It was a salvo Patrick hadn’t expected, but it only derailed him for a moment. “They would say not to let your opponent change the subject. Liam is Theodore Blackstone’s only male heir, meaning he is entitled to see the official operating agreement for Blackstone Bank.”
“I shall arrange for a copy to be delivered immediately,” Frederick said simply. “Now, about Gwen. I want your assurance that the incidents on the fire escape are a thing of the past.”
Heat engulfed every limb of Patrick’s body. He was used to parents throwing their daughters at him, not warning him away. Then again, he’d never reached above his station before. A pedigreed man like Frederick Blackstone was probably appalled that an Irish bogtrotter had dared touch his granddaughter. Gwen was a twenty-nine-year-old widow, not a green schoolgirl needing protection.
“What Gwen and I have is very special. I know the gulf between us is bigger than the Grand Canyon, but I will never do anything to hurt her.”
“She will be hurt if she openly associates with a man like you.”
The anger simmering inside Patrick burned brighter, but he tamped it down because Frederick was correct.
The older man continued talking. “Next week, dozens of relatives will descend on this house to welcome William back into the fold. There will be maiden aunts, nieces, nephews, and second cousins. Most of them spend their lives swanning around town to amuse themselves with empty pleasures and idle gossip. There are a few sharks among them, but most are mere plankton. My son Oscar is a shark, but don’t overlook the plankton. They can poison the water if they choose and mustn’t be underestimated.”
Patrick nodded. “Aside from Oscar, do any of these people have voting shares?”
“The men related to me by blood each have one or two percent. All combined, it adds up to twenty-five percent, but they let Oscar vote their shares. They have no experience in banking and know he acts in a way to earn the most money.”
“Who owns the rest?”
Frederick waved his hands. “People scattered all over the world. A monastery in Spain, a count in Russia. A few other people. They either telegraph their votes to us or authorize Oscar to vote their shares by proxy.”
That remaining twenty-five percent was powerful, and perhaps Patrick could find a way to use it to save Gwen’s college.
Patrick shared a bedroom with Liam on the top floor of the island mansion. It was painted in shades of pale gray and white, with a window overlooking the ocean. He woke to the sound of the surf rolling ashore and a cry of gulls in the distance.
He rolled over to see Liam silhouetted before the window, looking out to sea with a dismal expression. Outside, a haze of fog hovered over the ocean and blanketed the sky, the swirling white mists blurring the sunlight that tried to break through.
Patrick shrugged into a shirt and padded across the wooden floor to see what held Liam’s attention down on the beach and was surprised to see that Gwen was already outside. Her bare feet left prints in the sand as she walked alone on the shore.
“Do you think she’s really going to give me the money?” Liam asked. His voice was soft and worried, but there was no doubt in Patrick’s mind about Gwen’s intentions.
“She will.”
Liam sagged a little. “Good,” he whispered. “I could use it.”
The statement was a surprise. So far Liam had seemed interested only in the power that came with the Blackstone name, not the money. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Liam drifted to a chair tucked beneath the eaves. He looked sick and exhausted as he lowered himself into it, staring out at the fog.
When he spoke, his voice was as bleak as the hazy sky. “Do you promise not to tell anyone? Not to breathe a word of it to a single soul?”
Patrick was trained as a priest and a lawyer. He knew how to keep a secret. “I won’t tell anyone.”
For a while Liam didn’t say anything. He just kept clenching and unclenching his fists. “I don’t know what to do about my ma. I told her that I’d love her no matter what, but the more I think about what she did . . .” His voice trailed off, and his face darkened as he rubbed his jaw. “When I was a kid, I never went a week without getting punched. My dad once knocked out two of my molars, and he thought it was funny. My ma was there for all of it. She sometimes tried to make things better, but she was usually too afraid to do anything. She could have gotten me out of there. She could have told someone who I was. The more I think about what she did, the more I hate her for it. I feel guilty, but there it is.”
Liam glanced out the window, where Gwen was heading back to the house. “I’m jealous of her,” he said. “When she thinks of her mother, she remembers soft hugs and orange blossoms.” He gave a twisted laugh but looked almost ready to weep. “Can you believe it? Orange blossoms! My memories of being a kid are full of slamming doors and swinging fists and the taste of blood in my mouth.”
The whispery sound of water rolling ashore was in stark contrast to Liam’s ragged breathing. It would be best for his wounds to be lanced and purged, so Patrick said nothing and waited as Liam struggled with a lifetime of bitter memories.
“At least when Mick was around, things weren’t so bad,” Liam finally said. “Mick was always kind of funny and could talk Crocket out of a bad mood, but Ma couldn’t stand up to either one of them. She let me grow up in that house even though she knew the truth.”
Liam looked around, gesturing to the elegant furnishings and vaulted ceiling of the spacious bedroom. “And now I’ve wandered into all this. Money and power and a cozy life. How am I supposed to sleep at night, knowing my mother is still in that grubby row house with a leaky roof? I love her, but I’m mad at her too. I want to buy her a decent house, give her the key, and then walk out of her life forever. The thought of seeing her again and pretending that everything is forgiven is more than I can stand, and I hate, hate, hate feeling this way.”
Patrick thought carefully before responding. Liam wouldn’t be normal if he wasn’t struggling with anger and betrayal in light of everything that had happened to him.
“It’s not a sin to be angry. It’s how you respond to it that matters,” he said. “Liam, you just learned the truth three weeks ago. Take some time to come to grips with things before you cut your mother out of your life. She had to live with the same monster who terrorized you. Buy her a house if it will make you feel better—I can help with the legal part of that—but quit beating yourself up because you’re angry. You’ve got a right to be mad, but I want you to know that God was with you through it all, even when you couldn’t see him. And he’s here now, so don’t do anything stupid like vowing to cut your mother out of your life because she had human failings, okay?”
Liam gave a short, bitter laugh, but when he spoke again, there was a note of humor in his voice. “How come you always know the right things to say?”
