“Perhaps seventy-nine is my favorite number.”
Duncan’s face didn’t change. “Try again.”
Clay finished his coffee and carefully set the cup on his desk. “I cannot see how I owe you an explanation regarding my plans.”
“You are attempting to build a club-slash-casino around my mother’s home, so I would like to know why. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t learn who was behind the plans?”
“I never really cared,” Clay lied and folded his hands in his lap. “I seem to recall there was one homeowner who wouldn’t sell. Was that your mother?”
“You know damn well that it was.”
“Why are you here, Greene?”
“Tell me what it will take for you to abandon this plan of yours.”
“You don’t have enough money to stop me.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“I do relish watching you fail, however. So please, by all means. Try to prevent me.”
Duncan shot out of his chair and slapped his palms on Clay’s desk. “You stupid bastard. I am not some lowlife thug or two-bit thief you are able to intimidate. I can bury you with one word to the mayor’s office.”
The threats would have angered Clay if he wasn’t enjoying all this so damn much. He slowly pushed back and rose, leaning in to drive his point home. “I own more men in the police department, mayor’s office and Tammany Hall than you could ever hope to meet. Own, as in with debts those men could never repay. You cannot stop this, Greene, no more than I was able to stop an arrogant young buck from buying up an entire block on Seventh Street twenty years ago and displacing all the families living there.”
Duncan rocked back on his heels slightly, his head cocked. “Seventh Street? Are you . . . Are you saying that yours was one of the families relocated after I built that office building?”
“Relocated. What a fancy, college-educated word. I prefer swindled.”
“That’s absurd. I paid fair market value for that land.”
“You most certainly did not,” Clay sneered. “The families were given a pittance with which to resettle elsewhere. My family ended up in a tenement on Delancey Street, where my younger brother soon died of cholera. So spare me your fair market value.”
Duncan dragged his hands through his hair, his eyes wild. “Wait, this is all some revenge plot on your part? Against me?”
Clay didn’t answer immediately. He retook his seat and shifted to get comfortable. “In case I haven’t made myself clear, you cannot prevent me from building on this particular block. Perhaps your mother might wish to invest in some cotton to stuff in her ears. It’s likely to be very loud at night.”
Duncan’s skin darkened to a deep red, a vein popping in his temple. “She is an old woman in her sixties, Madden. Have you no heart?”
“None, Greene. Absolutely none. It was stolen from me at the tender age of eleven when my family was uprooted and destroyed.”
“You son of a bitch. If you believe for one second that you’ve won, you sorely underestimate me. I have more friends in this town—as well as more money—than you do.”
“Friends aren’t what count in this city. I have spent my life amassing the power and financial resources to destroy your family home. Nothing will stop me from seeing this through.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you are wasting your breath and my time.”
Duncan’s jaw tightened, his chest heaving. “You have made a very powerful enemy today, Madden.”
Clay gave the other man a dark grin. “Wrong. We’ve been enemies for two decades. You just didn’t realize it until today.”
Duncan didn’t say anything else. He stomped to the door and flung it open, and Clay listened to the other man’s steps as he retreated out of the club. That had been a thoroughly satisfying encounter. He had certainly enjoyed it, at least.
Even better, this wouldn’t be the last time he faced down Duncan Greene. Clay could hardly wait.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Eighteen
Florence paced the length of her grandmother’s petit salon. Her skirts rustled, the silk whispering over the expensive Eastern carpets. This room was one of Granny’s favorites. Done in shades of blue and white, the decor was classic French with modern art on the walls. They often took tea in here when just family called.
Learning about the development plans had been hard on Granny, clearly. Easter dinner had carried on without her, though it had been a subdued affair. No one had felt much like chatting after Daddy’s news. Her grandmother had already canceled this week’s euchre game.
Florence had been worried, so when Granny requested a visit this morning, Florence had hurried over. Now that she was here, anxiety twisted in her chest and the wait seemed like hours. What would Granny do if Daddy couldn’t fix this? Would she stay or sell the house after all?
The idea of a sale nauseated Florence. This house represented freedom, choices and opportunities that would be denied her without it. If it was torn down, her future would be altered in ways she couldn’t begin to predict.
The sound of her grandmother’s charm bracelets alerted Florence to the older woman’s approach. She turned toward the door to find Granny sailing over the threshold. “Hello, Granny.”
“Florence, there you are. You are a sight for poor, tired eyes.” Granny enveloped her in a fierce hug. “I apologize for running off before Easter dinner.”
“I understand.” They separated and she followed her grandmother to the sofa. “How are you feeling?”
Granny set a stack of papers on the low tea table. “Sad. However, nothing lasts forever. We were one of the first families on this block, and everything has changed so much since those days. It’s the march of time, I’m afraid.”
“Does that mean you are going to sell?”
Granny sighed as she poured tea for them both. “I don’t like the idea of it. You should have this house after I’m gone. It should stay in the family, not become rubble dumped into the harbor. However, I cannot see any alternative.”
God, that was depressing. She tried to remain positive. “Daddy may find a way to prevent the project from moving forward. He knows everyone in the city.”
“Yes, but even some things are out of your father’s control. Though he would never admit it.”
“True. He hates when I don’t obey him. He says he’s stopped trying to understand me.”
“It is a daughter’s job to give her father gray hairs.”
“Then consider me a rousing success,” she said drily, causing her grandmother to chuckle. “You had some wild days when you were a debutante, I bet.”
Granny’s lips compressed as if she might be fighting a grin. “It was different then. Before the city was so built up and organized.”
Florence hummed as she sipped her tea. “I will pry those stories out of you someday.”
“I shouldn’t. Your father would have my head if I encouraged any more recklessness out of you girls.”
Unlikely. The Greene sisters needed no encouragement whatsoever when it came to recklessness. “I won’t tell him.”