Liam squared his shoulders and adjusted the jacket of his new suit. “I’m ready,” he said, but his face looked like he was about to face a firing squad.
Stonemasons had built a staircase into the side of the cliff and up to the house. There were thirty steps, and she climbed them slowly, mindful of Liam’s still-healing injury. Once at the top of the stairs, she tugged on the lapels of Liam’s coat to straighten it.
“There,” she said, smoothing the fabric across his shoulders. “Don’t be intimidated, but please don’t trot out any needless Marxist sentiments this morning, okay? The faster you can win my grandfather’s blessing, the sooner he can start transferring my father’s voting shares to you.”
The house was straight ahead of them. It was a sprawling white mansion with gabled dormers, a widow’s walk, and plenty of windows facing the sea. Gwen led them to the side entrance, where the screened doorway made its familiar creak as she opened it. She led both men down a hallway to a long room with white wainscoting and a bank of windows overlooking the ocean. The gathering room was a comfortable space with upholstered furniture and exposed wood-beam ceilings.
In contrast to the casual décor, Frederick stood at the far end of the room before the stone fireplace, formally attired in a black morning coat, vest, and tie. His back was straight as a bayonet, and his face was cold as he watched her approach.
“You can dismiss the servants,” he said with a flick of his head toward Patrick and Liam.
It felt like a slap in the face, and surely the insult was even worse for Patrick and Liam. They both froze, and Gwen stopped as well. She wouldn’t move an inch farther into the room without them.
“Patrick isn’t a servant. He’s a lawyer.”
“Precisely. A servant.”
Patrick leaned in. “Gwen, this is a family matter. Perhaps I should go.”
“Stay,” Liam said.
“And that man definitely isn’t welcome,” Frederick said with a pointed glance at Liam. “I won’t welcome a union troublemaker in my home.”
Liam’s eyes glinted with challenge. “How about welcoming me into your boardroom?”
“Liam, stop,” she warned. When Liam was nervous, he turned belligerent, which wasn’t the right way to deal with her grandfather.
“Let him talk,” Frederick ordered, stepping closer and watching Liam carefully. “Exactly what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I am entitled to a ten-percent voting share in the Blackstone Bank.”
Her grandfather was impossible to read as he folded his arms across his chest. “And why is that?” he asked softly.
“I could take off my shoe and show you the bottom of my right foot. Gwen said that would mean something to you.”
Frederick glanced at her, his face still inscrutable. “True?” he asked, the single word containing an ocean of hope.
“True.”
A smile tugged one side of Frederick’s mouth but vanished quickly. He looked at Liam and pointed to a chair. “Show me.”
Frederick was once again a hard man of business as he walked to the fireplace, bracing a hand against the mantel, but he lowered his head and closed his eyes as if in prayer.
Liam wiggled out of his new oxford shoe and reached down to tug off the sock, then presented his bare foot on the coffee table.
Frederick crossed the distance to stand on the opposite side of the coffee table. His face was inscrutable as he inspected the old scar on the bottom of Liam’s foot.
The examination didn’t take long. After five seconds, he straightened, crossed to a chair, and lowered himself into it. His hands were shaking. “Well, well, well,” he said, showing neither dismay nor delight. “This changes things.”
Liam lowered his foot and tugged his sock back on. “I agree.”
“I trust this marks the end of your flirtation with revolutionary nonsense,” Frederick said. “We have no use for unions or anarchists in this home. But I would welcome Theodore’s son.”
Liam still looked hesitant. “You’ll accept me, then?”
“As my grandson? Yes.” Frederick turned to stare out at the sea, taking a few ragged breaths as a range of emotions flashed across his face, but when he turned to Liam again, he was entirely composed. “As for accepting you as a partner in the boardroom, that remains to be seen. Now, tell me about yourself.”
Gwen held her breath. Liam could be such a wild card, but for once he comported himself with restraint. Over the next hour he recounted how he came to be a part of the Malone family, then followed in Crocket Malone’s footsteps to become a welder and then a union leader in the steel industry.
“This is going to shake things up,” Frederick said once Liam finished his story. “I suppose you will want half of everything.”
“All I really want are my father’s voting shares,” Liam said.
“For now, that is out of the question. Only men fluent in corporate finance and the leveraging of investments can attain a position on the board.”
“Gwen said the trust awards bank shares to the oldest male heir.”
“It does,” Frederick said. “And if that male heir was an infant, do you think we would invite him to the table? Of course not. It won’t happen until he has a college education and years of tutelage in the banking industry. Right now you are something of an embarrassment to the family.”
She stood. “That’s not fair.”
“But it’s the truth. Look at him, Gwen! His entire life has been spent working with his hands, not his brain. He has no understanding of the banking industry, no connections in the world of finance, and he speaks like a vulgarian.”
Liam sat motionless in his chair, appearing to shrink beneath the barrage of insults, and her grandfather’s tone softened a bit.
“I’ll hire a tutor for you. Go to San Francisco or Toronto or London . . . anywhere but here. I’ll find you a position in a West Coast bank where you can learn the ropes in anonymity. In five or ten years, you might be ready to join the board at Blackstone.”
“And will the U.S. Steel vote wait five or ten years until I’m on the board?”
Frederick shook his head. “That deal is going to be finalized in July.”
“Then I want to be on the board in July. I don’t want Oscar Blackstone having control over what’s rightfully mine. The fate of twenty thousand workers hangs in the balance, and I want the power to vote in their best interests.”
Frederick began pacing the floor, his face drawn in concentration, but with a hint of secret delight too. “Your arrival will put a burr under Oscar’s saddle, but that might be a good thing. Nothing inspires a man to fight more than a little competition, and I think you can give it to him, but you’ll need to control it. Funnel your passion toward the workers if you want. Perhaps in a few years we can put you on the board.”
Gwen stood. “But for today, will you welcome Liam into the family as your grandson?”
“I will. Some of the others might not.”
Relief trickled through her. Frederick’s acknowledgment was Liam’s best protection against a future attack. Few people paid attention if an anonymous steelworker met with foul play, but such wouldn’t be the case for a Blackstone.