Page 1
Chapter
One
Sam Winslow strode into the marble-tiled lobby of Winslow Financial, his briefcase in one hand and a coffee in the other. Heads whipped around as people passed him, shocked to see the prodigal son had indeed returned to the family firm. Mouths hung open in surprise, and he had no doubt that the entire building would be abuzz by lunchtime.
Above him, bronze letters spelled out the firm’s name with the same confidence as a dynasty that had survived market crashes, hostile takeovers, and the slow suffocation of its own family secrets. It was 9:02 a.m., and the building was bustling with employees and clients.
The top floor, which housed the executive offices, always looked exactly as his father liked it. A grossly excessive study in old money and overkill. A crimson and navy Persian runner led from the elevator to a frosted-glass reception wall etched with the Winslow family name. The mahogany paneling on the walls looked polished enough to see his reflection, and oil paintings of the firm’s founders, all of whom were dead and none of whom smiled, glared at newcomers with suspicion.
For years, Sam had imagined the day he would walk in here not as a visitor but as the next in line, and now it had finally happened. Of course, his father, Joel Winslow, was still blissfully unaware that Sam had stepped into his shoes. When he found out, all hell would break loose.
Or at least as much trouble as an extremely sick man could make.
No one knew whether Joel was actually going to survive the massive heart attack he’d suffered the night before. The doctors were all shocked that he’d lived at all, let alone possibly recover from it. But Sam’s father was tough as nails, and he wasn’t going to pass peacefully. Hell no. Joel was going to go kicking and screaming, fighting the whole way. He probably had a decent idea which way he was heading, and he wasn’t in a hurry to get there.
The door to his father’s inner sanctum was open, the receptionist tapping away at her keyboard. When she saw Sam walk in, she jumped to her feet, her cheeks turning a bright red.
“Mr. Winslow, good morning,” she said, her voice breathless. “Leigh said you’d be in this morning. I hope your father is doing well. We’re all concerned about him.”
Sam had worked at the family firm for many years, and he had his doubts that “all” the employees were concerned. More than a few thought Joel Winslow was the devil.
He didn’t blame them.
“Thank you,” Sam replied, not sure of the receptionist’s name. She was new since he’d left. “He’s doing as well as can be expected. When I have news, I’ll make sure to let Leigh know so she can communicate to the firm.”
“Of course,” the young woman said. “Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Winslow? Coffee? Breakfast? I’d be happy to get you anything you like.”
“First of all, call me Sam,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I don’t think I caught your name?”
“Tracy,” she said, appearing slightly more relaxed than a few moments ago. “And I’m not sure I can call you Sam. I think I would get in trouble.”
“I’m pretty sure I run this company now,” he teased. “No one is going to get in trouble for calling me by my name. Leigh does; why shouldn’t you?”
“Because…well…Leigh…is different.”
“Let’s give it a try and see how it goes,” he suggested. “As for coffee or snacks, I’m fine. Is Leigh in the office?”
He already knew the answer. Knowing what had happened with Joel last night, Leigh had probably camped out on top of her desk. She was devoted to her job.
“She is. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
Leigh Gabler was Joel’s assistant. She’d started off as a receptionist in the client area, but had quickly worked her way up to sitting just outside of Joel’s office, playing gatekeeper.
And secret keeper, too.
Of course, Sam couldn’t be sure of that, but he had a feeling that she knew where a few bodies were buried.
Figuratively, only. He had no reason to think she knew any details about Sam’s mother’s disappearance.
Leigh had always been kind and professional with Sam, but that didn’t mean she was a fan or even on board with his taking over. He needed to remember where her loyalties had always been.
With Joel Winslow.
She just might fight him like an enraged tiger if he made any desperately needed changes around here.
He walked through to the next office, where Leigh stood arranging envelopes into a fanned stack. She wore a navy shift dress and her signature steel-rimmed glasses, propped on the end of her nose. Despite being over fifty, she was still tall and slim, thanks to a love of running and working out as a way to shake off the stress of a long day.
