Andrew walked past her, poured himself a coffee, and settled in on the couch next to Pam, crossing his legs, face filled with a combination of disruptive anger and marvel.
“Someone found Mom’s old album collection,” he said with approval.
“Well, damn!” James’ voice boomed through the room, deeper somehow, closer to Terry’s bass. The sound was loud enough to make Suzanne flinch slightly, frown, then look at the old man.
“I’m sorry, James. I had no idea it was oregano,” Marie said again, clearly flummoxed.
Oregano? Suzanne mouthed to Gerald.
Why are you here? he mouthed back.
James’ face screwed up in contemplation. Everyone looked at him, waiting.
“If that had been real reefer, I might have had my first threesome!” he exclaimed, looking directly at Gerald. “Does anyone in the room know how to get the real stuff?”
Suzanne’s single eyebrow arch said everything and nothing.
“Suzanne?” Terry asked, the surprise on his face evident. “What—it’s great to see you, but what are you doing here?”
“James asked for me.”
“Is this about our mother’s trust fund?”
She gave him a quizzically apologetic smile as her eyes tracked James, who now held the joint aloft and studied it, mumbling, “Are you sure this isn’t real?”
“I’m afraid,” Suzanne said, clearly not, “that I can’t talk about why I’m here. But James asked me to visit him in an official capacity.”
“I forgot. My apologies, Suzanne. I’m indisposed,” James said, waving toward her.
She stared at the joint in his hand. “I see that.”
Andrew started laughing. Gerald watched as Terry joined him.
She turned to Gerald. “We have a two o’clock at my office,” she said, in earshot of Andrew, who frowned.
“You two know each other?”
“Sort of,” said Suzanne.
“Yes,” said Gerald.
Terry stopped laughing and watched them.
“James,” Suzanne said. “This looks like a bad time for our meeting. Why don’t I have my assistant call yours for a reschedule? I can help with Elena’s family trust any time.”
“Oh,” James said, eyes closed, head against the back of the couch. Spritzy was on his chest. “This isn’t about the family trust.”
“Then what?”
“It’s about buying that secret artifact Harold Hopewell’s been hiding from the world all these years.”
Chapter 10
Suzanne sat at the head of the enormous oval conference table, a relic of its own from the nineteenth century that Norm Phelps’ grandfather had imported from the Ukraine when he’d founded Phelps, Miller in 1911. Both the Phelps and the Miller families still had descendants in partner roles, all male. She was the second woman to make partner, and relished every second of being on top.
Her eyes darted to Gerald.
She would love to be on top of him.
The last hour had been a study in chaos. As she shuffled folders and managed the never-ending flow of documents Letitia and Margaret provided, she ran through the facts as she knew them.
James McCormick was interested in buying the relic.
He was not the same anonymous donor Harrison Kulli represented.
More people knew about the relic than previously recognized.
The relic was increasingly endangered as the circle of knowledge widened. The more people who knew about it, the more likely it was to be stolen or desecrated.
And yet, exposing its existence to official institutions wouldn’t necessarily help.
“Change of plans,” Norm said, walking into the room with that penguin-like gait he had. He introduced himself to Gerald, looked at Suzanne, and said, “Turns out the MFA archaeologist has no knowledge of the item. We had to be careful.” He reached down for a leather bag that looked like it contained a tiny bowling ball.
Lifted it like it weighed a ton.
“Here it is. Your inheritance,” he said to Gerald, who looked appropriately shocked. Glancing at the door, twisting in his seat to do a 180-degree spin, he became increasingly angry.
“No armed guard? No security of any kind? Are you crazy? That thing’s worth eight figures—” As he cut off his own words, Gerald’s face paled, eyes going wide like moons.
Suzanne felt sorry for him.
“We do not need security for an item no one’s heard of,” Phelps insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And there’s a team of six guys out in the hall. Don’t worry.”
“James McCormick has heard of it. Worse—Harrison Kulli sure as hell has. That guy would smother his own grandmother for a scratch lottery ticket,” Gerald said with a grunt of disgust.
Suzanne nodded.
Phelps simmered.
“Take a careful look. Is this the relic you recall?” Phelps slid the bag across the table to Gerald, who unzipped it. The sound of the ancient brass zipper opening was like the gates to hell creaking on their hinges.
She held her breath.
Gerald’s face went remarkably blank.
And that’s when she realized just how serious this really was. When the man wiped all emotion from his body, it was time to set your own alert scale on high.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“You never told me,” she blurted out, the words completely unexpected.
His eyes met hers.
“There’s a lot I’ve never told you.”
“Clearly.”
Phelps cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to figure this all out. Discretion is paramount.”