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“Didn’t I just say that?” Lucas replied. Dios, now he was playing straight man in a bad comedy act. “Let me clarify things, Norton. My grandfather said he had contracted to purchase a mare. You and I both know there is no mare, so either he made a mistake or your client misrepresented the situation.” Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “I must tell you, my grandfather is not in the habit of making mistakes.”
Norton swallowed audibly. “I don’t know how to explain it, sir, but you’re right, there is no mare.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed again. “But there is all the rest. The land. The buildings. I know things are in some disrepair but—”
And, with those words, it began to fall into place.
Felix had been duped.
McDonough didn’t hope to sell a mare that would infuse the Reyes bloodlines with new intelligence, beauty and heart, he hoped to get rid of a failing property by unloading it on an old friend.
Lucas struggled to keep calm when what he wanted to do was cross the room, grab the lawyer by the collar and shake him.
“You and McDonough insult me and my grandfather,” he said through his teeth. “Did you actually think I would come here to see a mare and, instead, agree to buy this—this run-down corner of purgatory?”
“Please, Your Lordship. I beg you to compose yourself.”
“I am composed,” Lucas roared. “I am perfectly composed! Now get Aloysius McDonough in here so I can tell him what I think of him to his face!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Lucas knotted his hands into fists. It was either that or plow them into the soft gut of the man in front of him.
“So is continuing this discussion,” he snarled, and strode toward the door.
“Prince Lucas! You don’t understand. Aloysius McDonough is dead.”
Lucas turned and stared at Thaddeus Norton. “He can’t be dead. My grandfather spoke to him last week, when they agreed to this appointment.”
“You must have that wrong. Aloysius passed away almost six months ago.”
“I have it right, Norton. I was with my grandfather when he made the phone call.”
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Lucas had an excellent grasp of the English language. Still, some idioms had always eluded him. One was the phrase, “sweating bullets.” He’d never understood it until now as big drops of sweat popped out on Norton’s brow.
“I, ah, I don’t suppose you know the exact date of that call, sir?”
It was an easy question to answer. Lucas met with Felix on Mondays. It was a courtesy to keep his grandfather up-to-date about the Reyes Corporation and its holdings.
“Last Monday, in late afternoon. It would have been morning here.”
The attorney swallowed hard. “That call would have been between your grandfather and me, sir.”
“You spoke with Felix?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting my grandfather sent me here, knowing McDonough was dead? That he lied to me?”
“No,” Norton said quickly. “I’m sure he didn’t. I—I suspect he—he just left out a couple of facts.”
“A polite way of saying yes, you are suggesting my grandfather lied,” Lucas said in a soft voice many had learned to fear.
“Sir. Please understand, I am only representing my client. As for my conversation with your grandfather…” Norton swallowed. “He said it was time to implement the plan he and my client agreed upon a year ago.”
“What plan?”
Norton twisted his hands together. “I just assumed—I assumed your grandfather and you discussed it. That you knew—”
