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She recalled choosing all these items as she set up their home, a new bride bursting with purpose. All he had said was that everything in their home must be the best, and so she had gone forth and purchased the best. She ordered handblown Murano wineglasses for their table and the Waterford crystal whiskey tumblers and decanters Guy favored for his study and the library. Wedgwood bone china for their dinner service with a second, gold-rimmed service for large sprawling parties. Louis XV chairs and sofas for the drawing room. Huge leather chesterfields and armchairs for the library. Draperies in deep colors that cost more than a horse for every imaginable room, knowing full well that they would have to be changed every two years to account for the sun-fading that was inevitable in Pasadena.

Yet it wasn’t just the objects she was surrounded by. Cook never economized on meat. The monthly delivery from the Los Angeles wine merchant, unloaded from the unmarked horse and cart that were a nod to the dry city, was substantial. There were the club memberships, the nights at the theater and the opera, and the parties—oh, the parties. Adele had thrown such lavish dinners, with the finest caviar and the driest champagne, without a thought for the cost.

She had always assumed there had been enough money because Guy had never told her to stop and she had never thought to inquire, but knowing what she knew now…

She reached Guy’s study and, before she could second-guess herself, she lifted her hand to the door and knocked.

A muffled but unmistakably gruff “Who is it?” came through the door. Adele twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Guy was sitting behind his desk, newspapers spread out before him. To one side was a ledger with a red cover she had never seen before. A decanter already a quarter drunk was sitting at his right hand next to an empty glass. When he lifted his head, she could tell that he had been pushing his hands through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated, sending the long locks falling over his eyes.

He gave a weary sigh at the sight of her. “What is it, Adele?”

“I must speak with you,” she said.

“Surely whatever room you wish to redecorate or staff you believe we must hire can wait.”

She ignored the sting of his dismissal. “Mrs. Barnes visited me today.”

“That old busybody,” he grumbled.

“She told me that there has been a run on the banks in New York. She expressed concern that your business might suffer.”

He swept up his whiskey glass and then, finding that he had already drained it, went to the decanter. There was the clink of crystal on crystal and the sound of liquid pouring. When he set the decanter back down and returned the stopper to the neck, she saw that he had filled the glass nearly halfway.

“She came to gloat then, did she?” asked Guy.

“She expressed genuine concern for your business.”

He snorted. “If you think that, you’re a fool.”

“Are your investors panicking?” she asked.

“Of course they’re panicking, Adele! Do you know what I did all day? Fended off telegrams from investors pulling out of the San Gabriel Mountain Lodge. The bastards.”

“And what of the bank?” she asked.

He looked up sharply. “What of the bank?”

“You told me last year when Margot and James were visiting that the bank had refused to extend you a second loan,” she said, holding back that she knew of the loans his banker had written of. “Presumably that means you had already taken one out. Are they recalling it due to the panic?”

His eyes narrowed. “What a clever little thing you are proving to be. They tried to recall my loans, yes. I told them they can’t have the money. It’s all tied up in paying off the Colorado Grand and building the San Gabriel Mountain Lodge.”

“What of the Andalusian’s profit?” she asked.

He laughed. “Gone. The moment there’s any profit, it goes straight to the Colorado Grand’s investors.”

“Can the Colorado Grand not pay them? You said yourself that you were booked out through April.”

He drank deeply. “That was the winter season. We’ve been running at about fifty percent capacity all through the summer, and even if we had been full, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Not enough?” she asked in horror.

“The cost of building the hotel is one matter. The running of it?” He snorted. “That is entirely different.”

The situation was even worse than she could have imagined.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.