Chapter 6

SAM

AFTER WAITING for an eternity in the lobby of Maxwell’s office, I finally landed an audience with him. He sat behind an ornately carved desk the size of a mid-sized sedan in an office filled with dark wood and over-stuffed furnishings. He gestured toward a chair but didn’t look up when I entered the room. Instead, I wandered the perimeter and studied the priceless artwork, the same pieces I’d seen a dozen times before as a boy. Back then, I’d been intimidated and awed by Maxwell in equal measures.

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Maxwell said in a cold, controlled voice to someone on the other side of his telephone call. “You knew the situation from the beginning. Make. It. Go. Away.” He ended the call and drew in a deep, audible breath before swiveling his chair to face me. “Sam. It’s been too long. To what do I owe this honor?” His laser focus burned into me. I stared back. Every action, every word of my father’s, was a carefully orchestrated test, one I never seemed to pass.

“You know why I’m here. Your face is plastered on every news station and website in the country. We’re getting swamped by reporters. What the hell is going on?” I kept my tone even, casual, matching his reserve. To an uninvolved onlooker we might have been discussing the latest polo match or baseball scores.

“I’m touched by your concern.” He cocked his head to one side, continuing the scrutiny. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I have to care, because you’ve brought your shit to my doorstep. The FBI wants to see me for questioning tomorrow. How the hell did my name get dragged into this?”

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and deepened the lines across his forehead. Maxwell had always been larger than life to me, an indestructible force. Today, he seemed tired and older than his age. “Relax. It’s just a routine investigation. You know how these things go. They won’t find anything, because there’s nothing to find.” The wheels of his high-backed gray leather chair moved noiselessly over the glossy hardwood floor as he pushed away from the desk. “It’s really none of your concern.”

“It is my concern when the Seaforth name gets dragged into the muck. There are rumors that an indictment is about to come down.” This got his attention. Although his face remained impassive, his shoulders tensed beneath the shoulders of his custom-tailored suit. “If there’s something I need to know, you better tell me.”

“Since when did a little media pressure ever bother you?” He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “You should be used to it by now.”

“Since they’re harassing my pregnant wife.” The secret slipped out before I could stop it.

“So, she’s finally done it. I can’t believe it took this long.” A bitter chuckle crackled from his chest. “That bitch has got you by the balls. You fool. You’ll never be rid of her now.”

I wanted to fly over the desk and throttle him with his red silk necktie. Instead, I shifted in the chair and narrowed my eyes. “She’s my wife and the mother of your grandchild. You’ll treat her with respect.”

“Are you sure it’s yours? I’d recommend a paternity test as soon as possible. They can do them in utero now, did you know that? Costs a bit more, but it’s well worth it.” As he spoke, he stood and paced to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. “It’ll save you a great deal of hassle. Nothing like the bullshit I had to endure when your mother had Venetia. Back then the results took forever.” He poured two fingers of scotch into a pair of crystal glasses and handed one to me.

“And while I’m thinking about it, I’d appreciate it if you’d lay off the gifts.”

“I’m extending an olive branch to the both of you. Is this how you repay my generosity?” He clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth. “How very un-Christian of you.”

“Just stop.” Part of me wanted to break his nose, but the more rational part recognized his need to deflect the conversation away from his current problems. He was a master at controlling the people around him, but then again, so was I. “It’s a waste of time and money.”

“They’re gifts. Keep them. Give them to charity.” He shrugged. “Save them for your alimony. You’re going to need the money when she takes you to the cleaners.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life. Let’s talk about the fucked-up mess you’re in. I’m here to find out what’s going on with Seaforth Industries.” I took a sip of the scotch. The amber liquid soothed and warmed my throat.

“Glad you’re finally coming around.” Maxwell resumed his place behind the mammoth desk.

“You’ve left me with no choice. And let’s get one thing out of the way—I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your problems, but I do care about the legacy our forefathers built. The one you seem hell bent on destroying.”

“Our ancestors created this business, but I’m the one who took it to greatness.” He stared into the depths of his glass. “But I’m glad you’ve finally taken an interest.”

“My interests lie in saving the future of the Seaforths. I don’t want to see our name dragged through the muck again because of your escapades.”

“Spoken like a true father and a Seaforth.” A faint smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Maybe you’re not such a fool after all.”

“Vanessa seems to think the situation calls for my attention. I’m here on her behalf.” 

At the mention of my middle sister’s name, his expression chilled. “Vanessa? Really?” One of his thick eyebrows lifted. “How interesting. I figured she’d be queen of a third world country by now. What’s she been up to?”

“If you want to know, you can call her yourself. Now talk. Time is money, and every minute I spend with you is a dollar down the toilet.”

His genuine laughter exploded around the room. “God, there’s no question. You’re definitely my son.” He wiped the moisture from beneath his eyes and straightened. “There’s really nothing to tell. It’s all a misunderstanding. It’ll blow over in no time. Apparently someone thinks I’ve been hiding assets, avoiding the IRS.” He waved a well-manicured hand through the air, like shooing away a pesky fly. “I’ve always conducted business above board and perfectly legal.”

It was my turn to laugh. “We both know that’s not true. If there’s nothing going on, then why won’t you comply with the feds? Turn over your records and let them find nothing.” I held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess. You’re above all that?” His smug smirk supplied the answer but fell after my next statement. “The stock is taking a nosedive. If you owe taxes, you need to pay up. The IRS isn’t playing. They’re out for blood. Your blood. Our blood.” It might have been the reflection of a cloud passing over the sun, but I thought I saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes. “Four generations of hard work down the toilet because of you. Is your ego really worth the loss of a legacy?”

His palm slammed against the desktop, causing the pens and papers to jump. “No one can touch me. Not you. Not the IRS. Not the government. I have friends in deep and dark places. They wouldn’t dare.” The angles of his face sharpened as he leaned back in his chair. “You know how these things work, Sam. Regular rules don’t apply to us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I rose to my feet, stomach churning with distaste. “And I have a feeling you’re about to find out.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have a plan.”