Chapter 18: The Cost

The Granger annual vote was held in the tower's ballroom, in front of three hundred shareholders and every reporter in Chicago.

Leontine had gotten me a chair at the back, behind a pillar.

"I hope you ate," she whispered. "Nothing good happens at these on an empty stomach."

"He's going to do something stupid."

"He's going to do something expensive. It's different."

At the front, behind a long table with a white cloth, sat the board.

The old woman with the cane had the center chair.

Rhodri sat to her right, in a navy three-piece suit with the vest open, and I noticed that he had cut himself shaving.

On her left sat his cousin.

He was a smooth, handsome man of forty with a gleaming watch.

He had been smiling at the shareholders for twenty minutes.

On a screen above them, in white letters, a number ticked.

It was the Granger share price, and the news from Thursday had pushed it down four points.

"We come to the sole item," the old woman said.

"My brother's will names my grandnephew as chairman, provided he is married on the day of this vote."

She turned her head.

"Rhodri. Are you married?"

The ballroom went silent.

I had read the headlines all week.

Every paper said the same thing, and every paper had a photo of me.

The reporter in the red coat had a notebook open on her knee.

"No," Rhodri said.

A rustle went through three hundred people.

"Then under the will, the seat passes to the next in line," the old woman said.

Her eyes went to the back of the room, to me.

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