“Frank is still involved in a consulting role,” Nicholas says. “But, for all intents and purposes, Quinn and Teddy are now in charge of the daily operations out of Florida. And since he’s stepped back, Frank doesn’t spend much time there. He spends most of his time in the South of France.”
“The South of France?” Bailey asks.
He nods. “In a town called Èze,” he says. “About ten hours from here.”
Èze. I’m familiar with it—the famous cliffside village, the beach far below it. I spark to a foggy memory of driving past the village several years ago. Pre-Owen. Pre-Bailey. I was on the way to Monaco with a client (we were doing an installation on her vacation home), and she pointed out Èze as we passed by.
It is a town trapped in time, high on its cliffside, the medieval rock stunning and jagged, even from the road far below.
“Frank turns eighty on Saturday, and he’s having a party to celebrate. All six of his children will be there, his eighteen grandchildren, a few of his closest friends. He flew everyone in…” He pauses. “He’s taking over the local hotel for the weekend. The forty-five rooms booked for his guests, the entire hotel closed for tomorrow night’s party… I’m on the guest list, of course.”
“But they think you aren’t alive,” Bailey says, uneasy.
“That part will be a surprise, I assume.”
Nicholas offers a smile, a small uneasy laugh. My shoulders start to seize up—like a warning shot as I work through it in my head.
That’s why this is all happening now. This party. This isolation. Owen and Nicholas’s ability to make sure that everyone is in one place for whatever they are orchestrating. For this ambush.
“And where in your calculation will Bailey and I be?” I ask.
He turns to Bailey. “You will be in a safe location,” he offers. “With your father, of course.”
A safe location with Owen. The pulse gets louder in my head, even at the idea—of being with him somewhere, of being with him anywhere. What that might begin to look like. What that might begin to feel like.
“You’re planning on going to Èze alone?” I ask.
“I am.”
“That’s totally not safe,” Bailey says.
And I can hear it rising up in her, her distress at this possibility.
“Frank would never hurt me,” Nicholas says.
Nicholas says this with absolute authority. But that’s not the whole story. Because it’s not just about Frank anymore. Frank isn’t in charge, fully. Everything about what’s going on now proves that. It’s about Frank’s children who, despite their father, apparently have no allegiance to any of us—not even to Nicholas.
“Bails…” I say. “Could you please give me and your grandfather a minute alone? I need a minute alone with him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Bailey…” I say.
I turn and meet her eyes. She is holding on to every word too closely for me to process and figure out how to best protect her at the same time.
But she isn’t having it. She holds my gaze, refusing to stand down, and giving me herI’m not a kid anymoreglare. Even as she crosses her arms in a way that makes her look very much like one—the Bailey of yesteryear creeping into the room, the Bailey who argued withme, even when she agreed with me. And certainly when, like now, she didn’t agree at all.
I take a deep breath, knowing I don’t have time to fight this battle. I don’t have time to do anything but get ready for what needs to happen next.
I turn back to Nicholas. Nicholas, who I’ve come to love. Nicholas, who I won’t leave to hold this all alone.
“I’m going with you,” I say.
“Hannah…”
“Nicholas, you just finished telling us that Frank isn’t the only one making the decisions anymore. Isn’t what’s going on now proof of that?” I ask. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”
He locks eyes with me as he figures out how to argue that point. But he isn’t going to convince me, regardless of what he says. How could he begin to convince me? He can’t, not when this involves my family and my husband. Not when it involves an agreement that I helped to forge between him and the organization.
