“Don’t worry,” Gabrielle said. “He’ll get over it.”
Kat put her key in the lock and looked out over the sleepy street. Newspapers lay waiting for owners; the bakery on the corner had hot bagels and warm coffee. Gabrielle gave a full-body stretch and never once complained about the discomfort of the flight. There are some things even worse than flying coach internationally, and Gab knew it.
“He’ll come around,” she said. “Trust me, boys always come around.”
But that wasn’t it, so Kat shifted. “I’m not worried. I’m scared.”
“Hale will be fine. He’s just got to—”
“Not about Hale. Garrett. There was this moment in London… It was like…” She trailed off, unable to say the words aloud.
“What?”
“It was almost like he knew I was there. Or he was expecting me to be there or something.”
“You’re getting paranoid in your old age,” Gabrielle teased, but Kat didn’t think it was funny.
“Remember what Marianne said? About Garrett?”
“You mean how she was surprised that Hazel never got around to firing him?”
“Well, looks like that’s not exactly correct.” Kat handed Gabrielle the piece of carbon paper that she had found in the desk.
“How old is this?” Gabrielle asked with a laugh, but then her eyes scanned over the copy.
“Hazel typed that letter four days before her coma—two days before she arrived in New York.”
Gabrielle stopped reading. “So Hazel was old-fashioned? What does that…”
“Read the first line. Right there.” Kat pointed to the words. “It’s a termination letter. Hazel did fire Garrett. And five days later, she died.”
Neither Kat nor Gabrielle mentioned those facts again as they let themselves into their uncle’s house and made their way toward the kitchen. They didn’t reach for a light. They didn’t have to. Even without their particular skill sets, the walk was one they both knew well.
“And…?” Eddie said just before they reached the kitchen.
When Gabrielle shook her head, Eddie hung his and gave each niece a pat on the back. “It was a good thing you did for your young man, Katarina.”
Kat was fairly certain that Uncle Eddie was the smartest person she’d ever known, but right then she was equally certain he was wrong. He hadn’t seen the look in Hale’s eyes. He hadn’t heard the fury in his voice. Eddie didn’t know what Kat had spent the past twelve hours fearing—that she had flown all the way to London only to lose something she could never, ever steal back.
Kat wanted to tell him, beg him to explain to her exactly how she could go back in time and do it all differently. But she didn’t bother. Even Uncle Eddie couldn’t con the clock.
She just sat quietly as her uncle headed upstairs; but when he reached the door, he gave one last backward wave toward the table.
“Something came for you, Katarina.”
There was a letter on the table. As soon as Kat touched it, she knew it was important. The paper was heavy cotton, and her name was printed on the front in gold embossment. She turned over the envelope and ran her hand along the raised letters that read GENESIS.
Kat took a paring knife and slit the envelope open in one smooth gesture, then pulled out a card and looked down at the words You are cordially invited to witness the beginning.
There was the address of Hale Industries and a date and time for the following afternoon. But the thing that made her heart beat faster was the handwritten line at the bottom of the card.
Please come. Use the back door.
“What is it?” her cousin asked.
“I’m not sure,” Kat said, turning the card over and over in her hands. “Some kind of invitation.”
But to what, she didn’t have a clue.
At half past noon the next day, Kat found herself in the narrow alley behind Hale Industries’ world headquarters, staring at a locked door. It seemed utterly wrong to stand at the service entrance with an invitation and not a tool belt, and part of Kat wanted to flee the scene. Run. Disappear into the midtown traffic. But before she could move, a shadow appeared on the wall just over her shoulder, and a vaguely familiar voice said, “Well, hello there.”
Kat looked at the man coming up the alley behind her. Immediately, she recognized the white hair and bulging belly. But there was something different about the man whom she’d met at the funeral. This time, he wasn’t in mourning. This time, he was…nervous.
“Hi, Mr. Foster,” Kat said.
Silas nodded, impressed. “That’s a good memory you have there.”
“Thank you,” Kat said. “I try.”
“Allow me.” Silas swiped his ID badge across an electronic pad beside the door, and Kat gave a soft sigh.
“The McClintock Three-sixty,” she whispered when the light flashed from red to green.
“What was that?” he asked.
“That lock is really nifty,” Kat hurried to add, then smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet. She must have looked far more innocent than she felt, because the old man opened the door wide and gestured for her to go ahead.
“Come on in,” he told her. “I’ll show you the way.”
Kat had never been inside the Hale Industries headquarters before, but she didn’t pause to consider the irony. She was there. Hale had invited her. And the fact that he’d sent her through the back door might not have meant anything at all.
“Come along, Miss Bishop. I believe the party is upstairs.”
Mr. Foster pushed the elevator call button, and a moment later, Kat was inside, achingly aware of the silence that filled the shiny car.
“I’m so glad to see you here,” Silas told her. “It’s a big day for us.”
“What is today, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, before Hazel died, she and I were working on a new project. Today we unveil it for the board of directors. The real party is next week—a gala, I believe they’re calling it. You should come to that, too. It’s going to be quite the big to-do.”
“Sounds exciting,” Kat said, and laughed a little at the old-fashioned phrase.
“It is,” Silas said. “I’m only sad Hazel won’t be here to see it.”
The elevator made a ding and came to a stop.
“Allow me.” Silas held open the doors and gestured for Kat to step out into a corridor lined with paintings. There was something eerily familiar about them all, and Kat was just starting to wonder what it was when Silas said, “Miss Bishop, allow me to introduce the Hale men.”
He gestured to an old oil painting of a man in uniform. “That’s Mr. Hale the First. He was something of a character, I’m told. A big brute of a man. Powerful.” Silas puffed up his chest as if to prove the point. “He served in the military with one of the British princes. Saved his life, even, if the stories are true. And was rewarded handsomely for it.”
The next painting showed a man on a factory line, surrounded by crates and machinery.
“Mr. Hale the Second,” Silas said. “He was the first to come to this country, I believe. A bright man, by all accounts. Greedy. But bright.”
They took a few more steps, and Kat came even with two matching portraits.
“W. W. the Third is on your left,” Silas said. “And that’s his little brother Reginald on the right.”
“W. W. the Third was Hazel’s husband?” Kat asked.
“He was. He commissioned this building in 1969.” Silas smiled a little with the memory, then lowered his voice. “But make no mistake about it, my dear, this is the house that Hazel built.”
Silas eased down the long hall, to the last portrait hanging in the row. It was the same image that had run in the paper, and Kat looked at the original, wishing she’d known the woman behind it.
“As much as the Hales understand money, Hazel understood people,” Silas said. “None of these old boys would say so, but this place changed when she came on board.” He leaned close to Kat and whispered, “For the better.”