might make him a bad son, but there simply wasn’t time for theatrics other than his own.
Alma covered her mouth with her palm and moaned, the photographs slipping from limp fingers to lie face-up on the floor. Images of Horace in his underwear, jauntily thrusting one hip to the side and surrounded by half-clothed ladies of the evening, stared up at them.
Horace broke the silence. “What do you mean to do with this?”
“If you sign the newspaper over to me, I will burn them.”
“And if I don’t?”
“A copy will be sent toThe Seattle Register.”
“Mack, no.” Alma collapsed into her seat.
“ThePostwould never recover,” Horace bit out.
