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I’d had an assassin after me before-and although I’d survived, it had been close. Too close. The recent incident on the street took on new meaning. What if these were the same people who’d killed Kirsten? What if they’d pla
“I think you ought to sit down,” Cyan insisted.
“No.” I wiped the back of my hand against my eyes. “I just had a moment there. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Her look told me she didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t have believed me either.
I made my way to a stool near the door to the Family Dining Room. “You know what? Maybe I’ll just sit for a minute.” I gathered some of the baby greens we intended to use for the salad, and four plates. “I’ll get the salad started here.”
While Cyan worked at the far end of the room, she cast occasional glances my way. For my part, I listened for mention of Volkov, for mention of Mrs. Campbell’s father. Instead, the three old friends seemed intent on keeping the conversation light.
“There he is,” Treyton Blanchard boomed.
I nearly stood up to see, but didn’t need to. Within moments I heard the greetings indicating Nick Volkov had arrived-and in apparent high spirits.
“He came?” I asked aloud.
“Why shouldn’t he?” Cyan asked. “We set a place for him.”
As much as I knew my little he’s-guilty-if-he-doesn’t-show reasoning meant nothing, I felt relief begin to seep into my consciousness. Last night, Kirsten had made it sound as though an arrest were imminent. Volkov showing up here today suggested that the late reporter’s musings could have been just that-musings. Solid logic was rapidly extinguishing the irrational fear that had gripped me. Perhaps Kirsten met her untimely end in a strictly coincidental fashion.
That didn’t feel quite right to me, but the fact that Nick Volkov had shown up gave me enough release to let go and enjoy the rest of the di
Jackson came into the pantry, all smiles. “We are ready to serve at any time.”
“Any idea why the delay?”
“Mr. Volkov was apparently in a fender-bender on his way over. His driver is still at the scene, and Mr. Volkov needed to remain until the police arrived.”
“Is he okay?”
Jackson nodded and began mixing a drink using sweet vermouth, Te
“What about the other guy?”
He shrugged. “Hit-and-run.”
“Poor Volkov. Is he shaken up?”
Jackson strained his mixture into a lowball glass and added a maraschino cherry. “First thing he asked for was a perfect Manhattan,” he said, holding up the concoction. “And told me to keep them coming.”
“Yikes,” I said. “Think he’ll be in any mood to discuss business with that much in his system?”
Jackson backed into the doorway, lifting his shoulders in silent response. He mouthed, “We’ll see.”
Plating and serving di
Before the empty dishes were brought back to the kitchen, Cyan and I began to prepare for dessert. She had her back to me, one hand on the coffeepot, when she turned to ask me a question.
Instead of Cyan’s voice, however, Volkov’s rang out. “Why can’t you see reason, woman?”
We both froze.
Mrs. Campbell’s voice came next. “Nicholas-”
“Goddamn this stupid arrangement. Where the hell did our fathers come up with this ridiculous idea?” Then, a whump, sounding a lot like a fist, slammed onto a tabletop.
“How many did he have?” I asked Jackson in a whisper.
He held up four fingers.
Another one for our “Do not serve” list.
Helen Hendrickson attempted to say something, but Senator Blanchard interrupted. “Nick, this isn’t helping. Elaine, you know as well as I do that if we don’t move forward now-quickly and decisively-we won’t be able to sell for another ten years.”
Mrs. Campbell spoke up. “We have until December fifteenth.”
“You think that’s a lot of time?” Volkov shouted.
“I think it’s plenty of time to wait to discuss this.”
Volkov kept at it. “That’s why this arrangement is such idiocy. You may very well have inherited your share of the company, but you have certainly not inherited any business sense.”
A chair scraped. I imagined Mrs. Campbell standing up. “Excuse me?”
Volkov’s words slurred. “We have a buyer interested, which means this is the time to strike. You may have all the time in the world to make up your mind on other matters, but for now, this is the most important item on my agenda. If you don’t agree to sell, then I can’t be responsible for my actions.” Another whump. Louder this time.
I peeked around the corner. Secret Service agents had moved into the room, close enough to act, should the need arise. Mrs. Campbell, however, held them off with a raised hand. “I thought it would be a good idea to talk tonight,” she said. “I see I was wrong.”
From my vantage point, I watched her make eye contact with each of her colleagues, one at a time. She spoke softly. “Despite the range of our ages, we practically grew up together. Have you forgotten? Our fathers were friends, close friends. As I believed we were.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Time and distance and circumstances have caused the four of us to lose the closeness we once had, but I’d hoped we’d be able to reach an agreement.” She sighed.
Helen Hendrickson remained seated, and Volkov, his energy spent, dropped back into his chair. Blanchard, standing to Mrs. Campbell’s left, leaned forward, fisted hands on the table. “We can still reach an agreement, Elaine.”
She shook her head. “I no longer believe that.”
“If you’d only listen to reason.”
She held up a hand. Blanchard stopped talking. “Our fathers were wealthy men.” Again she stopped long enough to make eye contact with her guests. “They envisioned something bigger than themselves, something that would live on after they were no longer here. It was their dream to use their knowledge, their wealth, and their contacts for philanthropic purposes. And you all know what a great success they achieved.”
Helen Hendrickson finally got her word in. “But that’s the thing, Elaine. Zendy Industries is bigger and more successful than our fathers ever imagined. It’s got holdings in every major market in the world. Just think about the good that can be done if we were to sell it.”
Mrs. Campbell shook her head. “The good can only continue if Zendy remains under the charter upon which it was founded. Our fathers entrusted us to carry on their vision. If we sell now, what will we be doing to future generations?”
Volkov growled, “My children are the future generation. Seems to me our parents would want us to ensure their security.”
“My dad told me that Zendy Industries was the best investment he ever made,” she said softly. “He believed in its mission. And he made me promise never to sell.”
The three others gasped.
Mrs. Campbell licked her lips. “I invited you all here tonight to tell you once and for all that I will not sell. Not before December fifteenth. Not ever.”
Volkov bolted upward, upsetting his chair. For a moment I thought one of the agents would grab him, but he strode away from the First Lady. “Idiocy!” He threw his hands upward, gesturing to the ceiling as he paced.
“I had hoped to… wait,” Mrs. Campbell continued. “To discuss this more fully at a later point in time, when everything settled down. Sean’s death…” She bit her lip.
Cyan nudged me. “Getting an earful?”
I nodded.
Blanchard flexed his jaw, in an obvious attempt to keep himself in check. “Did you discuss this decision with your own children?” he asked.