“I will,” she beamed. “By the way, Richard said the business deal is happening Tuesday. He seems stressed but excited.”
“He is,” I said, walking to the door. “He’s about to become a very powerful man, Monica. We should all be ready for changes.”
“I’m ready,” she said, rubbing her belly. “I was born ready.”
I drove straight to the private lab my lawyer Sterling had recommended. I handed over the Ziploc bags and the receipt.
“I need a rush on this,” I told the technician. “I need a paternity profile and a comparative analysis. I need to know that the DNA on this blue toothbrush matches the DNA of the father and I need it to match the husband.”
“We can have a preliminary match in forty-eight hours,” the technician said. “But for court-admissible—”
“I don’t need it for court yet,” I interrupted. “I need it for a video presentation.”
He looked at me, confused, but took the credit card.
Driving home, I felt a strange sense of calm. The pieces were locking into place. I had the financial trap set with my father. I had the social trap set with the party. And now I had the biological trap.
Richard came home that night whistling. He kissed me on the cheek.
“Big day tomorrow with your dad,” he said. “I’ve been reviewing the prospectus.”
“You’re going to do great,” I said, stroking his lapel. “Just make sure you sign everything. Dad hates hesitation.”
“I won’t hesitate,” Richard promised.
He had no idea. He was about to sign his own death warrant, and he was whistling while he did it.
Tuesday morning arrived with a gray, ominous sky, the kind of Seattle weather that usually made Richard complain about his joints. But today, he was electric. He spent an hour in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, checking his teeth. He looked like a man preparing to accept an Oscar.
“Do I look like a managing partner?” he asked, turning to me.
“You look like a ten-million-dollar man,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. That was exactly the amount of debt he was about to incur.
We drove to my father’s office in the city. The Reynolds building was a steel-and-glass monolith that Richard always stared up at with envy. Today, he walked in like he owned it.
My father, Arthur, was waiting for us in the boardroom. The table was long enough to land a plane on. Sitting next to him was a man Richard didn’t know—Mr. Sterling, introduced simply as the family’s legal consultant for the trust.
“Richard,” my father said, standing up but not offering a hand. “Good to see you.”
“Arthur,” Richard nodded, trying to match my father’s gravitas. “Ready to get to work.”
“Excellent. Let’s not waste time.”
My father slid a stack of documents across the polished mahogany. They were thick, bound in blue covers, looking every bit the official transfer of wealth Richard had dreamed of.
“As Laura explained,” my father began, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, “we are consolidating the Blue Water assets into a new entity, Vance-Reynolds Capital, to avoid the gift tax and the inheritance delays. We are structuring this as a leveraged buy-in.”
Richard nodded sagely, but I could tell by the glaze in his eyes he didn’t understand half of what Arthur was saying. He just heard Vance-Reynolds Capital—his name first.
“You will be the sole managing director,” Sterling piped up, tapping the paper. “This gives you unrestricted trading authority. However, to satisfy the SEC and the banking covenants, the director must personally guarantee the leverage line. It’s a formality. The assets cover the loan ten times over.”
“Of course,” Richard said, reaching for the silver pen. “Standard procedure.”
“Read it carefully, Richard,” I said softly, feigning concern. “It’s a big commitment.”
He shot me a look that said, Shut up. Let me handle this.
“I know what I’m doing, Laura.”
