Chapter 17: Thurston's Office

Weston got Claire's zip up with one hand while the lift went down.

By the time they reached the ballroom doors, Delaney's father was finishing at the microphone.

"I will not tie my family's name or my company to this house," he said. "Good night."

He walked out through the middle of the room and did not look at the table where his daughter sat.

Delaney sat alone in a white gown with a napkin crushed in her fist.

Her eyes went to Claire, to the back of the blue silk, and then to Weston's open collar.

She smiled, very slightly.

Weston had seen that smile on opponents across a table, just before they played the card they had been saving.

On Monday morning he was on the forty-third floor of the Vanderveer Group tower, which he had never once entered.

Thurston's office had a view of the harbor and a long dark desk with nothing on it.

His father stood at the window in his shirtsleeves, and he looked tired.

"The board meets at noon," Thurston said. "Rhodes pulled his money, and they want a face to put in front of the lenders."

"Preston, or you."

"I told you on Saturday."

"You told me in front of four hundred people so I couldn't say no."

"Yes," his father said, without shame. "It was the only way you'd ever have heard it."

The door banged open.

Preston came in with his tie loose and his phone in his hand.

He had shaved badly, and there was a nick on his jaw.

"Look at this," he said, and held the phone out.

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