Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(102)
Neither Dimitri nor Natalia needs to work for money, but they both undertake difficult jobs in order to prove themselves. Why do they do so?
Liam dislikes his job but does not feel he is able to quit, even though he does not personally need the money. Is he right to stick with a job he hates?
Much of Natalia’s fascination with Russia comes from the stories her mother shared. Have you inherited a similar fascination for a different culture, profession, or experience from your own relatives? Have you tried to share something of your own culture or experiences with the younger people in your family?
Natalia believes an unhappy ending to a novel ruins the story, while Dimitri loves such endings. What do you think?
NEW YORK CITY
JULY 1902
The prospect of apologizing to the only enemy Liam Blackstone had in the world was galling, but he had to do it to keep Fletcher’s respect. Liam strode down the street alongside his mentor, listening to all the reasons he should apologize to Charles Morse, possibly the biggest scoundrel in the city.
“The point of yesterday’s outing was to have a cordial afternoon sailing in the harbor so you and Charles could bury the hatchet, not to stir up new resentments,” Fletcher said. “Kicking him off your yacht opened up a whole new front in the war between the two of you.”
“He struck a seventeen-year-old deckhand,” Liam bit out.
“Yes, and that was appalling, but there were better ways to handle it than letting your temper fly off the handle.”
Yesterday’s fight had been a doozy. The afternoon sail on Liam’s private yacht had collapsed quickly after Morse slapped a deckhand, a sweet kid named Caleb. Caleb was a little slow, but once he understood a task, he carried it out doggedly and never tired. The problem was that Caleb couldn’t adjust. Any change to his routine got Caleb flustered, which was what happened when Morse started banging out orders yesterday.
They had been two miles out at sea when Morse slapped Caleb. As tempting as it had been to retaliate in kind, Liam ordered Morse to be rowed ashore, and the incident cast a pall over the rest of the afternoon. Several of the other businessmen on board privately commended Liam for the way he protected the deckhand, but no one approved of what he’d done in throwing Morse off the yacht.
Now Fletcher was dragging Liam to Morse’s home like a disobedient child to apologize. The Morse estate squatted on a large plot on the richest part of Fifth Avenue. It was where robber barons flaunted their wealth in grandiose palaces towering five stories high with molded entablatures, spires, and turrets. So different than the slum where Liam grew up.
“I understand that you are still new in the world of Wall Street,” Fletcher said. “Everyone appreciates the fresh perspective you have brought to the board of directors. You are the only one among us who has actually worked inside a steel mill or made anything with your own two hands. Against all odds, you persuaded the board of directors to authorize a huge pay raise for the men in the steel mills—”
“Against Morse’s objections.”
“Yes! Charles Morse is the shrewdest man on Wall Street, and you got the better of him. Be proud of that. You won. Why can’t you simply get along with him?”
Because Charles Morse was a bully. He showed it in his brusque manner in dealing with waiters in restaurants and how he cheated at cards if he couldn’t win honestly. If the rumors were true, even Morse’s own wife didn’t like him, and they were newlyweds.
Fletcher continued his litany. “I’ve spent the past year playing peacekeeper between the two of you, and my patience is wearing thin. You are an asset to the board, but if push comes to shove, we need Morse more than we need you. As chairman of the board, it is my job to create a strong and productive group of people dedicated to maintaining U.S. Steel’s prominence in the industry. If the two of you can’t manage to be in the same room without coming to blows, it won’t be Morse I ask to leave.”
The pronouncement landed like a fist in Liam’s gut. He was the only person on the board committed to putting the welfare of the workers ahead of profits. U.S. Steel employed 160,000 frontline workers in steel mills all over the nation. They were in Pittsburgh, Scranton, Cleveland, and Chicago. Those men earned a living with their hands, their backs, and their brawn. They didn’t get ahead by scheming, cheating, or smacking servants. They depended on Liam to represent their interests on the company’s board of directors, and if he had to choke back his pride and kiss Morse’s ring to keep his seat, he’d do it.
They marched up the flight of marble steps to the cool shade beneath the stone-arched portico of the mansion.
“This is where I leave you,” Fletcher said, offering a good-natured handshake.
Liam was flabbergasted. “You’re not coming inside?” This was going to be a disaster without Fletcher to play the peacekeeper. Morse usually pretended to be friendly in front of the chairman of the board, but when no one was watching, Morse’s true colors emerged.
“You need to manage Charles Morse on your own,” Fletcher said as he retreated down the steps. “Take my advice and apologize for what happened yesterday. Get the incident behind you, and we can begin this afternoon’s board meeting with a clean slate.”
Fletcher sauntered toward the street as though the matter were already settled, but Liam braced himself for the confrontation ahead. Maybe it was for the best. He didn’t have to like Charles Morse, he merely needed to form a workable truce.