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birthday party only a few weeksago. Officials were striding around the house affixing stickers to tables and chairs and ashtrays, which they confidently expected to bring inflated prices simply because they had belonged to Big Bob Keeffe. The house was on the market for fifteen million dollars, but the attorneys had told Shannon it was a drop in the financial ocean of what Keeffe Holdings owed.
    “But how did it all happen?” she had asked Brad Jeffries. “Dad was always such a good businessman. How else could he have gotten where he did?”
    “I only wish I had known,” Brad answered nervously. “I’ve always considered myself Bob’s anchor. Whenever his schemes got too grandiose, I was the one expected to bring him down to size. But he kept this quiet from me, Shannon.” He shrugged. “I never looked at the books. Why should I? That’s what accountants are for.”
    It was the same with Jack Wexler. He had come to see her, looking miserable and nervous. “I’m not good at this, Shannon,” he had said tersely. “You know I care. And I wish to God I could have done something about it. But I didn’t know. None of us knew how he was juggling things. If I had designed the new skyscraper I could have controlled it. But Bob didn’t want me to design it,” he added bitterly. “He wanted a big name. Bob didn’t care what it cost either, he just wanted ‘the best’ and it seems he borrowed from everyplace he could to finance it. It’s there now, on Park Avenue, half-finished, sticking up like a sore finger in the sky. Some monument! Jesus.” He had groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Shannon. If there’s anything I can do, you know, money … well, anything. Just let me know.”
    “I will, Jack,” she had promised, though of course she never would. In her view they had let her father down and now they were blaming it all on him. She would never take money from any of the traitors.
    Surprisingly, though, it was J.K. who was the greatest source of strength. “Your father gave me everything I ever had,” he had said simply. “Now I can repay my debt. Ifthere’s anything I can do, anything you need, it’s yours.” He had hesitated, staring down at his feet, his thin, pale face coloring. He’d fiddled with his gold-rimmed glasses and then said, “It seems ridiculous to be saying this to Bob Keeffe’s daughter, but if you need money, count on me.” He had pulled a checkbook eagerly from his pocket. “Name a sum,” he’d said quickly, blushing deeper. “Anything. Ten thousand. Twenty. Fifty. Whatever you want, Shannon. It’s yours.”
    But of course she had refused J.K., too, proudly telling him she had enough to get by on, that she would get a job, and anyway, she would soon be getting married.
    And with Buffy gone and Wil back at Yale, it was J.K. who helped her with the packing. It was J.K. who had instructed Sotheby’s on the sale of the houses and the contents. And it was J.K. who had personally overseen the crating and removal of her father’s art collection.
    He was waiting now in the hall, and his face lit up when he saw her. “I was worried about you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s after two and you said you’d be back by lunchtime.”
    “You sound just like a nanny I used to have.” She managed a smile. “There was traffic, rain … the usual Manhattan blues.”
    “I wondered if you could find time to go through this inventory?” He held out a daunting sheaf of papers, and she glanced helplessly at them and then back at him. “Must I? It all seems so pointless somehow.”
    “Of course not. If you trust me to take care of it.”
    She stared curiously at him, her gray eyes narrowing suspiciously as something occurred to her. “J.K. You were the man closest to my father. He always said you knew everything about him and everything about his business. If that’s true, then how is it you didn’t know about the mess he was getting into?”
    “There