"Roman Roth." Beck scans the notes. "Thirty-seven. Runs East Coast operations—the legacy properties, the flagship hotels, anything that touches the family name directly. Reputation for being unforgiving. Emotionally walled off. The one who sets the tone for the empire and makes sure everyone falls in line."
The heir apparent. I know the type. I've negotiated across tables from men like that. Born to authority, wearing it like a second skin.
"Tell me about the third son."
"Devlin Roth. Thirty. Handles acquisitions and what the file politely calls 'difficult negotiations.'" Beck's mouth twitches. "Translation: He's the one they send when someone needs to be reminded who they're dealing with. Unpredictable. Sleek. First into the fray when the family needs blood drawn."
I glance at the dossier Beck's put together on him. The enforcer. Every dynasty has one.
"And there's a sister too?"
"Alessandra Roth. Twenty-seven. She's the youngest of the siblings. Moves in society and cultural circles—foundation boards, museum galas, philanthropy that doubles as power brokering." Beck pauses. "She's quietly expanded the family'scharitable footprint into areas her father considered beneath his attention. Make no mistake, there's steel under the grace."
I absorb this information too, cataloging each Roth sibling like pieces on a board I didn't know I'd been playing. Four cousins I've never met, a legacy of wealth on both sides of their DNA. Raised in the rarefied air my mother walked away from.
"Tell me about the father." I can't refer to him as my uncle yet. Even acknowledging Sebastian as my cousin requires an emotional leap I'm not ready to take. If I ever will be.
Beck's expression shifts as he slides another Roth family dossier in front of me. "Harrison Roth. Seventy-one. Primary controlling shareholder of the family empire. Worth roughly eighteen billion personally." He sets the paper down. "A callous man, by every account I could find. Went through a string of women in his younger years—affairs, mistresses, the occasional tabloid scandal that got quietly buried. Still rumored to keep one or two on the side even now."
I scoff. "Charming."
"It gets better." Beck's voice is flat. "He's known for playing his children against each other. Pitting them for his approval, his favor, control of various pieces of the empire. Takes a particular delight in the chaos and competition he ignites."
The words land in my chest like shrapnel.
A father who destroys what he should protect. Children navigating dysfunction, learning survival through cunning and control because that's what the man who was supposed to love them taught them instead.
I know this story. I lived a poorer, uglier version of it. Bill Baine with his drunken fists and his rage and his refusal to believe me when I told him what his own father was doing to me. But the architecture is the same. The neglect, the cruelty. The children who carry the weight of wounds they didn't choose.
My scarred hand closes around the arm of my chair. I make myself release it.
It took me a long time to forgive my father, to understand him. Reading the letter he wrote for me before his death a couple of years ago helped, even though it came a bit too late. And the pain he caused—the scars, physical and otherwise—will never fully leave me.
I have no idea how deep the Roth family secrets run, or how many skeletons they've tried to bury. Part of me hopes that none of my cousins have felt the same kind of fear and desperation that I have. I wouldn't wish my past on anyone.
What Sebastian told me at the gala makes better sense now. He wasn't playing games. He was navigating a patriarch who treats his children like chess pieces. The time he spent watching me, competing against me, saying nothing about what we are to each other… maybe that was caution, not just about control. Or maybe some of both.
Does it change anything?
I don't know yet.
"As for Mrs. Roth," Beck says, sliding another page toward me, "Madeline Xavier Roth is harder to pin down. I wouldn't call her a recluse, but she's an extremely private person. Doesn't do interviews, rarely appears at Roth corporate functions, keeps her name off the society pages as much as possible."
"Unusual for a woman married to a man like Harrison Roth."
"Very." Beck glances at his notes. "From what I can piece together, she's well-liked by the people who actually know her. Quietly charitable. The type who writes checks without needing her name on a building. Several sources used the same word: kind." He pauses. "Also sad."
I turn that over. A kind, sad woman married to a man who collects mistresses and pits his children against each other for sport.
"What about her marriage?"
"Still married to Harrison, technically. They haven't divorced, but they've lived largely separate lives for at least a decade. She spends most of her time at the family's Connecticut estate. He stays in the city." Beck shrugs. "It's an arrangement. Common enough in those circles."
I stare at the page bearing her name, but there's no photograph. Just dry facts. Date of birth, current residence, board memberships, philanthropic affiliations. Nothing that tells me who this woman actually is, or what she knew about her sister's life after Elizabeth left Boston.
"Does she know about me?"
Beck shakes his head. "I couldn't find anything to suggest one way or the other. She's kept herself out of the spotlight for decades. No scandals, no public statements, nothing that would generate a paper trail." He meets my eyes. "Whatever her story is, she's guarded it carefully. If she knows you exist, she's never given any public indication of it."
