Liam nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You look like your father,” Mrs. Carnegie said without a hint of warmth. “I came the moment I heard you had arrived in town. I am aware of your history with various steel unions, and I want your unconditional assurance that you will make no attempt to disrupt the impending creation of U.S. Steel.”
Mrs. Carnegie had not even entered the room. She stood in the doorway and tossed the gauntlet down at Liam’s feet. Liam did not bend.
“Not interested,” he said bluntly.
Gwen raced to intervene. “We actually came for a number of reasons, not just the steel—”
“I’m here over the steel deal,” Liam interrupted. “The creation of U.S. Steel is a monstrosity that can’t be allowed to happen. I’ve got a seat at the Blackstone Bank, and I intend to use it to block the merger.”
“You won’t succeed,” Mrs. Carnegie said.
Gwen fanned herself. “My, the temperature rose so quickly,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Let’s all sit down and have a nice cup of tea, shall we?”
“Tea isn’t going to solve anything,” Liam said.
Patrick had to save this situation before Liam threw a bomb into his future business partnerships that could never be called back.
“Tea is the beverage over which empires and alliances have been forged for centuries,” he said calmly. Actually, strong drink and cigars probably facilitated more of those deals, but Mrs. Carnegie was calling the shots, and tea was probably her thing.
Gwen gestured to the table nestled in the alcove of a bay window. They sat, everyone so stiff that the air practically crackled. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Gwen poured tea and passed cups to each person at the table. Every clink of china sounded harsh.
Mrs. Carnegie left her tea untouched but looked directly at Liam. “I will waste no time on polite conversation when the well-being of my family is at stake,” she said. “My husband has an unhealthy obsession with the steel company he founded, but it is past time for him to retire and enjoy his golden years. That will only happen if he sells the company, and I intend to be sure it happens.”
Gwen passed a bowl of sugar cubes to Mrs. Carnegie. “A commendable wish. My father gave all his waking hours to Blackstone College. He died in his desk chair. When a man loves something that much, it can be hard for him to step away.”
Patrick watched the two women carefully. Gwen would probably give her eyeteeth to rip the discussion away from U.S. Steel, but her gentle attempt to steer the conversation back to the college did not work. Mrs. Carnegie kept her stare fixed on Liam.
“You don’t have the power to block the merger, but I don’t want any Blackstone polluting the air with hostility against it,” Mrs. Carnegie said. “In the last week alone there has been picketing by union miners all the way from West Virginia to bellyache against this deal.”
Liam snickered. “I figured the Mingo County guys would show up again. All we’ve ever wanted from Carnegie Steel is a fair shake for the workers, and you won’t give it to us.”
Mrs. Carnegie leaned down to unbuckle the straps on the attaché case. There was only a single item inside, a fat stack of pages held together with a metal fastener. She set it in front of Liam. “Please see page 82, section 12.”
Liam shifted uneasily. “Um, I’ve got my lawyer here to help with this.”
Patrick grabbed the document and flipped to the designated section. It was a dense and complicated contract. He’d never heard of some of these terms before, so he read the passage several times, trying to parse the words because they sounded too good for him to trust.
He glanced up at Mrs. Carnegie. “What does profit-sharing mean?”
Mrs. Carnegie’s expression was calculating and knowing. “Exactly as it sounds. Any employee of U.S. Steel who is loyal and works hard can earn stock in the company.”
“Loyal?” Liam scoffed. “That sounds like a code word for no unions.”
“The document does not preclude unions,” Mrs. Carnegie said. “It merely demands that workers who wish to earn ownership shares in the company live up to their contracted agreements with the owners. If they do, they will be rewarded. Those who propose innovative solutions or exceed production goals will be doubly rewarded.”
Liam folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well, I don’t trust it.”
Patrick hunkered over the document and shut out the prattle from Liam to concentrate on the dense legal contract. Stock subscription plans, bonuses, work incentives—all of it voluntary. Mrs. Carnegie didn’t need Liam’s vote, but he could rock the boat, and she knew it. The guys from Mingo County were already back in town. Newspapers could promote Liam and his incendiary views on their front pages all over the country, fomenting hostility toward the new steel company.
Patrick looked up from the document. “Ma’am, might I have a moment alone with my client?” he asked.
“By all means, please take him away,” Mrs. Carnegie said dismissively as she lifted her teacup.
Patrick dragged Liam into a darkened room off the corridor. The only light was from the lampposts on Fifth Avenue, which cast a glow of illumination from the window.
“The profit-sharing plan is generous,” he said. “It gives workers a stake in the game. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He leaned in close and whispered, barely able to contain the bubbling, joyous sense of urgency. “We can win. We can get a fair shake for the workers and save the college too. Cut a deal with Mrs. Carnegie. Say you won’t raise a stink in exchange for her vote on the college.”
