Owen King showed every one of his overwhite teeth, smiling as though Phoebe brought bliss into his life. Were banks so desperate for cash? The banker ushered her into his mahogany paneled office. “What can I serve you, Mrs. Pierce? It’s so nasty out. Would you like something warm?”
Warm sounded wonderful. Tears of gratitude threatened. Phoebe blinked, humiliated at appearing so fragile. Crazy rich lady, he must think, reeling from her stock losses. No, Owen, it wasn’t that. She didn’t even know why she was scared, or what of.
? ? ?
A deep-green throw enveloped Phoebe. She rubbed the soft cashmere between her fingers as she read her sister’s email.
Ben and I have Charlotte for a couple of days. What is it with our kids—they have to reach back to the nineteenth century for their kids’ names? Pheebs, if Mom were alive, she’d gobble up this little girl. Blond curls springing out all over her head. Remember how Mom moaned and groaned about your stick-straight black hair? Horsetail hair, she called it. No wonder you smelled like rotten eggs for so many years with those awful perms!
Anyway, we want you and Jake to come down and rest. Sounds like you’re both exhausted. No surprise, with everything going on. Our friends are terrified, watching their balances sink. Thank God for Jake. Even if he won’t come, you get down here. But make him come.
Phoebe stopped reading, imagining a trip to Florida. Jake never relaxed there—not with clients everywhere. Maybe the only place she could take him to unwind would be the moon. But they could go somewhere with Ben and Deb. A cruise to Alaska. Ben never tried talking business with Jake. “What do I know from derivatives?” he’d say. “You take care of my money, and I’ll make the golf dates for us.”
Then he’d put an arm around Jake and squeeze. Sometimes Ben got so overwhelmed by gratitude that he’d grab Jake by the shoulders and kiss him.
“Such royalty, my daughter,” her mother would say if she saw Phoebe miserable while covered in cashmere. “My spoiled princess, are you feeling the pea? A little trouble and you fall apart? Your grandmother came over on the boat by herself at thirteen. Thirteen! Do that. Then complain to me. Raise ten children on the Lower East Side. Then complain to me. Lose two little ones to the flu. Then complain to me. Your life is golden, Phoebe.”
CHAPTER 25
Phoebe
“Phoebe!”
Jake’s scream startled her awake. How long had she napped? Hazy light came through the window. The rain had stopped. The clock showed 12:40. She swallowed. A sour film reminded her of the banker’s warm latte.
“Phoebe.” Jake leaned on the doorjamb of her study as though holding himself upright. His grey skin brought strokes and heart attacks to mind. “Wake up, Pheebs.”
“I’m up.” She threw off the light blanket and stood so fast she became light-headed. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“The kids are here.”
“Noah and Kate?” She touched a hand to her chest. “Are . . .” She didn’t know what to ask first.
“Come.” He turned to walk away and then stopped. “I love you. You’re the blood running through my veins, sweetheart. You know, right?”
Cancer. He’d brought them together to tell them. Please God. Give her strength. Let her hold up for him, for Kate and Noah. She took her husband’s hands and held them tight, kissing each one.
“Of course I know.”
They walked to Jake’s study. Kate and Noah sat side by side on the massive couch. The contrast between the rich red tapestry and her children’s bloodless, pinched faces tore at her chest. Jake fell into his chair, the soft brown leather worn to his shape, the matching hassock indented where he rested his feet as he read his endless thrillers. She took the wooden rocker. She sat slowly, feeling the easy ripple of the rocker moving with her weight.
Please live, Jake.
“Dad has something to tell us,” Kate said.
“Right.” Phoebe kept her face calm even as her stomach folded like origami.
“I have something to tell you,” Jake repeated. He twisted his wedding band in circles. “You’re not going to be happy.”
“Rip off the Band-Aid, Dad,” Kate said.
“This isn’t easy.” He looked out the window as though studying the skyline, avoiding Phoebe’s eyes, the way he did when he’d screwed up. “Explaining is almost impossible.”
Phoebe crossed her arms. Forget cancer or a coronary, unless she tallied another woman under heart problems. If he thought he’d marry some mistress, a young trophy bitch, he’d better get rid of every knife in the house. Bastard.
“Stop scaring Mom.” Noah turned to her. “The problem is business. We went into Dad’s office. Uncle Theo took us in after we went to him—”
“We were worried, Dad.” Kate made a calming motion with her hand. “We wanted to talk to Uncle Theo about you taking money out of the brokerage account to—”
Noah intervened. “We’re not questioning your authority, but—”
“Enough.” Jake raised his hands, but instead of the flood of recriminations Phoebe expected, he covered his face and began sobbing.
No. Dear God. Cancer was making him act crazy. Or another woman. He thought he was in love with some girl thirty years younger than him. Forty.
Oh, but I also love you, Pheebs.
She could just fucking hear him now.
Noah put a hand on his father’s shoulder. Then he sank down and placed a hand on his knee. “Dad, you can talk to us.”
Jake covered Noah’s hand with his own. “You’re a good boy. You’ve always been a good boy.”
Cancer.
“I . . .” Jake breathed deep enough to restart his heart. “Jesus, this is hard.”
Kate perched forward. “Just say it, Dad.”
Jake leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes not meeting theirs. “There’s no money,” he said. “Everything is gone.”
Kate and Noah squinted as though Jake were crazy.
“Gone?” Noah repeated Jake’s declaration as a question. “We lost our money? We—”
“Not our money. Everybody’s money. Not lost. Not exactly. It was never there. I mean, it was there, but I never did anything with it.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Noah said.
This babbling—was prattling a stroke symptom? She tried to remember the signs.
“I developed a . . . strategy. When things went south a while ago, I borrowed from Peter to pay Paul. I thought I’d catch up, but I couldn’t. I didn’t. Now almost nothing’s left. A strategy . . .” His words drifted away.
“A strategy? Borrowing from Peter? Strategy? That’s a scheme, not strategy. That’s fraud.” Noah paced to the window and then circled back to the couch and Kate.
“You raided clients’ accounts?” Kate whispered.
“Not exactly,” Jake said.
Someone had vacuumed out Phoebe’s blood and left this husk. “Then exactly what?” She shredded the fringe at the edge of the pillow in her lap.
“There weren’t any accounts anymore. Just one big chunk of money.”
“One big chunk? Gone? The investments can’t be completely gone. Those portfolios are packed with solid companies, Dad,” Noah said. “Something’s got to be there. I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense.”