Gwen passed a bowl of sugar cubes to Mrs. Carnegie. “A commendable wish. My father gave all his waking hours to Blackstone College. He died in his desk chair. When a man loves something that much, it can be hard for him to step away.”
Patrick watched the two women carefully. Gwen would probably give her eyeteeth to rip the discussion away from U.S. Steel, but her gentle attempt to steer the conversation back to the college did not work. Mrs. Carnegie kept her stare fixed on Liam.
“You don’t have the power to block the merger, but I don’t want any Blackstone polluting the air with hostility against it,” Mrs. Carnegie said. “In the last week alone there has been picketing by union miners all the way from West Virginia to bellyache against this deal.”
Liam snickered. “I figured the Mingo County guys would show up again. All we’ve ever wanted from Carnegie Steel is a fair shake for the workers, and you won’t give it to us.”
Mrs. Carnegie leaned down to unbuckle the straps on the attaché case. There was only a single item inside, a fat stack of pages held together with a metal fastener. She set it in front of Liam. “Please see page 82, section 12.”
Liam shifted uneasily. “Um, I’ve got my lawyer here to help with this.”
Patrick grabbed the document and flipped to the designated section. It was a dense and complicated contract. He’d never heard of some of these terms before, so he read the passage several times, trying to parse the words because they sounded too good for him to trust.
He glanced up at Mrs. Carnegie. “What does profit-sharing mean?”
Mrs. Carnegie’s expression was calculating and knowing. “Exactly as it sounds. Any employee of U.S. Steel who is loyal and works hard can earn stock in the company.”
“Loyal?” Liam scoffed. “That sounds like a code word for no unions.”
“The document does not preclude unions,” Mrs. Carnegie said. “It merely demands that workers who wish to earn ownership shares in the company live up to their contracted agreements with the owners. If they do, they will be rewarded. Those who propose innovative solutions or exceed production goals will be doubly rewarded.”
Liam folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, well, I don’t trust it.”
Patrick hunkered over the document and shut out the prattle from Liam to concentrate on the dense legal contract. Stock subscription plans, bonuses, work incentives—all of it voluntary. Mrs. Carnegie didn’t need Liam’s vote, but he could rock the boat, and she knew it. The guys from Mingo County were already back in town. Newspapers could promote Liam and his incendiary views on their front pages all over the country, fomenting hostility toward the new steel company.
Patrick looked up from the document. “Ma’am, might I have a moment alone with my client?” he asked.
“By all means, please take him away,” Mrs. Carnegie said dismissively as she lifted her teacup.
Patrick dragged Liam into a darkened room off the corridor. The only light was from the lampposts on Fifth Avenue, which cast a glow of illumination from the window.
“The profit-sharing plan is generous,” he said. “It gives workers a stake in the game. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He leaned in close and whispered, barely able to contain the bubbling, joyous sense of urgency. “We can win. We can get a fair shake for the workers and save the college too. Cut a deal with Mrs. Carnegie. Say you won’t raise a stink in exchange for her vote on the college.”
Liam’s shoulders were hunched, his arms clutched across his chest. “I don’t know what to think. Is there any way to lock down that profit-sharing deal? Make it so they can’t go back on their word?”
“That’s the best part,” Patrick said. “That document is the operating contract that will tie all ten companies together. It can’t be overturned. Now, I want you to listen to me,” he ordered. “Stop thinking like a union man and start acting like a strategist. Fight for what you want from inside the company. Strike a deal with Oscar Blackstone to demand a seat on the board of directors of U.S. Steel. You could help run the new company. You’ll be more powerful than any labor leader ever dreamed.”
The truth of that dawned on Liam, who looked dumbfounded by the prospect. He wandered to the window, gaping at the glittering skyline of New York City as the implications sank in.
“My grandfather is leery of the deal,” Liam said. “So is Natalia. Making a deal with Mrs. Carnegie would be double-crossing them.”
It might seem that way, but they were playing a high-stakes game, and the fate of the college hung in the balance.
“You never vowed automatic loyalty to Frederick. Your motives aren’t selfish. You will be using your God-given intelligence to vote on behalf of what you believe is right. Let me haggle with Oscar to get you a seat on the board of U.S. Steel. Oscar doesn’t want you out on the streets, adding your name to the rabble-rousers picketing the new company, because he knows you can stoke up their anger more than anyone else in the world. He needs your cooperation. If we can pull this off, you will be helping direct the largest steel company ever created.”
Liam still looked a little overwhelmed, but he straightened his shoulders. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m willing to shake on the deal with Mrs. Carnegie.”
34
They caught the ferry back to Cormorant Island the following day, and Gwen’s spirits were over the moon. Mrs. Carnegie had agreed to permanent funding for the college, meaning that her father’s dream was going to endure.
Today was the lobster bake, a time when everyone relaxed and enjoyed the beachside simplicity of the annual event, and hopefully Patrick could finally see her family at their best. Frederick hadn’t been on the terrace when Patrick and Liam were accused of theft, but his support of them would silence Poppy’s wagging tongue.
“The lobster bake is my favorite event of the year,” she told Patrick and Liam as they stood at the railing of the ferry. “In the morning, the men dig a trench on the beach, and I take the children to gather seaweed and driftwood for the firepit. We shuck corn, and Bertie brings down a big galvanized washtub that he carries over his head while he marches up and down the beach singing patriotic songs. The children think it’s hysterical.”
Liam remained sullen. He had wanted to stay in Manhattan rather than face Frederick’s wrath over his shocking about-face on the steel vote, and his anxiety spiraled higher as the ferry drew nearer to the boathouse.
“Please don’t bite your fingernails,” she said.
Liam jerked his hand away from his mouth. “I don’t know how to confess what I plan to do,” he said in a worried voice.
“Don’t say anything,” Patrick said. “The vote is still weeks away, and voting on behalf of the workers isn’t a sin.”
For once, Patrick’s counsel didn’t ease Liam’s qualms, but they’d arrived and had no more time to discuss it. The entire clan was already on the beach by the time they disembarked. The breeze carried the aroma of seafood and laughter as children played in the surf. Red-checkered cloths covered the tables, which were filled with baskets of corn bread, tubs of butter, and plenty of iced tea. Most of the adults were at the picnic tables, but Oscar and Poppy sat on padded wicker chairs placed a few yards away because Poppy didn’t like the scent of seafood.