The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)(31)

Except it wasn’t that obscene marking that truly worried Richard. The real problem was Madeline. His sister was staring at the man like he was a god.

This was not happening. This whole thing…Was. Not. Happening.

Madeline was docile, meek, soft. For all the muscle on her frame, she had cotton balls in her heart. Where the hell was this backbone of hers coming from?

Richard shook his head and realized he’d forgotten the essential dynamic: she wasn’t the one who wanted to make a change in the trust.

If Madeline happened to take control, she could not only vote her shares, she could sell them for cash…and invest in all kinds of harebrained schemes. Like French restaurants in New York City owned by chefs who had tattoos.

Abruptly, Spike glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d sensed he was being watched. His eyes narrowed and he pegged Richard with a hard look, right through the window.

Richard smiled and nodded, then jogged up the stairs. When he got to his bedroom, he went to the phone on his desk. His lawyer answered her cell on the first ring with a sharp, ready voice. She was no doubt still at her office in Manhattan even though it was late on the Saturday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend.

Richard kicked off his loafers. “I want you to do a background check on someone.”

“I make no promises. Name?” The woman talked like a teletype machine. And was just about as polite.

“Michael Moriarty. Goes by Spike.” Richard pulled open his desk drawer and took out a piece of paper. “I’ve got his social security number.”

“Give it to me.”

Richard read off the page then slipped the thing back into the desk. “I want to know everything about this guy.”

“An incomplete report is useless.” Her strident tone of voice suggested he’d get details down to Moriarty’s shoe size and first grade teacher. “You will hear from me in twenty-four hours.”

“And I have disconcerting news.” He explained the situation with Madeline’s trust. “I’ve got to retain control of those shares if the takeover of Organi-Foods is to go through. I need to be the big elephant in the room with the largest block of votes because that damned board is so conservative. I’ve got enough stuffed shirts at that table. I don’t want to have a loose cannon like her there with them.”

“If I recall, the provisions of the trust will permit you to raise a fiduciary fitness argument on the basis of business incompetence. If you can persuade a judge that she cannot properly steward the trust’s resources, she can be prevented from taking control.”

“I’m well aware of that and I expect you to start working on it. And I want that information on Moriarty. He’s the one behind all this, a chef looking to expand his restaurant with my sister’s money. Need I say more?”

Richard ended the call and picked up his loafers.

Going through Moriarty’s things last night had been the work of a moment and Richard was quite pleased by how well he’d done the job. No way the man would know someone had been in his room.

The purpose behind the search had actually been for drugs. The last thing Richard needed was an overdose or some horrible crime of passion thing going down at the Maguire compound. Chefs, even well-trained French ones, didn’t necessarily follow the law. Richard had heard stories coming out of Manhattan. Kitchen Confidential indeed.

While he’d been going through the wallet he’d found, he’d memorized Moriarty’s social security number and had written it down later only on a lark. But now that he knew Spike’s motivation? How useful those nine digits had proven to be.

Richard smiled. Yes, he was a very fine chess player.

He threw open his walk-in closet, put his shoes back where they belonged, and then gazed with satisfaction at all the clothes lined up so neatly on matching wood and brass hangers. He changed into a seersucker suit and slipped a red bow tie around his neck.

Tonight, Madeline would meet Charles Barker, the board chairman, and Charles would be unimpressed because Madeline was unimpressive as women went: she never dressed like anything and had no great intellect when it came to things other than sports. And not even her athletic knowledge was relevant because sailboat racing was so obscure.

During her meeting with Barker, Madeline would become flustered because that was what she did when she was out of her comfort zone. And she would realize that she had no business being on the board. Then she would back down and sign the papers, allowing Richard to retain control.

Provided he could get her backbone out of the picture.

Fortunately, Michael “Spike” Moriarty looked like the kind of man who would have some secrets to hide.

Everything was going to be fine.

Richard squared up his bow tie and headed out. Only to pause at the door.

With a quick stride, he went back to the phone on his desk and dialed. As it rang, he constructed the voice-mail message he would leave, because there would be no answer. Not on a long weekend when everyone who was anyone was out of Manhattan.

His sister Amelia’s voice was a surprise. “Hello?” she said.

“Amelia, you’re home.”

“Richard.” She took a deep breath. “How are you?”

“I expected you to be out of the city.”

“I was supposed to have been. But my plans changed.”

“Good. I want you to come out to Greenwich. You shouldn’t be alone on a holiday weekend.”