downshifting, the high-performance engine rumbling, coming to a stop in a parking space in front of a Rite Aid drug store. “Give it to me,” Teddy said. “Let’s see who’s right and who’s not.”
Celeste was confused. Who’s right? He was the only one who guessed, and he was wrong both times. She handed him the money and he started counting, stopped and started again.
“Want some help? I know it’s a lot of numbers.”
Teddy gave her a dirty look.
Celeste cracked the window, lit a joint and blew the smoke out.
Teddy looked over like he wanted a hit.
Celeste said, “When you’re through. I don’t want to cloud your razor-sharp mind.”
Teddy finished counting and locked his gaze on Celeste. “One thousand, three hundred fifty-eight, didn’t I say that?”
Celeste said, “Quick, what’s that divided by two?”
Teddy said, “Huh?”
Celeste said, “Six seventy-nine each. And you didn’t even have to get out the car.”
Teddy grinned, getting it now. He put his hand up, reached over and said, “High five.”
“This is the address he gave his parole officer,” Teddy said, pulling up to a tan ranch house with a robin’s-egg-blue garage door in Sterling Heights.
Celeste glanced over at him. “And you believe it?”
It was in a subdivision that didn’t have any trees. Just single-story houses and concrete streets.
Celeste said, “Let me clue you in on something. If Jack’s got the money you say he’s got, he ain’t staying in Sterling Heights with his sis.”
Teddy turned in the seat, facing her. “What the hell do you know?”
He hated people telling him he was wrong. Girlsmost of all. Celeste said, “Think about it. Would you stay here if you were rich and just out of prison?”
“We’ll see,” Teddy said.
God, he was hardheaded. He got out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell, turned, looked at her and waved.
Celeste saw a car coming toward her, a silver two-door Chevy. It passed her and turned in the driveway, a chick with bright red hair behind the wheel. Teddy saw it too and moved around the front of the house toward the garage.
S EVEN
Dick May said, “I apologize it’s taken so long.”
Kate said, “It’s not your fault. How many times have I postponed it?” She could see the trust documents on the desk in front of him.
“Did you and Owen ever talk finances, assets, net worth?”
“I was never too concerned,” Kate said.
“I can understand.”
Dick May was Owen’s attorney and good friend. He’d retired from a big Detroit firm and Owen was his only client: kept him busier than he wanted, but it was fun and lucrative—a nice combination for a former Princeton grad who’d just turned seventy but still had the energy and enthusiasm of a guy twenty years younger. Owen and May played tennis and golf and shot skeet, Owen giving him a handmade Benelli twelve-gauge for his seventieth birthday.
Kate sat in a comfortable armchair across the deskfrom May in his quaint Bloomfield Hills office, which had a fireplace and a wet bar.
“Owen left you everything—his controlling interest in the company, the house in Bloomfield, apartment in New York, place in Aspen and the equities, cash, and cars. No surprise, I’m sure. We’re talking, conservatively, twenty million.”
Twenty million—and Kate was thinking about the house she rented in Guatemala, thinking it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life and she had less than a thousand dollars to her name. Money made it easier but not necessarily better. Not many people subscribed to that point of view, but for Kate, it was true.
May said, “You’re free to run the company if you want.”
“You think I’m going to go in there and tell those motorsport pros how to do their job?”
“You wouldn’t be the first if you changed your mind.”
“Not likely,” Kate said.
“I didn’t think so, but you never know.” May took off the reading glasses and furrowed his brow.
Celeste was confused. Who’s right? He was the only one who guessed, and he was wrong both times. She handed him the money and he started counting, stopped and started again.
“Want some help? I know it’s a lot of numbers.”
Teddy gave her a dirty look.
Celeste cracked the window, lit a joint and blew the smoke out.
Teddy looked over like he wanted a hit.
Celeste said, “When you’re through. I don’t want to cloud your razor-sharp mind.”
Teddy finished counting and locked his gaze on Celeste. “One thousand, three hundred fifty-eight, didn’t I say that?”
Celeste said, “Quick, what’s that divided by two?”
Teddy said, “Huh?”
Celeste said, “Six seventy-nine each. And you didn’t even have to get out the car.”
Teddy grinned, getting it now. He put his hand up, reached over and said, “High five.”
“This is the address he gave his parole officer,” Teddy said, pulling up to a tan ranch house with a robin’s-egg-blue garage door in Sterling Heights.
Celeste glanced over at him. “And you believe it?”
It was in a subdivision that didn’t have any trees. Just single-story houses and concrete streets.
Celeste said, “Let me clue you in on something. If Jack’s got the money you say he’s got, he ain’t staying in Sterling Heights with his sis.”
Teddy turned in the seat, facing her. “What the hell do you know?”
He hated people telling him he was wrong. Girlsmost of all. Celeste said, “Think about it. Would you stay here if you were rich and just out of prison?”
“We’ll see,” Teddy said.
God, he was hardheaded. He got out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell, turned, looked at her and waved.
Celeste saw a car coming toward her, a silver two-door Chevy. It passed her and turned in the driveway, a chick with bright red hair behind the wheel. Teddy saw it too and moved around the front of the house toward the garage.
S EVEN
Dick May said, “I apologize it’s taken so long.”
Kate said, “It’s not your fault. How many times have I postponed it?” She could see the trust documents on the desk in front of him.
“Did you and Owen ever talk finances, assets, net worth?”
“I was never too concerned,” Kate said.
“I can understand.”
Dick May was Owen’s attorney and good friend. He’d retired from a big Detroit firm and Owen was his only client: kept him busier than he wanted, but it was fun and lucrative—a nice combination for a former Princeton grad who’d just turned seventy but still had the energy and enthusiasm of a guy twenty years younger. Owen and May played tennis and golf and shot skeet, Owen giving him a handmade Benelli twelve-gauge for his seventieth birthday.
Kate sat in a comfortable armchair across the deskfrom May in his quaint Bloomfield Hills office, which had a fireplace and a wet bar.
“Owen left you everything—his controlling interest in the company, the house in Bloomfield, apartment in New York, place in Aspen and the equities, cash, and cars. No surprise, I’m sure. We’re talking, conservatively, twenty million.”
Twenty million—and Kate was thinking about the house she rented in Guatemala, thinking it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life and she had less than a thousand dollars to her name. Money made it easier but not necessarily better. Not many people subscribed to that point of view, but for Kate, it was true.
May said, “You’re free to run the company if you want.”
“You think I’m going to go in there and tell those motorsport pros how to do their job?”
“You wouldn’t be the first if you changed your mind.”
“Not likely,” Kate said.
“I didn’t think so, but you never know.” May took off the reading glasses and furrowed his brow.
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