“Thank you for investigating,” she said to Oscar. “It wasn’t what I hoped to hear, but I’m grateful for your help.”
Oscar nodded. “Just forget about him, okay? I also wanted you to know that I’ve had a change of heart about the college. Since our reputation is going to take a beating over that vile memoir, it’s the wrong time to cut off funding. Natalia has a soft spot for the college and asked me to grant a one-year extension on your funding.”
A jolt of happiness shot through Gwen. A one-year extension wasn’t much, but having the axe lifted off the back of her neck was at least a temporary reprieve. “Thank you!” she said. “And please thank Natalia as well.”
“Let’s join the others,” Oscar said. “I have an important announcement to make, but you needn’t concern yourself with it. It’s only bank business.”
She took a seat alongside her cousins. Soon the entire family gathered in the open area near the bow of the ship. Oscar began talking about the corporate merger in which he would partner with J.P. Morgan to buy Carnegie Steel. Ten other steel companies would be bought at the same time, and Oscar explained exactly what that would mean for their family.
“Once this deal is complete, the new corporation will control seventy percent of the steel production in the United States, and as their banker, this will make us a very wealthy family.”
Gwen couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, because they were already obscenely wealthy, but Oscar went on to explain that this deal had the potential to be the largest business merger in history.
“The partners of Blackstone Bank will meet in July to have a formal vote endorsing the deal.” Uncle Oscar paused, looking unusually stern as he scanned the assembled family members on the deck. “I only need a simple majority among the shareholders for the merger to succeed, but I want a unanimous vote among the Blackstones endorsing this merger. All the men here have shares in the bank. Between Father and myself, we already have a fifty-percent share of the vote, so we have an automatic majority, but I want our partners to see that we are unified in this decision. As a sign of good faith, I want every man here to promise you will vote in support of the merger.”
“What will you do if they don’t?” Gwen teased. “Make them walk the plank?”
A couple of her cousins giggled, but Oscar didn’t. His glare was fierce as he answered.
“We must present a united front. The press and labor unions hate this deal, and the government may try to block it. Still, this deal is good for business, the consumers, and the people in this country. I won’t stand for your bleeding-heart liberal sympathies, Gwendolyn.”
“I haven’t uttered a word against the deal,” she defended. Her knowledge of high finance couldn’t fill a thimble, but her opinion didn’t matter. Only the men had a vote in the bank. Most of her male cousins and uncles spent their days in idle leisure, but each of them had one or two percent of the bank vote. All together they controlled twenty-five percent of the voting shares, although it was an academic issue. They always followed Oscar’s lead.
“I want all the men on board to sign a statement turning over their voting authority to me,” Oscar said. “My secretary will acquire the signatures.”
All of her cousins agreed, and Oscar’s secretary brought a tray with the legally binding proxy forms for each man in the family to sign. It meant that Oscar now controlled a strong majority of the votes in Blackstone Bank.
Not everyone who held shares in the bank was a Blackstone. John D. Rockefeller owned a five-percent stake, and a group of French investors owned another six. Smaller shares were owned by rich people scattered all over Europe and America, but the Blackstones controlled the rest.
Once the proxies were signed, Oscar had a final announcement. “Our family has been blessed with wealth and prestige. In the coming months, it is going to be tested as this steel merger gathers momentum, but when it is accomplished, we will be wealthier than any Medici prince.”
He gave a curt nod to the waiters, who began distributing the champagne glasses. Corks popped, people cheered, and they raised toasts. Gwen celebrated alongside them. She was in love, and the college had another year of funding.
All was right in her world.
19
The trip to Pittsburgh in a sweltering third-class train compartment was a miserable experience, but Patrick was eager to prove himself to Gwen. He could never drape her in jewels or be a world-famous researcher like her first husband, but he could give her what she wanted deepest in her heart. He would climb whatever mountain was necessary to make that happen, and for today, that meant going to Pittsburgh to unravel a mystery.
By late afternoon he and Liam were drawing near the outskirts of Pittsburgh, where sooty clouds hovered over the horizon. The train approached from the north, moving through the wealthier neighborhoods where rich industrialists built their homes to escape the ever-present smoke.
“The blast furnaces burn day and night,” Liam said from the bench beside him. “Rich people moved out here to get away from the smokestacks, but soot now reaches the fancy parts of town too.” He gloated as he said it.
Soon the wide lawns and fine houses gave way to office buildings and warehouses that stored petroleum, gas, and coal to fuel the industrial metropolis. They passed glass and leather factories, steel mills, and oil refineries. Soot left its shadow on the sidewalks, the lampposts, even the trunks of the trees.
After leaving the train, they took a streetcar to the neighborhood where Liam had grown up. Its bleakness was unsettling, and the air had a taste to it. It might have been Patrick’s imagination, but the children tossing a ball in the street had an ashen look.
Liam grew up in a row house that adjoined fifteen other identical units, all leased to steelworkers from the nearby mill. It was impossible to tell the original color of the brick because of the soot.
“We’ve got at least an hour to poke around before my mom gets back from work,” Liam said. Janet Malone worked at a nearby glass factory, but his father had died from lung disease ten years earlier.
Liam vaulted up the front steps to unlock the door, triggering the eager bark of a dog inside.
“That’s just my dog, Frankie,” Liam said with pride.
The lock was sticky and demanded some jiggling, but the moment Liam was inside, he dropped to his knees to greet a fat, ugly bulldog that waddled up to him.
“Who’s a good dog?” Liam growled, grabbing a handful of wrinkly fur and giving the dog a vigorous rub. “Give me a kiss, you old slobber-bucket.”
Patrick watched in appalled wonder as Liam lay flat on his back, letting the dog plant its paws on his chest and lick his face. The dog emitted a nonstop stream of grunts, snuffles, and little yelping barks. Liam finally rolled upright and lifted the dog to carry it like a baby.
“This is Frank,” Liam said, tilting the dog’s wrinkly, mashed-in snout toward Patrick. “He usually lives with me in Philly, but Mom’s been watching him since I went to New York.”
A glance around the room showed a clean but humble home. Patched furniture stood atop a worn braided rug, and a row of dishes was proudly displayed on a plate rack, the only ornamentation in the house.
“So you like English bulldogs,” Patrick said, and Liam nodded.