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“Gentlemen.” I stride toward the two older men who’re waiting for me in the chairs in front of my desk. Both decked in black suits, they remind me of old Italian mafia dons, though their role in the great scheme of things is far less important. These are merely just the messengers.
“Lucian, good to see you.” Dominic must be in his seventies now, and practically grew up with my father. I’ve always liked him, but never trusted him. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us. How’s your mother doing?”
“Just fine.”
He shifts his attention slightly to my left, where Rand stands behind me. “And Rand? How are you?”
“I’m well, Dominic, thank you.”
The other guy, Louis, is mostly just here for moral support, as he rarely ever says much of anything in these meetings. Together, the two are a harmless irritation, but one that represents some of the most powerful individuals in the country, so while the idea of meeting with them is about as exciting as taking inventory of the hair on my balls, it’s worth the effort of being polite.
I shake both their hands, each bearing the same signet ring as mine, and round the desk to my chair. Rand stands off to the side, as usual. As many times as I’ve asked him to take a seat in these meetings, he always politely declines. So I stopped asking.
“What can I do for you?” Cold leather presses into my back as I lean into the chair.
“We’ve had an inquiry into the group. Someone has expressed interest in becoming a member.”
Schadenfreude isn’t the kind of group someone stumbles across on Facebook, or something. For generations, it’s remained hidden in the shadows, below the radar, a secret society whose members are some of the most affluent in the world. An inquiry is a big deal. “Oh? What is the nature of his interest?”
“Well, that’s why we’re here. Happens to be your former father-in-law.”
“Patrick Boyd?” Of all the unholy fucks.
“That’s him. He’s been asking around. And quite frankly, he’s making too much noise doing so.”
“How did he hear--?”
“He apparently heard about us through your father, who introduced him to Thomas, and he’s been showing up at his work place inquiring about Schadenfreude.”
Jesus Christ. Thomas is a highly respected surgeon, an active member of the group with some of the most impressive co
“We think his motivations might be entirely political.” The disapproving tone of Dominic’s voice is what I’d expect. The group tends to frown on inquiries from those whose intentions aren’t aligned with their philosophies.
“They definitely are. He has no business seeking membership.” I toss a quick glance back to Rand, whose face remains stoic, as if he’s not even listening.
“Maybe. But as you know, we like to keep an open mind to those with strong alliances.”
Strong alliances. The man has lost favor with his public after a scandal involving a young teenage girl, whom he apparently paid to have sex with. He claimed to be in a severe depression after Amelia’s death, which prompted him to go a little crazy. His wife subsequently left him afterward. My guess is, he’s trying to build his alliances back up.
“Trust me when I say we don’t need his alliances.”
“Well, to be frank, Lucian, we’re a little concerned about the direction of things since your father passed. God rest his soul.”
Unfortunately, I doubt my father’s soul is with God. “You’ve nothing to be concerned about, Domini--”
“You just don’t have the same presence as your father, and that just isn’t good for rapport.” He throws up his hands, having cut me off. The guy wears a hearing aid the size of California, so I can’t get too pissed off. “People start to forget who is in charge. They start doing their own thing. I know things are different in this age, but in my generation, face to face was the way of business. Handshakes sealed the deal. Eye contact meant assurance. Confidence.”
Or a strong desire to murder someone. “I understand. Rand and I were just discussing a di
“We were thinking maybe you should host a party, or something. A gathering. Invite some of the big players. Let them mingle. We haven’t had one of those in … well, in quite a long time, to be frank.”
That’s his thing. To be frank. By the end of this meeting, I’ll be about ready to kill frank.
“A masquerade? What do you think?”
“Bingo. Something fancy. Maybe invite some women.” In other words, prostitutes, to keep the married men entertained while their wives are left at home, because not even they know this group exists. “I want you to invite Boyd. We’ll see how he interacts. Make our own determinations based on observation. Like we’ve always done.”
“Of course.” I can’t muster more than a crooked smile in response, but it doesn’t matter. The scars on my face make me look like I’m frowning even when I’m not.
“Going forward, I’d ask that you meet with us on a more regular basis. Let us know how things are going. How’s business, by the way?”
At this point, I only serve as the Chair for the family shipping business, and my meetings are few and far between. It’s the other engagements, like these, that take up most of my day. The minutiae my father dumped on me when he kicked the bucket.
“Well. Up from last quarter.” It’s the same phrase I use at every meeting, to avoid an hour-long inquiry into the finances of Blackthorne Enterprises. Short and sweet.
“Fantastic. That’s what we like to hear.”
“Well, gentlemen, I don’t mean to rush things along, but I have other meetings--”
“I’m sure you’ve got other meetings today, so we won’t take up any more of your time.”
A feigned smile works the muscles of my face as I nod. “Thank you.”
Both men push to their feet and offer another handshake. “You have Rand give us the details of the di
“Will do. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
He gives a sharp nod, and both men exit my office. The moment the elevator doors close, I push back in my chair and kick my feet up on the desk.
“I want a meeting with Boyd. As soon as possible.” It’s strange that he didn’t come to me about this in the first place, but I sense the man has always harbored both contempt and fear towards me.
“I’ll arrange it immediately.” Rand straightens the departed chairs in front of my desk.
“As for this masquerade di
“I’ll handle the details and get the crew working on the atrium. In the meantime, we’ll get you a tux and a mask.” He clears his throat, his hands clasped behind his back. “Should I procure a date for the evening?”
“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Absolutely not.”
“Pardon my meddling, Master, but it may put them at ease to see you with a … lady friend. The Widow Lancaster has been asking about you.”
“Lancaster?” I lower my hand from my face, frowning. “And what is their concern? That I be married? A possible heir to the Blackthorne throne of shit that they can watch and observe over the course of his life? Let them think what they want. I’m not out to marry some desperate woman who’s ten years older than me and looking to secure her future country club membership. I’ve done an arranged marriage once.”
“I understand. Merely a suggestion. I’ll get started on these plans.”