“Why wait two weeks when we could conclude our business so much sooner?”
“Once we prove the Hale model is defective, I have a buyer who is willing to pay full market value for Genesis—not black market value. There’s a difference, Ms. Montenegro. And the difference is worth two weeks of waiting.”
“Oh. What a pity.” Then one elegant hand reached to smooth his lapel and slip a business card into his pocket. “My number,” she said. “For when you change your mind.”
When Kat watched her walk away, the clock that had been running inside her head began to tick louder and louder until she thought her mind might explode.
“Gabrielle?” Kat swallowed hard. “How soon do you think we can rob the Superior Bank of Manhattan?”
Walking through the party, Kat couldn’t help but think that she really didn’t have time for a party. She had things to do, places to see. Prototypes to steal. She was just starting to plan her escape when she heard her name shouted through the crowd.
“Kat!” Natalie screamed and threw out her arms, pulled Kat into a massive bear hug, and Kat remembered why she wasn’t friends with many girls. She was a lot of things, after all, but hugger wasn’t one of them.
“Hi, Natalie,” Kat said, prying herself away. “It’s nice to see you.”
The girl stumbled a little, listing like a boat on uneven waters, and Kat knew something was wrong.
“Natalie, are you okay?”
“Kat!” Natalie tried to whisper, but failed. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah,” Kat said. “I think I can.”
“We got into the liquor cabinet.”
“Natalie…” Kat said, letting the word draw out. “Who is we?”
Natalie hiccuped, pulled a hand guiltily to her face, and smiled. “Who knew Scooter could pick a lock?”
Kat’s blood went cold. “I did.”
She wanted it to be part of the con, a trick. But it wasn’t, Kat was sure. She thought about the sad, lonely boy looking at his family’s photos, and she cursed herself for not predicting that something like this was bound to happen.
“Kat?” Natalie whispered again. “Kat, what’s wrong?”
But Kat was already shaking her head and pushing away, saying, “Sorry, Nat. I’ve got to…go.”
Kat wheeled, searching the crowd for Gabrielle. Then her gaze drifted to the boy who was already halfway down the sweeping stairs, in something between a walk and a jog, looking like he was a top hat away from giving Fred Astaire a run for his money.
“Oh, Kat!” Hale’s mother cried out. “Kat, darling, come over here. There are some people I’d love for you to—”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to…” But Kat couldn’t finish. She was too busy pushing through the crowd, almost willing Hale to catch her eye, give a wink, a smile. She thought that surely he would find some way to see her—just her. But he didn’t.
“Where is he going?” Kat asked when she finally reached Gabrielle.
“I don’t know,” Gabrielle said. “Ooh. Shrimp.” She reached for the tray of a passing waiter, but Kat caught her arm.
“Gabrielle, Hale’s not right. We’ve got to stop him. I think he might be…”
But then Hale stumbled, climbing up onto the stage that held the prototype, and Gabrielle finished for her.
“Drunk.”
The lights went out. A spotlight shone on the stage and the boy the family knew as Scooter. A hush fell over the crowd as he took up the microphone and began to speak.
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming. It’s a very special night, and we’re all here to celebrate a very special woman. My grandmother.” Hale pointed to the oil portrait that had been moved from the upstairs corridor and placed at the corner of the stage. A polite smattering of applause went through the crowd.
Kat couldn’t move. A dozen different scenarios played out in her mind, but Hale was like a runaway train, and she had no idea how to find the brakes.
“My grandmother loved Genesis!” Hale threw up his hands as if expecting the well-heeled crowd to erupt into thunderous applause. “They wanted me to tell you all about Genesis. It’s the future of the company, they say. It. And me. Some future, huh?” Hale said, and the forced chuckles morphed into sighs of disbelief. “I’m glad she’s dead. I’m glad she’s not here to see this.”
“Kat,” Gabrielle whispered, “do we stop him? Kat, what do we do?”
But Kat didn’t know. She hadn’t planned for this scenario, and a part of her was too busy cursing herself for that to do anything else. “He wasn’t ready,” she mumbled. “He wasn’t—”
“Scooter.” Hale’s father stepped into the spotlight and reached for his son’s arm. “Scooter, that’s enough.”
“My name’s not Scooter!” Hale yelled, revolting and pulling away. “My name is…” But he trailed off, and Kat could have sworn she finally caught his gaze. “I guess it doesn’t matter what you call me. It’s never mattered. I’m a HALE.”
More than before, he slurred his words.
“I’m the Hale,” he went on. “Or so they tell me. The great hope—the heir apparent. The—”
“I’m sorry, young man, but I’m going to have to disagree with that.”
An older man was climbing onto the stage, stepping into the light. He didn’t look like Hale or his father. The overcoat was a little too out of date. He leaned too heavily on his cane, as if it weren’t a mere walking stick but a crutch with actual purpose. But when he spoke, there was no mistaking he was an important man, a formidable figure.
A member of the family.
“Hello, Junior,” he said to Hale’s father. “Don’t you have a hug for your favorite uncle?”
The man on the stage had wild white hair and wore a secondhand suit. The cane was rough and wooden, and his tie hadn’t been in style for thirty years. He was a relic. A drifter. But there was something about him—a power so strong and ancient that it was almost like the man had been forged out of cast iron. He was an unmovable force, and it would take more than a scene to make him leave.
“Well, I was told this was where the party was!” he yelled at the crowd and continued across the stage—past Hale and his father, to the portrait of the woman of the hour.
Even knowing what she knew, Kat had a hard time seeing her uncle in the man at the front of the room. Everything was different. He leaned heavily on his cane and took slow, careful steps until he finally reached the portrait. Then he bent down and brushed a kiss across Hale’s grandmother’s painted cheek.
“I told you I’d come home, Hazel,” he told the painting. “I’m just a little late.”
He reached up as if to trace a finger against the face on the portrait, but Hale’s father caught his hand.
“Don’t touch that,” Senior spat.
“Well, it doesn’t compare to the original, but it will do.”
“You knew her?” Hale’s father asked.
Eddie smiled. “Of course I knew her. She was married to my brother.”
“He’s gonna blow it,” Kat said.
“He’s fine,” Gabrielle assured her.
“He’s not ready,” Kat said.
“He was born ready,” Gabrielle retorted.
“He’s not—”
On the stage, Hale’s father said, “But that would make you…”
“Junior,” Eddie said with a scowl, “you got old.”
“It’s Senior now,” Hale’s father spat. “Now I demand to know the meaning of this! My uncle Reginald is dead, and you’re nothing but an imposter. Get out of my building.”
“Actually, I’m not an imposter.” A thought seemed to occur to Uncle Eddie. “Which, I believe, makes this my building.” He gave a hearty laugh.
“I don’t believe it,” Senior said. “It can’t be. You cannot be—”
“Reginald?” Marianne’s voice was shaking. “Reginald, is that you?”
She looked beautiful, Kat couldn’t help but think. She wore a long black gown, and her gray hair was piled elegantly onto the top of her head. But it wasn’t just her clothing that had changed. There was a confidence, a grace about her as she said, “Reginald, it is you.”
The words were breathless, hopeful. She didn’t look like someone who had a seen a ghost. She sounded like someone lost in a dream.