what Morgan had seen of the Greenes in the office earlier, it seemed like a good plan. They reached the front door. To Morga n’s surprise, Robert Greene opened it himself. She had the feeling he did it on purpose, trying to show them he was a self-made man, down-to-earth, blah, blah, bla h . . . Anything but a man wh o’d had no earthly idea what was going on with his family while he was off fracking his way to billions.
The front entrance was the size of a ballroom. An empty ballroom. Except for the grand staircase leading up to the second floor and a large chandelier suspended from the ceiling three stories above them. Balconies made of dark wood broke up the space at the second and third floors, but there was no sign of the rooms beyond them.
With the tall windows flanking the door and the arched skylight above it, the space should have felt light and airy. But it didn’t. Instead the house felt heavy, as if gravity had folded in on itself, making Morga n’s shoulders sag with imaginary weight.
Each footstep was a chore, resulting in an echo that could make a heart ache with emptiness. Morgan didn’t believe in ghosts—how could she, with the number of tortured souls her fathe r’s murder spree had created?—but something haunted this house.
“I know you came to see BreeAnn a’s room,” Greene said. “But before you do, I had an idea that might help. Care n’s waiting for us in the den.”
He led them through an archway that opened into another immense room filled with stiff toile-covered furniture that had high backs and not enough padding to look at all comfortable. Then into a dining room that could seat two dozen at the mahogany table that appeared as if it had never been used, through a butle r’s pantry filled with china, past a catere r’s nook, through a large kitchen equipped better than most restaurants, and finally into a room at the rear of the house that had rows of plush leather couches lined up facing a projection screen.
Caren lounged in the front row, sipping a martini. One wall was taken up with a well-stocked bar, and the opposite wall held DVDs and actual movies on reels like a cinema. Morgan could just imagine the three Greenes sitting in the dark, side by side yet utterly alone during their “family time.”
American dream, her ass.
“Caren,” Greene said, gesturing to the bar, giving them permission to make their own drinks since clearly they weren’t guests he was obliged to serve. “I was just about to tell them my idea.”
He slid in beside her, jostling her to sit up straight. She finished her drink in a slow sip, but he didn’t take the empty glass from her or offer to get her a refill. Morgan had the impression Caren had already had one refill too many.
“So,” he said, leaning forward eagerly. It was the first hint of nerves Morgan had detected in him. “I realized that no one at ReNew has ever seen me. Ther e’d be no reason for them to have any idea what I look like. I thought I could help out. Play the father when you go undercover.”
He sat back, beaming, waiting for their cheer of approval. There was no place for them to sit, unless they wanted to sit behind the Greenes or on the floor in front of them. Andre settled in, leaning against the wall opposite the bar while Jenna paced the small space between the Greenes and the screen.
Morgan decided to push Greene, see if she could figure out why he was nervous. And why he wanted to insert himself into their investigation.
“Why is it that no one at ReNew knows you, Mr. Greene?” she asked, sliding in beside him on the couch. Caren jerked her head up at that, staring at her. Hey, if he was supposed to be playing her father, she needed to know him better, right?
Greene relaxed into the leather cushions, basking in the attention of the two women on either side of him, and sipped at his whiskey, taking his time. “I was out of town when BreeAnna was enrolled at ReNew. Work.”
Something in his tone
The front entrance was the size of a ballroom. An empty ballroom. Except for the grand staircase leading up to the second floor and a large chandelier suspended from the ceiling three stories above them. Balconies made of dark wood broke up the space at the second and third floors, but there was no sign of the rooms beyond them.
With the tall windows flanking the door and the arched skylight above it, the space should have felt light and airy. But it didn’t. Instead the house felt heavy, as if gravity had folded in on itself, making Morga n’s shoulders sag with imaginary weight.
Each footstep was a chore, resulting in an echo that could make a heart ache with emptiness. Morgan didn’t believe in ghosts—how could she, with the number of tortured souls her fathe r’s murder spree had created?—but something haunted this house.
“I know you came to see BreeAnn a’s room,” Greene said. “But before you do, I had an idea that might help. Care n’s waiting for us in the den.”
He led them through an archway that opened into another immense room filled with stiff toile-covered furniture that had high backs and not enough padding to look at all comfortable. Then into a dining room that could seat two dozen at the mahogany table that appeared as if it had never been used, through a butle r’s pantry filled with china, past a catere r’s nook, through a large kitchen equipped better than most restaurants, and finally into a room at the rear of the house that had rows of plush leather couches lined up facing a projection screen.
Caren lounged in the front row, sipping a martini. One wall was taken up with a well-stocked bar, and the opposite wall held DVDs and actual movies on reels like a cinema. Morgan could just imagine the three Greenes sitting in the dark, side by side yet utterly alone during their “family time.”
American dream, her ass.
“Caren,” Greene said, gesturing to the bar, giving them permission to make their own drinks since clearly they weren’t guests he was obliged to serve. “I was just about to tell them my idea.”
He slid in beside her, jostling her to sit up straight. She finished her drink in a slow sip, but he didn’t take the empty glass from her or offer to get her a refill. Morgan had the impression Caren had already had one refill too many.
“So,” he said, leaning forward eagerly. It was the first hint of nerves Morgan had detected in him. “I realized that no one at ReNew has ever seen me. Ther e’d be no reason for them to have any idea what I look like. I thought I could help out. Play the father when you go undercover.”
He sat back, beaming, waiting for their cheer of approval. There was no place for them to sit, unless they wanted to sit behind the Greenes or on the floor in front of them. Andre settled in, leaning against the wall opposite the bar while Jenna paced the small space between the Greenes and the screen.
Morgan decided to push Greene, see if she could figure out why he was nervous. And why he wanted to insert himself into their investigation.
“Why is it that no one at ReNew knows you, Mr. Greene?” she asked, sliding in beside him on the couch. Caren jerked her head up at that, staring at her. Hey, if he was supposed to be playing her father, she needed to know him better, right?
Greene relaxed into the leather cushions, basking in the attention of the two women on either side of him, and sipped at his whiskey, taking his time. “I was out of town when BreeAnna was enrolled at ReNew. Work.”
Something in his tone
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