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Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Table
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My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Highest Bidder
DOMINICRaymond Calder had chosen the old Pier 9 ferry terminal in Hoboken, a long brick shed on the river that had been closed since the nineties, and at 11:50 that night it looked like the inside of a held breath.I parked the car three blocks away and walked. Nora walked beside me in a dark coat with her hair tied back and her ankle strapped under her boot. I had argued with her for forty minutes in the garage, with the engine running, and lost. She had said, He asked for me by name. If I'm not there, he'll know you're afraid. I had said I was afraid. She had said that was exactly the point.Marcus waited in the car at the end of the block with the engine off. Julian had gone ahead at ten, on foot, to find a vantage point on the roof of a boathouse. I carried a black leather briefcase in my left hand, eight million dollars in cashier's checks drawn on an account I had spent the afternoon emptying."You're sure about this," said Nora."No.""That's reassuring.""I have never claimed
My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Highest Bidder
DOMINICRaymond Calder had chosen the old Pier 9 ferry terminal in Hoboken, a long brick shed on the river that had been closed since the nineties, and at 11:50 that night it looked like the inside of a held breath.I parked the car three blocks away and walked. Nora walked beside me in a dark coat with her hair tied back and her ankle strapped under her boot. I had argued with her for forty minutes in the garage, with the engine running, and lost. She had said, He asked for me by name. If I'm not there, he'll know you're afraid. I had said I was afraid. She had said that was exactly the point.Marcus waited in the car at the end of the block with the engine off. Julian had gone ahead at ten, on foot, to find a vantage point on the roof of a boathouse. I carried a black leather briefcase in my left hand, eight million dollars in cashier's checks drawn on an account I had spent the afternoon emptying."You're sure about this," said Nora."No.""That's reassuring.""I have never claimed
My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Eight: Shorthand
NORAEleanor Blackwood read her own handwriting for the first time in thirty-nine years at four in the morning, at the long oak table in Dominic's kitchen, with a cup of tea going cold at her elbow.The pages lay in a fan under the lamp. Forty-one sheets of brittle paper covered in tiny looping strokes that looked, to me, like the tracks of a bird across snow. She held a magnifying glass in one hand and a pencil in the other, and she moved down each line with the slow, deliberate attention of a woman defusing a bomb.Dominic sat across from her with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled. Julian stood by the window with his arms folded, still pale, still silent, as though he were afraid that any sound he made would be used against him. I had wrapped my ankle in a cold compress and propped it on a chair. None of us had slept. None of us had suggested it."Here," said Eleanor at last. "Page nine. This is where it begins."She cleared her throat. When she read, her voice had changed. It w
My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Six: Respectfully
DOMINIC Samuel Greer opened his office door in his shirtsleeves, with a pencil behind his ear and a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, and the look on his face told me everything before I said a word. It was a quarter past one. We had driven from the estate in silence, my mother in the front seat beside Marcus with the scorched note folded in her gloved fingers, Nora and I in the back with the smell of smoke in our clothes. Nobody had spoken about the limp. Nobody had needed to. "Mr. Blackwood." Greer looked at the three of us. His eyes went to my mother and widened. "Mrs. Blackwood. Good heavens. Is that soot?" "Samuel." Eleanor held out the note. "Is this your hand?" He took it. He read it standing in the doorway, with the sandwich forgotten against his waistcoat, and I watched the color leave his face by degrees. "It is," he said slowly. "It is exactly my hand." "Did you write it?" "No." "Were you at my house this morning?" "I have not left this building since five
My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Five: The East Wing
DOMINICMarcus came through the bronze doors of First Hudson Bank at a dead run, with his coat flying open and his face the color of ash.I had never seen him run. In twenty years of driving my mother, Marcus had never once hurried, because he held that a man who hurries has already lost the argument. Now he crossed the marble lobby in six strides and stopped in front of me with his chest heaving."Sir. The estate. There's been a fire."The room went very quiet."My mother?""Safe. She's safe. She's on the lawn with a blanket around her, giving orders to the fire chief." He gulped air. "But it's the east wing, Mr. Blackwood. The old study. It was burning when the engines arrived."I did not look at Preston. I did not have to. I felt him go very still behind me, the way a man goes still when he hears a thing he did not expect."I did not authorize that," said my uncle quietly.I turned.He stood by the vault door with his gloves half on, and his face, for the first time that morning, w
My Boss Doesn't Know I Own Him Chapter Fifty-Four: Alone
DOMINIC"Take your hand off her," I said.I did not raise my voice. I have never had to. I stood in the doorway of the bank's inspection room with Mr. Faulk three steps behind me, and I watched my uncle's fingers lie across Nora's knuckles like a man laying a wreath on a grave.Preston looked up. His expression was gentle, almost rueful. "I'm only steadying her, my boy. She is so very pale.""Take it off."He lifted his hand slowly, with a small apologetic shrug, and sat back in his chair. Nora drew the envelope against her chest. Her face was white and set, and I saw that her fingers were trembling and that she had made them stop by pressing them flat against the wax."Mrs. Adeyemi," I said. "A question about the lease."The branch manager hovered at the end of the table with her hands twisted together. "Yes, Mr. Blackwood?""Is there a clause covering items addressed to a third party? A letter, for example, placed in the box by a lessee and intended for someone who is not himself a
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