Golden in Death(64)

Eve sat back. “Are you with them?”

“I’m not, no.” He lifted her coffee, sampled, put it down again, as it was stone cold. “After all, there was a time I could barely scrape together a few thousand to invest.”

“And seeing that what you had would be from a fence.”

He only smiled. “And that, of course. In any case, I prefer a more broad-based approach for my investment teams. Added to it, I didn’t have—why not stick with it—chemistry with Brent Whitt when he and his team brought me a proposal.”

“What was it that put you off?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’m having a whiskey—and if you’re going to drink coffee, at least heat it up.” He walked over, opened a section of the wall where he chose a bottle, a short glass. “He’s a smug, entitled sort, one who’s always been wealthy and privileged and one who enjoys riding on it.”

After pouring three fingers, he walked back to her. “It was his great-grandfather who made the first bundle, and with his son turned the bundle into a substantial fortune. So when Brent came along, he had a silver spoon well up his arse.”

She knew the tone, however subtle. “You really don’t like him.”

“I don’t, nor his type. He flaunts, and pontificates, condescends to his own team, who would have done the lion’s share of the work on a very extensive proposal. My impression was—no,” he corrected, took a sip of whiskey, “he very clearly demonstrated his firm very much wanted to acquire my portfolio, even though the source was far from ideal.”

“You, the Dublin street rat who made good, being the source.”

“Precisely.”

“When was this?”

“I couldn’t tell you exactly. A few years ago. Five, six.”

“So before the youngest family member came on board. Just wondering if he’d been part of the team, if you’d met him.”

“I doubt it. As I remember, the youngest who attended was female, mid-twenties, I’d say. The cousin of your person of interest, whom Whitt treated like an underling.”

“How about his wife—or ex-wife?”

“I can’t recall her, but then we’d have had no reason to meet. I heard, as one hears, there was some acrimony. But divorce rarely doesn’t have acrimony. And she took a rather substantial settlement and relocated to Paris.”

He frowned into his whiskey. “Or it might have been Florence.”

“A long way from her only son,” Eve commented.

“Now that you mention it. In any case, I should say that the Whitt Group, and Brent among them, know what they’re doing. They have a fine reputation, a sterling list of clients.”

“But not you.”

“I’m more than satisfied with the firm I work with.”

“Okay, since you know one of the families, let’s try another.” She had to check her notes. “Lowell Cosner and Marilyn Dupont—both lawyers with Cosner, Dupont, and Smithers.”

“I’ve met them. So have you.”

“I have?”

“At a couple of charity functions. She’s very active in good causes. I believe she has her own foundation. Another wealthy family—they’d be second or third generation. Corporate law, estate law, tax law, and so on, though they also handle criminal and domestic. I know her—that would be Marilyn—slightly better, as she’s appealed to me directly for donations and sponsorships. It must be her parents in Vermont.”

He held up a finger, took another sip. She could see him flipping back through his extensive memory files. “I recall hearing bits of gossip about a son, and some trouble there. Illegals, and something … an accident that landed him in the hospital.”

“You got it right. He did the rehab route, which didn’t take enough to keep him from juicing up and wrecking his car. Single car accident, so he only busted up himself. No law degree yet, and he’s currently doing drone work for the firm.

“Let’s go with the last. Benson Hayward, Louisa Raines.”

“Ah, Louisa Raines—top-tier party planner, socialite. Wealthy family again. The Raines own a chain of those warehouse stores. I believe Hayward was another Wall Street type.”

“They’re divorced, about six years now. He gave up Wall Street and headed south. He runs a dive shop in Jamaica. That’s the island, not Queens.”

“I assumed, as there’s little call for dive shops in Queens.”

“Nothing about the daughter?”

“I think I read or heard something about an engagement to former Senator Bilby’s grandson. The Bilbys would be another prominent family, deep in politics. Patience Bilby-Scott, the senator’s daughter and the fiancé’s mother, is currently serving as secretary of education. Odds are high she’ll make a run for president next election.”

“You sure know how to fill in some blanks.”

“We do what we can. And what do those filled blanks tell you?”

“It tells me none of these families are going to want the offspring involved in a murder investigation, so I’m going to be pushing back on a bunch of lawyers.”

She picked up her fresh coffee, put her boots on the desk while she studied the board.

“It also tells me you think Whitt is a dick. I suspect his offspring was a cheating bully in high school, and it got covered up. I wouldn’t be shocked if it turns out he had some cheating bully in him when he started in college. And the fact his record’s pristine leads me to believe more got covered up.”