“It will be, Mr. Cross.”
I walked straight into the elevator, out into the cold rain, and into Francis’s waiting car.
“Good morning, Mr. Cross.” He slid behind the wheel. “Where to, sir?”
“Mr. Lewis’s residence in the Hamptons.”
“Uh…” His eyes widened. “Is he expecting you, sir?”
“No. That’s the entire point.”
One hundred miles later
Francis pulled in front of a massive white-and-gray mansion perched on the edge of the Atlantic. The place was larger than five of the houses on this street combined, and there was a collection of luxury cars parked in the long, Y-shaped driveway.
“Please don’t hit Mr. Lewis too hard, sir,” Francis said as he opened my door. “He’s in his eighties.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Rain soaked my coat as I walked toward the front door—and before I could ring the doorbell, I froze.
Through the glass, Mr. Lewis was dancing in the hallway.
Moving like someone decades younger, he wasn’t holding his usual cane. And there was no wheelchair in sight.
His formerly fragile posture looked as good as mine.
This man really scammed the hell out of me…
I slammed my hand against the doorbell and knocked even louder.
His eyes snapped toward the door and he stopped mid-step.
Then—as if we weren’t seeing each other clearly through the glass—he grabbed a cane and limped toward the door.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
He winced dramatically while turning the knob.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Cross.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’ve been meaning to call and check on things.”
“Cut the shit.” I pushed my way inside. “It’s bad enough you’re a liar. You don’t need to pretend you’re not a fraud, too.”
“Why are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?”
“I’ll give him a black eye if he doesn’t drop his fake cane.”
He blinked.
Then he let it fall to the marble floor.
“What can I help you with today, Mr. Cross?” he asked with a smile.
“I need to know how you planned to avoid laying people off and going completely under if I hadn’t bought Sweet Seasons from you as fast as I did.”
He sighed and looked away from me.
“Are you looking for the answer over there?” I asked. “Answer me.”
