Worthy Opponents(58)

When the store was gone, all she’d have left was her project for the homeless. She had emailed the others who had helped her, and they were meeting at the garage that night to hand out the new shipment on schedule. The others had gone there the night before to pack the bags. The bags were ready to hand out, and she had told the team she’d be there. She wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. She had failed. She had nothing to be proud of. But that was no reason to deprive people who so desperately needed help and what she had to give them.

She went back to her office and sat at her grandfather’s desk and felt unworthy of it. She felt humbled by everything that had happened, and everything she’d done, and all her mistakes. She didn’t feel worthy of the legacy her grandfather had left her. She felt like a failure.

And so did Mike Weston. He had called his father that morning to ask if he knew of a building. Max always had good ideas, and sometimes he knew about unusual deals. He was the master of hidden treasures and ingenious solutions, which was the reason for his success.

“What kind of building?” Max Weston asked his son.

“Unusual, beautiful, elegant, for a very high-end specialty store,” Mike explained.

“You’re dabbling in fashion again? That’s risky business.” It was one kind of investment that had never appealed to Max, although his wife loved it. “There’s a house on the market unofficially right now that no one wants. It’ll probably be torn down one day. I bought it as a foreclosure because I thought your mother would love it, and she told me I was crazy. It needs some work, but it’s what you just described. I own it. I’ve tried to sell it a few times, and no one wants to be bothered. They take one look, roll their eyes, and leave.”

“You never told me about it.”

“I forget about it. I felt stupid after I bought it. Your mother told me I had delusions of grandeur. She’s probably right. And you know your mother, she likes modern.” They had bought an ultramodern triplex in a new building instead, on the fiftieth floor. And they loved it. It was grandeur of another sort.

“Where is this place?” Mike was curious.

“On Fifth Avenue, squeezed between two apartment buildings. You don’t even notice it as you drive by. It’s grand inside, but relatively discreet outside. It’s a hundred-twenty-year-old mansion, six blocks down from the Met. One of the Vanderbilts built it in 1900, and then moved to Newport.”

“And Mom didn’t want it?” Mike was surprised.

“It’s dark inside. She loves lots of light.” They had three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the city in their apartment. It was a whole different style. “You’d have to put in a lot of lighting.”

“I don’t think that matters. It’s for a store,” Mike reminded him. “Most stores don’t have daylight.”

“The house has had nine lives, as a museum, as an embassy, and a school. I don’t think a family has lived in it since they built it.”

“Can I see it?” Mike asked him. He had been sitting in his office brooding, thinking of his meeting with Spencer the day before. He felt guilty for what he had gotten her to agree to, giving up three quarters’ ownership of her family legacy. And she had eluded him completely by refusing the management contract for more than a year. So, what was the point? And what did he want out of it anyway? He wasn’t sure.

Max Weston looked at his watch. He had a lunch date at one, but he was free until then. “I could meet you there now.”

“Do you mind? The store owners have needed to move for a long time and haven’t faced up to it. There was a shooting in the store the other night, six people killed. Now they have to move in a hurry.”

“You’re buying the store?” Max sounded surprised.

“No, they need money to expand. I was going to invest in it. I made a deal for seventy-five percent ownership, and now it sounds crazy, and I feel guilty. It’s a family business. I feel like I’m robbing the woman who owns it.” His father listened carefully and didn’t comment.

“We’ll discuss it when I meet you.” Max gave him the address, and twenty minutes later Mike arrived in a cab at the same time as his father pulled up with his driver in a Bentley.

“I like your car, Dad,” he teased him. His father looked a great deal like him, except his hair was white and he wasn’t as tall.

“Every time I buy a car that I like, your mother takes it. Now she wants this one.” Max loved grumbling about his wife of nearly fifty years. Mike knew they adored each other. They had the kind of marriage he had always wanted, but he had made a terrible mistake with Maureen. His parents enjoyed their life together. They had fun, they had common interests. They worked on things together, they admired each other. They bought houses and sold them, and had friends. And they were proud of each other. Maureen had never been proud of him, not for an instant. She had resented him almost since the beginning.

“Thank you for meeting me, Dad,” Mike said gratefully.

“Your mother called this my folly. Let’s hope I remember how to turn off the alarm.” Max unlocked the front door, punched in a code, and the alarm was turned off. “Everything is either your birthday or your sister’s. This one is yours.” Mike smiled at him. He felt like it was a sign from the universe that this house his father had bought and couldn’t get rid of was standing vacant. It didn’t look enormous from the outside, but as soon as they walked into it, Mike saw that it was. It was wide, although it looked dwarfed by the buildings on either side, and it went far to the back of a large lot, with a garden behind the house. There was a grand marble staircase, and several large rooms off the main entrance hall. There were five floors, and each looked enormous. The original chandeliers were in the house. The kitchen was antiquated, and there were countless marble bathrooms. It was confusing, but to Mike, looking around, it appeared to be about twice the size of the current Brooke’s home, and ten times more elegant. It was an exquisite mansion in a perfect location, it was empty, and his father owned it.